After I Started Dating the Scum Gong Substitute, the White Moonlight Returned - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

An ice cube drops into the lozenge-shaped wine glass, and the brown whiskey blooms into a water flower.

A light acidic lemon scent envelops a velvet-smooth mouthfeel. Cheng Jianyu takes a small sip and inhales deeply with contentment; the aroma of oak leaps across the tip of his tongue and throat.

“Buzz…”

On the bar counter, the phone vibrates inappropriately—it’s from an unknown number.

A sneakily taken photo.

The photographer’s camera technique is terrible; the image is so blurry it comes with its own mosaic. Thanks to the high “颜值” (attractiveness) of the two protagonists in the photo, this work was saved from being thrown into the recycle bin.

In a dimly lit corridor, Zhou Jueqing leans against the wall with eyes half-closed. Jiang Yan’s hand is propped beside his face, gazing down from a superior height. The two are inches apart, the atmosphere ambiguous and budding; in the next second, like dry wood and a fierce fire, they might share a hot, deep kiss.

As Jiang Yan’s official partner, this message is a self-evident provocation to Cheng Jianyu.

The surrounding clamor is deafening. The colored lights of the bar flicker across his thin eyelids, making it somewhat difficult to keep his eyes open.

He enlarges the photo, edits, crops, keeps Jiang Yan’s profile, and saves it into an album named “Cute Pet”—all in one smooth motion.

In passing, he neatly blacklists the phone number.

“Jianyu, come, have a drink with me.”

An elegant voice sounds from behind. Cheng Jianyu puts his phone away as if nothing happened and turns around. His teacher, Bei Xinhong, is smiling as he raises a glass.

Cheng Jianyu is a “gold medal” screenwriter.

Strictly speaking, the word “ghostwriter” should be added after screenwriter.

Since joining Bei Xinhong’s studio five years ago, Cheng Jianyu became the dedicated ghostwriter for this illustrious gold-medal screenwriter. In these five years, he published two TV series and three movies under Bei Xinhong’s name. Relying on his excellent screenwriting ability and keen market sense, his works achieved double success in both box office and reputation; Bei Xinhong’s studio earned a fortune.

Today’s company gathering is to celebrate Bei Xinhong bringing back the “Tulip Best Screenwriter” trophy. This trophy is enough to take Bei Xinhong to the next level and secure a place in the Chinese screenwriting world.

Cheng Jianyu lightly clinks glasses. “Congratulations.”

Bei Xinhong holds his wine glass and pats Cheng Jianyu on the back. “Thanks to you helping me proofread; you’ve worked hard these past few months.”

Cheng Jianyu shrugs, smiling but not smiling. “It was indeed hard work.”

Bei Xinhong’s brow twitches violently. He glares at him, then says with feigned gentleness, “Since you find it hard, I’ll give you a week off tomorrow. You can have a good gathering with the big star.”

Cheng Jianyu smiles without speaking, looking at him quietly.

Bei Xinhong feels uneasy all over from being watched. “Jianyu, any thoughts on work lately?”

Cheng Jianyu tilts his head thoughtfully. “I have one.”

“What?” Bei Xinhong is half-sobered and looks at him with expectation.

Cheng Jianyu watches him and says word by word: “I want to resign.”

Bei Xinhong’s whole body shakes, and the other half of his drunkenness clears instantly. He quickly scans the people around them. “What did you say?”

“Our contract has expired,” Cheng Jianyu’s voice is clear and powerful.

The smile on Bei Xinhong’s face stiffens. He became famous early; when he was young, he relied on remaking foreign film and television works to gain a foothold in the screenwriting circle. Some years ago, when the era of copyright arrived, his old ways no longer worked, and he had no choice but to start looking for ghostwriters.

Five years ago, he and Cheng Jianyu signed a dishonorable contract with a five-year term, hiring this fledgling, cutting-edge screenwriter as his behind-the-scenes ghostwriter.

Over these five years, Cheng Jianyu performed very well, working diligently, eating the least grass and producing the most milk—like an honest old ox. It almost made him forget about the contract. He didn’t expect to be bitten out of the blue today.

Bei Xinhong takes a sip of wine, putting on an amiable appearance. “Jianyu, is it because I took the trophy?”

Cheng Jianyu is young and vigorous; seeing him take the trophy and feeling dissatisfied is human nature.

Bei Xinhong says earnestly, “If you like this trophy, I will give it to you in a while, as long as you don’t make a fuss.”

Cheng Jianyu stares at him without blinking. “I don’t need the trophy. Our contract is up. Right now I am notifying you, not discussing with you.”

For the first time, Bei Xinhong looks at him seriously.

Cheng Jianyu is very flavorful/charming.

Even though Bei Xinhong is not a fellow traveler (not gay), relying on a human’s innate aesthetic intuition, he can receive some of that charm.

The young man before him has one hand in his jeans pocket, chin slightly raised. Two buttons of his white shirt collar are open; the lines of his neck are clear and flowing, the hollow of his neck is shallow. Faint blue veins lurk beneath the clear white skin. His jawline is sharp but not pointed, and his eyebrows and eyes are like an unsheathed blade—one that has tasted blood—carrying a cold and killing beauty.

This sharp knife is pressed right against Bei Xinhong’s throat. His breath hitches, and he turns his face away. “If you are tight on money, I can lend you a sum. We’ve cooperated for so many years; we are the closest partners. If you have any difficulties, tell me directly.”

Cheng Jianyu frowns slightly, feeling amused. “Since we are partners, why don’t I have the right to be credited?”

“This…” Bei Xinhong is momentarily speechless. After all, he is a man who wields a pen; he turns his argument and says righteously, “I am doing it for your own good. Without me, who would pay a high price for your work? You child, don’t forget, I am your ‘Bole’ (scout/mentor). If it weren’t for me, could you be where you are today?”

“Teacher.”

Cheng Jianyu uses this long-lost title and says unhurriedly, “Instead of spending time here persuading me, why don’t you think about how to write a good script? Lest the media laughs at you for being at your wit’s end (Jiang Lang’s talents exhausted). What do you say?”

Bei Xinhong simply cannot believe his ears. Is this still the Cheng Jianyu who allowed himself to be kneaded and flattened for five years? How could he say such rebellious words?

His face turns red, and he clenches his fists, ignoring decorum. “Cheng Jianyu, you really don’t want the face I’m giving you. Without me, you are nothing!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Bei Xinhong looks at Cheng Jianyu mockingly. “You think Jiang Yan is your backer?”

Cheng Jianyu narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. Several colleagues look this way in confusion, their gazes probing.

Bei Xinhong lowers his voice, looking at him with pity. “You deserve it. Five years ago you offended Zhou Jueqing, which meant offending half of the capital circles in the entertainment industry. Who dares use your scripts? Who would use your scripts?”

“Except for me who can give you a hand, who cares if you live or die? Jiang Yan? If he really cared about you, would he write songs for Zhou Jueqing? They’re even going to film a movie together, right?”

Cheng Jianyu quietly waits for him to finish his speech and says unhurriedly, “Thank you, Teacher, for your cultivation of me. Unfortunately, I haven’t learned your skills as a long-tongued woman (gossip). I’ve truly disappointed you.”

He speaks slowly, yet it’s like a soft knife, stabbing Bei Xinhong into a state of anxiety. Additionally, fearing that if he truly enrages Cheng Jianyu, they will “break the jade and the stone together” (mutual destruction) and his reputation will be ruined, he can only act tough verbally, saying sarcastically: “Who in the circle doesn’t know about Jiang Yan and Zhou Jueqing? Right now the two of them are probably having fun on your bed. If you go back early, you might catch them in time to clean up the battlefield!”

Cheng Jianyu remains indifferent, hands in his jeans pockets, his posture leisurely. “I will complete the work handover within three months.”

After saying this, he walks a few steps forward. Remembering something, he turns back, looks at the gloomy-faced Bei Xinhong, and lightly pulls a photo from his shirt pocket, placing it on the bar counter.

It is a photo of Bei Xinhong’s wife—his “Shimu”—meeting a man with a child.

There has been a rumor in the company that Mr. Bei’s child doesn’t look like him, but rather looks like his cousin.

“Teacher, a resignation gift for you.” Cheng Jianyu deflects the weight with a light touch.

A single needle draws blood, striking the vital point.

Bei Xinhong’s face loses all color.

The world outside is bright with sunshine. Cheng Jianyu pinches his car keys, glances at the bar’s sign, and says softly: “Goodbye.”

Cheng Jianyu drives back to the villa in the suburbs. It sits against a mountain range with beautiful scenery and fresh air.

Five years ago, after he and Jiang Yan started living together, they moved here. Usually, Jiang Yan is busy with work, flying all over the world, and doesn’t come here more than a few times a month.

The living room is decorated in the minimalist style Jiang Yan likes; the black, white, and gray color scheme reveals a cold oppression.

Cheng Jianyu carefully opens the shoe cabinet. A pair of the latest limited-edition trendy sneakers sits on the shoe rack.

Jiang Yan is back.

Cheng Jianyu smiles lightly, the light in his eyes bright. He walks into the kitchen and takes out a small bag of dog food.

The packaging bag “zips” open. The sound of deng-deng-deng approaches from far to near. In the blink of an eye, a Border Collie with lush black and white fur squats in front of him, round eyes staring longingly at the dog food bag.

“Shh… I’ll feed you first today.”

Cheng Jianyu rubs the furry head and sighs with satisfaction.

The second floor of the villa is Jiang Yan’s private area. Cheng Jianyu pushes open the study door; the solid-colored curtains are half-drawn, and the afternoon sun cuts the floor into clear gray and gold sections.

A man with a tall and slender build leans loosely against the bookshelf. The sleeves of his large sports jacket are rolled up a bit, his wrist bones protruding clearly. His head is slightly lowered, holding a musical score in his hand; a ballpoint pen fluently outlines notes. Hearing the sound of the door opening, he remains motionless.

Cheng Jianyu stands quietly at the door, his breathing shallow. As usual, he makes no sound that would disturb the man.

Until the man closes the music score, turns to sit on the sofa, wantonly spreads his long legs, raises his eyes, glances at Cheng Jianyu, and casually pats his thigh.

Cheng Jianyu obediently sits on the floor, his chin resting on the man’s knee, looking at him from below. “Do you want to eat food first, or… eat me first?”