A Time-Limited Romance with Movie Queen Ex - Chapter 30.1

When Rong Qingyao received the reply, she happened to be on a call about whether the company should bid for a plot of land in the city center.

“We’ve conducted on-site surveys of the surrounding area and believe the government is highly likely to develop the region in the coming years. If we successfully secure it, the long-term return on investment could be substantial…”

Rong Qingyao felt her vision go blank. She felt nothing, no emotion at all. Maybe she had misread it.

How could Luo Mijin’s favorite food possibly be cheap fried chicken and cola? That kind of stuff gets so cloying after a while, and flat cola tastes awful.

The subordinate on the phone grew increasingly uneasy at her silence. In meetings, whenever she fell quiet, it was never a good sign.

After waiting a full minute with no response, they tentatively called her name, pulling Rong Qingyao out of the faded quagmire of memories.

“Sorry, I was distracted by something else,” Rong Qingyao murmured, tracing the engraved blue morpho butterfly pattern on the letter. Her expression was neither indifferent nor pained, just unreadable. “What were we saying about the other companies bidding?”

“Director Rong, you don’t seem to be in the best state right now, and it’s getting late. I’ll reorganize the details and discuss them with the team before formally presenting them at the next meeting.”

The subordinate glanced at the time and decided to retreat for now, planning to revise the proposal further and show it to Bai Jinhuai before bringing it back to Rong Qingyao.

“Alright.”

Truthfully, by the time she finished work and arrived at the bar, it was already late. Clutching the letter, Rong Qingyao sat quietly by the window, rereading Luo Mijin’s reply.

Fried chicken, cola, birthdays those words sank into her memories like stones, making it hard to breathe. She needed something to distract herself.

So she stood, drawing back the ivory curtains, and gazed through the pristine glass at the desolate beauty of the snowscape under the night sky. The suffocation in her chest only tightened.

Outside, the world suddenly seemed vibrant. The monotonous streetlights had been replaced with dazzling, multicolored ones. Groups of lively teenagers passed by, heading out for one last snowball fight before the thaw.

The tightly shut window was blown open by the wind, letting in a stream of cold, shimmering light that spilled over the woman’s face, whether anxious or sorrowful, it was impossible to tell.

She couldn’t pinpoint where the pain came from. Her rationality had peeled away, leaving only a heart that could still feel agony. She removed the red cord from around her neck and stared at the black chess piece dangling from it.

The piece had been well preserved, smooth and unblemished, showing no signs of having crossed oceans with its owner, of having wandered lost in foreign lands for seven long years.

The winter wind scattered the lingering warmth from the chess piece, leaving it icy and piercing, just like her entire being, heart and all.

She even wanted to storm into the room next door and demand an explanation from Luo Mijin.

Why was her favorite food the fried chicken they’d shared together?

If she missed that cold fried chicken so much, had she ever thought of her during those seven years apart?

Had she loved her at all during those months of desperate entanglement?

What had happened? Why had she stopped playing chess? Had she faced many hardships? And who had helped her endure the pain?

Why had she reappeared just when Rong Qingyao was about to resign herself to fate and accept that this was how things would be?

Why could she say these things to a stranger?

How laughable, a once privileged young lady from a wealthy family, now fallen into poverty, longing for cheap fried chicken.

That meal of fried chicken and cola didn’t even cost 30 yuan. Back then, even the insignificant mint candy Miss Luo casually gave her was worth over 20 yuan each.

And why did they have to break up?

To defy Luo Mijin’s grandfather, Luo Mijin had abandoned her comfortable life, severed ties with her family, and endured the noise, squalor, and poverty with her in a cramped rented apartment.

This person, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, was willing to cast everything aside and suffer hardship with her so why, in the end, did she still abandon her?

Often, Rong Qingyao felt as if she had been torn apart by the past, split into a neurotic wreck by the Luo Mijin who once said “I love you” and the Luo Mijin who later said “Let’s break up.”

When Luo Mijin believed that Rong Qingyao gave her “happiness that would never disappoint,” had she ever considered that Rong Qingyao, too, had received a promise of “eternal companionship”?

If Luo Mijin said it, she would believe it.

Unbearable doubts and anguish battered Rong Qingyao’s heart. Her breathing grew erratic as she crumpled the letter uncontrollably, then trembled as she smoothed it out again, carefully tucking it into a vacuum-sealed bag for safekeeping.

Returning to the desk, she picked up the pen several times before setting it down again. She wrote a full page, years of unspoken resentment, love, and hatred, only to sober up and cross it all out with strokes of ink.

Taking out a fresh sheet of paper, she composed a calm, collected reply.

[Fox: If I had met you sooner, I would have loved to taste that fried chicken, to see if it was truly as good as you say to experience that “happiness that would never disappoint.”]

Luo Mijin’s reply arrived from next door ten minutes later.

[Riddle: I think that would be difficult. Everyone has their own unique experiences, the taste of food, the mood of the moment, the people around them, all blend into the flavor of that memory. I believe that if you trust in it, you too can create beautiful memories just like mine.]

Convinced she had shaken off her despondency, Rong Qingyao lowered her head and wrote back with poised elegance, her loose strands of hair veiling the feverish flush at the corners of her eyes.

[Fox: Such beautiful memories are rare, not everyone is fortunate enough to have them. I don’t think I’ll ever be that lucky. But I imagine the person who shared that fried chicken with you must have felt incredibly happy in that moment too.]

Luo Mijin’s reply came slowly, just a single line, devoid of any excess emotion.

[Riddle: Yes, in that moment, we were both happy. So, I truly hope she continues to be happy.]

Staring at the word “happy” repeated across the page, Rong Qingyao smiled bitterly, her damp eyes dark as ink.

[Fox: She must have been very important to you, right?]

About five minutes later, Rong Qingyao received Luo Mijin’s response, though not the answer she had hoped for. The ink blot at the beginning of the letter betrayed a hint of hesitation in the writer’s hand.

[Riddle: Life is long. These sparkling moments are precious to each of us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t look forward or prevent more important people from entering others’ lives. New phases bring new people who’ll create beautiful new memories.]

Her response was gentle, lovely, and brimming with hopeful sunshine. Rong Qingyao had once been utterly enchanted by such transparent vitality, but now she felt like a desert traveler drained of all moisture and life.

The chaotic thoughts in her mind suddenly stilled. The inner turmoil and external agitation shattered and froze. She couldn’t perceive any sounds or emotions, only the heavy thumping of her own heart.

Thump. Thump. Proof she was still alive.

Only someone who’d moved on could say such things, right?

She’d thought, she’d thought mentioning fried chicken to a stranger meant Luo Mijin still remembered, still clung to those memories like she did.

But now it seemed those were just casual recollections, no different from mentioning how good yesterday’s convenience store ice cream tasted.

Their story had long since ended, its petals fallen, waters cooled, dust settled. Yet she kept deluding herself about rekindling what was gone.

When forced to flee abroad penniless for studies, her final thought boarding the plane wasn’t about future success, revenge, or showing off but about returning with flowers and butterflies to find Luo Mijin again.

The saying that hate outlasts love didn’t seem to apply to Rong Qingyao.

Pity. She was the only one still trapped in the past.

This realization left her utterly drained. Her heart barely bothered beating as hollow exhaustion bordering on despair spread through her limbs.

She wanted to slowly close her eyes and lie down or better yet, be buried in snow.

After a long while, she finally picked up her pen to reply.

[Fox: You’re truly enlightened. The past should stay past, the future matters most. Thank you for sharing so thoughtfully. If you ever face difficulties, I’d be happy to listen and help however I can.

Lastly, I sincerely wish you ever greater happiness.]

[Riddle: Thank you, Miss Fox. Though we’ve just met, you seem wonderful. May you find more happiness too, leaving unhappy memories behind.]

A “nice person” card?

Rong Qingyao chuckled bitterly at herself, apparently she excelled at self-inflicted humiliation.

Any desire to continue this exchange with Luo Mijin vanished. At least for tonight.

Whether she’d ever find the courage and strength again remained an unsolvable mystery.

She sat for hours in the neon-lit bar room, surrounded by garish decor and thick with revelry’s scent.

Opening her laptop, she logged into her work email and lost herself in tasks.

Suddenly the decadent atmosphere disappeared. The psychedelic electronic music was drowned out by keyboard clatter.

By early morning, she removed her silver-framed glasses. Delicate fingers took out a clean microfiber cloth, meticulously polishing the lenses.

She wiped them obsessively, over and over until not a speck of dust remained on the smooth surfaces.

Her slightly tousled long hair cascaded over soft, delicate skin as she sat sideways on a classic velvet sofa, gently holding a black hair tie between her teeth. Her flawless complexion glowed translucently under the moonlight, pure as snow.

After readjusting her light cardigan and black overcoat, Rong Qingyao donned her beret, with stray strands of hair partially obscuring her distant-mountain-like delicate brows.

Her expression calm, she gracefully made her way out, once again fully armored as that impeccable adult.

The drowsy attendant standing in the corridor was abruptly startled awake by the sight of the woman’s aloof and solitary figure bathed in moonlight.

“Wait, is that Miss Fox?”

“Yes, that’s me. Is there something you need?” Rong Qingyao, about to call her driver, paused at the voice.

The woman’s vacant eyes seemed shrouded in post-rain mist. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what made her so breathtakingly beautiful in this moment, only that missing such heart-stirring beauty might leave one with lifelong regret.

“You asked not to be disturbed earlier, so I didn’t knock,” the attendant said, lowering his head as he produced an envelope and a bag of blue-packaged chips, quickly handing them to Rong Qingyao. “Miss Fox, Riddle asked us to give this to you before she left.”

Staring at the pristine letter, a clear voice in Rong Qingyao’s mind warned her not to take it, not to read it, to turn and leave immediately.

Yet her body moved first, accepting the letter despite reason’s protests.

When it came to Luo Mijin, she could never make the right choice. She would always wait with open arms, even when she had no strength left.

Perhaps due to haste, Luo Mijin’s wording lacked the restraint and calm of previous letters, even her handwriting appearing somewhat disordered.

Yet there was an inexplicable, irrepressible vitality to it, just as she had once brought to Rong Qingyao.

[Riddle: Miss Fox, it suddenly occurred to me while I’ll never taste that particular fried chicken again, these chips have a somewhat similar flavor. I hope they might bring you a hint of joy tonight. If you’d like cola, just add ice.]

At the letter’s end was a doodled smiley face with adorable dimples.

The attendant watched as the woman, now only her sharp, alluring eyes visible, paced back and forth across the white marble floor.

One moment resolute as if ready to sever all ties, the next hesitating like a little girl longing for candy in a shop window.

Retrieving paper and pen from her briefcase, Rong Qingyao wrote swiftly with her left hand.

“Please give this to Riddle for me. Thank you.”

Along with the letter came a thousand-yuan tip.

The attendant’s eyes lit up uncontrollably. On a good night, he might make one or two thousand in tips now this much just for delivering a letter.

More of this would be wonderful. Those people who called Riddle a little lucky star weren’t wrong she’d brought fortune to everyone at the bar.

Though tempted, his conscience prompted him to add:

“Miss Fox, Riddle has already left, and we don’t know her home address. Next week’s band schedule isn’t set yet either, I’m not sure when this letter could reach her.”

Uncertainty, yet again uncertainty. Rong Qingyao was fully aware she was willingly stepping into a trap with no outcome.

She just couldn’t learn to rein in at the brink.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter which day Riddle reads the letter.”

With that, she left gracefully, her profile occasionally revealed pure as water, aloof and chillingly captivating.

**

On the seventeenth floor, the office was furnished with a finely latticed wooden screen. The small desk held nothing but documents, a computer, and a pen holder, while a dark teapot simmered faintly.

The entire office exuded an austere, old-fashioned restraint except for the walnut cabinet in the breakroom, which housed an assortment of gaming consoles.

“Where’s your boss? It’s barely past eight, and she hasn’t been filming lately. Why isn’t she in the office?” Bai Jinhuai had just come from the lab, hoping to chat with Rong Qingyao, but she was nowhere to be found.

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