Blame the Villain – Chapter 7
by Little PandaThe Villainous Film Empress (7)
A little rich girl bent on saving the world X A paranoid, dark, and vengeful Film Empress
Song Xuyi never expected her “tree hole1” to suddenly come alive.
Much less did she expect Zhao Qingyu to actually notice the number of days she had missed ‘clocking in2.’
She often visited the Super Topic3 and knew some fans had dedicated groups to track daily sign-ins; those who signed in rarely were looked down upon by the rest. Yet she never imagined the day would come when her own broken streak would be pointed out by someone else.
And that person was the idol herself.
At the thought of this, heat rose to Song Xuyi’s face once again.
She stared at the money transfer Zhao Qingyu had sent over, feeling incredibly conflicted, unsure if she should accept it or not. Finally, she set her phone down and went downstairs once more.
If the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move. Since Zhao Qingyu hadn’t accepted the transfer she sent, she was too embarrassed to accept the one Zhao Qingyu sent in return.
By the time she went downstairs, the Song family had already adjusted their emotions.
Given the Song family’s status, the phones rang non-stop every New Year’s Eve. Song Xuyi rarely mingled in her parents’ circles, and she had already cut ties with her previous fair-weather friends, so she merely made a few calls and sent messages to a few classmates and teachers.
It was a rare moment of leisure for Song Xuyi. She curled up on the sofa, sipping a sweet and sour cocktail and eating snacks while scrolling through Weibo4. Almost unconsciously, she tapped into Zhao Qingyu’s Super Topic.
The movie Zhao Qingyu was starring in had just released its final trailer.
The official synopsis described it as a tale of jianghu5 revenge and power struggles.
In the trailer, Zhao Qingyu’s gaze was sharp and ruthless as she sat high upon a throne. Though she was only twenty-one, a single turn and glance back conveyed all of the character’s life experiences over the years. At first, her eyes held a touch of melancholy as she looked down at the masses prostrating themselves at her feet, as if unable to understand why the girl who had only wanted to marry her shige and live a happy pastoral life was now sitting here. Then, those beautiful eyes abruptly narrowed. Time flew like an arrow; the glint of swords and the shadows of blades from the past years flashed before her eyes. Finally, her gaze hardened little by little. As the camera pulled back, she stood above ten thousand people—lonely yet utterly indifferent—and slowly raised her hands…
It wasn’t until the trailer ended that Song Xuyi snapped back to her senses and let out a long breath.
The alcohol seemed to have gone to her head. This version of Zhao Qingyu was simply too striking. She drew in a person’s every thought and emotion involuntarily, making them want to prostrate themselves before her.
Before Song Xuyi could detach herself from the lingering emotions of the trailer, a video call lit up her phone screen. Seeing the three characters for “Zhao Qingyu” at the top, Song Xuyi’s heart skipped a beat. She nearly dropped her phone on the floor. She barely managed to grip it, but in her frantic fumble, she accidentally hit “Accept”…
The screen flipped and spun wildly for a moment before the other party’s flushed red face appeared on the display.
“Hello, Xuyi.”
Zhao Qingyu looked at Song Xuyi’s shy face on the other end of the screen. Not having seen her for so long, Song Xuyi seemed to have lost a little weight. Her facial features had become even more delicate, which made her eyes—currently misted over with a layer of moisture—appear even larger.
Had she been drinking?
Zhao Qingyu had to admit that she really liked Song Xuyi’s eyes. They were clean and clear, holding a brightness that others could not imitate, as if they were forever vibrant and brimming with hope and fighting spirit.
It was as if Song Xuyi had suddenly become this way. Thinking back carefully, Zhao Qingyu realized she had already forgotten what the former Song Xuyi used to look like.
Zhao Qingyu didn’t know when she had first started paying attention to the daily updates Song Xuyi sent her.
Zhao Qingyu was incredibly sensitive to the emotions of others. After interacting a few times, she was certain that the current Song Xuyi didn’t really like her, and even faintly feared her.
Then why did Song Xuyi still pretend to like her?
Zhao Qingyu wanted to figure out the reason.
When she first saw the messages Song Xuyi sent, she deliberately chose not to reply; she wanted to test Song Xuyi’s attitude.
Yet, every time she opened her phone, Zhao Qingyu didn’t quite know what mood possessed her—she would always subconsciously tap away the red notification dot on Song Xuyi’s chat window. Furthermore, she had never once considered blocking Song Xuyi.
And every time she received Song Xuyi’s flowers on set, the cast and crew would tease her, half-joking and half-earnest. “Qingyu, I’m so jealous you have a fan with such an illustrious background as the Song family’s princess…”
Whenever she heard such remarks, Zhao Qingyu smiled on the surface, but laughed mockingly in her heart. Just a fake fan full of false affection.
But Song Xuyi sent a bouquet of flowers every week without fail.
As Zhao Qingyu received the flowers, she got along harmoniously with the “friendly” directors and actors around her, never again encountering the miserable troubles she had faced on her last film set…
At that point, a faint suspicion had formed in Zhao Qingyu’s heart. It seemed Song Xuyi was using this method to… protect her.
But why would she do that?
The confusion surrounding Song Xuyi grew in her heart. One day, when the crew passed by a supermarket after a group dinner, Zhao Qingyu went inside, bought a vase, and placed it in her room. She began swapping out the flowers Song Xuyi sent every week…
Meanwhile, the messages Song Xuyi sent began to change.
One day, as Zhao Qingyu woke up early and was getting her makeup done, Song Xuyi’s chat window lit up again.
“I bet you’ve definitely blocked me, hehe.”
Zhao Qingyu watched coldly to see what she was trying to do, only to find the other party didn’t send another message for a long time.
It wasn’t until she finished filming her night scenes that she realized Song Xuyi had sent another: “Today’s exam was so hard! I think I got the last essay question wrong…”
Was she… acting spoiled with her?
However, no more messages followed.
The next morning, she saw Song Xuyi had sent: “They had my favorite lemon chicken feet this morning. Our cafeteria’s chicken feet are truly top-notch, super delicious. And the cutest part is, the auntie serving the food always gives me an extra one…”
Only then did realization dawn on Zhao Qingyu in hindsight: this little brat Song Xuyi was actually using her WeChat as a tree hole!
For the first time, Zhao Qingyu felt a bit caught between laughter and tears, but aside from this possibility, she couldn’t think of any other explanation.
It was just that, as Zhao Qingyu looked down at the chicken breast and broccoli diet meal in front of her, the food she had already grown accustomed to suddenly tasted bland and flavorless.
When evening came, Song Xuyi returned:
“The trailer for your new movie came out today! You’re so beautiful…”
“Today Teacher Huang scolded a boy until he cried again. Even though I don’t idolize him as much as I did at the start of the semester, what he said actually makes a lot of sense: there are some mistakes in the details that absolutely cannot be made…”
…
From then on, Song Xuyi began sharing her most ordinary, trivial daily life every single day.
Zhao Qingyu would flip through them every day, though she never replied. After all, in her understanding, the messages Song Xuyi sent were just a form of entertainment; she never took them to heart.
Until one day, Song Xuyi stopped sending WeChat messages.
What happened?
Zhao Qingyu was somewhat absentminded for that entire day. She even had ‘cut’ called on her several times on set, and tossed and turned late into the night before finally falling asleep…
It wasn’t until the second day that Song Xuyi’s messages started coming through again.
“Following the old master around and learning every day is so exhausting! But I’ve also learned so much…”
So she had just been busy studying.
Zhao Qingyu had to admit that in that moment, a massive boulder seemed to lift from her chest. It was also then she realized that Song Xuyi’s place in her heart seemed to be a bit more important than she had imagined…
This was not a good sign.
But seeing the very next message pop up on her phone—”The old master praised me for being extremely talented, I’m so happy”—the corners of Zhao Qingyu’s lips curled up unconsciously.
Song Xuyi’s entire being was truly dazzling, which was why she naturally attracted the attention of someone as dark and hypocritical as herself. Every time she read the messages Song Xuyi sent, it felt like she was raising an endearing little pet inside her phone. It brought a bizarre sense of satisfaction.
In the end, she’s just a pet I can see right through at a glance. What kind of waves could she possibly make?
…
However, this interruption was only the beginning. For a period afterward, Song Xuyi’s messages became intermittent. Even though she knew Song Xuyi was busy studying, Zhao Qingyu almost instinctively began to harbor suspicions. Is she really studying? Or has she… given up on pretending to like me?
Without even noticing it herself, the frequency with which Zhao Qingyu checked her phone increased significantly. Whenever she stared at the empty chat window, it felt as though a feather was tickling her chest, bringing about an indescribable agitation.
This feeling reached its peak as the end of the year approached: Song Xuyi hadn’t sent a message for five days straight—
With the arrival of the Spring Festival, the film production gave all members a three-day holiday.
New Year’s Eve arrived.
The caretaker had gone home for the New Year. Her mother had been given a tranquilizer and was asleep. The hospital room was completely silent. Zhao Qingyu sat in the room, expressionlessly scrolling through her phone. She had received an email; it stated that the financial reports for the company she had secretly established had already doubled.
Zhao Qingyu’s lips curved, but her heart didn’t feel the joy she thought she would.
She unlocked her phone and subconsciously lingered on Song Xuyi’s chat window again. A familiar middle-aged man walked into the room and handed Zhao Qingyu a red envelope6. Inside the envelope was a check.
Zhao Qingyu didn’t look at the check. She looked up at the man and asked softly, “Is Auntie Liu still unwilling to see me?”
The man gave Zhao Qingyu a glance and shook his head.
Auntie Liu was Zhao Qingyu’s sponsor. After her mother went mad, it was Auntie Liu who had funded Zhao Qingyu’s living expenses for a long time, and the initial capital Zhao Qingyu used to establish her company was also borrowed from Auntie Liu.
However, Auntie Liu never agreed to see Zhao Qingyu. Her only request was for Zhao Qingyu to grow up happily, safely, and joyfully.
Zhao Qingyu had always disguised herself perfectly, just as Auntie Liu hoped. She had exceptional grades, skipped grades consecutively, graduated from university at nineteen, suddenly signed up for an acting program at twenty, and exploded in popularity at twenty-one… Her smile was her flawless mask. She deceived everyone; no one knew the monstrous, towering hatred buried deep in her heart.
The man left quickly.
Zhao Qingyu’s mood only worsened. She unconsciously opened her phone and stayed on Song Xuyi’s page, only to discover an incoming transfer. That little brat who had been missing for five days had also sent her lucky money7…
Zhao Qingyu sneered inwardly, but as if possessed, she couldn’t resist replying to the message.
She could already predict Song Xuyi’s expression. Song Xuyi would definitely be as shocked as if she had seen a ghost, and then she would certainly blush red to the tips of her ears from sheer embarrassment…
I’ve never seen a kid who gets flustered so easily…
Zhao Qingyu stared intently at the chat window. However, fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no reply from the other side.
Zhao Qingyu’s face darkened.
Just as she was about to toss her phone aside, the other party finally replied.
At least she knows what’s good for her!
Zhao Qingyu looked at the fake fan’s declarations of loyalty and sneered in her heart, yet she still couldn’t resist sending lucky money back over.
Song Xuyi didn’t reply again, nor did she accept the transfer.
A fake fan indeed!
Zhao Qingyu lost her patience completely and dialed the video call.
However, after the video connected and they exchanged greetings, Zhao Qingyu looked at Song Xuyi’s flushed cheeks in the video and the “shh” gesture she made, and suddenly forgot what she was going to say…
Song Xuyi seemed to have taken her phone outside.
BOOM!
With a massive crash, Song Xuyi flipped her camera. Fireworks were being set off inside the Song Family Estate. Adults were exchanging congratulations, and children were hopping and skipping about. Illuminated by the colorful fireworks bursting in the night sky, the lively noise and clamor seemed to pour straight out of the screen, making the hospital room look as though it were no longer so deserted and cold…
The camera turned again, and Zhao Qingyu saw the girl’s shy, smiling face.
“Happy New Year, Qingyu-jie.”
“In the new year, you must be healthy, and may everything… be happy!”
…
The author has something to say:
Song Xuyi: Wishing you ‘may all your wishes come true’ means wiping myself out. I’m not that stupid~ (^__^) ~
Footnotes
- 'Tree hole' (shùdòng) is Chinese internet slang for a safe place to vent secrets or private thoughts where no one will respond or judge, originating from the story of King Midas's barber whispering into a hollow tree.
- In Chinese fan culture, 'clocking in' (dǎkǎ) refers to the daily tasks fans perform on social media platforms to maintain their idol's engagement metrics and prove their loyalty.
- 'Super Topic' (chāohuà) is a feature on Weibo (a major Chinese social media platform) similar to a dedicated forum for a specific celebrity's fandom.
- Weibo (Wēibó) is one of the largest social media platforms in China.
- The 'jianghu' (jiānghú), literally 'rivers and lakes', refers to the martial arts underworld or independent societies in traditional Chinese wuxia fiction.
- A red envelope (hóngbāo) is a traditional monetary gift given during holidays or special occasions in China, symbolizing good luck and warding off evil spirits.
- 'Lucky money' or 'New Year's money' (yāsuìqián) is cash traditionally given in red envelopes to younger people during the Lunar New Year to suppress evil spirits and ensure a safe year ahead.
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