The Years I Flirted with the Villainess - Chapter 2

“Do you like candy?”

Li Mengjue’s movements faltered. She turned her head, her gaze meeting Ruan Qingxiao’s. To say she was stunned would be an understatement; her pupils practically underwent an earthquake, causing a delayed reaction before she realized Ruan was actually speaking to her.

In social settings, flinching away from someone as if they were a plague-bearer is incredibly rude. Such an overreaction would only serve to draw more attention and provoke the other party’s dissatisfaction.

Although a tiny version of herself was currently screaming and ringing alarm bells in her mind, Li Mengjue possessed one great virtue: the ability to remain as still as a mountain in the face of collapse. Even if a storm was raging in her heart, her face remained a picture of unruffled calm.

“Mhm,” Li Mengjue hummed softly. After a brief pause, she continued her task, popping the third piece of candy she had just unwrapped into her mouth.

The Eldest Miss Ruan’s gaze drifted over her with feigned indifference.

As Li Mengjue prepared to toss the wrapper into the trash, a thought struck her. She fished the remaining pieces of candy out of her pocket and asked with polite formality, “Would you like one?”

Ruan Qingxiao’s brow twitched. Her eyes swept over the cheap wrappers with clear disdain as she replied stiffly, “No, thank you.”

“Oh,” Li Mengjue replied, casually stuffing the candy back into her pocket.

She moved so fast that Ruan Qingxiao actually felt a flicker of regret.

However, a lady of her stature could never bring herself to lose face by asking for those low-quality hard candies again. She could only watch out of the corner of her eye as Li Mengjue tossed the pink wrapper into the bin.

Strawberry flavored.

As Li Mengjue brushed past her, Ruan Qingxiao caught a faint, cloying scent of artificial sweetener. It didn’t quite suit the woman at all.

“You actually eat those low-grade, generic products?” Ruan Qingxiao found herself asking before she could stop herself. “Why don’t you buy something better?”

Li Mengjue glanced up at her.

The Eldest Miss Ruan still wore her “Ice Queen” expression; there was no obvious sign of mockery in her tone. Li Mengjue wasn’t in the mood to overanalyze it, anyway. Being teased by a childish heiress wouldn’t kill her—it was far safer than the twisted, vengeful rivalry depicted in the original plot.

“They’re just bulk candies I picked up at the supermarket on my way out,” Li Mengjue answered good-naturedly. “I’m trying to quit smoking.”

“Is it because of the movie you just finished filming?” Ruan Qingxiao asked abruptly.

Li Mengjue looked up, accidentally biting down on the hard candy. She tasted a faint hint of iron; the shard had likely nicked the roof of her mouth.

She was genuinely surprised.

Li Mengjue didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, and didn’t even stay up late. Despite her youth, she had already entered “retirement health mode.” In her previous life, the toxic “hustle culture” had led to her dying of overwork at a young age. Having achieved financial freedom in this life, she had slowed her pace. She wanted to live for many more years.

Besides, she had no natural interest in tobacco or alcohol. The only exception she made in this life was for her acting.

The character in her last film was a delinquent girl—a “little sister” from the bottom of society who smoked, drank, and fought. She was a piece of mud in the gutter who met a guiding light and slowly crawled out of the swamp to heal herself.

In a slow-paced, consciousness-driven arthouse film, “aesthetic beauty” is just as important as the acting itself. Even if she was “mud,” she had to be draped in fragile glass—allowing the audience to glimpse the brilliance she was meant to have, evoking pity, heartache, and lamentation.

Simply put, she had to meticulously study the way she smoked. When to look pathetic, when to look ethereal, when to look like an old pro… she had to adjust her posture and expression over and over in front of the mirror.

The film took four months to shoot, spanning from late summer to the following spring. Li Mengjue had been smoking for over half a year. She didn’t go too hard; at first, she choked and coughed, but eventually, she could blow smoke rings like a veteran. The moment a cigarette was in her hand, her body knew what to do. She had been consciously cutting back.

However, because there were too many reshoots concentrated in the final period, it had only been three days since the film wrapped.

Since returning from the set, Li Mengjue hadn’t touched a cigarette. Her next character was a non-smoker. She had spent the last two days resting and visiting relatives; chatting with friends had helped her endure the minor irritability of withdrawal. But in a boring, idle setting like this gala, that restlessness inevitably intensified.

The moment she stepped off the plane, she had started feeling impatient, so she had stopped at the nearest supermarket before coming to the venue.

None of this was a big deal. What truly shocked her was that Ruan Qingxiao actually knew about it.

Ruan knew she had started smoking specifically for that role. Ruan Qingxiao actually knew which movie she had gone to film.

Aside from Li Mengjue, that low-budget arthouse film featured nothing but “no-name” nobodies. Li Mengjue had even taken a pay cut to join the cast, partly to return a favor to the director. Most people in the industry looked down on the project and didn’t pay it any attention.

Unless you were a die-hard fan, you probably wouldn’t even know she had joined the production.

“I saw the raw footage,” Ruan Qingxiao said, pausing before adding a superfluous explanation. “Director Chen is with my company. I happened to run into him the other day.”

“Happened to run into him.” So, he just proactively dragged a completely unrelated person to watch raw footage? And that person was a high-and-mighty heiress that most people wouldn’t dare disturb?

Li Mengjue desperately wanted to deceive herself into believing that excuse, but her remaining sanity wouldn’t allow her brain to be that gullible. She couldn’t stop herself from giving Ruan Qingxiao a suspicious, scrutinizing look.

Their gazes locked.

A few seconds later, Ruan Qingxiao realized how pathetic her excuse sounded. Her gaze flickered in panic, and she whipped her head away.

Li Mengjue saw the tips of the girl’s ears turning red.

An absurd theory floated to the surface of her mind.

“Miss Ruan, you wouldn’t happen to… like me, would you?” Li Mengjue blurted out.

“As if I could ever like you!” Ruan Qingxiao snapped her head back, tiny flames dancing in her eyes. Her face was flushed bright red, and her voice jumped several decibels. “Stop dreaming!”

Embarrassed rage. Blustering bravado. A classic “the lady doth protest too much.”

But Li Mengjue, who wasn’t familiar with her, only saw the irritation in her overreaction. Li Mengjue snapped out of it, wondering where she got the audacity to suspect her “fated enemy” like that.

Perhaps it was the work of “Fate” (the plot) again. Just as she used to frequently run into the “Male Lead” even when they had no connection—like a haunting ghost appearing out of nowhere—it wasn’t necessarily intentional.

And Miss Ruan—as the most important “Vicious Supporting Female” besides the leads—having a coincidental entanglement with her, the “Heroine,” didn’t seem so strange after all.

Li Mengjue easily convinced herself, feeling slightly annoyed at her own loose tongue. Fortunately, she didn’t sense any actual hatred or resentment from the heiress. After all, there was no “fighting over the male lead” happening now.

Lost in her thoughts, Li Mengjue maintained her casual exterior. Faced with Ruan’s angry rebuttal, she simply gave a careless smile.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Li Mengjue said. “I was overthinking things. My apologies.”

Ruan Qingxiao glared at her, looking as if she had been choked. She likely felt unsatisfied because she had lost the chance to keep arguing. But in public, the pre-blackened Miss Ruan was clearly incapable of making a scene.

So, she simply shot Li Mengjue two more furious glares, huffed a cold “Hmph,” and turned her face away.

Li Mengjue crushed the remaining bit of candy in her mouth, thinking to herself that the power of the “plot” was truly formidable. Even though they’d had almost no contact before this, the Eldest Miss Ruan still felt the need to stand here and annoy her despite her obvious disgust.

Honestly… it felt a bit like a toddler holding a grudge.

Li Mengjue had no intention of wasting time standing next to this time bomb; she had, after all, graduated from kindergarten. Scanning the hall, she saw her friend squeezing through the crowd, limping slightly. She couldn’t tell if someone had stepped on her foot or if her heel had snapped.

Using that as her exit, Li Mengjue bid Ruan Qingxiao a quick goodbye and went to meet her friend.

Ruan Qingxiao did not follow. The encounter ended there.

Li Mengjue helped her friend—whose heel had indeed been stepped on—to a corner. After explaining the situation to a waiter, she went to the storage room to pick out a spare pair of shoes.

Upon returning to the hall, the actress who had accidentally stepped on the friend came over to apologize. A senior actor noticed the commotion and, seeing Li Mengjue, came over with a bright smile to greet her. Then a second person came, then a third…

Li Mengjue, who had intended to keep a low profile and just survive the night, suddenly became the center of attention. She sighed inwardly, shed her “delinquent” vibe, and pulled herself together to exchange pleasantries with a polite smile.

It wasn’t until the banquet ended and the crowds began to disperse that Li Mengjue saw Ruan Qingxiao again at the hotel entrance.

The Eldest Miss Ruan was being ushered into a car by her driver. She turned her head casually and saw Li Mengjue through the window. The bright lights of the entrance clearly illuminated Ruan’s face.

It was hard to find any “positive” emotion on that perpetually haughty, world-weary face—but even so, that face was undeniably pleasing to the eye.

That idiot male lead is truly blind, Li Mengjue thought idly. Or perhaps it was just the inertia of the “plot.”

Fortunately, there was no “system” forcing her to complete tasks. She just needed to find ways to avoid those troublesome characters—though, judging by Ruan Qingxiao’s behavior, that was going to be an incredibly difficult task.

Out of habit, Li Mengjue flashed Ruan Qingxiao a polite smile. It was her standard etiquette. The latter simply whipped her face away, and the car sped off instantly, leaving nothing but a faint trail of exhaust.

Li Mengjue: “…”

Her friend, who came out a step behind her, patted her shoulder. “What are you staring at?”

“I really can’t figure it out…” Li Mengjue murmured to herself.

“What?” her friend asked, confused.

Li Mengjue looked up at the dark night sky, squinting slightly against the glaring lights next to her. The full moon looked a bit hazy. She recalled Ruan Qingxiao’s face, flushed with embarrassed rage.

“Why would she suddenly decide to become an actress?” Li Mengjue wondered aloud.

Ruan Qingxiao—the vicious supporting female of the plot—was supposed to be a gifted painter. After the “Cinderella” heroine entered university, Ruan was supposed to frame her for plagiarism, steal her works to win awards, and intentionally injure her hands. Because the male lead refused to return to her side, she was even supposed to hire people to drug the heroine, take photos, and disfigure her, eventually even trying to run her over with a car.

In short, she was a very dedicated villainess.

Unluckily, Li Mengjue had transmigrated as that very “Heroine.”

Because she didn’t want to be dragged into a melodramatic, abusive romance, Li Mengjue had decisively entered the entertainment industry to change her “track” the moment she remembered the plot.

According to the original story, the male lead and the vicious second female were from wealthy, prestigious families. They looked down on “mud-legged” celebrities the most. To them, actors were nothing but pretenders.

Based on Li Mengjue’s brief interactions with the “Male Lead,” his attitude toward stars was indeed one of deep contempt. So, the plot setting seemed to be intact. After Li Mengjue showed that she was only interested in her career in the entertainment world, the “Male Lead”—who used to run into her constantly due to the plot—gradually lost interest.

So, from any perspective, she and Ruan Qingxiao were no longer in competition.

So why on earth would the Eldest Miss Ruan run off to be an actress?

Li Mengjue felt a headache coming on.