Transmigrated As The Villainous Scumbag Wife Of A Disabled Tycoon - Chapter 46
46
Everyone setting up the cameras froze.
For a moment, all activity stopped as they turned to look at her. Cheng Xing, however, continued, “You’d better hurry, or I’m worried they’ll get so embarrassed and angry they might kill me. That would turn this straight into a criminal case.”
The crew: “…?”
They were here to shoot a film, not to act like some kind of mafia.
Everyone exchanged glances, unsure what kind of stunt this person was pulling.
The team leader, sensing something was off, slipped through the crowd to the back to call the director.
The rest didn’t dare continue setting up the cameras.
Hadn’t they heard her? Trespassing.
If that accusation stuck, given the opulence of this mansion, the person living here was likely either rich or powerful—someone who could easily have the whole crew hauled to the police station for a “chat.” If things escalated, they might even end up detained for a few days.
They were just regular workers earning a paycheck. A day’s delay in filming didn’t affect them, so they stopped to watch the drama unfold.
Some of the more curious ones started whispering, “What’s going on? Didn’t Xu Zhaozhao say she had the shooting location sorted? Is this not her house?”
“She drives luxury cars and lives in fancy places. Several big investors seem to back her. She wouldn’t fake something like this, would she?”
“But this is a mansion on Luoxia Hill! This place is worth at least this much.” The speaker held up two fingers.
Someone guessed, “Two hundred million?”
“Two billion and up, and it’s not even something you can buy if you have the money.”
“…”
With so many people around, the chatter grew louder, but Cheng Xing didn’t notice what they were discussing.
She didn’t care either.
Last night, she’d already given the necessary warnings. If Xu Zhaozhao still insisted on pulling this stunt, she couldn’t blame Cheng Xing for being ruthless.
Her gaze drifted to the door, where a woman in the standard uniform of Tinglan Mansion’s hired help stood. She was slightly plump, with small features on a broad face, giving her a somewhat endearing, naive look.
Cheng Xing had no recollection of her.
But from this moment on, she did.
Cheng Xing had a good temper and liked to be kind to others, but after everything that had happened recently, she’d learned that in this circle, being soft-hearted was a fatal flaw.
Especially for a maid who took her salary but followed someone else’s orders—Cheng Xing had no need for such people.
For now, though, she didn’t deal with it. After giving the address of Tinglan Mansion over the phone, she hung up, pulled a lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it slowly, and popped it into her mouth.
Sister Zhou thoughtfully brought her a wicker chair. The morning sun was rising, the temperature pleasant. Cheng Xing sat in the rocking chair, swaying gently, feeling a bit drowsy.
Soon, the sound of police sirens rang out.
But before the police arrived, the director of the film crew showed up.
The director wore a gray beret and black-framed glasses, looking around forty with an artistic air. Approaching Cheng Xing, she asked politely, “May I ask who you are?”
Cheng Xing bit off a piece of her lollipop, the sweetness almost overwhelming, but she smiled faintly. “A bunch of you barge into my house, and you don’t even know who I am? Are you joking?”
“My apologies,” the director said with an awkward smile. “We’ve already spoken with the person in charge of this mansion. It’s been arranged for our crew to shoot here for one day. If you could—”
Before she could finish, Cheng Xing stood up, meeting the director’s gaze directly and cutting her off. “Where’s the contract?”
The director blinked. “What?”
“Do you have a lease agreement? Or maybe the property deed?” Cheng Xing asked.
“We’ve already made arrangements,” the director said, her confidence wavering. She turned to the crew manager, flustered. “Have you reached Zhaozhao yet?”
“Not yet,” the manager replied, sweating profusely. He’d called multiple times, but no one picked up.
Cheng Xing smirked to herself. It’d be a miracle if they got through.
Xu Zhaozhao was probably still passed out in bed, sleeping like the dead.
She’d run into Cheng Xing that morning, bare-faced and looking like she’d been drained by a ghost, too exhausted to function.
“Don’t you know Miss Xu Zhaozhao?” the director asked. “She’s the one who assured us we could shoot here.”
Cheng Xing didn’t hesitate. “I know her.”
The director breathed a sigh of relief.
“But we’ve got a grudge.” Cheng Xing added.
The director nearly choked on her own breath.
Xu Zhaozhao had been so confident on the phone about securing the location. The director had already notified all the lead actors—especially the one with the notoriously bad temper…
The thought of her made the director shudder.
She didn’t dare imagine what would happen if that actress arrived and saw this mess.
The film… might just fall apart.
The director shook her head, pushing away the negative thoughts, and adopted a more respectful tone with Cheng Xing. “I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion today, but—”
“No need.” Cheng Xing interrupted. “You’ve intruded enough.”
The director: “?”
The next moment, a police car from Jianggang Police Station pulled up to the gate. The doors opened, and four officers stepped out—two men, two women.
Cheng Xing narrowed her eyes.
What a coincidence. She knew them.
She’d seen two of them at the grilled fish restaurant the other day. One was Officer Xi, and the other was a sharp-looking female officer with short, neat hair named Yan Hui. The other two were unfamiliar.
Officer Xi scanned the scene, quickly spotting the person who’d called the police. He approached and asked, “You reported the incident?”
Cheng Xing nodded. “Long time no see, Officer Xi.”
Xi froze, not expecting her to address him so casually. He felt a bit embarrassed but responded, “What’s the situation?”
“They entered my property without permission and said they were going to film,” Cheng Xing explained. “I didn’t agree, and now they’re trying to guilt-trip me.”
Everyone: “…?”
Thank goodness they hadn’t said much to her earlier—she might’ve accused them of assault if they’d so much as brushed against her.
Though Cheng Xing found the situation bothersome, she’d already called the police, so she cooperated as needed.
But her time was tight. She had to take Jiang Ciyi to work and then head to her new job.
Being late on her first day wouldn’t look good.
Plus, she needed to go upstairs to put on some light makeup. She left the situation downstairs to Sister Zhou, instructing her firmly, “No settling this privately.”
She wanted to make a big deal out of it, to show Grandma and Xu Zhaozhao that she wasn’t a pushover anyone could mess with.
Cheng Xing went upstairs, did her makeup quickly, and left with Jiang Ciyi.
Jiang Ciyi had already noticed Officer Xi and the other officers from Jianggang Police Station at the gate. From her expression, it seemed she knew them all.
As Cheng Xing pushed her wheelchair out, she casually asked who they were and why a small matter like this warranted Officer Xi leading the team.
From their dinner the other day, she’d gathered that Xi was some kind of leader.
Jiang Ciyi didn’t seem annoyed and answered calmly, “Xi is the captain of the Second Criminal Investigation Team. Yan Hui, who’s with him, is a team member skilled in combat and grappling. The other two are from the Fifth Team—Wang Shu, who has dual degrees in psychology and reconnaissance, and Lin Luoluo, the cute-looking one. She’s great at communication and excels in taekwondo, black belt.”
Cheng Xing: “…?”
A fierce loli? A diamond Barbie?
Looking at Lin Luoluo’s face and hearing about her taekwondo black belt, Cheng Xing found it hard to reconcile the two.
But…
“I just reported a trespassing incident. Why’d they send so many heavyweights?” Cheng Xing mused. “Is this a waste of police resources?”
“The Cheng family pays billions in taxes to the Jianggang government every year. Of course, the police station would give them face.” Jiang Ciyi said. “Besides, in places like this, if something happens, it’s usually a big deal.”
Once, Jianggang Police Station had received a report from one of the city’s most prestigious villa districts. When they arrived, they found eight bodies—all victims of brutal murders.
Even in today’s highly developed legal system, criminals still lurked in the shadows.
Places like Tinglan Mansion screamed wealth. What rich family didn’t hire bodyguards? Some even employed elite professionals, including retired mercenaries from abroad.
For things like break-ins or illegal entries, most wouldn’t even bother calling the police.
Black-on-black dealings were often handled discreetly.
Perhaps the police station had never received such a “straightforward” and “honest” report before.
Outside, Sister Zhou was still dealing with the situation. Cheng Xing pushed Jiang Ciyi out, glanced around, and waved at Officer Xi.
The other officers, especially Lin Luoluo, were momentarily stunned when they saw Jiang Ciyi. But she quickly recovered, exclaiming, “Wow! Sister Jiang! They said you lived in Tinglan Mansion, and I didn’t believe it. Now I do.”
Jiang Ciyi: “…”
“Officer Xi,” Jiang Ciyi said, giving him a slight nod.
“What about me?” Lin Luoluo pouted, but a low cough from Wang Shu reminded her they were on duty. She quickly toned down her smile but snuck a playful grimace at Jiang Ciyi.
“Sister Zhou,” Cheng Xing called, instructing her not to let anyone take advantage of Tinglan Mansion. “Today they dare to trespass without permission; tomorrow they might let dogs loose to bite people. I don’t want to live in constant fear. Deal with this once and for all.”
She didn’t bother lowering her voice, throwing shade and sarcasm that left the director’s face alternating between red and pale.
Then, Cheng Xing smiled at Officer Xi. “Officer Xi, could you move your car? We need to get to work.”
At the mention of “work,” Xi’s first instinct was to glance at Jiang Ciyi, but he stayed composed and didn’t ask. He signaled Yan Hui to move the police car blocking the mansion’s gate to the side of the road.
Cheng Xing took Jiang Ciyi back inside to take the elevator to the garage. With so many people outside, she picked a low-key white Mercedes S-Class—practically a rarity in the original owner’s garage.
As she drove out of the mansion, she noticed a white RV parked behind the police car. Just as she passed, the RV’s door opened, and a woman stepped out, her brow furrowed, her expression sour.
Cheng Xing glanced at her, finding her familiar, and stole another look in the rearview mirror.
It wasn’t until she turned a corner and sped up that she remembered where she’d seen the woman before.
“That TV drama you were watching last night,” Cheng Xing said. “She’s the female lead.”
Jiang Ciyi had just pulled out her phone to continue watching Spring Court Evening, which she hadn’t finished.
The drama was indeed as Zheng Shuqing had praised—non-cliché plot, fresh character designs. The female lead, Gu Qingfeng, was particularly compelling. Her acting was so good that her tears often made Jiang Ciyi feel a pang of sadness. There was also an inexplicable sense of familiarity about her.
But at Cheng Xing’s comment, Jiang Ciyi turned off her phone and responded coolly, “Hm?”
Cheng Xing wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong, but the atmosphere in the car suddenly felt chilly. She glanced at Jiang Ciyi. “What’s wrong? I said the actress from the drama you watched last night just stepped into reality.”
“The one you said was pretty?” Jiang Ciyi asked, her tone neutral.
Cheng Xing: “…Yeah.”
Jiang Ciyi paused, then said lightly, “You should watch her drama.”
“Sure.” Cheng Xing replied. “When I have time, I’ll watch it with you. Don’t watch too far ahead—wait for me.”
Jiang Ciyi hummed in acknowledgment and said nothing more.
But Cheng Xing couldn’t shake the feeling that the vibe had shifted since they left Tinglan Mansion. She lowered her voice. “Are you upset?”
Jiang Ciyi slowly opened her eyes, her voice as cold as winter snow. “Why would I be upset? Did you do something wrong?”
“No,” Cheng Xing answered honestly.
“Then what am I upset about?” Jiang Ciyi countered.
Cheng Xing hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The atmosphere fell silent again. Cheng Xing focused on driving, though her peripheral vision kept drifting to Jiang Ciyi’s face. The sunlight streaming through the window cast soft shadows on her, her thick lashes creating a delicate outline. She looked like a painting.
Soon, her lashes fluttered, and the painting came to life.
Her lips, lightly coated with a bean-paste shade of lipstick, parted slightly. “Had enough staring? I’d like to stay alive.”
Cheng Xing immediately snapped her eyes back to the road.
…This painting has thorns.
Stumped on this topic, Cheng Xing didn’t give up. After the next intersection, she tried a new one. “What’s Officer Xi’s real name? I called him Officer Xi, and he looked at me funny.”
“Wei Xusheng,” Jiang Ciyi replied, unable to sleep and answering calmly.
“Oh? Then why do you all call him Brother Xi?”
“When he first joined the station, he was always grinning like the mascot of the Criminal Investigation Team. His captain nicknamed him Xiao Xi.”
“So was it rude of me to call him Officer Xi?”
“It’s fine. He’s probably used to it.”
“…”
Cheng Xing, a bit socially awkward despite her efforts to be outgoing, ran out of things to say.
She didn’t bother racking her brain to keep up with Jiang Ciyi. Though she had a mission, she couldn’t burn herself out too quickly.
They arrived at the lab building. Cheng Xing parked, got the wheelchair from the trunk, and helped Jiang Ciyi out.
Just as she was about to push her inside, Jiang Ciyi said, “I’ll go myself. You get to work.”
Cheng Xing paused, thinking she was still upset. “Jiang Ciyi, I really don’t know why you’re mad. Just tell me what’s wrong. If it’s my fault, I’ll apologize now so you don’t go to work distracted all day.”
Jiang Ciyi didn’t respond immediately.
After a moment, she raised an eyebrow. “Cheng Xing, do you think you’re that important?”
Cheng Xing: “…”
Fine, she’d been overthinking and said the wrong thing.
There was no point saying more. Cheng Xing let go of the wheelchair, standing still as Jiang Ciyi maneuvered it forward.
Just as she turned to leave, she spotted Su Lengyue, dressed to the nines.
Cheng Xing had no intention of greeting her. For one, they weren’t close. For another, Su Lengyue was Su Manchun’s sister.
Because of Su Manchun, the original owner used to invite Su Lengyue to parties after Su Manchun went abroad. Most of the time, Su Lengyue didn’t show up.
Except for the night Cheng Xing transmigrated.
After overhearing Su Lengyue’s conversation with Jiang Ciyi last night, Cheng Xing understood perfectly.
Su Lengyue was making a deal with Jiang Ciyi.
What she wanted Jiang Ciyi’s help with was unclear, but the bait was information about Jiang Ciyi’s car accident.
That was a huge temptation for Jiang Ciyi.
She’d previously asked the original owner to help investigate the accident.
The perpetrator was still at large, possibly hiding in some remote corner of the world—a needle in a haystack.
That was why the original owner had been so brazen.
Cheng Xing wasn’t going to take the blame for that. It was between the original owner and Jiang Ciyi.
Even though she was in the original owner’s body, she’d leave once the mission was complete.
Cheng Xing cared about the car accident clues—not because she was afraid Jiang Ciyi wouldn’t find them, but because she was afraid she would.
If it turned out the original owner was responsible, Cheng Xing might end up in jail, sewing clothes for a living.
Forget about pursuing Jiang Ciyi—she’d have to restart the whole timeline.
But she doubted Su Lengyue would share such critical information with her, so she chose to avoid her.
To her surprise, Su Lengyue spoke first. “Cheng Xing.”
“Hm?” Cheng Xing looked at her warily.
“Are you and Jiang Ciyi really on good terms now?” Su Lengyue asked.
“Yeah,” Cheng Xing replied confidently. “Isn’t that what you wanted to see, Miss Su? Didn’t you confirm it last night?”
In the past, the original owner had been polite, even obsequious, toward Su Lengyue because of Su Manchun.
But now, Cheng Xing stood tall, her expression distant and cold. Though her demeanor was gentler than before, she seemed less approachable.
Su Lengyue quickly reassessed her but didn’t dwell on the change. She cut to the chase. “Has Jiang Ciyi changed her mind?”
“I don’t know,” Cheng Xing said.
Su Lengyue didn’t buy it. “You haven’t discussed it?”
“Why would we?” Cheng Xing replied coolly. “I don’t interfere with anything related to Ciyi’s work. She has her principles and her boundaries.”
In the workplace, Cheng Xing felt Jiang Ciyi was far more experienced than her.
An outsider giving advice to an expert? That was a joke.
Though Cheng Xing was curious about what Su Lengyue was investigating, she’d never ask directly.
Simple reason: it was Jiang Ciyi’s job.
As long as it didn’t harm Jiang Ciyi, Cheng Xing didn’t need to know.
Su Lengyue pursed her lips. “But this involves your second brother’s fiancée… or rather, not quite fiancée yet.”
At the mention of Cheng Zijing’s girlfriend, Cheng Xing frowned slightly. “And?”
“Don’t you want the truth about your second brother’s girlfriend’s death to come to light sooner?” Su Lengyue said. “Convince Jiang Ciyi not to be so stubborn.”
Cheng Xing didn’t understand how Cheng Zijing’s girlfriend’s death could involve a forensic pathologist.
But Cheng Zijing did know Jiang Ciyi, and from what she’d heard, they had a good relationship.
Otherwise, why would he have given her that wheelchair?
These were all things Cheng Xing was curious about, but she wasn’t foolish enough to discuss them with Su Lengyue. Steeling herself, she replied, “Like I said, Ciyi has her own judgment. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Miss Su.”
With that, she strode off.
On the way to her new job, Cheng Xing’s phone rang incessantly, drowning out the car’s music.
Grandma and Xu Zhaozhao’s calls came one after another. At a red light, Cheng Xing blocked Xu Zhaozhao.
At the next light, she set her phone to Do Not Disturb.
Blocking Xu Zhaozhao was fine, but blocking Grandma would give her ammunition to lecture about “filial piety.”
Cheng Xing didn’t want the hassle.
She arrived at the new company just in time. Being an entertainment company, work started later, and since it was her first day, she walked in at 10:30 a.m. as employees were still trickling in.
She gave her name at the front desk, and since Cheng Zimo had already informed them, they directed her to the 12th floor.
The HR rep, a curly-haired woman under thirty with a dimple, showed her around and introduced the company’s departments and their functions.
After being acquired by Cheng Zimo, Wenxing Media had undergone a major overhaul. From a nearly bankrupt, obscure company, it had transformed into a powerhouse capable of competing with top-tier agencies like Xihe Media.
It was Cheng Zimo’s first foray into entertainment. Previously, the Cheng Group had focused on physical industries and infrastructure.
Money talks, especially with the Cheng Group’s backing. In no time, they’d signed a slew of popular celebrities.
Though newly acquired, Wenxing Media was already stable. Cheng Xing was basically here to coast.
The company was divided into three main departments with twelve subgroups: Live Streaming, Acting, and Singing/Dancing.
The subgroups were tailored to each department’s needs but generally included PR, marketing, operations, and artist management.
Cheng Xing was placed in the Live Streaming Department’s evaluation team—essentially, interviewing potential artists.
Live streaming, especially for e-commerce, was a booming trend, and Cheng Zimo wasn’t about to miss out. The department included not just commerce but also talent and gaming streams—everything short of content that could get banned.
Cheng Xing had to admire Cheng Zimo’s business acumen.
The evaluation team had three members, now four with her. They assessed whether candidates were suitable for Wenxing Media and, if so, which department they’d fit best.
Their decisions shaped the candidates’ futures.
Cheng Xing thought the role seemed trivial. How could you know someone’s potential without seeing them in action? Deciding their path like this felt sloppy.
But she was here to coast, work a bit, and in her downtime, plan Jiang Ciyi’s treatment and recall any forgotten details from the original story.
She remembered that in the book, Jiang Ciyi was tortured by the original owner in an attic until she was near death, only to be rescued just in time.
They’d been married less than a month then.
So Cheng Xing figured if she just waited, Jiang Ciyi’s family would show up eventually.
But as days passed, unexpected characters like Shen Qingxue and Xu Jingcheng appeared, while Jiang Ciyi’s family remained absent.
Lost in thought, Cheng Xing was startled by a voice. “Cheng Xing, time to work.”
She snapped back to reality, realizing the office was nearly empty. Only she remained at her desk among the four workstations.
The woman who called her was in her thirties, with blue hair and bold red lipstick, looking like a character from Balala the Little Magic Fairy.
Cheng Xing had been in the office less than an hour. The HR rep had shown her to her desk, told her to contact her if needed, and left—without leaving contact info, likely to avoid being bothered.
Socially awkward, Cheng Xing had introduced herself to the team. They’d sized her up and given their names briefly.
The tall, dark-skinned guy was Lan Bo. The skinny, pale guy with silver hair, looking like a vampire, was Jiang Bai. The woman who’d called her had a fancy English name, Daisy.
This department could be summed up in one word: eccentric.
Lan Bo and Jiang Bai together looked like a black-and-white duo of mischief.
The original owner, with her blonde hair and garish red-and-green outfits, would’ve fit right in.
But Cheng Xing, in her professional suit, felt out of place.
There were no strict rules here. Everyone ignored each other. After calling her, Daisy headed out without checking if Cheng Xing followed.
Cheng Xing hurried after her, catching sight of Daisy’s striking blue hair disappearing around a corner. She followed her into a meeting room.
There was no training period or mentor. No one told her what to do.
In the large meeting room, three desks were set up, each piled with documents. Lan Bo, Jiang Bai, and Daisy each took a desk, leaving none for Cheng Xing.
Daisy eventually noticed her and had someone bring an extra desk, but there weren’t enough documents to go around.
Daisy handed her a stack of blank A4 paper without explanation.
Soon, a girl who looked like a product of modern tech strutted in, walking like a model. She stood in the center and introduced herself: “Hello, I’m Junjun-chan.”
Cheng Xing: “…?”
What the heck?
The interview started and ended in confusion. By the time the others closed their files, Cheng Xing still didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She looked at her paper.
She’d written three words: “Barbecue Sauce.”
She immediately crossed it out.
The evaluation team’s work wasn’t taxing, but Cheng Xing couldn’t fit into this workplace.
She’d planned to coast, but sitting in that role changed her mindset. She felt she should do something.
After all, she was getting paid by her big brother—she should earn it.
But she had no idea what she was doing.
In the office, only Daisy acknowledged her occasionally. Lan Bo and Jiang Bai barely spoke to her.
Feeling stifled, Cheng Xing went to the break room for water. On her way back, she overheard Lan Bo and Jiang Bai talking about her, saying she was probably a nepotism hire with no real skills. How could she evaluate talent?
They were right—she was a nepotism hire. But they didn’t have to be so harsh.
They hadn’t taught her anything and expected her to just pick it up? Dream on.
Cheng Xing didn’t let it slide. She coughed loudly, walked back in, and sat at her desk, staring at the A4 paper Daisy had given her.
She’d meant to write Jiang Ciyi’s treatment plan, but it turned into random scribbles. She couldn’t focus.
Uncomfortable with slacking, she pulled out her phone and checked WeChat.
The original owner’s party friends were still messaging, inviting her out.
It was obvious they wanted her to foot the bill, but the original owner had thrown money around for clout.
Cheng Xing wasn’t like that. She blocked them without responding.
Scrolling through her contacts, she had no one to reach out to.
Except Xu Jingcheng.
She messaged Xu Jingcheng, urging her to come to Jianggang soon, preferably with a top doctor.
Xu Jingcheng sent an eye-roll emoji. [You think I can just summon a top doctor? I’m not my dad.]
Cheng Xing: [When are you coming then?]
Xu Jingcheng was tied up and said it’d be at least a week.
Cheng Xing: …
By then, it’d be too late.
Given the current situation, Jiang Ciyi’s leg would take at least two months to recover.
If treatment didn’t start soon, and the three-month mission deadline hit without enough progress, the timeline would reset, and she’d have to start over.
NPCs weren’t human, apparently, and didn’t get human rights.
But she didn’t want to start over!
After a frustrating chat with Xu Jingcheng, Cheng Xing gave up responding.
She opened her chat with Jiang Ciyi and, bored, typed [You there?]
It felt too bland, so she retracted it.
Jiang Ciyi was too serious to slack off at work like her.
Best not to disturb her.
But the next second, her phone buzzed. Jiang Ciyi sent a question mark.
In a rush, Cheng Xing sent an emoji.
Jiang Ciyi replied: [Something up?]
Cheng Xing quickly typed: [No, no.]
To make it convincing, she added: [Just wondering what’s for dinner.]
Jiang Ciyi’s status changed to “typing.” Cheng Xing relaxed, waiting for her reply. But as she scrolled, she noticed the emoji she’d accidentally sent had text: “Report: Can we get spicy tonight?”
Cheng Xing: “…”
Before she could think, she tried to retract it, but WeChat informed her messages over two minutes old couldn’t be retracted.
She cursed the app in her head.
Back home, messages could be retracted within five minutes.
Desperate, she sent a string of cute emojis to bury the first one.
The screen cleared, and Jiang Ciyi replied: [Spicy how?]
[Last night was more like teasing.]
Cheng Xing: “?”