Transmigrated into the body of a tycoon's spoiled ex-girlfriend

Ke Miantang realized that people were watching, her face flushed, and she pushed his chest: "Put me down quickly."

"I won't let go." His voice was low and deep, with a hint of malicious laughter.

She got impatient and slapped his shoulder hard: "Rong She, I'm getting angry! I'm still wearing my competition uniform, it's so embarrassing!"

He then slowly bent down and put her off him, not forgetting to pinch her soft waist and abdomen before doing so.

When Ke Miantang landed, she stumbled, turned around and glared at him fiercely, her ears turning bright red, and muttered curses at him.

The reporter walked over with a camera; she was a young woman, holding a DSLR in her hand and another one hanging around her neck.

"Ke Miantang, may I take a picture of you? Our sports section would like to do an interview with you."

Ke Miantang quickly tidied her hair and straightened the collar of her riding outfit, then smiled and said, "Okay."

She stood in front of the white wall backstage, her back straight, the corners of her mouth curved, transforming from the spoiled little girl into the champion on the field.

The reporter raised her camera, and Ke Miantang's face was brightly lit by the venue lights in the viewfinder. She pressed the shutter, and a click was heard.

Just as I was about to check the photo, my gaze suddenly fell on the edge of the viewfinder next to me, where the man in the black coat was still standing.

His profile was sharply defined under the dim backstage lighting, with a high nose bridge. Even though he was just standing there casually, he looked like someone who had stepped out of an abstinence-themed picture book.

The reporter's attention lingered on him for a moment; he had a good presence, and the reporter couldn't help but take another look.

"Your boyfriend's here too, want to take a picture together?" she asked casually, not holding out much hope.

Many athletes are reluctant to bring their families into the news, especially in formal sports publications.

Before Ke Miantang could even open her mouth, the person next to her had already replied, "Okay."

Rong She strode over and stood beside her.

The two stood properly, with a fist's distance between them.

After taking the second photo, the reporter was going to take one last one.

For some reason, Ke Miantang's hands started to wander. Her fingers quietly reached out and hooked his sleeve, then wrapped her entire forearm around it, softly holding his arm.

Rong She glanced down at her, a crack appearing in his otherwise cold eyes, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily curved into a smile.

She tilted her head back, her cheeks flushed pink, and smiled at him, her full lips curving into a beautiful arc.

The shutter clicked.

Another senior student who came with Chengxin College hid behind the backdrop and took several pictures with her phone.

She crouched down, held her phone to her chest, and pressed the shutter several times.

Finally, she chose the photo with the best angle, showing Rong She's hand clasped around Ke Miantang's waist and Ke Miantang leaning against him.

The senior student thought for a moment and typed a line in the title bar: Shock! It turns out that Rong She really did come to watch Ke Miantang's competition. The two even took a photo together, and Rong She even put his arm around her waist.

The post quickly garnered over a dozen comments.

"That waist wrap is so natural."

"Rong She actually agreed to take a photo with us? Isn't he the one who hates having his picture taken the most?"

"What do you know? He doesn't hate taking pictures; he only wants to take pictures with her."

"They look so good together."

Some people even zoomed in on the photo and analyzed Rong She's expression: "Look at the corners of his mouth, he's smiling."

Someone replied, "Where did you smile? Your lips didn't even move."

Another person replied, "His eyes are smiling too; look into his eyes."

Then some people zoomed in on the photo down to the pixel level, arguing about whether Rong She was actually laughing or not, and the debate went on for more than thirty floors.

Backstage, after the reporters left, Ke Miantang moved closer to Rong She, wanting to see how the group photo on his phone turned out.

Rong She tilted his phone towards her, and she saw that he had already posted the photo on his WeChat Moments.

The caption consisted of two emojis: a little person riding a horse and a red heart.

Ke Miantang stared at it for a long time before she realized what was happening. "You posted it on WeChat Moments?"

The voice rose by half a tone.

"Um."

Ke Miantang opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Rong She's friend list consists of chaebol heirs on the whitelist, as well as top figures from various industries. Their social media posts are usually about mergers and acquisitions, IPOs, and charity galas.

Didn't he think about the consequences of doing this?

Looking at that post on her WeChat Moments, she remembered what the system had said: after the mission was over, everyone would forget Ke Miantang's existence, including Rong She.

He will completely forget her; his memory will be automatically corrected by the system to fill in the gaps she left behind.

They will return to the original storyline, where they will meet, get to know, and fall in love with Zhang Xin.

This is the ending, the ending that was written from the very beginning.

Ke Miantang returned the phone to Rong She and withdrew her hand.

It's okay, she told herself.

Anyway, he won't remember it later.

So what if I let him post it on his WeChat Moments now? He'll forget about it eventually anyway.

"What's wrong?" Rong She looked down at her.

"It's nothing." Ke Miantang looked up and smiled. "Let's go, I'm a little tired."

-

The only sound in the dimly lit room was their breathing.

Ke Miantang lay on the soft down comforter, the strap of her silk nightgown had slipped down to one side, revealing a section of her fair and delicate shoulder.

The marks on it were mottled, scattered with red and purple marks on the collarbone and shoulder socket, as if it had been repeatedly bitten by some wild beast.

Rong She climbed on top of her from behind, one hand around her waist, the other supporting her face, his fingers sinking slightly into the sheets.

The neckline of her thin black shirt was wide open, revealing glimpses of her collarbone and chest in the dim light, while her broad shoulders and back enveloped her petite figure in shadow.

She shifted uncomfortably, complaining in a soft voice, "Are you done yet?"

He bit her earlobe, grinding it gently with his teeth, his voice low and hoarse, as if grinding from his throat: "Almost done, be good, don't move."

……

Time passed little by little.

I don't know how much time has passed.

Rong She finally relaxed, his forehead resting against the back of her neck.

My heartbeat came through my chest, fast and heavy.