Chapter 8:
After a bowl of hot noodles, the fatigue from her cold completely disappeared.
Qi Sijia put the bowl and chopsticks in the dishwasher and went to her study.
The walls of the study were also peeling. As she pushed the door open, two pieces of white paint fell off.
Calmly stepping over the pile of powder, she walked to her computer desk.
She planned to take a long leave of absence.
Qi Sijia was a full-time author, quite famous on Huangjiang. The novel she was currently updating was called Sinking, and its core was about growth.
It was a realistic, small-town novel with a grayish tone, and Qi Sijia had decided on a bad ending.
Looking at the market share of all bad-ending novels, the readership was small, and the income was even worse. It was rare for a tragedy to become popular on Huangjiang.
This was a novel Qi Sijia had written for herself.
She had originally thought that a bad-ending novel would have a small audience, but due to the vivid imagery and the heart-wrenching, compact plot, readers cried as they followed along. Ninety-nine out of a hundred people would urge her to update in the comments section.
Sometimes, popularity depends on luck. Qi Sijia’s bad-ending novel combined the writing style of web novels with the compactness of a screenplay. It was not only tragic, but the realistic imagery and strong sense of empathy led to increasing discussion, and readers frantically recommended it on various platforms.
So before Sinking was even finished, Huanmei Publishing had asked about the rights. And that wasn’t all; the film and television rights had also come to her.
Since niche genres didn’t usually become popular, no author on Huangjiang’s lesbian fiction site had ever been asked about film and television rights before.
With multiple rights under her belt, Qi Sijia had planned to focus on finishing this book before going out to exercise. But for now, she had to put it aside. She was in a bad mood and was afraid she would deviate from the plot and write an even more tragic ending, which would be a disservice to the copyright holders.
After all, they had suggested that she change the ending to an open one to appeal to a wider audience.
It’s well known that writing often depends on the author’s emotions. It’s possible to write while in a bad state, but the result is often far from the core of the story. Even if readers are satisfied out of politeness, Qi Sijia would regret it later when she looked back.
So she would rather take a break and sort out her feelings.
She opened the buttery-yellow website page, logged into the author’s backend, and as usual, there were dozens of messages urging her to update.
She had missed an update last night due to her cold and had fallen asleep in a daze, even forgetting to post a leave of absence notice. Qi Sijia poked her cheek, moved the mouse to open the backend, and first sent red envelopes to every reader in the comments section as an apology.
Then she posted a leave of absence notice.
[Heartbroken and dumped, in a bad mood, taking a month off.]
The comments section in the backend quickly exploded.
Qi Sijia scrolled up from the bottom comment.
“Whoa, dumped again…”
“Help, it’s so well-written, why is it a serialized novel?”
…
New comments kept flooding in. Qi Sijia read them one by one and found almost no negative comments.
Most of her readers were more like friends who kept her company. Separated by a network cable, they were strangers, yet they would say the most caring things to her.
Even though Qi Sijia often went on hiatus due to breakups, the reader section was very harmonious.
“Crying.”
“Waiting for you to come back.”
“Waiting.”
“I’ll come check every day to see if you’re too embarrassed to go on hiatus.”
…
Qi Sijia scrolled all the way to the top, her hand almost sore. Just as she was about to let out a sigh of relief, a new comment popped up.
“What? A month-long hiatus? Please, author, can you just not fall in love anymore? Isn’t it good to be single and beautiful like my goddess Meng Jiang? Crying a river of tears.”
This comment had just been posted for three minutes, and the number of replies was surprisingly high.
It started with the third floor, which had posted evidence from Meng Jiang’s super topic that the “Miss Q” Meng Jiang had mentioned did indeed exist.
“The original poster definitely doesn’t check the hot search.”
“Well said, but don’t use Meng Jiang to encourage the author to give up on love anymore. The single-and-beautiful circle had an earthquake yesterday. My goddess personally admitted that she had loved but broke up.”
“If you want to see, click #MengJiangPersonallyAdmitsRelationshipLink, #MengJiang’sFirstLoveMissQLink.”
…
Qi Sijia’s hands trembled as she read. She had social anxiety, but that didn’t mean she was out of touch with the internet.
The fan culture of the entertainment industry was a bit foreign to Qi Sijia.
Meng Jiang was very famous now. If she casually mentioned a first love, obsessive fans could very well track down Qi Sijia based on that clue.
Qi Sijia wasn’t in the circle. She was psychologically resistant to socializing and being watched.
If her identity as Meng Jiang’s first love was revealed, and she was harassed by anti-fans sending her blades and blocking her door, it would be a disaster for Qi Sijia.
She hadn’t contacted or followed Meng Jiang all these years. They didn’t know each other’s whereabouts.
If Meng Jiang hadn’t appeared that day, Qi Sijia would have almost completely sealed away her memories of Meng Jiang.
She couldn’t remember her existence.
Presumably, Meng Jiang felt the same way. It was as if they had reached a consensus to not disturb each other, to not meet after breaking up. This was the greatest dignity.
The only surprise was that when she met Meng Jiang yesterday, Qi Sijia hadn’t taken the initiative to greet her, but when she left, she had told Meng Jiang to be careful.
They had been fine all these years. Meng Jiang’s sudden mention of Miss Q was puzzling, but it wasn’t a good thing.
Qi Sijia casually pulled up the search bar, sincerely hoping that this matter would not be further investigated.
She clicked on the link in the comments section.
Fortunately, there were many posts about Miss Q. The online hype was big, but it was all a mix of truth and falsehood. There was no information about her. Meng Jiang’s team must have done some PR in time.
The forum was full of speculative comments.
Some cursed Miss Q for cheating and playing with feelings.
Others said that Meng Jiang never came to Ningcheng because Miss Q had done something so disgusting that the goddess hated her, and by extension, the city.
Most fans believed that Meng Jiang’s casual mention of her first love meant that she had moved on.
Several of these theories, a mix of truth and falsehood, made it to the hot search. Meng Jiang herself had no reaction.
As the woman who had dumped the famous actress Meng Jiang, Qi Sijia looked around and found that the most well-reasoned voice was only one, from Meng Jiang’s fan super topic.
A diamond-level fan had compiled all the possible clues related to Miss Q from Meng Jiang’s public appearances over the years.
For example, in 2019, when Meng Jiang received an award at the Berlin Film Festival for her movie 20-Year-Old First Love, after her official acceptance speech, she had paused for a long time. At that time, her lips had formed the words, “I also thank her.”
Another example, in 2020, Meng Jiang participated in the Spring Festival Gala. During a skit at the New Year’s Eve party, she wore a hat with the letter Q on it. Later, during the host’s interview, she rested her hand on the brim of the hat, her phoenix eyes crinkling as she smiled and said, “Happy New Year.”
If you looked closely, her two slender fingers were stroking the shape of the “Q” on the brim.
In 2021, Meng Jiang met with fans for her new disaster movie Stiff Walk. A reporter asked, “Why did you choose to star in this niche genre film that might face the risk of being pulled?”
At the same time, there were clearly better scripts offered to Meng Jiang, including one from a famous Hollywood director. But Meng Jiang chose Stiff Walk.
During the interview, Meng Jiang crossed her slender legs and, facing the camera, curled her lips into a smile. “Because someone likes to watch it, and they’ll fall in love with me after watching it.”
…
In total, there were over a hundred pieces of evidence in the post. In the early days of her career, Meng Jiang had never mentioned Miss Q, but it seemed that every word she said expressed her unforgettable feelings for Miss Q in the years before her debut.
There were no more clues in the following two years, but the poster of this post concluded: Every hint Meng Jiang gave to the other person was a fruitless attempt at reconciliation. Perhaps the greatest sorrow is a dead heart, the greatest grief is silence. She had let go.
Qi Sijia silently closed the post.
Returning to the comments section, she happened to see a reader ask, “Could it be that Meng Jiang still can’t forget Miss Q?”
Qi Sijia replied, “No.”
As soon as she sent her reply, her top-ranking wealthy fan, Wealthy Peony, @ed her: “Why not?”
Qi Sijia lowered her eyes, said nothing, and exited the comments section.
Because they had already broken up. If Meng Jiang would, she wouldn’t have rushed towards her future without any room for discussion between love and career.
Indecisiveness will only lead to trouble.
This was what Qi Sijia had learned from Qi Jun and Wei Yunfang’s twenty-year-long debate between career and family. So what reason did a career-driven person like Meng Jiang have to look back for a discarded first love?
Even if Meng Jiang did look back, Qi Sijia wouldn’t be waiting for her.
They were already in two different worlds. It took Qi Sijia a long time to get over that relationship.
Now that it was brought up, she had already let it go.
Qi Sijia had originally thought that not disturbing, not contacting, and not paying attention to each other all these years was a tacit understanding between them.
But Meng Jiang had mentioned her yesterday, which had undoubtedly caused trouble for Qi Sijia. Of course, she still hoped that this matter could be properly resolved.
Just as she was considering whether to call Qi Jun and encrypt her student records at Ningcheng University, the phone rang.
It was an unknown number. When she answered, Qi Sijia didn’t expect it to be Meng Jiang.
“Qi Sijia?”
Meng Jiang’s voice was a mature, older sister type, very recognizable.
Qi Sijia knew who it was as soon as she heard the beginning. “It’s me.”
“This is Meng Jiang.”
“I know.”
The other side was clearly stunned for a moment, then a soft laugh landed. “Although it’s very presumptuous, please add me on WeChat.”
Qi Sijia: “Mmm.”
“Mmm?”
Perhaps influenced by the post about Meng Jiang’s lingering feelings for her, Qi Sijia didn’t react for a moment and subconsciously pursed her lips.
She hadn’t expected Meng Jiang to still have feelings for her as the netizens had predicted.
Qi Sijia’s tone was cold and hard. “It’s probably not appropriate.”
“Are you trying to get me exposed by your fans?”
On the phone, Meng Jiang was first stunned, then burst into a series of laughter.
“Qi Sijia,” Meng Jiang said, as if she were out of breath from laughing. “What are you thinking?”
“I was drunk during the interview yesterday afternoon. I’m sorry for unintentionally mentioning you. I’ve already notified my team to urgently delete all related real-life information. If you have any trouble in the future, you can come to me.”
“Oh,” Qi Sijia said. “So you’re adding me on WeChat to…”
“You don’t think I’m trying to get back together with you, do you—” Meng Jiang’s voice was slow and leisurely, her last syllable drawn out, with a hint of careless affection.
Qi Sijia sat at her computer desk, her long hair brushing against her cheek. She suddenly felt a little hot and pushed it back with her fingers several times.
“No?” she asked softly.
“Don’t even think about it,” Meng Jiang said with a disgusted tone.
Qi Sijia let out a long sigh of relief. “Then I’m relieved.”
The line was silent for a full three seconds. Perhaps angered by the suspicion that she was seeking a reconciliation, Meng Jiang skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point, briefly explaining the request the waiter at Huaqing Garden had made to her after Qi Sijia left yesterday.
“My phone number is the same as my WeChat ID. Add me, and I’ll transfer the money to you.”
Can’t you transfer money through Alipay or a bank card?
Qi Sijia opened her mouth in difficulty, but before she could ask the question, the phone was hung up with a click.
