After Transmigrating into a Redemption Novel as the Evil Stepmother - Chapter 25

“You, you, you…”

Zhou An’an stammered the word “you” several times in a row, her expression turning quite strange. Looking at this friend whom she felt she had never truly recognized, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words to retort.

Ji Shuangci had just admitted it so brazenly and even dared to provoke her!

Wasn’t she afraid that Auntie Ming would find out?

After holding it in for a long time, Zhou An’an squeezed out a sentence:

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll go tell Auntie Ming?”

In front of Zhou An’an, Ming Jiayue was a typical elder figure—strong to the outside world but indulgent to her family, making people instinctively trust and depend on her. However, some of her perceived views felt quite traditional.

For instance, she likely had no understanding of the fact that two women could be together.

Thinking Zhou An’an would say something with actual substance or threat, Ji Shuangci’s brow twitched. She curled her lip upward, her smile carrying a blatant, fearless provocation. She wasn’t afraid at all.

“Then go ahead and tell her.”

Zhou An’an: “…”

Ming Jiayue caught a stray glimpse and noticed that Zhou An’an had gotten out of the car at some point and was arguing excitedly with Ji Shuangci. Her long brows furrowed as Ming Jiayue strode over. She habitually rested her hand on Zhou An’an’s shoulder, standing beside her, and immediately asked with concern:

“An’an, why did you get out of the car?”

Being rendered speechless by the retort, Zhou An’an felt incredibly aggrieved the moment she heard Ming Jiayue’s voice. Tears welled up in her eyes instantly as she hugged Ming Jiayue’s waist, acting spoiled and pitiable.

“It’s nothing. I just missed you but couldn’t find you. I ran into Teacher Ji first, so I talked to her for a bit.”

Zhou An’an was a person with no guile whose emotions were always on her sleeve.

She was lying.

Ming Jiayue shifted her gaze, her sharp eyes piercing straight toward Ji Shuangci.

Ji Shuangci met Ming Jiayue’s gaze without flinching. For a moment, the air seemed to stand still, as if even the wind had ceased to blow.

After a few seconds of confrontation, Ming Jiayue withdrew her gaze. Without giving any further attention, she led Zhou An’an away in a protective stance.

“Mhm. It’s windy out and you’re dressed lightly. You can catch up another time. I’ll walk you back to the car first.”

“Okay.”

Zhou An’an linked both arms around Ming Jiayue’s. Before leaving, she looked back at Ji Shuangci and gave a very light huff.

Watching them walk away, the bit of triumph in Ji Shuangci’s heart quickly sank.

Her assistant walked over with hot water and let out a small gasp of surprise.

“Sister Ji, why does your face look so pale? Did you catch a cold? Quick, drink some hot water.”

Once back in the car, Zhou An’an acted shamelessly and refused to let Ming Jiayue leave, clinging to her.

“Auntie Ming, how many more episodes do we have to film? It’s not fun; I don’t want to do it anymore. Can we just leave? I want to go home. It’s not like we can’t afford the breach-of-contract fee; I’ll have my dad pay it.”

It felt as though thousands of ants were crawling in her heart; Zhou An’an had a premonition that she was about to lose someone incredibly important. She was panicked, yet she didn’t dare reveal even a fraction of her true feelings.

She was terrified that if Ming Jiayue found out, she would be hated, disgusted, and lose the warmth she currently possessed.

Zhou An’an didn’t dare look Ming Jiayue in the eye, but her fingers gripped Ming Jiayue’s sleeve exceptionally tight.

Seeing this obvious state of insecurity, Ming Jiayue felt it was strange. After a pause, she asked:

“An’an, did you just have a fight with Ji Shuangci?”

“No.”

Zhou An’an answered in a muffled voice, her denial firm.

“Then… do you dislike Ji Shuangci?”

Ming Jiayue was somewhat confused, but favoring Zhou An’an had already become a habit. Zhou An’an was sometimes obedient, sometimes erratic, and sometimes she looked at her with that cautious, admiring, and reverent gaze.

It was the kind of look that would make even the hardest heart soften.

Ming Jiayue had never considered what life would be like if she had a daughter, but Zhou An’an’s presence made her feel it was quite nice. Unknowingly, more bonds, and more favoritism, had grown.

Ming Jiayue was very patient, not pressing for answers, yet providing responses the moment Zhou An’an needed them, balancing the interaction perfectly.

As her heart slowly settled, Zhou An’an stole a glance at her from the corner of her eye.

Ming Jiayue tilted her head slightly, looking at her tenderly. Her facial lines, which usually seemed quite sharp, became soft and hazy under the warm-toned car lights.

It was as if she longed to know her inner thoughts and was willing to respect—or even indulge—them.

In reality, Zhou An’an’s father had been busy with work since she was born; she spent most of her upbringing with nannies. No elder had ever listened to her thoughts, tolerated her willfulness with such a gentle and doting attitude, or sincerely praised her as a wonderful person.

Until Ming Jiayue began to get close to her.

Zhou An’an seemed encouraged. She squeezed Ming Jiayue’s hand hard and chose a degree of honesty.

“I don’t like Ji Shuangci. I don’t want Auntie Ming to be around her.”

“I see.”

Ming Jiayue didn’t ask why. She simply stroked Zhou An’an’s forehead tenderly and comforted her gently. “Then we won’t film anymore after this episode, okay? We’ve already started today, and professional ethics…”

The fact that Ming Jiayue would give in was already a surprise to Zhou An’an. Her eyes lit up instantly, and she gave Ming Jiayue an excited hug, followed by a peck on the cheek.

“Okay! We won’t film after this one.”

A young girl’s moods come and go quickly. Being kissed without warning, Ming Jiayue was stunned for a moment. Looking at Zhou An’an’s smile, which was brighter than a sunflower, her heart softened. She sighed and glanced at her.

“You really do have the temperament of a child.”

In her current state, Ming Jiayue looked exceptionally vivid. Zhou An’an stared dazed for a few seconds and then pushed her luck.

“I’m only like this in front of you. I know Auntie Ming likes me best and is best to me.”

The corners of her lips curled up slightly as Ming Jiayue talked with her a bit longer before getting out of the car.

Actually, even if Zhou An’an hadn’t objected, Ming Jiayue hadn’t intended to film the next episode. The current hype and the promotion for the new energy vehicles were already well-coordinated; enough was as good as a feast.

She glanced at the system panel: the mission progress had increased by 6%. Ming Jiayue smiled and shook her head—Zhou An’an was indeed a child; her happiness and unhappiness were clear as day.

Ji Shuangci had been watching the movements of Ming Jiayue’s car. Seeing her step out, she hurriedly looked away, pretending to be unconcerned while discussing camera angles with the cameraman, though her peripheral vision remained fixed on Ming Jiayue.

As Ming Jiayue walked over, Ji Shuangci immediately handed the script over as if casually.

“Sister, we should go over our lines in advance.”

Ming Jiayue reached out to take it and gave a polite “Mhm.”

Ji Shuangci’s eyes darkened for a split second, but the next moment, as if nothing had happened, she began rehearsing lines with Ming Jiayue naturally and intimately, occasionally explaining filming points.

Ji Shuangci was young, but she appeared professional and seasoned when explaining acting points—she had clearly put in the work.

Since this was also work, Ming Jiayue listened cooperatively. Once filming began, the two of them engaged in a back-and-forth that showed extreme chemistry.

Today, their script was still a “CEO” script, but rather than a complete story, it was a selection of different snippets. Each script started with a melodramatic opening but took a completely different turn. In this episode, they used their real names, giving the livestream viewers a strange sense that they were playing with “abstract humor.”

[Snippet 1:]

In a dimly lit room, a pitiable female celebrity speaks weakly.

“Master.”

President Ming, a famous entrepreneur in H City, sits on the edge of the bed. Her face is flushed, knowing she’s been set up by a rival.

Looking at the woman before her who invites imagination, she remains unmoved and says in a deep voice:

“Shut up. There are no slaves in the New China.”

The lines finished, the camera zoomed in for a perfect profile close-up.

Livestream comments:

“That’s it? That’s it? I already took my pants off and you show me this?”

“Wait, are we not doing ‘spicy’ anymore, but switching to ‘abstract’?”

“Hahahaha, I’m literally dying of laughter.”

“How did I, a humble viewer, deserve these two faces playing abstract humor to make me happy!”

This was much more psychologically comfortable for Ming Jiayue than the “forced obsession” trope of the previous episode. The atmosphere on set was also cheerful and the filming went smoothly. Perhaps because there are many fans of abstract humor online, the heat for this episode was actually trending to surpass the first one.

[Snippet 2:]

In a busy office at the International Finance Center, the “poor little white flower” Ji Shuangci protests loudly.

“Why can’t you let me go?”

CEO Ming Jiayue gives a cold smile. “Because you are poor, and because I am a Party member.”

Ji Shuangci: “???”

Ming Jiayue: “Party discipline requires me to perform targeted poverty alleviation.”

Ming Jiayue shouted this with the aura of the thirty-thousand-mile Long March. Ji Shuangci was so shocked she stumbled back several steps, her bewildered expression looking as if she thought Ming Jiayue had been possessed.

A plot so cringe-worthy it made one curl their toes. The moment the director called “Cut,” Ming Jiayue’s expression returned to normal, but she felt somewhat subtle, which made her unable to get into character immediately when filming the more “normal” Snippet 3.

Snippet 3 was simple: it told the story of a CEO who falls in love at first sight with Ji Shuangci, who is riding a horse on the grasslands.

The staff confirmed with Ji Shuangci which movements she could coordinate with the horse.

While Ming Jiayue was struggling to find the feeling, Ji Shuangci proactively suggested that she enter the frame first, and then the camera would film Ming Jiayue’s reaction.

The second unit director whispered, “Will that work?”

Ji Shuangci smiled warmly. “It definitely will.”

Bai Ling’s group had already finished. She had been assigned a script about intangible cultural heritage, which she knew nothing about. Having no substance herself, she couldn’t interject at all, and all her thunder was stolen by the non-celebrity “passerby.”

After finishing, she came over to watch Ji Shuangci’s drama. Seeing that they hadn’t started filming for a long time, she thought Ji Shuangci couldn’t ride a horse and immediately began speaking sarcastically.

“If you can’t do it, don’t force it. As an actor, you still have to be responsible to the audience. Don’t try to fight for everything.”

Ji Shuangci ignored her. She led the horse to the designated position, and the camera began to cut to a wide shot.

Before long, the crowd saw a red dress on a black horse galloping through the flowers beneath the towering mountains.

Ji Shuangci had tied her long hair high, and her deep eyes looked exceptionally heroic. As the camera moved, she gripped the reins and gave a light pull; the steed reared up into the air.

The crowd let out a collective gasp.

Wild and cool!

Under the sunlight, Ji Shuangci’s face was vividly beautiful beyond words.

Everyone thought this was the climax, but Ji Shuangci flipped off the horse, gripped the training whip, faced the horse, and raised both hands. The horse’s front hooves reared up in response.

The breeze caught the ends of her hair, like resilient grass in the wind—wild, free, and full of life, naturally exuding an unyielding vitality.

That single fleeting glimpse was enough to make one stop and linger.

The camera cut back to Ming Jiayue for a close-up. Her casual gaze suddenly sharpened and focused. The noisy crowd around her seemed to fade away, leaving only that streak of red in her vision.

The voice-over arranged by the production team entered the frame at the perfect moment:

“The so-called love at first sight: when you happen to see the other person, in that moment, the world stops. Your senses and your thoughts all converge upon her.”