The Villainess A Marked the Seductive Movie Queen - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Facing Off

Liu Yitong understood perfectly: Ruan Minxue remembered her likely because she had seen those highly recognizable eyes during the temporary marking.

That night might have been a minor occurrence for Ruan Minxue, but for Liu Yitong, it was a memory so heavy she could hardly speak of it. She didn’t want to claim credit, nor did she want to lie, so she responded evasively:

“To be honest, I’m a fan of yours, Ruan-jie. I’ve followed many of your works. Does attending a post-screening Q&A count as meeting?”

By retreating to advance, she naturally donned the skin of a fan, allowing her to temporarily hide her more lingering and unspeakable identity.

Liu Yitong wasn’t sure if the other woman believed her. After all, someone in such a high position had seen countless schemes and deceptions; she wondered if her clumsy rookie acting was enough to fool the Movie Queen.

She lowered her head and heard a moment of contemplation from the other side, the end of the sentence curving upward with a hint of skeptical playfulness.

A moment later, she heard Ruan Minxue reply with a smile:

“My last Q&A was years ago. If we met once back then and I remembered you for this long… wouldn’t that count as ‘love at first sight’?”

Liu Yitong kept her head bowed, her expression faint and obedient.

Ruan Minxue didn’t say more; she let out another soft laugh and was soon distracted by the next actor coming up to exchange pleasantries. Liu Yitong took the opportunity to excuse herself.

As she walked away, Liu Yitong raised her hand to rub her cheek and the back of her neck.

Unfortunately, her fingers were also hot, doing nothing to cool the sudden rise in temperature in those spots. She felt like her whole body was on fire because of Ruan Minxue’s phrase “love at first sight.”

She had been complimented.

Even if there was a hint of irony or teasing, Ruan Minxue had chosen that superlative term to describe their meeting.

Floating on air, she returned to the hotel. Wanting to record the day, she pulled out the diary from under her pillow. She held her pen over the page for a long time but didn’t write a single word.

Likely due to the impact of Ruan Minxue’s parting words, her mind was currently filled with the image of a “dog being tapped by a meat bone yet still wagging its tail.”

Once those chaotic thoughts subsided, she recalled the sound of Ruan Minxue’s voice and chose to record this beautiful imagery:

Late Spring, 7th day of the 4th Lunar Month. Suddenly, I hear the sound of glazed jade shattering; it turns out to be the beauty opening her crimson lips.

She deliberately used the lunar calendar to add a layer of decoding work, and used an obscure medium to encrypt her feelings—sometimes a set of words, sometimes a line of poetry, sometimes even just a song title.

Liu Yitong carried this diary with her everywhere; every word avoided mentioning her, yet every sentence was about her.

After writing that line, Liu Yitong closed the diary, feeling satisfied: even if someone accidentally discovered this diary one day, it wouldn’t be deciphered or traced back to that person. Her secret crush would not cause her any trouble.

But the girl, who neglected her own self-care, failed to realize one thing—the point of encryption is to be cracked. Even though it was a diary for her private thoughts, she had presupposed a “fictional enemy” who would read it and tirelessly encrypted it every day…

Perhaps deep down, there was a suppressed desire to be understood.

Photos from the script reading were posted on a semi-official account by the crew as part of the promotional buildup.

This was standard procedure, but it unintentionally sparked a disaster. Fortunately, while the fire raged, it only burned Liu Yitong.

Previously, the photos of her fighting with Sun Chaoxing had only caused a small stir. But the hype for this S+ rated project—a rare all-female cast in the domestic industry—brought a massive wave of attention that acted as an exponential multiplier to the previous scandal.

Liu Yitong hit the “Hot Search” list for the first time. The hashtag had a blunt, retro feel from a decade ago:

#DisqualifiedIdolLiuYitongGetOutOfTheIndustry#

She clicked into the topic and found that besides the fight, some old photos had been dug up and maliciously misinterpreted. A photo of her releasing pheromones to comfort a sobbing Wei’an was twisted into “cornering someone for pheromone bullying”; a forced-perspective shot was used as “proof” of an idol smoking; a photo with a male pedestrian was “evidence” of a straight girl pretending to be queer while secretly dating…

A few old fans from her theater days spoke up for her, and some staff members and group mates opened alt accounts to clarify, but it was a drop in the ocean, evaporating instantly in the widespread carnival of hate.

Prejudice is the most powerful pen in storytelling. She was molded into a villain through stories that were both familiar and strange. The “ignorant masses” are always like this—judging a person based on fragments. Once a “villain” label is stuck on, everything they do is viewed as malicious.

Watching these stories, seeing herself called a “Hellhound,” a “Mad Dog,” and an “Evil Woman,” Liu Yitong actually curled her lips into a smile.

To be judged as an “Evil Woman” was to be granted freedom. For someone used to being “crazy,” being stripped of a good reputation was like being stripped of moral shackles—there was no longer a burden to act a certain way.

While she was unfazed by the insults, Shu Ran reacted much more strongly. That night, a call came through asking if these scandals were true.

Liu Yitong calmly told Shu Ran they were false and added that they should just give it the cold treatment; there was no need to waste resources.

“Are you trying to go for the ‘redemption through notoriety’ route? That is a marketing logic, but Liu Yitong, you are under my name. You could have stayed perfectly clean; there’s no need to be in such a mess!”

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Shu Ran was silent for a moment. Liu Yitong had heard Shu Ran’s evaluation of her before: she looked quiet and reserved, but in reality, she was stubborn and full of ideas; once she made up her mind, no one could sway her.

She guessed Shu Ran was calling her stubborn in her head again.

“You reminded me,” Shu Ran sighed. When she spoke again, she had been infected by Liu Yitong’s calmness. “The public opinion is at its peak right now. Posting dry statements or lawyer letters without proper clarification would just lead to more mockery. To clarify properly would require more manpower and money than our startup stage can afford. Since you insist on not doing it, I won’t ask my parents for help for now.”

“Mhm.”

“Thinking about it, you’re pretty confident to choose notoriety, aren’t you? Are you certain there will be a moment for a comeback?”

“I’m not certain,” Liu Yitong said flatly. “If I can’t make a comeback, there’s no difference between a good name and a bad name in this circle.”

“No difference?!” Shu Ran paused, then started screeching in frustration. “What on earth have you been through? I really can’t understand your thinking!”

Liu Yitong listened quietly to Shu Ran’s complaints.

“But I have to say, not everyone has the ability to coexist so calmly with negative energy. That point alone is something I’ll have to study for a long time.”

“Mhm.”

Liu Yitong gave a casual response, not telling the heiress who grew up in luxury that some things can’t be studied—because you can’t learn them. You get thrown into purgatory and roll around; you either die, or you learn.

After the call ended, Liu Yitong browsed the hot searches and group chats for a while.

Many of Ruan Minxue’s fans, learning that “Ruan-jie” was going to collaborate with the “Evil Woman”—and seeing leaks that the script involved physical contact related to “violence” or “intimacy”—began to protest:

What if that mad dog is used to biting and goes too far? Our Ruan-jie has almost zero negative press. That evil woman is jealous and a bully; she’ll definitely use the role as an excuse to hurt Ruan-jie!] [We’ve never interfered with Ruan-jie’s career, but should we really boycott this collaboration?

A few big fan accounts took the lead, and thousands responded.

Liu Yitong really wanted to tell these fans: Don’t worry, I wouldn’t treat Ruan Minxue like that.

But it was just a thought; she wouldn’t actually say it. She just kept switching between apps, drifting through the crusade against “Liu Yitong” with a detached air. She treated the vitriol as if she were a spectator watching a play for fun.

This was a skill she had taught herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t empathize; for instance, empathizing from Ruan Minxue’s perspective felt great.

She was the “White Moonlight” for whom millions planned ahead, the “Heart’s Snow” for whom millions fretted, a sovereign who could command thousands with a wave of her hand, a deity with no worries behind her.

Ruan Minxue didn’t need the industry; the industry needed Ruan Minxue. Her fans worriedly begged her to stay, casual viewers saw her name and knew the quality was guaranteed, and many derivative industries relied on her existence for a living.

Just looking at the “glory” tied to Ruan Minxue’s name made Liu Yitong’s scalp tingle with excitement. The person she liked was always bathed in praise. Since she liked such a person, she felt a sense of shared pride, basking in a sliver of that worldly adoration.

She was browsing through the Super Topic of her idol when she saw a well-known big fan leading the conversation. This person usually made extreme comments, and Liu Yitong remembered her. She just hadn’t expected that one day, this fan would direct her venom at her:

Liu Yitong cannot even compare to a single strand of Ruan Minxue’s hair.

Using that as a title, the fan posted a long essay comparing their status, looks, acting skills, and commercial value—showing Ruan Minxue’s total crushing victory over Liu Yitong.

Liu Yitong clicked into the comments. The blogger’s hardcore fans were agreeing, though some Ruan fans who stopped by felt the dragging was unnecessary.

Many comments slid past Liu Yitong’s eyes, none making her pause until a short, concise one caught her attention. The user had a default grey avatar and a random string of letters and numbers for a nickname:

Your taste needs improvement.

Six simple words and a period.

It happened to land right in Liu Yitong’s crosshairs. She was already in a bad mood, and this alt account saying “your taste needs improvement” under an article praising Ruan Minxue? Didn’t that mean liking Ruan Minxue was tasteless?

Suppressing her anger, Liu Yitong hit reply and typed: “It’s just objective fact.”

She thought the alt account was just stopping by to take a jab at Ruan Minxue’s Super Topic and would leave. She didn’t expect a reply, but before long, a notification sounded. She clicked in; the nameless alt had replied:

Are you saying that a comparison filled with subjective speculation is ‘objective fact’?

Liu Yitong paused, her fingers immediately hitting the keyboard: “Please provide specific examples. Which part is subjective?”

I’ll give an example at random. At the very least, regarding the point about looks—Ruan Minxue does far more than ‘crush’ Liu Yitong. Do you need me to explain it from the dimensions of facial proportions and the Golden Ratio?

The extremely rational line of text made Liu Yitong catch her breath. Through the black-and-white text, the girl could almost glimpse the leisurely attitude of the person typing. The opponent used civil language without any insults, yet easily exerted a powerful sense of pressure.

Liu Yitong’s competitive spirit was instantly ignited. She replied:

“The looks of these two can’t be separated by scientific dimensions, so naturally, public aesthetics must be included in the evaluation. The number of people who find Ruan Minxue beautiful far exceeds those who find Liu Yitong so. Is it possible that you, as someone with niche taste, are simply trying to challenge the majority with your subjectivity?”

Numbers? You mean the number of fans? Ignoring the vast difference in their debut years and accumulation, your comparison is rather unfair to Liu Yitong.

Unfair.

Liu Yitong’s finger trembled over the keyboard. She was standing by the window; the fresh late-spring night air blew in gently, yet the girl felt more agitated. On a whim, driven by emotion, she typed back:

“Isn’t it also unfair that Liu Yitong, without enough accumulation, stood by Ruan Minxue’s side just by a chance encounter? Is it so hard to understand why the public doesn’t approve and thinks she’s not worthy?”

It is hard to understand. Ruan Minxue didn’t reach her peak the moment she debuted, so why be so harsh on Liu Yitong?

“She should be criticized. Ruan Minxue became famous with her debut work, unlike Liu Yitong, who was a disqualified idol forced to retire, leaving with nothing but a bad name.”

Regarding ‘bad names,’ I recommend two books: Rashomon and The Case of the Speluncean Explorers. The truth might not be what you think. Regarding ‘worthiness’—you are not Liu Yitong or Ruan Minxue. You don’t know what strength Liu Yitong actually has, and whether she is truly qualified to stand by Ruan Minxue.

Qualified.

It was clearly a debate on the internet, clearly between opposing sides… yet Liu Yitong felt comforted by the opponent’s calm and firm rebuttal.

A child who is never comforted learns to be restrained, but a child who has been comforted suddenly wants to throw a tantrum. Liu Yitong’s emotions surged, her adrenaline spiked, and her fingers flew across the screen.

Liu Yitong was putting Ruan Minxue on a pedestal and even belittling “Liu Yitong,” while the opponent was doing the exact opposite.

The two engaged in a war of words, replying at lightning speed. They were like a leopard cat and a squirrel chasing each other in a dark forest at night; their identities were unknown, each trying to brand the other as prey, catching a weakness to devour them.

They faced off for nearly an hour, citing classics and drawing on vast knowledge without using a single curse word. Nearly a hundred replies piled up under the single comment.

The original author, that extreme fan, stopped leading the conversation and pinned the comment just to eat popcorn. The Ruan fans who had gathered to pile on also went quiet to watch the spectacle; some even forwarded it to various group chats, calling it a “High-Quality Human Face-Off.”

“How do you know you’re not Liu Yitong or Ruan Minxue? How can you be sure Liu Yitong is innocent? How can you be sure she has the strength?”

Whether she is innocent or has strength—we can let time prove the facts.

“You don’t care about Ruan Minxue’s safety, so of course you’re willing to give Liu Yitong a chance. Are you a Ruan Minxue hater?”

When Liu Yitong sent this message, the opponent, who had been pressing her step-by-step, fell into a brief silence. Then came the final response of the night:

Of course not. I just happen to understand Liu Yitong better than you imagine. Goodbye.

This sentence seemed like a final stubborn act of bravado, yet it also felt like a meaningful farewell, making Liu Yitong’s blood rush.

She had to admit, the “thrill” she felt tonight, aside from the joy of the fight, also came from this opponent’s word-by-word defense of the name “Liu Yitong.” Every time she slandered “herself,” the opponent affirmed “her.”

It made her realize that she didn’t not want unreasonable favoritism; she was just used to not getting it. When someone insisted on giving it, she enjoyed it.

Just then, a notification popped up reminding her to attend a crew icebreaker ceremony tomorrow on time.

She had to sleep early. Liu Yitong felt a pang of regret, a reluctance to leave. It was such a shame—this opponent only defended Liu Yitong and looked down on Ruan Minxue. Despite the stubborn denial, they were likely a hater.

Returning her own words: Your taste needs improvement.

Liu Yitong took a few deep breaths and, moving her finger, blocked the alt account. Thus, in the empty block list of her account, the very first person was added.

“I don’t know who Ruan-jie is chatting with online. She’s so focused, it’s been almost an hour…”

Leaving the room, the little assistant happened to run into the manager, Mu Yun, and spoke with confusion.

Mu Yun understood and pushed up the glasses on the bridge of her nose. The rimless lenses didn’t hide her features but highlighted her shrewd and sharp aura. She nodded, signaled for the assistant to leave, and then entered the hotel suite, closing the door behind her.

Upon entering, she saw Ruan Minxue half-reclined on the sofa like she had no bones. She was holding her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. Her face was expressionless, but a faint, subtle curl lingered at the corner of her mouth.

No matter how assertive a person was, their presence would shrink in front of her. Mu Yun didn’t stop her, only offering a helpless reminder:

“Ruan Minxue, you need to wake up early tomorrow. There’s an icebreaker ceremony.”

Hearing this, the woman on the sofa moved. She glanced over, the faint curve still on her lips, and replied, “Got it.”

After answering, Ruan Minxue went back to her phone. Mu Yun saw her fingers move a few more times. A moment later, the smile on her lips deepened, and only then did she put the phone down and stand up.

“Who were you chatting with so happily?” Mu Yun asked.

“Nothing much. I just made a kid break down in a chat,” Ruan Minxue said, stretching her neck and shoulders. Remembering something, she added, “By the way, it seems my fanbase has been getting a bit younger recently. Remember to guide the atmosphere.”

Mu Yun understood, knowing Ruan Minxue disliked fan-circle culture, and contacted the studio immediately.

Recalling the information she saw on the black-avatar user’s homepage before being blocked—mostly shares from music apps—the IP had been locked in Huchuan for years, but in the last few days, the location was Xiangheng.

Ruan Minxue had a faint suspicion, but without enough evidence, she didn’t overthink it. She just added another instruction to Mu Yun:

“When you take action, remember to be gentle. Young girls… are quite fragile.”

Mu Yun felt that when Ruan Minxue said this, she seemed suspiciously pleased. But she simply agreed and then reminded her:

“One more thing. The other person participating in the icebreaker ceremony tomorrow is an Alpha. Remember to inject your suppressants in advance.”

“The other person? There are only two of us including me?”

“Yes, only you and a young girl. If I recall correctly… her name is Liu Yitong.”

Support The Villainess A Marked the Seductive Movie Queen