The person on the other end of the line was Zeng Qianqian.
Ruan Qingxiao reacted almost instantly. This was the newcomer actress whose role she had personally replaced. Her movements came to a complete halt as she focused intently on the voices coming from outside the room.
Li Mengjue made no effort to hide the conversation or lower her volume. This suggested that the call wasn’t something she felt the need to keep from Ruan Qingxiao, and likely had very little to do with her at all.
Still, Ruan Qingxiao felt a prickle of nerves.
Her assistant, Zheng, had later given her a fragmented account of how she ended up in this production. Perhaps because Zheng didn’t consider it a major detail, the explanation had been vague.
Regarding how the pre-amnesiac Ruan Qingxiao had pulled strings to get Zeng Qianqian on the audition list, increased the sponsorship, and requested private meetings with Director Li—Assistant Zheng had simply filed all of it under “Ruan Qingxiao’s Pursuit of a Star Checklist.”
Though the details were blurry, Ruan Qingxiao could piece together the truth based on her own inclinations. She couldn’t remember if she had ever spoken to Zeng Qianqian directly, but she guessed that, initially, she must have been incredibly envious of this newcomer who had caught Li Mengjue’s eye at first glance. It was hard to say if she had acted impulsively out of a clouded mind simply because Li Mengjue cared so much.
Ruan Qingxiao felt a lingering unease regarding the situation with Zeng Qianqian. It had been her own unilateral decision, and she didn’t know if Li Mengjue held a grudge. Later, hearing that Li Mengjue and Zeng Qianqian hadn’t had a falling out, she worried the latter might be complaining behind her back.
Even though the “Young Mistress” felt the girl had no right to complain, Sister Li was undeniably a soft-hearted, good person. She might actually listen to such “slander.” Consequently, Ruan Qingxiao had kept her mouth shut.
It wasn’t until this moment that Ruan Qingxiao realized she might have guessed wrong.
On the phone, Zeng Qianqian seemed to be inviting Li Mengjue out for a meal. The timing was unclear, but Li Mengjue declined politely. She was currently preparing for her scenes and truly had no time for distractions.
If they were close friends, she would have at least added, “Let’s meet when I’m on break,” or at the very least, offered a polite “after filming is over.” But Li Mengjue simply refused without making any promises. Instead, she skillfully pivoted the conversation back to the other girl, urging her to focus on her acting. She mentioned that while the director could be harsh, he was truly talented, and his advice would be more incisive than her own.
By the end of the call, the conversation concluded on those professional terms. She didn’t give her a single opening to meet.
Li Mengjue hung up and stood by the foyer, waiting for Ruan Qingxiao. When Ruan Qingxiao emerged from the room looking quite pleased, Li Mengjue didn’t pry; she simply handed her a hat.
Ruan Qingxiao obediently put on the hat and followed Li Mengjue downstairs. Watching the elevator descend, Ruan Qingxiao couldn’t help but ask, “Sister, if someone else had collapsed there that day, would you have taken them home?”
Li Mengjue gave her a surprised look.
—Of course not.
First, it was unlikely a second person would mysteriously collapse at her doorstep. If it were a friend, she would know where they lived and could contact their family or partner. Secondly, not everyone had a background as complex as the Young Mistress, whose family was someone to be guarded against, making the “best option” of calling the police impossible.
Furthermore, they happened to be working together. Li Mengjue couldn’t just watch the Young Mistress end up on the streets or be targeted by suspicious figures, so taking her home was the only choice. If it had been anyone else, she would have called the police without a second thought.
In short, the answer was “No.”
For Ruan Qingxiao, that was enough. She didn’t care about the reasons or the process; she only cared about the result—Ruan Qingxiao was the sole accident. The “exception.”
Ruan Qingxiao lowered her head, unable to suppress a smile.
They went to a high-end restaurant nearby for dinner—a chain warmly recommended by Assistant Zheng, where Ruan Qingxiao held a membership. Supposedly, when the family chef was off-duty, Ruan Qingxiao would have this place deliver her meals.
The chef’s skill at this A-City branch was excellent, and the ingredients were fresh. The “Grand Young Mistress” Ruan finally showed a few hints of satisfaction while eating.
Li Mengjue’s palate wasn’t nearly as refined. She could tell the expensive dinner tasted better than her home cooking, but not to the point of being moved to tears. To her, it was just food to fill her stomach.
After finishing her portion, Li Mengjue set down her chopsticks. She glanced at Ruan Qingxiao, who was looking at the menu, then turned to watch the night view outside the window. One of the perks of being a high-level VIP was being able to choose a quiet dining area with an excellent view even during peak hours.
“What does Sister like to eat?” Ruan Qingxiao asked from across the table.
“Anything. I’m not a picky eater,” Li Mengjue replied.
Ruan Qingxiao scanned the table. Looking at the nearly finished dishes, she really couldn’t tell which ones Li Mengjue preferred. “Home cooking” didn’t provide much of a reference point either.
“Then let’s let the head chef decide. We’ll have a daily recommended set,” Ruan Qingxiao said, crossing off dishes she disliked and beginning to list a menu for the coming week. The restaurant manager stood by, quickly recording her requirements. Personal delivery was another privilege of her VIP status.
Ruan Qingxiao didn’t want Li Mengjue to think she looked down on her cooking, but more than that, Li Mengjue was worried the girl might starve to death first, so she naturally didn’t mind her ordering food from outside. It was more convenient this way.
Li Mengjue only hired domestic help when she was exceptionally busy. When free, she preferred to handle the cleaning and meals herself. Sometimes, if she felt lazy, she’d order takeout or go to a local spot.
“Sister, do you dislike having outsiders coming in and out of the house?” Ruan Qingxiao asked.
“I wouldn’t say I’m that against it,” Li Mengjue thought for a moment. “But if I hand everything over to someone else, I’d feel a bit shiftless just sitting at home.”
Ruan Qingxiao couldn’t quite grasp that logic.
“You could do other things you enjoy—read a book or watch a movie,” Ruan Qingxiao countered. “Housework is a waste of time and energy.”
She also disliked outsiders in her private space. However, she held a deep-rooted belief that her time and energy were valuable and shouldn’t be wasted on menial labor. Her solution was simply to find trustworthy staff.
“I think your time could be spent on more valuable things,” Ruan Qingxiao said instinctively.
“You have a point.” Li Mengjue glanced at her and smiled slightly. “That certainly sounds like a viewpoint a Young Mistress would have.”
Ruan Qingxiao suddenly felt flustered. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
Li Mengjue hadn’t grown up pampered like her. Although Ruan Qingxiao’s memory hadn’t returned and she hadn’t asked about the past, she subconsciously knew that Li Mengjue had likely struggled in the past.
Because of this, Ruan Qingxiao felt that since Li Mengjue was now successful, she shouldn’t have to work so hard. But perhaps this was just one of Li’s old habits. Ruan Qingxiao regretted her words the moment they left her mouth.
But Li Mengjue wasn’t angry.
“I think you misunderstood me,” Li Mengjue said. “I mean that those things are meaningful to me.”
Ruan Qingxiao was dazed. “What meaning?”
Li Mengjue spoke in a gentle tone, tinged with a hint of longing. “The meaning of living. To me, that is what it means to live well.”
Ruan Qingxiao stared at her, speechless.
Li Mengjue walked by her side as they headed back. The street was brightly lit, while above, only a crescent moon was visible in the night sky. The smiling woman was right there, yet she felt as distant as the horizon.
In that instant, a wave of panic washed over Ruan Qingxiao. She instinctively reached out.
Li Mengjue looked confused. “What’s wrong?”
Coming to her senses, Ruan Qingxiao realized she had grabbed the other woman’s wrist. The words on the tip of her tongue—“Don’t go”—were swallowed back down. Her palm felt as hot as the tips of her ears.
“I… I…” Ruan Qingxiao pulled her hand back as if burned, stuttering to find an excuse for her sudden lapse in composure. “I felt like… like someone was watching us.”
The incompetent stalker from before became a convenient excuse.
Li Mengjue’s expression immediately turned serious. She scanned the surroundings. Ruan Qingxiao took the opportunity to shove her clenched hand into her pocket.
“Let’s get back quickly,” Li Mengjue said. She didn’t see anyone suspicious, but it was dinner rush and the streets were crowded. It was possible someone might recognize them.
“Let’s go this way.” Li Mengjue pulled Ruan Qingxiao toward a different direction. “It’s a shortcut.”
This time, she was careful to only pull Ruan Qingxiao by the sleeve. They cut through a small path behind an elementary school. A few of the streetlights were broken, and the few pedestrians there were hurried along, paying no mind to anyone else.
Ruan Qingxiao was still lost in her earlier daze. Walking along the quiet, grey roadside, she desperately wanted to hold Li Mengjue’s hand. She reached out, hesitated, and ultimately settled for grabbing a corner of her coat.
Li Mengjue looked back and seemed to smile, or perhaps it was a look of concern; the light was too dim to tell.
“Are you scared?” Li Mengjue asked softly.
Ruan Qingxiao shook her head. After a pause, she said, “No.”
But her silence was interpreted differently. Li Mengjue reached out and patted her head—an act that was clearly meant to be soothing. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re with me.”
Sensing no resistance, Li Mengjue offered her hand to Ruan Qingxiao. “If you don’t mind, you can hold onto me. It’ll be faster this way.”
Ruan Qingxiao gave a soft “Mm” and finally got her wish, taking Li Mengjue’s hand.
They continued forward. In the darkness, eyes became less useful, making other sensations more acute. Sister Li’s hand was warm and surprisingly strong. Ruan Qingxiao accidentally brushed against her palm and fingertips, feeling a distinct layer of thin calluses.
Before she could wonder about them, Li Mengjue pulled her into an even darker alleyway. On one side was the outer wall of a green space; on the other, a building’s perimeter wall. Low-hanging branches occasionally brushed against the taller woman’s head. The path was so narrow that only one and a half adults could pass at a time, forcing them to walk in single file.
If it had been anyone else, Ruan Qingxiao might have felt alarm. She had no memory of knowing Li Mengjue before, but the moment the thought “This is Li Mengjue” entered her mind, all doubt and suspicion vanished.
It was a form of total, inexplicable trust—if it’s her, it’s okay even if she kills me.
Just how much did my past self like her?
Ruan Qingxiao stared at Li Mengjue’s back, lost in thought, yet she found nothing wrong with such an extreme sentiment.
The moment of distraction felt brief. Ruan Qingxiao saw the bright lights at the end of the path. Once they emerged from the alley, the entrance to the residential complex was right there, just two crosswalks away.
Through the glow of the streetlamp, Ruan Qingxiao saw a stray leaf stuck to Li Mengjue’s hair. But the thought swirling in her mind was something else entirely:
This path was far too short.