2. Going to See the White Moonlight

The moment the text message was sent, another wave of intense pain tore through her chest.

Yan Yu bent over, coughing violently.

This time the coughing was worse. Blood seeped from between her fingers, dripping onto the phone screen, staining the three characters “Su Qinghan” red.

She wiped her mouth and looked at the blood on the back of her hand, her eyes gradually turning cold.

No, she couldn’t die.

Having finally gotten a chance to live again, even if it was in an absurd novel, she was going to live.

And live well, live wealthy, live without ever having to look at anyone’s face again, able to stand firmly on her own two feet.

Yan Yu gripped the wheelchair armrests tightly, trying to steady her breathing.

She shakily wheeled herself over to the small wardrobe.

The clothes hanging inside were all bought by Su Qinghan—all in Jiang Muyun’s style.

Light-colored dresses, soft sweaters to the touch, all the styles a “White Moonlight” should wear.

Her hand slid over the clothes, finally stopping at the one on the very edge.

A beige cotton gauze dress, a bit worn from washing, with even some pilling at the cuffs.

This was something the original Yan Yu had bought herself, the cheapest street vendor goods, but still in Jiang Muyun’s style.

Yan Yu took it out.

She was going to wear these “Jiang Muyun” clothes to act out this breakup scene.

Since she had to act, she would act thoroughly, act in a way that would make Su Qinghan and Jiang Muyun see at a glance that she was just a substitute.

She changed into the dress, not even bothering with makeup.

The girl in the mirror had a pale, fragile-looking face, with deep dark circles under her eyes—the very picture of someone long tormented by illness and disability.

Good. This was exactly the effect she wanted.

—

At two-forty in the afternoon, Yan Yu arrived at the school coffee shop twenty minutes early.

The journey from the rental apartment to the school, less than a kilometer, was an excruciating ordeal for her.

The manual wheelchair was heavy, and her arm strength was insufficient; every push was painful.

There were a few small slopes on the way, forcing her to try repeatedly, even needing occasional help from passing students.

On that short stretch of road, she stopped to catch her breath three times, a fine layer of cold sweat covering her forehead.

This coffee shop was the most expensive one on campus. A latte cost thirty-five yuan, something the original owner would never have dreamed of spending money on.

But Yan Yu liked it here because it was quiet, because Su Qinghan thought it was “tasteful,” and because it had accessible ramps.

Yan Yu wheeled herself to a seat by the window and ordered the cheapest American coffee.

It tasted bitter.

She took small sips, her eyes looking out the window.

The March sunlight was still mild. The cherry blossom trees on campus were in bloom, a sea of pink and white.

According to the story, she was supposed to cry her heart out in the upcoming scene, begging Su Qinghan not to leave her.

How utterly humiliating.

Yan Yu lowered her eyes, looking at the dark brown liquid in her cup, silently rehearsing the scene in her mind.

She remembered how it was written in the novel: the original Yan Yu completely broke down when she saw Su Qinghan and Jiang Muyun appear hand in hand.

She cried and begged Su Qinghan, saying her love over these three years was real, saying she didn’t mind being a substitute, as long as Su Qinghan would let her stay by her side.

And Su Qinghan?

Su Qinghan just looked at her coldly and said, “Yan Yu, you could never be Muyun.”

Then Jiang Muyun would stand to the side, looking at her with a gaze that was both sympathetic and haughty, saying, “Student Yan Yu, please respect yourself and stop pestering Qinghan.”

Finally, the original Yan Yu would flee in disgrace under the gaze of everyone around, like a complete joke.

[Host, the First Act Plot is about to begin.]

[Please prepare immediately. Acting Value will be calculated based on the degree of plot restoration.]

That emotionless voice sounded again.

Yan Yu took a deep breath and poured the last bit of American coffee into her mouth.

The bitterness spread on her tongue, but what was even more bitter was her current wretched fate.

Two fifty-five.

The coffee shop door opened, the little bell above it jingling crisply.

Yan Yu looked up and saw the two of them.

Su Qinghan walked in front, wearing a well-tailored dark gray suit, her short hair neatly combed, her expression serious, her features sharp.

She was very tall, always standing out in a crowd.

Now, her gaze swept indifferently across the coffee shop, finally landing on Yan Yu.

Devoid of any warmth.

And by Su Qinghan’s side, holding her arm, was a girl in a light blue dress.

Jiang Muyun.

Yan Yu finally saw this so-called “White Moonlight.”

She was indeed beautiful—that kind of clean, translucent, ethereal beauty, the kind that looked like she wouldn’t get hungry even if she didn’t eat.

Her hair was very long, reaching her waist. Her skin was pale. When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons. She seemed to have stepped out of a painting.

Completely different from Yan Yu’s face, which held a hint of sensuality.

The two walked over hand in hand and sat down in the seats opposite Yan Yu.

Su Qinghan even gallantly pulled out the chair for Jiang Muyun—a gentle gesture Yan Yu had never received.

Three years, over a thousand days. Su Qinghan had never pulled out a chair for her, and rarely offered a hand when she struggled with obstacles in her wheelchair.

“Yan Yu.”

Su Qinghan spoke, her voice as cold as her person.

Yan Yu raised her eyes, meeting those deep-set ones.

She could feel her hands trembling. This wasn’t an act; it was this body’s instinctive reaction—the original Yan Yu’s fear and love for Su Qinghan were etched into her bones.

“Ms. Su.”

Yan Yu said softly, her voice deliberately laced with a suppressed tremor.

Su Qinghan frowned slightly, as if dissatisfied with the address, but didn’t correct it.

She got straight to the point, without any preamble:

“You should have seen the text.

Let’s break up.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, so easily, as if commenting on the nice weather.

Yan Yu’s nails dug deeply into her palms. The pain kept her alert.

She had to act. She had to see this scene through.

“Wh… why?”

She heard herself ask in that humble, tearful voice. “Did I do something wrong?

I can change, Qinghan, I—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Su Qinghan cut her off, her tone even carrying a hint of impatience. “It’s just that Muyun is back.”

As she spoke, she turned to look at Jiang Muyun beside her, her gaze instantly softening.

That look was like a knife, plunging straight into Yan Yu’s heart.

No, not her heart.

The heart of the original Yan Yu.

The emotions left behind by this body surged up in that moment like a tidal wave, almost drowning Yan Yu.

She had to use all her strength to suppress the urge to cry.

Jiang Muyun was also looking at her.

That beautiful White Moonlight looked Yan Yu up and down with an appraising gaze, her eyes finally lingering for a moment on the wheelchair beneath Yan Yu. An almost imperceptible eyebrow raise, then a soft smile:

“So you’re Yan Yu?

I’ve heard about you.”

Her tone was gentle, but the barbs in her words, one after another, stung painfully.

“I heard that for these three years, you’ve been imitating me?

Copying the way I dress, the way I talk, even the way I smile.”

Jiang Muyun tilted her head, her expression looking innocent, naive. “Why?

Just because Qinghan once said you looked a bit like me?”

Yan Yu’s face turned even paler.

She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly. Tears finally fell, landing on the back of her hand.

“I… I didn’t…”

She choked out, “I truly liked Qinghan, from the first time I saw her three years ago…

It wasn’t because…”

“Enough.”

Su Qinghan coldly interrupted her.

Those always-aloof eyes were now filled with disgust.

“Yan Yu, the reason I came to see you today was to give our three-year relationship a dignified ending.”

Su Qinghan said, word by word, each one like an ice pick. “But now I realize it seems unnecessary.

“Because you will never learn dignity.”

—