A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The Senior

 

Jiang Mi sat quietly in her chair, a gentle cool breeze from the air conditioner brushing over the nape of her neck. The makeup artist leaned in, brushing color from the palette onto her delicate collarbone.

 

Jiang Mi suppressed a small yawn.

 

“You worked quite late again last night, Teacher Jiang?” the makeup artist noticed her fatigue but kept working, asking softly.

 

Jiang Mi nodded slightly. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

 

Her voice was still husky with tiredness.

 

The makeup artist smiled and glanced under her eyes. “Your complexion looks fine, but the redness you’re hiding is showing. You really should rest more.”

 

“Thanks for caring,” Jiang Mi replied with a faint smile. Inside, though, she was pulled back—just for a moment—to the image of Apple from the previous night. She couldn’t shake the unease.

 

Unconsciously, her gaze drifted toward the door—just as Yan Wei’s clear invitation echoed back in her mind:

 

“Jiang Mi, let’s have a meal together?”

 

Jiang Mi pressed her lips together, her fingernails grazing her palm. Even with an “arranged” condition behind it, she felt as though she and Yan Wei were finally heading in a favorable direction.

 

Last night’s rain had barely eased. Now, at around eight in the morning, the sky was draped in soft clouds so pure they seemed to filter away all gloom.

 

Finally free from the makeup chair, Jiang Mi faced her reflection. In the mirror was a meticulously crafted look of “battle wounds”—a fresh bruise at the corner of her mouth, her slim collarbones, and two deeper marks along her neck.

 

These were White Xiao’s handiwork—retaliation for Liang Yongping.

 

She tugged at the thin white tank top she wore, paired with faded white jeans. Her damp hair still dripped, the scent of shampoo hanging lightly—just like “Liang Yongping” who had just washed her hair.

 

Jiang Mi inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to sink into that humid sadness. Then, seconds later, she opened her eyes, relaxed her shoulders, and her expression transformed. She pushed open the dressing room door.

 

Stepping onto the set, her eyes were immediately caught by a figure in dark emerald green.

 

Yan Wei stood beside Jiang Qiu, wearing a perfectly tailored velvet qipao that hugged her shape closely, trailing down to her slim ankles. Her black hair was swept casually up, revealing a smooth nape, her feet in fine-heeled shoes.

 

That deep, rich green felt like a key, instantly unlocking memories from the previous night—down to the carefully coordinated gown and the starry diamond necklace at her throat.

 

She wasn’t blind. She could tell everything was deliberate.

 

That was why she had spoken what she did. Her confession hadn’t been purely impulsive.

 

Yan Wei’s gaze, almost at the same time, fixed on Jiang Mi. Her eyes passed through the ambient set noise to land on Jiang Mi’s damp, off-white shirt. The hair at her neck and that face were subtly alluring.

 

They locked eyes for just two seconds, and Jiang Mi turned on her heel, walking toward Shen Ruoxi.

 

Yan Wei’s eyelids flickered as she watched her go, her gaze fixed on the qipao’s graceful side seam. Jiang Qiu’s voice came just then.

 

“Do you have any plans after this role wraps up?”

 

“No,” Yan Wei’s voice was calm.

 

“Just right—one of my friends submitted a script to me. I thought it was interesting. I’ll send it to you later.”

 

She understood well: if not for some debt owed years ago, Yan Wei wouldn’t even extend face for this current drama. Helping a friend was little more than fulfilling an obligation.

 

“Let’s talk later,” Yan Wei replied tersely.

 

Jiang Qiu paused as if casually glancing, then her gaze drifted toward Jiang Mi’s departing figure. She smiled.

 

“She’s interested in Jiang Mi too. I glanced over that part—it suits her temperament.”

 

Yan Wei’s eyes didn’t shift. She calmly turned the monitor away from her, directing it toward the distant scene. The cloud cover was breaking just as Jiang Mi and Shen Ruoxi stood in the breeze, hair touching shoulders. They were smiling together.

 

“What’s the genre?” Yan Wei asked.

 

Jiang Qiu glanced at her, then out to the scene. “Urban romance.”

 

Yan Wei nodded.

 

Jiang Qiu thought better of it—Jiang Mi was lovely, but regarding Yan Wei… better not risk it. She never wanted to cross Yan Wei, but to ask her about personal relationships? She wouldn’t advise any woman to date—I she’d say, unpredictable and maddening.

 

Neither wanted to offend the other.

 

…

 

On set:

 

“Action!”

 

Liang Yongping’s fingers picked absently at the edge of the table. It had been a full seven days since the bathroom confrontation. Qin Shui had disappeared like evaporation.

 

Her tear-stained form was now gaunt and hollowed. Puffy, red eyelids recessed in her haggard, ashen face.

 

The mirror reflected a pale face and ambiguous marks on her neck—memories of White Xiao cloaked in last night’s danger surged back. A cold wave shivered through her, and her shoulder blades convulsed involuntarily.

 

Her body trembled.

 

Qin Shui.

 

She bit the inside of her lip hard, tasting iron.

 

She must find her. She would go with her.

 

Facing the mirror, Liang Yongping forced a tense smile—an attempt to practice a conventional expression before their reunion. Not to reveal disgrace.

 

But once she found her, how could she start the conversation?

 

Pulling against the slick bathroom wall had taken immense strength.

 

A level of shadow cut her face—recalling Qin Shui’s last low words: “Yongping, I won’t force you anymore.”

 

Then—days of silence.

 

She had opened the door countless times, looked to the second floor—but it remained dark. One morning, she climbed up and knocked. No answer. Empty, and desolate.

 

Her eyes fell on a drooping pothos by the window. She watered it and whispered, “How do I tell you I love you?”

 

Suddenly, laughter interrupted her thoughts. She recognized the voice and, forgetting her coat, opened the door and rushed out.

 

Then she froze.

 

Qin Shui stood in the same emerald qipao as their first encounter—but this time, she wasn’t alone. Another exquisite woman stood by her side, speaking softly, arm looped through hers: “Not at all—don’t you like it?”

 

Liang Yongping stood at the threshold. Drop by drop, the water at her hair’s end fell, shattering against the floor like cold ice. Qin Shui and the other woman locked eyes briefly, but Qin Shui quickly looked away.

 

Qin Shui said warmly, “Yes, I do like it.” Her eyes fixed on marks under the other woman’s neck and lips. Liang Yongping’s heart hardened.

 

Even in your absence, she can still build a life with your fiancé.

 

What did your love ever mean?

 

Forced to stay by her side? That was all a lie.

 

She grabbed the other woman’s hand and without hesitation walked upstairs.

 

Liang Yongping was mute, eyes glassy. She snapped the door shut, looming behind it, panting, tears spilling. She bit her lip to muff le her sobs.

 

Everything was over.

 

…

 

Thirty minutes later:

 

Back at home, Bai Xiao returned with groceries. Seeing Liang Yongping inert on the couch, she frowned and scolded her.

 

When Liang Yongping didn’t respond, Bai Xiao lifted her—Liang Yongping didn’t resist. The old couch creaked as she closed her eyes, clutching memories of Qin Shui’s tender voice with the other woman.

 

She decided she’d gotten what she deserved. Her fists loosened.

 

…

 

On set again:

 

Shen Ruoxi, collecting a coat from Zhao Jia, handed it to Jiang Mi with a smile and teased: “Teacher Jiang, hidden depths.”

 

Zhao Jia chuckled: “Oh come on, Shen, if you praise her more she’ll turn into an embryo!”

 

Jiang Mi managed a weak smile. Her heart still ached. That person—Qin Shui, and Yan Wei—momentarily, reality and illusion blurred. A pain she had never felt.

 

Her tear-stained face still bore red rings under her eyes, a slight blush around her nose, traces at the corners of her eyes.

 

Bright yet fragile—a stark contrast.

 

Shen Ruoxi admired quietly, “You’re really endearing. I couldn’t help but come closer.”

 

She inspected Jiang Mi’s collarbone. “The makeup is fantastic—looks so real.”

 

Jiang Mi looked down; her voice cracked. “Yes, the makeup artist is really skilled.”

 

Shen Ruoxi commented: “Watching you cry earlier made me feel so sorry for you.”

 

Jiang Mi sighed, knowing too well Liang Yongping. Was it sad? Yes, but every result sprang from her first choice.

 

Yan Wei and co-star Li Yuan came down the stairs.

 

“Teacher Yan—I—actually, I’m a fan,” Li Yuan said into the empty corridor.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I’ve watched all your films—Killer L especially. I must’ve seen it ten times.”

 

“That means a lot.” Yan Wei glanced past her shoulder, staring down toward the base of the stairs—Shen Ruoxi was bent over, fingertips almost grazing Jiang Mi’s collarbone.

 

Yan Wei’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

 

Li Yuan continued speaking distantly. But Yan Wei walked past her down the corridor straight toward the two.

 

Shen Ruoxi sensed the sudden shift of presence, back straightened. “Teacher Yan.”

 

Jiang Mi noticed Shen Ruoxi’s body tension.

 

Yan Wei barely nodded, her gaze locked sharply onto Jiang Mi’s face. The atmosphere froze.

 

Jiang Mi choked a cough and awkwardly pulled out a polite line, “Teacher Yan, you acted so well.”

 

Shen Ruoxi agreed, and retreated, pretending to check lighting.

 

As she left, Yan Wei was now only a few steps away. That familiar, slightly intoxicated scent of brandy wafted up. Jiang Mi lifted her gaze along that aroma—and saw the co-star watching, too.

 

Jiang Mi forced a small smile. The co-star took a step forward but quickly suppressed it, shifting back to give Yan Wei space.

 

As if Yan Wei sensed it, in that instant, her finger flicked lightly along Jiang Mi’s highlighted collarbone.

 

Jiang Mi went rigid; a tremor raced down her spine.

 

She hurriedly scanned their surroundings; many eyes had turned. Her heart contracted, voice nearly a whisper: “So many people!”

 

Yan Wei’s gaze fixed on Jiang Mi’s reddish alpha earlobe. The heavy weight in her chest strangely lifted, replaced by a peculiar satisfaction. Her lips curled faintly, quickly replaced by her usual cool expression. She withdrew her hand, pressing her thumb. The sensation lingered.

 

“The makeup got smudged—just fixed it,” she said evenly, stating fact. “Jiang Mi, why are you nervous?”

 

“…” Jiang Mi was speechless.

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

“Nothing… I was thinking how to thank you.”

 

Jiang Mi choked—Yan Wei had clearly been teasing her.

 

Yan Wei took a step forward, nearly brushing her shoulder. “Oh? Then think carefully.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and passed Shen Ruoxi, casting a look—calculated. Shen Ruoxi’s spine tingled.

 

“…” Yan Wei truly wasn’t interested in her; she might as well have wanted to kill her.

 

Jiang Mi rubbed her arm. Once Yan Wei was out of earshot, she turned to the makeup artist.

 

“Mi Mi Mi—tell me what the Best Actress just did to you! My angle was off and I missed it!”

 

Jiang Mi didn’t even lift her eyelids. “…Nothing.”

 

Paused, then she tried to cover: “Um… there was a slight flaw in the makeup near my collarbone; she kindly pointed it out.”

 

The makeup artist looked down to check, puzzled. “It looked fine. Where?”

 

“…” Jiang Mi slipped things away, quickly shifting topics: “Shen — When are you taking me to that dinner you owe me?”

 

Shen Ruoxi perked up. “Why not tonight?”

 

“Tonight… doesn’t work.”

 

“You have plans?”

 

“Mm… with a senior.”

 

The prop truck rumbled across the concrete. Shen Ruoxi caught a rough outline and asked: “A senior?”

 

Jiang Mi sensed the topic made Shen uneasy too, so she ended it. She nodded quickly. “Yes.”

 

She glanced toward where Yan Wei had disappeared—though Yan Wei couldn’t hear—masking her nervousness behind that one word.