“From another perspective, don’t you think you’re actually quite cruel?”
Yu Siqing brought this up during a casual chat. She didn’t know Li Mengjue had “picked up” Ruan Qingxiao as well; she was still talking about the kittens.
“How am I cruel?” Li Mengjue asked. She felt she was being a saint. If she hadn’t soft-heartedly checked the alley, those kittens would have vanished in the storm.
“Do you ever consider the emotional side?” Yu Siqing typed. “You’re so attentive now, but once they leave you and you meet them again, you’ll be cold. That kind of gap is hard for anyone to accept.”
“When have I ever been cold?”
“It’s a metaphor! Think about how many broken hearts you’ve left behind.”
“Have you been watching weird TV dramas again?” Li asked.
“How did you know I’m watching The Heartthrob Who Is Oblivious to the Shura Field?”
“They’re just kittens,” Li insisted.
“Kittens have feelings too! Kittens deserve human rights!”
Li Mengjue began to suspect that her friend had been driven insane by work.
Yu Siqing was currently on a business trip with a program crew. Their collaboration with a certain “traffic star” was going poorly, and her boss was currently in a meeting discussing replacing him. While it meant more work, seeing a jerk fall from grace made the overtime bearable.
During lunch, a young woman approached her. “Is anyone sitting here?”
Yu Siqing looked up. It was Zeng Qianqian, holding a meal tray and smiling politely. “Hello, Teacher Yu. There are no other seats, may I sit here?”
Yu Siqing knew this wasn’t the real reason Zeng chose this spot—there were plenty of seats among the suit-clad government employees—but she nodded anyway.
Zeng Qianqian was a junior who had attended the same university as Li and Yu, though in a different year. She had recently made a name for herself by starring in a famous director’s film.
“Teacher Yu,” Zeng finally asked after some small talk, “have you seen Senior Li lately?”
“Not recently,” Yu said. “I’ve been away for work.”
“Oh…” Zeng poked at her food. “Do you know if things have been going well on her set?”
“Probably. We don’t really talk about work.” Especially lately, since their chats were 90% kitten-related.
Zeng Qianqian went quiet. She had originally been cast in Li Mengjue’s current project but had dropped out at the last minute for a “better” movie role. She had kept it a secret from Li until the contracts were signed. Now, the guilt was fermenting.
“Back when we first got the script, we talked every day,” Zeng reminisced. “For my final graduation performance, she stayed at school with me until midnight in the pouring rain to correct my movements. I wouldn’t have gotten that supporting role without her. Director Li told me he only picked me after seeing how well I acted alongside her.”
Actually, it’s because you were cheap and younger than the original choice, Yu Siqing thought.
“I realized later how much she helped me,” Zeng continued, her voice trembling. “But I gave up the opportunity she fought for without hesitation. I feel so sorry. I don’t know if she’s still angry… we haven’t spoken in so long.”
“In your eyes, is Mengjue that narrow-minded?” Yu Siqing asked.
“Of course not!” Zeng gasped. “I just… I feel like I was too much.”
Yu Siqing finished her soup, feeling a bit sickened. Zeng Qianqian was like an elementary schooler pulling a crush’s pigtails to get attention. She probably wanted Li Mengjue to be angry, because anger meant she still mattered.
“Mengjue isn’t petty,” Yu Siqing said, her voice smooth and neutral. “As for her helping you with your acting… don’t take it too much to heart. It really isn’t a big deal to her.”
Zeng froze.
“She’s just serious about the projects she’s in. She would do the same for anyone else,” Yu added with a smile. “You aren’t the only one, so you don’t need to feel like you owe her.”
The look on Zeng Qianqian’s face shattered bit by bit.
Yu Siqing felt a sense of satisfaction. She left for her meeting, deciding not to tell Li Mengjue about the encounter.
Li Mengjue was “passive-aggressive” in the most unintentional way. She was a natural mentor, guiding juniors so that the filming would go faster and she could go home earlier. But juniors often mistook this professional kindness for “love.” Once the project ended, Li would immediately retreat to a polite, distant range. Those who couldn’t handle the “cold palace” treatment were left obsessed and heartbroken.
Li Mengjue was a woman who was gentle on the surface but made of iron on the inside.
Back at the apartment, Li Mengjue was checking her fridge. After two days and eight meals of “Li Mengjue’s Home Cooking,” Ruan Qingxiao was looking a bit pale.
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner… only celery and eggs left,” Li announced.
Ruan’s face turned green. She hated celery. But she assumed Li loved it, so she looked torn between her manners and her stomach.
Li Mengjue couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. “I’ll take you out to eat tonight.”
Ruan’s eyes lit up instantly. “What about the celery?”
“I’ll throw it out. It’s been in there too long anyway,” Li said.
Ruan looked like she had just won the lottery. She’s so easy to coax, Li thought. Just like a child.
While Ruan went to get ready, Li’s phone rang. It was Zeng Qianqian.
Ruan, sitting at the vanity, eavesdropped. She heard Li say, “Xiao Zeng? Calling so late, is something wrong?” and then a casual, “I see, what a coincidence.”
Ruan relaxed. She didn’t know who “Xiao Zeng” was, but the tone Li used was the exact same polite, generic tone she used with the hospital nurses.
“Xiao Zeng” was clearly not a threat.