After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's "White Moonlight" - Chapter 24

Ji Yun possessed the classic look of a wealthy socialite. As long as she wasn’t in front of Cheng Siyu, she carried a natural air of cold detachment, often giving off an imposing, sharp impression of superiority.

Cheng Siyu hadn’t noticed this before, but after her mother passed away, Ji Yun’s temperament had gradually shifted—or perhaps she was simply revealing her true colors. Coincidentally, this was exactly the version of Ji Yun that Cheng Siyu now rejected.

“Mm, it’s alright,” Cheng Siyu replied casually, pretending to flip through her script.

“I guess you’ve become immune after filming with her for so long.”

Even though Ji Yun’s looks were exactly Li Yexing’s type, she kept Zhao Xixi’s warning in mind: it was best not to get involved with people from the upper circles.

Before the “recognition” scene, there was a scene where Lan Yulin, having just learned of her true identity, goes to a bar to drown her sorrows.

Ji Yun changed into a deep blue shimmering gold gown prepared by the props department. With makeup that highlighted her nobility, her silhouette appeared more fluid, and the strengths of her features were put on full display.

The moment Cheng Siyu saw her, her heart skipped a beat. For a split second, she felt as if she had been transported back to her previous life, staring at the high-and-mighty Ji Yun of the past.

It wasn’t until the director shouted “Action!” that Cheng Siyu was snapped back to reality.

The eyes of everyone on set were drawn to the radiant Ji Yun; no one noticed the brief flash of dread that had crossed Cheng Siyu’s eyes.

In the original novel, this segment featured Lan Yulin laughing and chatting with her best friend while revealing her plan to seduce Duan Xiaohe. Here, however, it had been changed: Lan Yulin was crying to her friend, expressing her confusion and fear of the unknown.

Whether it was Cheng Siyu’s imagination or not, watching the glamorously dressed Ji Yun sobbing in someone’s arms felt discordant to her.

Usually, when the real Ji Yun encountered trouble, she would simply radiate an aura of “do not disturb” and then drink herself into a stupor. However, since her rise to fame in the entertainment industry, her method of venting had shifted to satisfying her lust—sleeping with all sorts of women.

Thinking of this, Cheng Siyu suddenly felt that her past self-had been nothing more than a trash can. Whenever Ji Yun finished sleeping with another woman, she would toss a check to make the woman leave, then call Cheng Siyu to come over and clean up the mess.

Back then, Cheng Siyu had viewed it as a blessing. Now, thinking back, it only made her feel nauseous.

While Cheng Siyu was lost in her memories, Ji Yun had already finished filming and sat down beside her. Her crying scene only required three takes—an impressive feat for an actress who had only done one previous project.

As soon as she sat, she asked Cheng Siyu eagerly, “Sister, how was my acting just now?”

Realizing her behavior might be a bit unbecoming, she immediately masked her expression and put on a cold face. Li Yexing, noticing this from the side, let out a snicker.

“So you two actually have a good relationship. I thought you weren’t close,” the familiar soft voice rang in Cheng Siyu’s ear, finally waking her from her daze.

“It’s average. We aren’t that close,” Cheng Siyu replied quickly, trying to distance herself from Ji Yun. These words stung Ji Yun’s ears, but she figured Cheng Siyu was just upset because she had broken their agreement.

The next scene was supposed to be the “recognition” scene, but since Si Fei had yet to show up, the director decided to film the scene where Lan Yulin takes Duan Xiaohe to her room first.

“You were born only a few hours before me, so I’ll call you ‘Sister’.”

The scene depicted the elegantly dressed Lan Yulin leading the simply dressed Duan Xiaohe through the villa to find her room.

Looking at the massive house, Duan Xiaohe appeared lost and overwhelmed. The clothes she was wearing had cost her a long time’s worth of savings, yet compared to Lan Yulin’s outfit, they looked like nothing.

“Okay,” Duan Xiaohe stammered after a long pause.

Lan Yulin then led her to a room on the third floor and opened the door for her.

“This is your room.” After the door opened, Duan Xiaohe stared at the luxurious decor, hesitant to step inside. Lan Yulin reached out and pulled her in.

“You can rest here. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me. Have we added each other on WeChat yet?”

“Thank you.” Duan Xiaohe finally recovered from her shock and hurriedly pulled an outdated off-brand phone from her pocket, nearly fumbling her passcode in her haste.

“It’s okay, no rush.” Lan Yulin pulled Duan Xiaohe down onto a soft sofa by the door. It was a single-seat chair, causing their bodies to suddenly press together.

Duan Xiaohe instinctively tried to stand up, afraid that the stains on her clothes would ruin Lan Yulin’s princess dress, but the latter just smiled and said it was fine.

In that moment, Duan Xiaohe felt her heart being warmed just like her body.

“You look so much like Mother when you smile,” Lan Yulin suddenly said, looking at Duan Xiaohe.

Cheng Siyu dazed for a moment. This seemed to be a line from the original novel. The scene was supposed to end there, but since the director hadn’t called “Cut,” she had to continue acting according to the original plot.

“Your eyes are just like Father’s. When I was little, he would always watch over me and coax me to sleep.”

As she spoke, Duan Xiaohe lowered her head. In that dysfunctional family, her adoptive father had been the only source of light, but he had died an untimely death when she was five. After that, her adoptive mother was even more convinced that she was a “jinx,” subjecting her to constant verbal and physical abuse, often kicking her out of the house.

By the time Duan Xiaohe snapped out of it, a single tear had rolled down her cheek. She hurriedly explained, “I’m sorry, I got distracted,” but Ji Yun, much like the Lan Yulin of the novel, used her slender fingers to wipe away the tear.

“It’s okay. From now on, I’ll stay with you in his place.”

“Cut!”

The director’s voice finally came. Cheng Siyu sat on the sofa, unable to break character for a long time. After Ji Yun stood up, she paused and looked back at her.

Just now, looking into Ji Yun’s eyes… once upon a time, Ji Yun had said the same thing to her. After Cheng Siyu mentioned her mother’s early passing, Ji Yun had tucked a stray hair behind her ear and whispered, “I’ll take care of you in her place from now on.”

But those words, like all those unfulfilled promises, had eventually been forgotten in some corner of the soul.

Coincidentally, a photographer on the side captured this moment, which would later become a viral “leaked” set photo.

While everyone was still immersed in the atmosphere of the scene, the silence was broken by the hurried arrival of Si Fei.

“Sorry, Director. I stayed up too late with my husband last night, so I’m late today.”

Though she said she was sorry, her pace was slow and steady, showing not a hint of actual urgency.

The director was used to big-shot actors with powerful backing and simply told her to go get her makeup done.

By now, Cheng Siyu had finally snapped out of it. She stood up and locked eyes with Ji Yun for a brief moment—her gaze complex and tinged with sadness—before walking back to her seat.

“Sister Siyu, you acted so well! I just heard the director praising you.”

Lin Zhizhi handed Cheng Siyu some water while incessantly repeating the compliments from the director and screenwriter. Cheng Siyu wasn’t in high spirits, but she didn’t interrupt, listening quietly.

Unexpectedly, these words were overheard by Si Fei, who replied spitefully, “Some people get praised a few times and think they’re floating in the sky. It’s just a lack of exposure to the world.”

“You—” Lin Zhizhi started to retort, but Cheng Siyu stopped her and countered calmly, “Not as much exposure as you had getting splashed with red wine, I suppose.”

“You—” Si Fei’s flushed face turned green instantly. She wanted to snap back, but the screenwriter was already waiting for her to go over the lines, so she could only stomp away in frustration.

After getting rid of Si Fei, Cheng Siyu was about to return to her seat when she noticed Ji Yun chatting happily with Yu Huairei, the actress playing her best friend. So, she and Lin Zhizhi sat in a nearby waiting area instead.

“Sister Siyu, we’re on the trending searches.” Not long after sitting down, Lin Zhizhi handed her phone to Cheng Siyu. The trending topic read: “Real or Fake? Leaked Set Photo.”

Cheng Siyu took the phone and clicked the link. It was the photo of her sitting on the sofa unable to break character while Ji Yun watched her quietly.

The comments below were a mix of good and bad—some praised the casting for fitting the characters perfectly, while others complained about plot changes. Cheng Siyu skimmed through them and handed the phone back to Lin Zhizhi, returning to her script.

However, when she turned back a moment later to ask Lin Zhizhi a few questions, she caught a glimpse of a photo on Lin Zhizhi’s screen featuring a woman with a stunning physique. Lin Zhizhi’s eyes were practically sparkling.

“Zhizhi?” Cheng Siyu asked tentatively. Lin Zhizhi froze for a few seconds before reacting, her face turning bright red as she quickly shut off the screen.

“Wh-what is it, Sister Siyu?”

Cheng Siyu had noticed that the screen was displaying a rather “skimpy” photo of a female model. Even though Lin Zhizhi had turned the screen off with lightning speed, her “innocent flower” image had completely crumbled in Cheng Siyu’s eyes.

“No, I just wanted to say… your phone case is quite nice. Where did you buy it?”

The image she just saw had made Cheng Siyu forget the questions she wanted to ask. In her panic, she grabbed the first excuse she could find.

“Th-this? An ex-girlfriend g-gave it to me. If you want one, I can… go ask for you?” Lin Zhizhi didn’t dare look Cheng Siyu in the eye, her voice stuttering.

“That sounds like too much trouble, never mind then.” Cheng Siyu didn’t press her further and acted as if she didn’t care, adding a redundant, “I didn’t see anything just now, really.”

Hearing this, Lin Zhizhi wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. After a long pause, she managed to squeeze out a soft “Mm.”

Just then, Si Fei’s voice drew everyone’s attention, rescuing Lin Zhizhi from her embarrassment—though the news wasn’t good.

“I think I have too few lines. Wouldn’t it be better to just film according to the script I brought?”

“Sister Si Fei, if we change it like that, the other two leads won’t have any scenes left.”

The screenwriter was clearly seeing this for the first time—Si Fei had brought her own heavily modified script and was demanding the crew film it her way.

“If they don’t have scenes, they don’t have scenes. Just make each episode longer and they’ll have some.”