The Years I Flirted with the Villainess - Chapter 4

Ruan Qingxiao had skipped two grades in middle school, entering university two years earlier than her peers. It just so happened that she and Tang Qingyun ended up at the same university in the same graduating class.

Tang Qingyun had attended high school in another city, so before university, he and Ruan Qingxiao hadn’t seen each other for several years. Like many childhood playmates who lose touch, their relationship had naturally drifted apart.

They remained fundamentally incompatible. Each found the other’s flaws unbearable—one a playboy drifting through flower thickets, the other an arrogant and egoistic heiress. Putting them together was a recipe for a clashing aura. Back then, their relationship wasn’t as toxic as it would later become; when their parents asked, they would help each other out with perfunctory excuses.

But that was the extent of it.

Li Mengjue had no real connection to either of them. If anything, they had simply happened to see a few of her performances.

Li Mengjue was in the same year as them, but she wasn’t at their school; she just happened to be in the same city. She had debuted early, entering film sets at sixteen, and two years later, she naturally enrolled in the film academy to study acting.

The school had a small theater open to the public, where students arranged performances every semester. The environment was mediocre, and the performance quality was hit-or-miss, but the tickets were cheap. If you were lucky, you might even see a famous actor guest-starring as an instructor. For “commoners,” it was an attractive form of entertainment, but for wealthy socialites, it was beneath their dignity.

Ruan Qingxiao first heard about this theater by chance from Tang Qingyun’s circle of “fox friends.” These followers knew Ruan’s identity and initially joked by calling her “Sister-in-law.” Whether they meant it was unclear, but they certainly loved fanning the flames.

For a while, they frequently mentioned, both directly and indirectly, that Tang Qingyun had a “White Moonlight” he couldn’t forget.

Supposedly, they had met years ago outside a cheap restaurant. The White Moonlight, who was out delivering food, gave Tang Qingyun a piece of candy when his blood sugar was low. The rebellious young master looked up, and for him, it was a gaze that spanned ten thousand years.

The White Moonlight came from a poor background, had no parents, and survived on subsidies and scholarships. During holidays, she had to work to support herself. She was kind, gentle, resilient, and independent. Most importantly, she was very beautiful.

Unfortunately, Master Tang’s pursuit for over half a year yielded nothing. He couldn’t even get her contact info. She claimed she didn’t have a phone—a reason that seemed highly convincing given her faded, worn-out jacket.

Not long after, the “White Moonlight” seemingly succumbed to the temptation of fame and fortune, entering the entertainment industry before even finishing high school. The “untainted by greed” filter was shattered instantly. Tang Qingyun had his heart broken that day; he called a bunch of friends to drink and curse her for being short-sighted and vain.

His followers chimed in for a while but eventually shut their mouths under his dark gaze. From that day on, they knew that Tang Qingyun cared about this “White Moonlight” to death.

However… to be blunt, the White Moonlight likely had no idea she had such a “deeply devoted” pursuer. Or rather, she simply didn’t care.

One follower had personally seen the White Moonlight pull a phone out of her pocket and walk right past Tang Qingyun without a second glance. On the few occasions she was stopped, her eyes were full of stranger-danger and confusion, and she would ask who they were in a distant but polite tone. When mocked, she would look annoyed—and frankly, that expression was quite intimidating.

No one knew how a lone teenage orphan girl could possess a gaze so full of pressure and superiority. By the time they regained their senses, they had already shut up and were stuttering apologies for “mistaking her for someone else.”

In short, from the “love at first sight” to the “breakup,” it was entirely Tang Qingyun’s solo performance.

But his followers didn’t dare say that. Tang Qingyun appeared generous, but he was prone to misdirected anger and could be incredibly petty about such things.

So, Ruan Qingxiao initially only heard that Tang Qingyun had a lingering White Moonlight who happened to be in the same city. A few years later, a slightly more mature Young Master Tang finally understood “the reality of being poor” and no longer held a grudge against the entertainment industry. Having accidentally rediscovered the White Moonlight’s trail, he rallied his spirits to rekindle their old flame.

Initially, Ruan Qingxiao was indifferent. It wasn’t that she sympathized with the girls Tang deceived; she just didn’t want to become one of those “cheap” resentful women. Less than one semester into school, three girls had already been dragged to the teacher’s office for scratching each other’s faces over Tang Qingyun.

While his groupies were helping him plan how to chase the White Moonlight, Master Tang hadn’t even broken up with his previous girlfriend, and another “ambiguous friend” was already waiting in the wings to replace her. Tang Qingyun always acted with twelve-thousand percent sincerity toward girls, but that didn’t affect his cold ruthlessness during breakups or his shamelessness when two-timing.

God knows how many “White Moonlights” or “True Loves” he actually had.

The turning point was a video Tang’s lackey sent to Ruan Qingxiao. It was unclear if it was an accidental slip or intentional, but the result was exactly what they expected—a level-ten earthquake.

It was a video of a performance at the small theater. The footage was grainy and the sound noisy, but the narration pierced through the broadcast clearly, conveying its original meaning. The young woman’s voice was distinctive—lazy yet articulate, unfolding the play’s background setting at a measured pace.

Unconsciously, the audience below had fallen silent, becoming immersed in the story before the actors even appeared.

Outside the video, Ruan Qingxiao froze in place. A certain voice with a slight vibrato echoed in her ears, gradually merging with the narration in the video. In that instant, she felt as if her soul had been pierced.

She didn’t remember how many times she replayed that short, one-minute clip. By the time she came to, she had already obtained the list of the day’s performers and all the information on the “Miss Narrator.”

She learned her name was Li Mengjue, an “18th-tier” minor star who had been in the industry for years without much fame. However, her grades at school were excellent. Thanks to her teacher’s appreciation, she had recently landed a good role that, barring accidents, should make her moderately famous…

She was also Tang Qingyun’s “White Moonlight.”

How could a piece of trash like him be worthy of touching the moon in the sky?

With her mind full of such thoughts, Ruan Qingxiao’s behavior was inevitably extreme. Tang Qingyun couldn’t figure out where he had offended her. From then on, their relationship spiraled downward. Ruan Qingxiao simply wanted to force Tang Qingyun to stay away from Li Mengjue entirely.

Given the young master’s excessive pride and his cluster of persistent ex-girlfriends, this wasn’t difficult. And Tang Qingyun, naturally, assumed Ruan Qingxiao hated Li Mengjue. Because that was the first time she had used the Ruan family name and the engagement to pressure him.

—She absolutely forbade him from taking another step near Li Mengjue.

“It should be called jealousy instead. She’s prettier than you, gentler than you, more popular than you, and now that she’s an actress, she even has more awards than you.”

Tang Qingyun had a look of sudden realization. “How could anyone not be jealous of such a wonderful person?”

Ruan Qingxiao looked at him coldly without saying a word.

Tang Qingyun felt as if he had finally scored a victory. He stepped around the poster on the floor and walked out with his arrogant swagger. The assistant rolled her eyes at his back and slammed the door shut the moment he crossed the threshold. She then picked up the phone to instruct the guards to chase him away immediately if they saw him again.

When she put the phone down, Ruan Qingxiao was bending over to pick up the poster.

“Why don’t you explain to him?” the assistant couldn’t help asking. “That self-righteous look of his is really annoying.”

“There’s no need,” Ruan Qingxiao said. “I don’t want to hear her name from his mouth ever again.”

“You really are…” The assistant paused and sighed. “Anyway, what did you actually do back then to make him think you truly hated Teacher Li?”

“I just warned him not to approach her, or I’d tell his parents about the time he took two ex-girlfriends to the hospital for abortions,” Ruan Qingxiao said.

Truly a consistent bastard.

The assistant nodded and asked, “What else?” One thing like that shouldn’t be enough to prove she was targeting Teacher Li; it might just look like Ruan, the “fiancée,” had finally had enough of Tang’s antics.

Ruan Qingxiao thought for a moment. “A few of his friends were privately critiquing some Photoshopped pictures of her. I smashed their phones.”

Assistant: “Mhm.”

Ruan: “Tang Qingyun ordered flowers to give to her, but when the shop assistant delivered them, I trampled them.”

Assistant: “On purpose or by accident?”

Ruan’s gaze darkened, looking like she wanted to chop something with a knife. “He had printed his current girlfriend’s name on the card at the same time.”

Assistant: “…Likely forgot to delete the template notes.”

However, she could understand why Ruan was angry. If her friend encountered such a thing, she would have slapped the man a few times if she had any self-respect left.

The assistant had one last question: “So how did he finally give up?”

Ruan said, “He later met another minor star and spent some effort chasing her down.”

Assistant understood: “A ‘replacement’ (stand-in) then.”

Ruan continued, “That star drugged him and tried to pull a ‘honey trap’ (badger game) with her ex-boyfriend. When his parents found out, they were furious and cut off his allowance for six months.”

The assistant fully understood now. “No wonder after you became an actress, his parents became much colder toward you.”

Aside from what Tang himself thought, his parents were likely psychologically scarred; their existing prejudices naturally became more deep-seated. Tang Qingyun still couldn’t fully escape his parents’ control now, let alone in university.

However, Ruan Qingxiao was happy to see this result, as it helped her shake off Tang Qingyun as a burden. The assistant peeked at Ruan several times, hesitating to ask if she had anything to do with the honey trap incident. Ruan looked like she had reached the limit of her patience with Tang-related topics.

“Does Teacher Li know about any of this?” the assistant changed the subject.

“…” Ruan didn’t frown this time, but her expression became a bit dazed. “I don’t know.”

“Back then—before you debuted—did you ever talk about these things?”

The assistant guessed that Ruan must have seen Teacher Li’s small theater performances many times during her student days.

“No,” Ruan said after a silence. “She shouldn’t know I ever went to her shows.”

Every time she went, she intentionally sat in a corner, sometimes in disguise. Forget Li Mengjue; even the classmates entering and leaving didn’t recognize her.

Assistant: “…”

“Can I ask why? I heard Teacher Li has a great personality. She wouldn’t be so… uh, scary, right?”

Unsure if a certain word struck a chord, the usually unshakeable Miss Ruan stuttered suspiciously.

“No…” Ruan hesitated. “I just… didn’t know how to talk to her.”

The assistant looked puzzled. “Just like how you usually interact with people?”

Ruan said, “They all say I’m too cold like that.”

Assistant: “Then just tell her you like her! You’re a ‘True Love Fan’ who has watched her dramas until the lines are memorized, collects all her merch, and knows her schedule better than your own work calendar… Who could bear to reject a fan who loves them so much?”

Li Mengjue was famously approachable, after all.

Ruan instinctively argued back: “I-I do not like her!”

The assistant turned and was shocked to see her flushed face. Whether from excitement or shame, she clearly didn’t want to admit it. The Eldest Miss Ruan was actually like a hedgehog; cold and rational on the surface to protect herself. But being in that environment long-term meant she was bad at expressing positive emotions. Even to her father or brother, she could never say “I love you”—such feelings had long been worn away. Expressing love or closeness to an outsider was even harder. “Appreciation” was probably the limit of her outward expression.

Instead of verbal praise, she preferred giving her subordinates red envelopes (cash bonuses). The assistant admitted she loved that method of encouragement. But this was the first time she had seen Ruan react so violently.

Is being a fan that embarrassing?

The assistant felt it was odd but didn’t overthink it. Instead, she had a sudden realization about something else.

“The few times you ran into Teacher Li recently… it wasn’t like this, was it?” the assistant asked. “Either you didn’t dare speak, or… uh, basically, you didn’t speak properly?”

Ruan awkwardly shifted her gaze, then nodded and whispered, “I’m content as long as I can see her.”

“…” The assistant almost lost her composure. She wanted to grab Ruan’s shoulders and shake her awake; the heiress really didn’t fit this “tragic unrequited love” script. But she suppressed the urge—it really sounded like Ruan had been pining for Teacher Li for years.

Thinking of their years of friendship and the generous bonuses, the assistant slowly regained her calm.

“I finally know why people say you and Teacher Li have a bad relationship,” the assistant sighed deeply.

“…A bad relationship?” Ruan slowly turned her head. “A lot of people say that?”

The assistant nodded. “You didn’t know?”

Ruan shook her head. To be honest, she was surprised. No one dared to ask her these questions to her face. Among the fans, excluding the crazy ones, most were looking forward to them being in the same frame or even collaborating. So to Ruan, the description of “having a bad relationship” was quite foreign.

Once the topic of “liking or not” was avoided, Ruan’s logic immediately came back online. She realized the assistant’s unspoken implication.

Her brow knit together piece by piece, her voice sinking. “Has anyone caused trouble for her because of this?”