When The Scheming Female Supporting Character Is Forced To Seduce The Female Lead - Chapter 7

Du Jingmo’s blunt remark left Zhao Qingdai speechless.

She wanted to explain, but facing Du Jingmo, her ability to speak seemed to have deserted her. After a long pause, she finally managed to say, “…I just wanted to make Sister a little happier.”

And perhaps improve her impression on her.

Her nervousness was written plainly on her face. Du Jingmo pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile, but her eyes still curved with amusement. “Just a little happier. Now, let’s eat.”

Zhao Qingdai’s tense shoulders instantly relaxed.

At the breakfast table, after finishing her meal, Du Jingmo glanced at the clock and said, “I brought you back here to recover. Auntie will take care of your daily needs and meals. There’s no need for you to cook.”

Zhao Qingdai agreed readily, but in reality, she had not only prepared dinner, she had also pre-ordered the daily flowers Du Jingmo needed to change, and even tended to the flower garden in the small courtyard despite her injured leg.

After several failed attempts to dissuade her, Du Jingmo echoed the System’s exasperation: “Are you some kind of disabled heroine with an iron will?”

She was beginning to understand why Zhao Qingdai’s reputation as a “green tea” (a deceptive woman who plays hard-to-get) was so notorious, yet so many men still fell for her.

If even a woman like me can’t resist her, how could any man possibly say no?

Du Jingmo was a proper young lady raised in luxury, bound by countless rules and taboos. Only Auntie, a long-time Du family servant who had grown accustomed to her quirks, could manage to care for her. But ever since Zhao Qingdai arrived, Auntie felt like she was teetering on the brink of unemployment.

Even Auntie, who had watched Du Jingmo grow up, would inadvertently stumble upon her pet peeves. However, Du Jingmo was always exceptionally lenient with those she was familiar with, usually choosing not to make a fuss.

But Zhao Qingdai had never once caused such a situation.

This young woman not only perfectly managed Du Jingmo’s moods, but also understood her love for ritual and ceremony. Every day, she prepared small surprises for her.

They were truly small surprises: like adding an extra orange lantern to the fruit salad, or repurposing the daily floral arrangements into personalized bookmarks to give to Du Jingmo.

These gestures struck the perfect balance between thoughtful and unobtrusive. Even Auntie, a seasoned woman in her fifties who had seen it all, couldn’t help but marvel at them.

The mere fact of Zhao Qingdai’s attentiveness was already more powerful than anything else.

And then there was her beauty.

After daily surprises had almost become a fixed program in the Du family, Auntie finally had a chance to flex her creative muscles again.

Zhao Qingdai said, “Auntie, could you prepare dinner tonight? I need to run out and won’t have any time left.”

Auntie nodded immediately, afraid of losing this opportunity. “What are you going out for?”

Zhao Qingdai’s eyes lit up with a mischievous smile. “I’ve been staying here for a week now. Today, I need to prepare a bigger surprise for Sister.”

Auntie was taken aback by this answer. After a moment of silence, she sighed, “You’re such a sweet girl. I wonder what kind of man would be lucky enough to marry you.”

Zhao Qingdai didn’t answer, just smiled and waved goodbye.

In just a week, her injuries—once severe enough to keep her in the emergency room for hours—had mostly healed. As long as she walked slowly, it was impossible to tell she’d been hurt.

She sighed, “Characters in 2D anime have it so easy. Except for death, nothing seems to bother them.”

[You seem awfully accepting of your 2D identity.]

Zhao Qingdai shrugged. “Does it even matter what my identity is? I’m still living the same life.”

The System and Zhao Qingdai had developed a habit of bickering. Just as it was about to retort, its tone suddenly shifted, and a “Holy shit!” slipped out.

Zhao Qingdai: “Why are you cursing? Aren’t you supposed to be civilized, being a System?”

“…I’d love to be civilized, but how can anyone hold back when they see someone who looks almost exactly like you?”

Exactly like me?

Following the System’s direction, Zhao Qingdai glanced across the street at the opposite mall and immediately spotted the woman the System had described as her near-identical twin. Her face paled instantly.

The sun blazed down, curling the leaves of trees, but standing under its scorching rays, Zhao Qingdai felt an icy chill, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Even when she was on the brink of death after her car accident, she hadn’t looked so shaken. The System abandoned its usual banter, now cautious. “What’s wrong? Who is that?”

Zhao Qingdai didn’t hide it. “My… birth mother.”

She had thought she would never see this woman again.

Her feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move even half a step. She watched that familiar face standing in the shadows, waiting, then saw a little boy with a sulky face emerge from the mall.

His face showed a mix of resentment and impatience. He tilted his head away from the woman’s touch, then felt a pang of guilt when he saw the hurt look on her face. He let her pat him on the head, and after exchanging a smile, they walked into the ice cream shop.

“What’s their relationship?” Zhao Qingdai felt a stinging in her eyes as tears welled up. “This sun is too harsh.”

The System knew she wasn’t asking for information and remained silent.

The pair they’d just seen were clearly mother and son. The boy even bore a slight resemblance to Zhao Qingdai.

No one is born a villain. According to the System’s data, Zhao Qingdai’s mother simply left home when she was thirteen and never returned.

But when such a simple line of backstory lands on a living, breathing person, it can’t be summed up in a single sentence.

“Let’s go. Back to preparing the gift. We can’t forget the main task.” Zhao Qingdai had already composed herself. Kicking a pebble as she walked, she acted as if she hadn’t just witnessed anything at all.

The System didn’t fully understand human emotions, but it now regretted reminding Zhao Qingdai of her past.

When Zhao Qingdai returned to the dormitory, the scene was eerily similar to before: the roommates had been chatting and laughing, but fell silent the moment she entered, as if they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Go ahead without me,” she said. “I’ll just grab my things and leave.”

But since moving into Du Jingmo’s home, she’d never planned to leave.

The System watched her move with practiced ease, rummaging through drawers and cabinets. She retrieved a tightly framed painting and a set of art supplies before turning to leave. “I almost forgot you were an art student too.”

Du Jingmo, the Female Lead, was still busy with her studies and art, even finding time to advance the plot. Yet Zhao Qingdai, a supporting character, was actually using art supplies for the first time.

What does it mean to fall from grace? This was it.

Zhao Qingdai returned to Du Jingmo’s home with her supplies, locked herself in her room, laid out fresh paper, and drew a… funny face.

The System: “…… So I really look that punchable?”

Zhao Qingdai finally smiled sincerely. “You’ve got quite a good sense of self-awareness.”

The System: “……”

Damn, the boomerang hit me back. That hurts.

Zhao Qingdai had originally planned to draw a portrait of Du Jingmo. But after meeting the woman, her mind was in turmoil, making it impossible to even begin.

She had always felt inferior to Du Jingmo, and her birth mother’s sudden appearance had torn that insecurity out into the light, making it painfully obvious.

Zhao Qingdai had carefully read the section about her in the original text multiple times, especially her background and character development.

What had been a nightmare for her was reduced to just twenty-odd words on paper.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and collapsed onto the floor. The air conditioning chilled the tiles, and the cold seeping through her skin kept her alert.

She came from a terrible family. As a child, all her suffering stemmed from her father.

He was a drunkard, gambler, and abuser—a man who committed every imaginable evil. He did everything except act like a decent human being.

At that time, she hadn’t yet met Du Jingmo. Her only support was her mother.

Then, at thirteen, her mother left.

Zhao Qingdai stared at the ceiling and suddenly spoke: “I’ve never actually resented her for leaving. Who wouldn’t want to escape such a home? Haven’t I been saving money since I understood the world, all to flee?”

“But why… wouldn’t she take me with her?”

Not only did she refuse, Zhao Qingdai had witnessed her birth mother’s escape that day.

She had clung to her mother’s hand, crying, “Take me with you!”

At that time, she couldn’t even afford proper food and warmth. At thirteen years old, she weighed less than seventy pounds, but she clung to her mother’s hand with all her might, because it was her last lifeline, her last hope.

“How strong was I back then? My mother couldn’t shake me off, and she was afraid my father would come home early and stop her.”

“So she slapped me twice, hard enough to knock me to the ground. Only then could she finally escape.”

Zhao Qingdai touched her cheek. “That was the hardest slap I’ve ever received.”

It hurt a thousand, no, ten thousand times more than any punch from her abusive father.

Her tone was calm, her expression indifferent, as if she were recounting someone else’s story. But the System felt an overwhelming urge to slap itself.

As a System, it had experienced regret twice in quick succession.

“You don’t need to feel guilty or blame yourself,” Zhao Qingdai said, sitting up. “It’s all in the past. I just suddenly felt the need to talk to someone, even though you’re not exactly a person.”

“Thinking about it now, I’m still sad, but I don’t hate her. Sometimes, I even feel fortunate.”

It was on that day that she first met Du Jingmo.

Dazed and disoriented from the beating, Zhao Qingdai refused to give up. She staggered out of the house, following the car carrying her mother until it disappeared down the alley.

In that moment, she felt utter despair. Her vision went dark, and she collapsed onto the ground—right in front of Du Jingmo, who was returning home from school.

Zhao Qingdai told herself not to dwell on it. She picked up her paintbrush again and tore open the wrapping around the picture frame.

A half-finished portrait was revealed.

Even in its incomplete state, Du Jingmo’s essence already shone through the painting. Every stroke revealed the artist’s meticulous care.

Zhao Qingdai had painted this during her first year of university. When she first began, her intention had been simple: to draw a portrait of her sister. But as she worked, she realized something was amiss.

Love, no matter how much you try to conceal it, always finds a way to show itself.

For some, it shows in their eyes. For Zhao Qingdai, it manifested through the tip of her brush.

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