Always Chasing My White Moonlight Omega - Chapter 4

Was it just Ruan Yang’s imagination, or did she detect a faint trace of mockery and displeasure in Xu Zhiyi’s tone?

By the time she tried to confirm it again, there was nothing left to see.

Xu Zhiyi had debuted early, discovered by a talent scout right after starting university. A natural-born actress, when she decided to conceal her emotions, no one could ever discern a thing.

Ruan Yang lowered her head. There were so many things she wanted to say, she wanted to ask Xu Zhiyi if she was really dating that woman named Zheng Tang, and why Zheng Tang had allowed someone else into her room.

Too many questions swirled in her mind, yet after a long silence, all she managed to blurt out was a stiff, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Xu Zhiyi seemed amused. After a brief pause, she adjusted her thin jacket, covering the marks, and walked past Ruan Yang toward her own room.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I didn’t take it to heart.”

The words drifted like a breeze, curling into Ruan Yang’s ears and sending an inexplicable shiver down her spine.

She jerked her head up, only to find Xu Zhiyi already gone, the hallway now empty and silent, leaving her truly alone.

Ruan Yang stood there for a long time.

By the time she finally remembered she had only come out for a glass of water, the desire to drink had long since vanished.

She glanced out the window.

Xu Zhiyi was always like this like a gust of wind.

Untouchable, indifferent to everything.

The next morning, Ruan Yang left early for school. Now in her third year, her classes weren’t too heavy, but as a film directing major with demanding professors, assignments and activities kept her busy, often requiring her to be on campus.

It was barely eight o’clock. After breakfast, as she was about to leave, she noticed a pair of high heels on the shoe rack by the door, ones she had never seen before.

A cold glint flashed in her eyes as she glanced toward Xu Zhiyi’s room on the second floor.

The heels were still here, meaning Zheng Tang had indeed stayed the night.

Her expression hardened as she headed to school, and no one dared to speak to her all day. Even the usually stern professor softened his tone when checking her assignment, taken aback by her tense demeanor.

“Ruan Yang, I’ve reviewed your work. Another excellent job, great cinematography, solid editing, and you nailed the theme. I’d like to submit it on behalf of our department for a university award. If it wins, the prize money will be yours. Does that sound good?”

Distracted, Ruan Yang nodded at the classroom door. “Sure, whatever you think is best.”

Pleased with her response, the professor was about to leave when he suddenly remembered something and stopped her. “Oh, Ruan Yang, one more thing.”

“You know our visiting professor, Wu Jun, right?”

Ruan Yang nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Wu Jun, a heavyweight in the film industry. Early in his career, he specialized in art films, sweeping awards left and right. When art films lost their commercial appeal, he pivoted to blockbusters. Perhaps born for the craft, his commercial films consistently raked in box office success while earning critical acclaim.

A legend like him frequently appeared in their lectures and textbooks, so Ruan Yang was quite familiar with his work.

“Good that you know,” the professor continued. “Lately, he’s been working on a new film. He’s getting older and wants an assistant, but he doesn’t want someone without talent. So, he asked me to help find a few candidates. I thought since your finals are coming up and you probably won’t have much to do over the summer break, why not go and help him out?”

On the surface, it was about being an assistant, but Ruan Yang knew the professor actually wanted her to learn from the experience.

The chance to study under Director Wu Jun was a dream for many film students some didn’t even dare to dream of it.

Yet, despite such a golden opportunity, Ruan Yang hesitated. “Professor Wen…”

“Ah, don’t rush to refuse,” Professor Wen interrupted, likely sensing her reluctance. “Think it over carefully. At least wait until after your finals to give me an answer. You know how rare this opportunity is. I approached you because I believe in your ability. Ruan Yang, you’re more talented than most, but talent alone isn’t enough, you need experience. This is a perfect chance. You must seize it, understand?”

With that, Professor Wen left.

Ruan Yang didn’t linger either and took a taxi back to school.

She had no intention of taking this opportunity or learning under any director.

She had her own plans.

When she got home, the pair of shoes was gone. Along with them, many of Xu Zhiyi’s shoes had also disappeared.

Ruan Qingyu had probably gone shopping again, leaving only Aunt Chen in the house. When Ruan Yang asked about it, Aunt Chen, who was cleaning, paused to answer.

“Oh, that? The young miss took them all herself. She said she’s about to start filming again and won’t have time to come home, so she took her usual clothes and shoes with her.”

Ruan Yang bit her lower lip. “But even when she’s busy filming, she always makes time to come back every few days, doesn’t she?”

Why wasn’t she coming back this time?

Aunt Chen had no idea. She resumed her cleaning and offered a casual excuse. “Maybe it’s because of the heat. It’s normal not to want to travel back and forth in this weather.”

Ruan Yang suddenly found herself speechless, as if all her strength was draining away bit by bit.

Was it really because of the heat, or because she didn’t want to see her?

Carrying her backpack, she returned to her room.

In the days that followed, finals week arrived quickly. To avoid dwelling on other things, Ruan Yang poured all her energy into studying.

Occasionally, when she was tired, she thought about opening an entertainment app, but she always stopped herself before tapping it.

Unable to explain what she was afraid of, Ruan Yang curled her fingers slightly, then quickly swiped away and opened a Q&A app instead.

The app had all kinds of questions, and as more people used it, the queries became increasingly varied. Under the more specialized questions, experts from various fields often provided answers.

Just as Ruan Yang was about to check what the professionals she followed had recently answered, her homepage refreshed, pushing a question she had never seen before:

“My mother is a mistress. She recently succeeded in replacing the original wife and married a wealthy man. I followed her into this household. I’m not good at arguing, nor do I like it, but the original wife’s daughter also lives here, and she hates me. I want to beg for her forgiveness. Does anyone have any ideas?”

Ruan Yang’s gaze was instantly captured by this question.

As if guided by some unseen force, she clicked into it.

Below were serious responses analyzing the pros and cons, others stirring the pot with terrible advice, and even some listing a slew of contradictions, claiming the original poster must be fabricating the story.

It was a scorching afternoon, and honestly, this had nothing to do with what Ruan Yang had originally intended to read.

Yet she sat there, word for word, scrolling through every single reply beneath the post.

By the time she finally reached the bottom, Ruan Yang looked up, it was already dusk.

She had wasted an entire afternoon reading what others would consider a mind-numbingly boring thread.

Perhaps when darkness falls, emotions that shun the light begin to run wild.

Ruan Yang sat there, her fingertips lingering on the phone screen for a long time. In the end, she still opened the reply page.

At this moment, Ruan Yang was only twenty years old.

Freshly presented as an Alpha, she would turn twenty-one by the end of the month. Never having been in a relationship, she now typed out each word with the solemnity of writing wedding vows.

“Not asking for forgiveness.”

“But I will make her my wife.”

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