After the Black Moonlight’s "Death Escape" Failed [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 51.1

Chapter 51.1: Taking Her Home

◎ I fell in love with you at first sight ◎

The moment those words left their mouths simultaneously, the scene plunged into an instant, dead silence.

The shouting and the camera flashes ceased for a heartbeat before erupting again like a volcanic explosion; the blinding light was so intense it was nearly impossible to keep one’s eyes open.

However, both Wen Fengyue and Jiao Qingyin managed their expressions perfectly, without even an extra blink.

One had grown up under the lens and was long accustomed to being hounded; aside from a flicker of emotion upon hearing Jiao Qingyin mention “pursuit,” Wen Fengyue’s face remained its usual mask of cold indifference.

The other was someone who threw flashbangs on battlefields daily; a little camera flare was entirely ignorable to Jiao Qingyin.

“Teacher Jiao, is the ‘pursuit’ you mentioned in a romantic sense? Are you serious?”

“When did your pursuit of the Best Actress begin?”

“Has Teacher Wen accepted?”

“Since you are both women, is Jiao Qingyin planning to officially come out?”

The media hadn’t expected to capture such a massive scoop today. Compared to “Leads of ‘Satellite’ Suspected of Discord, Backstage Brawl Ensues,” the headline “Jiao Qingyin Boldly Comes Out to Confess to Wen Fengyue, Intense Pursuit Backstage” was clearly more eye-catching.

Though same-sex marriage laws had been promoted across Planet Blue years ago, it wasn’t the mainstream. Influenced by traditional views, few celebrities in the entertainment industry came out publicly, let alone placed their pursuit so openly in the spotlight.

In front of them, Jiao Qingyin was a rising rookie with skyrocketing popularity, while Wen Fengyue was a Best Actress who had been famous for years. Despite her recent negative press, she had a massive fan base. If there truly was a spark between these two, it would cause a minor earthquake in the industry.

Pursuit… Wen Fengyue’s fingers curled slightly at her side. She felt that Jiao Qingyin was simply following the company’s arrangement to engage in “bundled marketing” with her.

She suddenly had a strong urge for another cigarette.

But that thought was short-lived, interrupted by a small gesture—Jiao Qingyin lightly squeezed her palm.

Under the fervent gaze of the media and the countless eyes behind the cameras, Jiao Qingyin winked at the Wen Fengyue who was looking at her.

This girl… Wen Fengyue’s breath hitched for a moment. Her mind went blank for a few seconds before she heard Jiao Qingyin tell the reporters:

“My wording just now might have caused a misunderstanding, so let me correct it—it is I, in the drama Satellite, who am pursuing Teacher Wen, who plays a university professor.”

Satellite was a dual-female-lead drama featuring many queer elements. The story revolved around a girl with a hearing impairment and the university professor she loved. Their love was part innocent, part twisted; under a veneer of warm daily life surged dark undercurrents, and the ending was a tragedy.

The drama was adapted from a popular web novel with well-known plot points. Once Jiao Qingyin spoke, the media recalled a scene from the original work where the leads had a confrontation in front of a restroom.

But the reporters weren’t satisfied with an official PR response. Seeing Jiao Qingyin dodge the main issue, they continued to press relentlessly.

Two managers stepped forward to block them. Jiao Qingyin had clarified enough; there was no need to answer any more redundant questions.

They were highly satisfied with Jiao’s reaction. Her words had provided both a hook and a twist. If not for the crowd, both managers would have praised her for her deep understanding of public relations strategy.

Once the hot searches went live today, the popularity of Satellite and the lead CP would likely skyrocket.

Under the managers’ direction, the security and assistants finally became useful. They dispersed the crowd, blocked the cameras, and shielded Jiao Qingyin and Wen Fengyue, leading them to the dressing room for touch-ups before heading to the event site.

Once free from the media, the first thing Wen Fengyue wanted to do was shake off Jiao Qingyin’s hand, but once again, Jiao Qingyin let go first.

“I almost let it slip just now,” Jiao Qingyin smiled at Wen Fengyue. “I hope Teacher Wen isn’t angry.”

Wen Fengyue remained silent. While she processed her response, Jiao Qingyin had already been ushered to the mirror by a makeup artist.

“Little Jiao, why is your lipstick gone?” the artist asked while rummaging through a bag. “Did you eat a candy?”

No, she smoked a cigarette, Wen Fengyue thought.

Not only did she smoke, but she also coughed until her eyes watered. It was incredibly embarrassing.

Wen Fengyue sat down at her own mirror. Although she and Jiao Qingyin were sitting diagonally back-to-back, she could see the other woman’s face clearly through the reflection.

Currently, Jiao Qingyin was wearing a gentle smile while chatting with the makeup artist, a small brush dusting sparkles across her face.

Wen Fengyue turned her head away.

She felt her throat was dry—she likely hadn’t drunk enough water today.

The rest of the event was utterly boring for Wen Fengyue. She played her part as a “star” as usual, wearing a perfunctory fake smile and giving diplomatic speeches before lifting her skirt and returning to her seat under the applause.

The only difference was the vivid figure beside her. Not vivid in a visual sense, but a psychological one.

Wen Fengyue felt that Jiao Qingyin was… different from everyone else. As for where the difference lay, she couldn’t say—perhaps she was just annoying in a different way.

“Teacher Wen.”

Hearing Jiao Qingyin’s soft call, Wen Fengyue turned her head instantly. She immediately regretted it—reacting so quickly made it look like she had been waiting for the other to speak to her.

Jiao Qingyin didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness; she simply reached out and handed over her optical computer.

Is she asking for my account? Wen Fengyue’s lips twitched as she prepared to refuse, only to see Jiao Qingyin tap the screen with a slender finger. A message page appeared on the floating display.

Manager Ji: “Little Jiao, the company arranged the same cruise ship for you and Wen Fengyue. Remember to leave together when the event ends.”

Manager Ji: “Wen Fengyue blocked Manager Li. Pass the message along and tell her to unblock her.”

Wen Fengyue: “…”

Wen Fengyue looked up at the dazzling stage. “No.”

Jiao Qingyin smiled. “Then, shall we leave together?”

They sat in the audience under countless hovering live-stream drones. Every flinch, every smile, and every gesture would be captured and discussed on the Star-Net.

The optical computer was in anti-peeking mode, so people didn’t know what message they were sharing, but they could see the spring-thaw smile on Jiao Qingyin’s face.

Wen Fengyue remained silent until the end of the event. When the host began the closing remarks, she finally squeezed out two words: “Fine, together.”

Jiao Qingyin and Wen Fengyue walked one after the other back to the familiar deck. Many stars’ cruise ships had already departed, and their company’s vessel was parked near the gate.

Jiao Qingyin’s skirt was very long and adorned with intricate silk roses. Before boarding, she stood by the door and began to lift the hem bit by bit.

Seeing her reveal her smooth, white calves, Wen Fengyue’s expression changed. She stepped forward, blocking Jiao Qingyin, and spoke sharply, “What are you doing?”

Jiao Qingyin looked at her in confusion. “The skirt is too tight. I can’t step into the ship.”

Her expression held a hint of grievance, as if asking Wen Fengyue why she was being so mean.

Wen Fengyue’s throat felt dry again. She tried her best to keep her gaze from wandering while shielding Jiao Qingyin more thoroughly.

“There are cameras watching. Hurry up,” she urged.

But luck was not on their side. Halfway up, Jiao’s skirt got caught on a silk rose. It wouldn’t go up and it wouldn’t go down.

The rose was behind her; Jiao Qingyin couldn’t see what was snagged. She could only turn an urgent, pleading gaze toward Wen Fengyue.

“What should I do?” she whispered urgently.

“…” Wen Fengyue looked down at Jiao Qingyin’s flustered face and noticed her thigh was being constricted by the tight fabric, creating a subtle curve. The troublesome rose was located right near the gap of her legs.

She stared for a full three seconds before gritting her teeth. “How did you even get here?”

“I wore a hoodie to come here and changed into the dress backstage,” Jiao Qingyin answered. She paused, then whispered even softer, “I can’t tear the dress. The company will get mad.”

The veins in Wen Fengyue’s temples throbbed. Just a moment ago, she had been thinking about simply ripping the annoying fabric apart. If it were anyone else, Wen Fengyue wouldn’t have bothered to block the cameras, but Jiao Qingyin—

The other woman bit her lower lip, the corners of her eyes flushed pink. That damp gaze made Wen Fengyue’s breathing hitch. Being watched like this made Wen Fengyue feel like she was drowning.

“…Turn around,” Wen Fengyue said crossly, breaking eye contact after a few seconds.

She held Jiao Qingyin by the shoulders to turn her around and pinched the silk rose.

With her back to Wen Fengyue, the “almost-crying” look on Jiao Qingyin’s face vanished, replaced by a playful, predatory look of success.

Watching the whole scene, the System’s data stream suddenly glitched with a few lines of junk code. It realized only now that ever since the Host arrived in this world, she had seemed to be in a bad mood, but the target of her anger… clearly had no idea.

The System watched from afar as Wen Fengyue untangled the gold thread from the rose. Despite her look of extreme annoyance, her movements were incredibly careful, as if she were repairing a priceless piece of porcelain.

She’s already wrapped around her finger, the System concluded, its database lagging slightly.

It took Wen Fengyue nearly two minutes to solve the problem. Holding a piece of gold thread from God-knows-where, she opened the door and stuffed the person in front of her inside.

“Sit properly,” she glared at Jiao Qingyin. She scanned the deck to ensure no one had photographed Jiao’s state before boarding herself.

In reality, they were so close that the photos caught by the media only showed Wen Fengyue’s back and a tiny corner of Jiao Qingyin’s clothes. But that was enough for the media to spin a story. This photo, along with previous material, hit the Star-Net hot searches.

Wen Fengyue had been in the industry for years. There were many rumors about her, but none were ever confirmed. Fans and haters alike were obsessed with her love life, so as soon as the tag with Jiao Qingyin appeared, it set the Star-Net ablaze.

#Satellite# #JiaoQingyinWenFengyue# #JiaoQingyinIAmPursuingTeacherWen# #WenFengyueAudition# #StarshipDeck#

Because the managers were communicating with the event organizers regarding the day’s incidents, there was no one in the cruise ship except for the autopilot robot, Jiao Qingyin, and Wen Fengyue.

The assistants and logistics staff were in other vehicles. Someone had offered to stay with them, but both women had tactfully refused. Wen Fengyue was solitary by nature and hated meaningless small talk; her team was used to her coldness.

However, the original host of Jiao’s body had always been perceived as warm and cheerful, hiding her dark side deep within. After being rejected, the original host’s assistants were anxious.

They were worried that being alone in the ship, the two would start fighting again. Moreover, the news of Wen Fengyue bullying her juniors was widespread; the assistants didn’t know the truth and assumed it was real, making them even more worried. Unfortunately, the ship was fitted with high-privacy tint, so they couldn’t see inside.

Inside, the Wen Fengyue they were worried about was actually sulking.

They had been sitting in the car for a long time, but aside from saying “thank you” when boarding, Jiao Qingyin hadn’t said a single word. Wen Fengyue had prepared a whole basket of rejections for when the other tried to hit on her, but she hadn’t had the chance to use a single one.

Every time Wen Fengyue saw Jiao move and thought she was about to speak, the other just shifted her posture or straightened her skirt.

For the first time, Wen Fengyue felt the frustration of being ignored, with no outlet for her irritation.

Jiao Qingyin leaned her head against the window, interest piqued as she scrolled through the hot search tags and top comments.

Under the official announcement for Satellite, the top comment was skeptical: [Does anyone really believe it’s an audition? Who auditions backstage at a major gala?]

[Everyone else is at the event, but Wen and Jiao are holding hands on the deck? And you tell me it’s an audition?]

[I can’t believe the former Planet Blue Best Actress has fallen so low as to use a same-sex CP for hype.]

[Who doesn’t know Jiao Qingyin is a stiff-faced eye-candy and Wen Fengyue is a diva who bullies colleagues? How can anyone ship this?]

[But they look so good together! They had an intimate conversation for three minutes by the ship! I see pink bubbles!]

Ignoring the obvious bot comments, Jiao Qingyin found that most people thought they were just hyping the new drama; few took her “pursuit” seriously.

As she scrolled, Jiao Qingyin noticed that comments insulting her disappeared quickly, while those insulting Wen Fengyue remained and even saw periodic surges in likes.

It was obvious who was manipulating the data.

With the System’s help, Jiao Qingyin opened a burner account with an untraceable IP and joined the fray.

@YinYueRen: “Am I the only one who thinks Jiao Qingyin and Wen Fengyue are a match made in heaven?”

[Photo: Holding hands in the crowd.jpg]

[Photo: Whispering in the audience.jpg]

[Photo: Suspected kiss by the ship.jpg]

Jiao Qingyin posted three high-definition photos taken by the System from tricky angles. Every shot was designed to look like a couple in a passionate relationship.

Especially the last one. While other media only caught a sliver of her dress, her photo showed both of their side profiles clearly. The cropped photo showed them extremely close, noses nearly touching, their eyes full of tension.

The System was proud of its new job. After being praised, it happily went off to edit more photos, even forgetting to nag Jiao about the main quest.

The starlight outside the deck was deep. The glow of Jiao’s screen reflected on the car window. Wen Fengyue could see it if she turned her head. Noticing Jiao’s typing speed getting faster as she chatted with someone, Wen Fengyue finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“They’re taking forever,” Wen Fengyue said stiffly.

Jiao Qingyin’s fingers paused as she turned to look at her.

Despite initiating the conversation, Wen Fengyue immediately regretted it. She could feel Jiao’s gaze but didn’t want to meet her eyes. Every time she was watched by those dark eyes, she ended up doing things beyond her control.

“Yeah,” Jiao Qingyin’s voice sounded beside her. “I’m hungry.”

It was a soft complaint, the meaning ordinary, but Wen Fengyue’s chest felt a sudden warmth. Jiao’s words acted like a switch, making her realize her own stomach was aching.

Wen Fengyue hadn’t eaten all day. Her last meal was at a late-night drinking session with company executives yesterday. She had drunk until she nearly vomited her organs out, yet still had to pull herself together for today’s event. The hangover had killed her appetite, which was why she had been hiding on the deck watching stars after a waiter “accidentally” splashed ice water on her.

…And then she met this little star named Jiao Qingyin.

…I suppose stars count as celestial bodies, too.

Because of Jiao’s “I’m hungry,” Wen Fengyue reflexively reached into her pocket for the candies she usually carried, only to realize she was wearing a formal gown. She only had a clutch containing particle cigarettes.

Jiao’s gaze made her movement stiffen. Wen Fengyue felt a strange sense of guilt—as if she had looked for a dried fish in front of a kitten and found nothing.

She quickly tossed the strange thought aside and pulled out an orange-flavored particle cigarette, tossing it into Jiao’s lap.

“This is all I have.”

As she spoke, she reflexively used her optical computer to simulate an ignition signal, lighting a lemon-flavored cigarette for herself. But a second before the smoke emerged, she pressed it out against her dress.

“…I suddenly don’t want to smoke,” Wen Fengyue said, unsure of who she was explaining herself to.

The briefly ignited cigarette left a faint scent of lemon in the car without the smell of smoke. Jiao Qingyin’s eyes crinkled slightly.

She reached out toward Wen Fengyue. “Do you still have that gold thread from earlier?”

The gold thread was indeed there; Wen Fengyue had forgotten to throw it away after boarding.

“What do you want it for?”

Jiao Qingyin didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers flew, and in seconds, she had tied the ends of the thread and flipped it into a complex shape.

“Cat’s cradle. Do you know how to play?”

Watching Jiao Qingyin with her hands spread wide, the gold thread looped around her fingers, Wen Fengyue felt that she wasn’t just hungry—she was extremely parched.