The Cannon Fodder Roles I Play All Become White Moonlights [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 21.1

The island dawned exceptionally early.

Su Qingmeng heard the soldiers training outside and opened her eyes to glance at the alarm clock. It was only five in the morning, an hour earlier than her usual wake-up time, but she didn’t go back to sleep.

She got up, washed up briefly, and stood before the full-length mirror in her room.

Full-length mirrors were rare in this era, but the original owner was vain. When she married Old Yang, she insisted on having such a mirror in the house. She had even wanted to set up a dedicated dance studio with mirrors on all four walls, but it never materialized due to limited resources.

Su Qingmeng looked at her reflection in the mirror, it was still the same familiar face, undeniably beautiful. If not for this face, she might never have chosen to step into the entertainment industry back then.

Slowly, she raised her hand and performed a simple movement. Her posture was elegant. When she had studied ballet with a professional teacher, the teacher had lamented that her physique and flexibility made her a natural dancer, though it was a pity she had started too late.

But that was in a later era of fierce competition, unlike now.

In this time, few people started learning dance from a young age, especially in places like the island’s cultural troupe, where most members were self-taught or started late. The original owner had been selected to join the troupe after graduating from middle school. Though her personality was less than ideal and she wasn’t particularly diligent, she genuinely loved dancing. “She” reveled in the applause and admiration on stage.

And coincidentally, so did she.

Yang Dongming was sleeping soundly when he heard a clattering noise downstairs. Groggily, he rubbed his messy hair and checked the alarm clock beside him, it was only 5:30 a.m. School on the island didn’t start morning reading until 7:45. Since he lived nearby, he usually got up at seven. Waking up this early made him irritable.

He stormed downstairs and saw Su Qingmeng moving her full-length mirror into the living room. She had also pushed the wooden sofa to the side, clearing a large space for herself to practice dancing.

Even a critical teenager like Yang Dongming had to admit that Su Qingmeng looked truly captivating when she danced.

Hearing the noise, the girl paused and slowly turned to look at him. Her expressive peach-blossom eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion, making the boy’s heart race suddenly, his pale cheeks flushing crimson.

“You’re up. What would you like for breakfast?” Su Qingmeng spoke to him with a sweet smile.

Yang Dongming’s heart beat even faster. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly and resorted to a gruff tone to hide his embarrassment. “Su Qingmeng, what are you doing so early in the morning?”

Su Qingmeng looked at him as if he were a fool. “Practicing dance, of course.”

She turned back to the mirror and performed an arabesque. Her limbs were slender and graceful, and as she lifted her leg straight up, her loose practice pants slid down to her thigh.

One long leg, fair as snow, with lines as smooth as if painted.

The boy dared not look directly but couldn’t resist stealing a glance.

The morning sunlight streamed in from outside, silhouetting the young girl against the light. Her figure, outlined by the interplay of light and shadow, was exquisitely graceful. In that moment, Yang Dongming felt as though he were witnessing a swan about to take flight, or perhaps a fairy who had strayed into the mortal world, needing only a feathered robe to ascend back to the heavens.

He stood there in a daze for a long time until Su Qingmeng changed her posture and pouted at him discontentedly, “Why haven’t you gone to cook yet?”

“…” Yang Dongming took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and sneered sarcastically, “Cooking for you first thing in the morning? Have I lost my mind or been kicked by a donkey?”

He still remembered the egg-stealing incident from yesterday. If he cooked for Su Qingmeng now, he might as well call himself a dog.

Su Qingmeng glared at him. Yang Dongming raised his head arrogantly toward her. He was much taller than her and wasn’t the least bit afraid of his stepmother.

Unexpectedly, Su Qingmeng’s eyes suddenly reddened, as if she were about to cry. She stepped forward, gently tugged at the corner of his clothes, and swayed them, “But I’m not as good at cooking as you are. I don’t even know how to start a fire. Could you teach me, please?”

Yang Dongming only needed to lower his gaze to see the redness at the corners of her eyes, which made her eyes resemble peach blossoms in a misty rain. His heartbeat, which had just returned to normal, began to race uncontrollably again.

“Please?” Su Qingmeng swayed his sleeve again, coquettishly.

Yang Dongming felt as if he were being swayed into a daze.

After another glance at her, the young man maintained his haughtiness. “Teach you?” Why should I?”

The girl with the lovely face smiled brightly, her eyes sincere as she nodded. Her appearance was so enchanting that the young man completely missed the cunning in her eyes.

Yang Dongming pursed his lips and told himself that he was only teaching her so she wouldn’t bother him anymore. He wasn’t giving in to Su Qingmeng; he just wanted some peace and quiet.

With feigned solemnity, he said, “Come here.”

He led Su Qingmeng to the kitchen, intending to teach her how to make porridge, a task he thought wouldn’t be too difficult. But he hadn’t expected Su Qingmeng to be even more clumsy than he had imagined.

“Why so much water? I said cook porridge, not flood the kitchen!”

“Add firewood… Not that much!”

“I said light the fire, not burn the house down!”

“Don’t pump the bellows! The fire’s about to flare up! How can you be so clumsy? Move aside, move aside!”

Yang Dongming felt that, at such a young age, he was on the verge of having a heart attack because of Su Qingmeng. He pulled her aside and sat down in front of the stove, deftly adding firewood and working the bellows.

He completely failed to notice the delight on Su Qingmeng’s face.

When the porridge in the pot began to boil, filling the room with the fragrance of rice, Su Qingmeng couldn’t help but praise, “It smells so good. This is the first time I’ve ever thought porridge could smell this delicious.”

It was the truth. Porridge made in an electric rice cooker didn’t have the same aroma as porridge cooked over a wood fire.

The young man turned his head, his expression reserved, but his eyes brimming with pride. Who did you think I was? He had started cooking at the age of four and had long mastered the art of controlling the heat. If Old Yang hadn’t brought him to the island later, he might have even applied to work as a cook in a state-run restaurant.

“Our Xiao Ming is so capable!” Su Qingmeng sat on a low stool beside him, propping her head up with one hand, looking both lazy and relaxed.

Yang Dongming inappropriately thought of the phrase “peaceful years.” The words “our Xiao Ming” made his heart skip a beat.

He added a heavy bundle of firewood, trying hard to keep a straight face as he said, “Who’s your Xiao Ming?”

“You, of course,” Su Qingmeng replied with a bright smile. Before Yang Dongming could protest, she hopped up from her seat, fetched two bowls and two eggs, and said, “I want scrambled eggs to go with it.”

Yang Dongming snorted but didn’t object. Soon, two bowls of porridge and a plate of scrambled eggs were placed on the dining table.

Perhaps because he had endured a tough life with his mother during his childhood, Yang Dongming followed a strict routine: he would take three mouthfuls of porridge before picking up a piece of scrambled egg. Su Qingmeng, however, was nothing like him. She ate more eggs than porridge, and by the time Yang Dongming had finished half his porridge and reached for the eggs, there were none left.

“…” He lifted his head and glared at Su Qingmeng with a dark expression, suddenly reminded of yesterday’s unresolved grudge, now compounded by this new offense.

But Su Qingmeng seemed completely oblivious. She finished her meal faster than he did, stood up, and said casually, “Xiao Ming, remember to wash the bowls. I’m going to change.”

“Why should I…” Before Yang Dongming could finish his sentence, Su Qingmeng had already entered her room and slammed the door shut with a loud “bang.”

Staring at the empty bowls and plate in front of him, Yang Dongming felt a vein twitch on his forehead. He slammed his bowl down heavily, too angry to continue eating.

Su Qingmeng changed into a white shirt, tucking its long hem into a pair of blue work pants. Over the shirt, she wore a pink cardigan. Though it was a common outfit of the time, on her, it somehow exuded a touch of allure.

Yang Dongming emerged from the kitchen with wet hands and ran into her. She looked slightly surprised and asked, “It’s this late already, Xiao Ming. Why haven’t you changed yet? You’ll be late for school.”

The vein at Yang Dongming’s temple throbbed again. If she hadn’t made him wash the dishes, would he still be in his pajamas at this hour? He hadn’t wanted to wash them, but he couldn’t stand leaving dirty bowls on the table. After struggling with himself for a long time, he had finally given in and washed them.

Su Qingmeng, however, seemed completely unaware of his anger. “Hurry up and change. It’s almost 7:45. Don’t be late for school.” With that, she walked out without a second glance at him.

Though Yang Dongming wasn’t particularly obedient, he didn’t want to be late and had no intention of wasting more time with Su Qingmeng. He rushed upstairs to change, grabbed his backpack, and came back down, only to find Su Qingmeng lazily leaning against the family’s only bicycle, as if waiting for him.

He pursed his lips, thinking it unlikely.

But his stepmother, who was only four years older than him, said in a coquettish tone, “You’re so slow! Hurry up, do you want to make me late too?”

She really was waiting for him.

Su Qingmeng urged him, “Get on quickly. I’ll take you.”

“You?” Yang Dongming eyed her slender arms and legs with skepticism.

Su Qingmeng glanced at her own frame, then at her stepson, who stood over 180 cm tall, and promptly handed the bicycle over to him. “How can you, being so tall, expect me to carry you? Of course, you should be the one carrying me.”

She knew her limits.

“…” Yang Dongming, already running late, didn’t bother arguing further. He swung his leg over the bicycle and felt Su Qingmeng settle onto the rear seat. She was light, so much so that he could barely feel her presence if he didn’t pay close attention.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.