The Years I Flirted with the Villainess - Chapter 1

“Hey, Mengjue, look—”

A friend nudged Li Mengjue’s arm, gesturing toward the entrance of the hall. “The eldest Miss Ruan actually showed up.”

Li Mengjue looked up briefly.

Nearly half the people in the hall had swarmed toward the entrance, vying for a chance to exchange pleasantries with the newcomer. Seeing only a sea of heads, Li Mengjue withdrew her gaze. She used the tip of her tongue to push the hard candy in her mouth to the other side and gave a nonchalant, “Mm.”

The friend had only caught the name “Ruan Qingxiao” from passersby. After staring at the door for a long while without catching a glimpse of the woman herself, she gave up with a sigh of regret.

Ruan Qingxiao was one of the most prominent actresses of the younger generation.

Technically, she was one of two—the other being Li Mengjue.

However, unlike the relative quiet surrounding Li Mengjue, the reason Ruan Qingxiao commanded such a following was her illustrious family background. At this star-studded film industry gala, Ruan Qingxiao was destined to be the moon surrounded by a galaxy of stars.

Even if one wasn’t actively trying to “cling to power,” one still had to go over and say hello. It was a matter of “etiquette.”

In particular, the established veterans of the industry didn’t want the Young Miss to think they were slighting her due to a lapse in manners. After all, she was someone who truly had the power to make a person vanish from the entertainment industry forever if she was displeased.

Ironically, only the “18th-tier” nobodies could afford to be lazy in such moments; the Young Miss didn’t know who they were anyway. Though, most of them felt a deep sense of regret for missing the opportunity.

Li Mengjue was a rare exception.

Her status in the circle was far from low. Her three highly prestigious “Best Lead Actress” trophies provided her with all the confidence she needed; many directors and veteran actors she had worked with had already vouched for her limitless future.

Combined with her low-key, easygoing personality and her refusal to follow the “idol/traffic” star route, she faced fewer conflicts of interest. Most people were happy to show her a friendly face. She had strength, connections, and a sterling reputation. She was by no means an anonymous “nobody.”

By all rights, Li Mengjue should have taken the initiative to greet Miss Ruan. Instead, she not only stayed away—she actually wanted to turn around and flee the premises.

Unfortunately, logic told her that was impossible.

This banquet was organized by the renowned Director Jiang. Recently, a new film he directed had swept multiple awards at international festivals, fulfilling a lifelong dream. This gala was essentially a victory celebration. Li Mengjue had received help from him in the past and had a verbal agreement for his next film; she couldn’t easily decline the invitation, let alone desert the field now.

She could only try to shrink further into the shadows of the corner, hoping the crowd-swarmed Miss Ruan wouldn’t notice her existence.

Maintaining a low profile is a truly great habit, she thought.

Her friend took a step back with her and whispered, “Does the Young Miss not know you’re here?”

Li Mengjue replied in a lazy tone, “I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s true.” The friend realized her question was silly. “If she knew you were here, she probably wouldn’t have come. She doesn’t need to save face for Director Jiang.”

The friend knew, vaguely, that Li Mengjue and Miss Ruan didn’t quite get along.

It wasn’t exactly a blood feud, but they certainly didn’t care for one another. Li Mengjue had debuted earlier; at twenty-six, she was still young, but her ten-year acting career was a slow burn until she changed management. Her fame and awards exploded at roughly the same time Ruan Qingxiao rose to prominence.

While Miss Ruan came from an extraordinary family, her critical acclaim as an actress had little to do with her background. Her debut role won her Best Supporting Actress. The following year, she won Best Lead Actress. Objectively speaking, those awards were well-deserved.

Even more impressive was that the Young Miss wasn’t obsessed with “billing.” Even after her fame skyrocketed, she was willing to take on supporting roles if she felt the character suited her or if she wanted to hone her craft in different styles.

If it weren’t for Li Mengjue standing just above her—possessing just a fraction more prestige and honors in every category—Ruan Qingxiao would be the undisputed top actress of the young generation.

Unfortunately, because of Li Mengjue, all the praise was split between the two.

Miss Ruan did not have a mild or passive temperament. While not exactly overbearing, she was supremely confident and proud, long accustomed to being placed on a pedestal. No one was fool enough to believe she was indifferent toward Li Mengjue.

However, the Young Miss remained professional. She had never publicly attacked Li Mengjue, and they rarely met in private. On the rare occasion an event invited both, one would inevitably be absent. Their closest encounters were at awards ceremonies, where they were usually seated at opposite ends of the hall. A slight nod from a distance was the extent of their interaction.

On the surface, they stayed out of each other’s way—they were simply from different worlds.

Insiders found the dynamic subtle and strange, but with one being a proud heiress and the other a smiling master of deflection, no one could dig up the truth. Eventually, they just stopped asking. It became a tacit agreement in the industry: never mention one’s name in front of the other.

Fans, however, didn’t care for such subtleties.

Two powerful, beautiful women with equal talent, looks, and fame. One was a “grassroots” success while the other was “old money”—a perfect complementary pair. They had even risen to fame at the same time, earning the nickname “Purple Star” (a term for a rare, brilliant talent). After Ruan Qingxiao’s meteoric rise, that title evolved into the “Binary Stars.”

They were like “the other me in the world” or “sisters from different parents.”

Yet, these fated “Binary Stars” had almost never shared a frame. Even their nominations and wins seemed to perfectly skip one another across consecutive years. Once or twice was a coincidence. Three, four, five times… that was another kind of “destiny.”

Perhaps because of these near-misses, the public saw them less as rivals and more as a tragic case of “Kings never meeting.” Fans were devastated and the demand for a collaboration—even a variety show or an ad—grew louder by the day.

The parties involved chose to ignore it. Their industry friends remained silent.

In her friend’s eyes, Li Mengjue was an incredibly easygoing and “proper” person—the kind of person who could become best friends with the set’s resident stray dog in three days. Even with prickly sponsors, she could maintain a polite relationship. Yet, she only seemed to recoil from the Young Miss.

She probably senses the other’s hidden dislike and doesn’t want to get in her way, the friend thought.

Li Mengjue didn’t bother to correct her.

But the truth was only half-right. The reason their private interaction was effectively zero was due to Li Mengjue’s deliberate avoidance. If Ruan Qingxiao was in a drama, she wouldn’t take it. If Ruan Qingxiao was at an event, she declined. If she couldn’t decline, she manipulated her timing and seating. Li Mengjue had paid breach-of-contract fees, faked illnesses, and even claimed she was too “heartbroken from a breakup” to appear in public.

In reality, she had been single since birth and found romance to be a massive hassle.

Given her sterling reputation and Miss Ruan’s lofty status, no one suspected she was doing it on purpose. Even her close acquaintances guessed the opposite of the truth. Li Mengjue never explained; she had no desire to link herself to Ruan Qingxiao, even through a negative relationship.

She only hoped the woman would ignore her. To become complete “air” in those proud eyes was her ultimate goal.

But how does the saying go? Life is eight or nine parts disappointment.

Li Mengjue looked down, unwrapped a second candy, and popped it into her mouth. When she looked up to scan the room for a trash can, her gaze collided unexpectedly with those eyes that always seemed to burn with fire.

Vitality like a prairie wildfire. That was how fans described Ruan Qingxiao. Her “eye acting” was always the most praised part of her performances. Li Mengjue had always avoided her, but in her heart, she agreed with the assessment—Miss Ruan had eyes that were far too beautiful and far too bright.

Their gazes locked across the crowd, freezing for a brief moment. Li Mengjue sighed inwardly and was the first to look away. She spotted the trash can in the corner.

By the time she looked up again, Director Jiang had already led Miss Ruan toward the other side of the room.

Li Mengjue breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed her twitching right eyelid.

I hope this ends soon so I can go home and sleep, she thought.

It took Ruan Qingxiao some time to shake off the people surrounding her.

An A-list movie king arrived late, and Director Jiang’s face lit up with joy. He politely excused himself from Miss Ruan to go greet the new guest. Ruan Qingxiao, already impatient with the hollow small talk, nodded and watched him leave.

As Director Jiang turned away and the crowd swarmed the international star, Ruan Qingxiao took the opportunity to walk toward an inconspicuous corner.

She had spotted Li Mengjue.

The host of the banquet had stated beforehand that no media would be allowed, hoping the guests could enjoy a relaxed evening; there was no dress code. Consequently, the fashion was a chaotic mix—ranging from extravagant gowns to simple casual wear.

Li Mengjue belonged to the latter group.

Ruan Qingxiao even wondered if she had scouted the venue’s decor in advance—Li Mengjue’s dark blue casual outfit practically blended into the decorative curtains behind her. Her lazy, nonchalant aura reduced her presence to almost nothing; unless you were looking for her, it was hard to spot her at a glance.

But once you did notice her, it was hard to look away.

The dark blue jacket complemented her skin tone perfectly. Fans loved to debate which animal their favorite stars resembled; for Li Mengjue, “Fox” was the overwhelming winner.

Li Mengjue’s appearance didn’t actually resemble a fox. On the contrary, she was a very elegant, “righteous” beauty—she looked like a gentle, reliable “older sister next door.” Not the kind in a white dress who only appears in hazy dreams, but the kind who makes you feel safe just by standing there. You’d find yourself subconsciously watching her, hoping for a word of gentle encouragement. Even a smile meant only for you would be enough to make you feel like you’d ascended to heaven.

She possessed that kind of magic.

Perhaps it was this unique temperament that defined her charm. When people thought of the word “bewitching,” the first image that came to mind was often a fox. Whether it was her onscreen roles—the orphaned girl, the proud princess, the “sweet but silly” idol lead, or the dark, twisted villain—or her real self off-camera, every face she wore radiated a unique allure. It clearly wasn’t just due to her face or her “persona.”

Even though her face currently screamed “low profile,” “exhausted,” and “don’t bother me,” Ruan Qingxiao couldn’t help but stop in her tracks when she saw her.

A waiter passed by, asking if she wanted a refill. Ruan Qingxiao realized the wine glass she had grabbed was empty. She shook her head and placed the empty glass on the tray with a cold expression.

As the waiter left, the curly-haired woman—the only person standing with Li Mengjue—whispered something to her friend and then excitedly ran toward the crowd. Ruan Qingxiao noted her departure, guessing she was curious about the movie king.

Shallow. Boring. Like a monkey in a zoo for people to gawk at, Ruan Qingxiao judged coldly in her mind.

Li Mengjue merely gave her friend a casual wave, not moving an inch, clearly uninterested in the movie king.

Ruan Qingxiao’s mood improved slightly, and her breathing became easier. She instinctively reached for a glass to soothe a sudden, inexplicable restlessness, only to remember her hand was empty.

She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist and began walking toward that corner.

I’m just looking for a quiet place where I won’t be disturbed, Ruan Qingxiao told herself silently.