After I Started Dating the Scum Gong Substitute, the White Moonlight Returned - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jiang Yan has the habit of morning jogging. At six o’clock, the suburban sky is a hazy gray. Running along the mountain roads for an hour, breathing the fresh air, makes him feel refreshed and clear-headed.

When he returns home, the living room has been cleaned spotlessly. On the dust-free dining table, two drinks are placed side by side: freshly squeezed orange juice and an Americano, for his choosing.

No matter how meticulous or considerate a hired servant is, they cannot compare to Cheng Jianyu. Jiang Yan grew up abroad and is accustomed to European and Western-style breakfasts; for this reason, Cheng Jianyu specifically took Western cooking classes. He can serve a month’s worth of breakfasts without ever repeating a dish.

Cheng Jianyu has no hobbies; his only hobby is clinging to Jiang Yan and revolving around him. In the early years, Cheng Jianyu’s cleverness and obedience greatly satisfied Jiang Yan’s desire for conquest. In the last two years, it has become more and more uninteresting, like a glass of tasteless plain water.

But then again, a person cannot live without drinking water.

After Jiang Yan finishes his coffee, the kitchen is filled with the aroma of fried eggs, which entices the appetite. He leans against the doorframe.

Cheng Jianyu is wearing a black apron. The two slender apron straps cross over his lower back and are tied into a neat bow. His thin waistline is visible at a glance. Jiang Yan narrows his eyes slightly and raises his hand to knock on the door.

Cheng Jianyu is currently cutting vegetables. He turns around. “I made French toast. Is there anything else you want to eat?”

Jiang Yan strides over, encircling him between his arms against the kitchen counter. He lowers his head into Cheng Jianyu’s neck and takes a deep sniff. The red “stamp” printed last night is freshly blooming, and the white tea body wash smells light and sweet. “Tomorrow, wear nothing but the apron for me to see.”

Cheng Jianyu glances at him and unties the apron straps. “What do you want to do?”

Jiang Yan bites his clean white earlobe with neither too much nor too little force. “You.”

Having just experienced a hearty and dripping battle last night, Cheng Jianyu hasn’t recovered his strength yet. His calves feel weak. Covering his moist ear, he says, “Stop messing around. Did you see the cake in the fridge?”

“Threw it away.” Jiang Yan says nonchalantly. Last night, the servant was restocking the fridge and pulled out a small box containing an unopened cake. Because the date couldn’t be determined, its destination became the trash can.

Cheng Jianyu is stunned. He takes a deep breath. “Oh.”

“Very disappointed?” Jiang Yan pats his face, the smile at the corners of his mouth devoid of temperature. “Who bought the cake for you?”

Cheng Jianyu moves his shoulders, attempting to evade Jiang Yan’s embrace, but he is held even tighter. He remains silent for a few seconds, then says softly, “I bought it myself.”

“Liar.” Jiang Yan doesn’t believe it’s true. Cheng Jianyu loves him to death; besides, would Cheng Jianyu have the guts to be half-hearted?

He just wants to find any random excuse to bully Cheng Jianyu, to make Cheng Jianyu clearly understand who he is. Jiang Yan tilts his head and bites the hickey on the side of his neck. Cheng Jianyu lets out a “hiss,” shivering from the pain. Jiang Yan’s voice comes unhurriedly into his ear, gentle yet cold: “If I find out you are involved with someone else, I’ll break your legs.”

Cheng Jianyu stays quiet for a moment, then turns his head like a docile elk and obediently rests it on Jiang Yan’s shoulder. “If you break my legs, I won’t be able to ride on top of you anymore. Would you have the heart to do that?”

“What kind of ‘heat’ are you in?” Jiang Yan laughs lowly. His hand supports the underside of Cheng Jianyu’s thigh, pushing him to sit on the kitchen counter. Cheng Jianyu’s back bumps against the natural gas stove; he instinctively supports himself on the edge of the cold counter. “Don’t you like it when I’m ‘loose’?”

The end of his sentence is wrapped in sweet honey, upturned like a bee’s stinger.

Jiang Yan answers his question with action, ripping the buttons of Cheng Jianyu’s fragile shirt. Cheng Jianyu’s stomach aches slightly, and he struggles weakly a few times. Jiang Yan is a thorough man of action; in just a few minutes, Cheng Jianyu’s fingers gripping the counter turn white with force before he finally swallows the physiological sounds in his throat.

The fried egg in the pan was made into a heart shape using a mold, and a smiley face was ingeniously drawn with ketchup. The scorching temperature slowly cools as time passes; it turns into a sticky, congealed mess at the bottom of the pan, becoming leftovers and scraps.

The black and white Border Collie lies lazily at the door, sticking out its tongue and yawning, looking boredly at the bright flowers in the courtyard. Suddenly, a clean hand reaches out to rub its furry head, and a soft voice asks: “How about I give you canned food today?”

…

Bei Xinhong’s Studio.

Since they completely tore off their faces last time, Bei Xinhong simply drops his hypocritical mask and skips the pleasantries. He goes straight to the point with a command: “Cheng Jianyu, I want to see the second half of this script within a month.”

Cheng Jianyu still has a piece of “homework” that hasn’t been handed in—a suspense mystery script. Bei Xinhong has already submitted the first half to the investment company; the other party is very satisfied, the price offered is irresistible, and they have invited the famous director Liang Qiu to join.

As an academic director, Liang Qiu has been active for decades. He is best at combining commercial films with art films—a magic touch. Movies labeled as Liang Qiu’s works are hits one after another with excellent reputations, and he is jokingly called the “Treasure Director” by the media and netizens.

If he can collaborate with Liang Qiu, Bei Xinhong’s career will reach the next level. Piles of gold and jade are right before his eyes, within reach.

Cheng Jianyu has his hands idly in his pockets. He says slowly, “I have no inspiration. I can’t write it.”

“You mean the money isn’t enough?” Bei Xinhong sneers, takes a bank card out of a drawer, and flings it onto the table. “Do you have inspiration now?”

Cheng Jianyu shakes his head calmly without saying a word. Bei Xinhong is in a hurry to chase a bright future; how could he let this stumbling block stand in his way? He attempts to prescribe the right medicine for the symptoms: “Cheng Jianyu, your work will be directed by Liang Qiu. Are you not looking forward to it? What are you still hesitating for?”

Cheng Jianyu’s gaze wavers, looking thoughtful. Bei Xinhong pursues the victory: “I don’t even want the writing fee for this script. As long as you are willing to write, all the money is yours.”

Cheng Jianyu lowers his head, looking at the tips of his shoes. “I don’t need money.”

Bei Xinhong assumes he is being pretentious; how could there be anyone in the world who doesn’t need money? “You don’t need money, but does your aunt with cancer not need money? She raised you; you can’t just ignore her, right? I’ve looked into it—chemotherapy costs several thousand a time. Can you afford that?”

Cheng Jianyu falls silent.

Like a fisherman, Bei Xinhong throws the bait again: “Even if you don’t think of your aunt, think of yourself. If Jiang Yan gets tired of you, what will you do?”

Cheng Jianyu says hesitantly, “I’ll consider it.”

Bei Xinhong feels a sigh of relief in his heart. As expected, it was settled with money. How could anyone in this world not like money?

As for the promise made to Cheng Jianyu—the structure of the screenwriting industry is complex. Receiving the writing fee requires waiting until after the investor releases the project. By then, who knows how long it will have been? Who is going to prove he ever said that? And who would be willing to testify?

Although Cheng Jianyu is shrewd, he is still too young!

Cheng Jianyu’s personal belongings in the studio are pitifully few: aside from a laptop, there are only two pots of lush green plants.

The news of his resignation has spread like wildfire. Cheng Jianyu’s name is famous in this small studio of thirty people. Five years ago when he first joined, everyone expected this newcomer—whose very first script had famous directors and producers breaking down his door, offering a thousand gold pieces for a single word—to be a rising star of boundless glory…

But everyone misjudged him. They thought he was a great Peng bird soaring ninety thousand miles, but he turned out to be a fleeting, dimly lit shooting star.

The studio employees say privately that President Bei is generous, having supported Cheng Jianyu for five years for nothing. Cheng Jianyu has finally become sensible enough to pack his bags and get lost.

Cheng Jianyu opens his laptop and sits down. “An An, send me the investor’s contract.”

Based on his memory, he drags the mouse to the last page. His gaze calmly skims over a line of the agreement, and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

[If Party B fails to deliver the script within the agreed period, the liquidated damages shall decrease daily by 5% of the total remuneration for this play until Party B fulfills the agreement.]

It’s a pity, but Teacher Bei won’t be getting this money.

Cheng Jianyu stretches. “An An, I’ll temporarily leave my laptop here with you. Don’t let anyone touch it.”

An An stands up and nods. She has no background and is clumsy with words; she belongs to the lowest “shrimp” level of the studio. Only Cheng Jianyu treats her as a friend. “Brother Yu, is your desktop screensaver Jiang Yan?”

“It’s him.” Cheng Jianyu glances at Jiang Yan’s handsome and sharp face; his lower body reflexively feels weak and achy.

An An hesitates to speak. The phrase “Top Traffic” is well-deserved for Jiang Yan. From his debut until now, he has steadily released one album a year, every single one a masterpiece. In this era where the record industry is on the verge of death, he has single-handedly attached a ventilator to the industry.

There is a widely circulated saying in the fandom: “Eyes down, he is a God; eyes up, he is a Demon.”

Coming along with the white-hot popularity are incessant scandals—half true, half false, and hard to distinguish.

The most famous among them involves Jiang Yan and Cheng Jianyu. A few years ago, someone photographed them vacationing abroad. On a winter night where water turned to ice, Cheng Jianyu waited in line all night just to buy a pair of limited-edition sneakers. At that time, the media headline was: #Suspected Friend of Jiang Yan Waits in Line Late at Night, Holding Sneakers and Striving for Love#.

It caused a thousand waves, but Jiang Yan’s management team neither admitted nor denied it, allowing the public to speculate. Even today, besides insiders who know Cheng Jianyu and Jiang Yan are indeed a couple, outsiders are still confused.

“Brother Yu, is Jiang Yan your boyfriend?” An An asks cautiously.

Cheng Jianyu pauses, seems to smile slightly, raises his head from the laptop, and says casually: “No.”