A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 5
Chapter 5: The Kiss Scene
Jiang Mi’s dream… came true.
In mid-March, the official Weibo account released the cast announcement photos. To everyone’s surprise, Jiang Mi—a virtually unknown actress with few works to her name—emerged among a group of established stars and was officially cast as the second female lead in Spring.
The keywords “Jiang Mi” and “Second Female Lead” trended on the hot search.
Lying on the hotel bed with her legs kicked up, Jiang Mi scrolled through the comments on her phone. A little sun charm on her ankle bracelet swayed with her movements.
Zhao Jia, speechless beside her, said, “Never seen someone so happy to be getting flamed.”
Jiang Mi shared cheerfully, “They’re really eloquent. One of them said it’s like a flower vase from the market suddenly being displayed in a museum. Isn’t that clever?”
Zhao Jia: “……”
“And this one—she said she just wants to curse someone but not me. I’m saving that line for when I need to curse someone myself.”
“……”
Zhao Jia looked at her like she was a lost cause. “Can you grow a brain, please?”
“If I had a brain, I’d take it to heart.” Jiang Mi replied casually, “They’re just jealous that I get to act with Yan Wei. I mean—it’s Yan Wei. I understand them. I’m about to act with Yan Wei. If I can’t even keep a big heart, what am I doing?”
Zhao Jia felt like she was witnessing a saint’s halo glowing around Jiang Mi’s head. Eventually, she gave up: “You’re right.”
She stood up and prepared to leave the room. “Filming starts tomorrow. Better get some rest.”
At that, Jiang Mi finally put down her phone, burying her face in the soft white duvet. Zhao Jia paused, then asked suspiciously, “Are you distracting yourself from anxiety by reading hate comments?”
Jiang Mi: “Mm…”
“We’ve had two weeks of table reads, and the atmosphere has been decent. The director chose you for a reason—you’ve got the talent. Don’t stress too much.”
“I know. But just thinking about acting with Yan Wei makes me lose control. It’s okay, I’ll work through it.”
Zhao Jia didn’t say more. One good thing about Jiang Mi—she was great at self-regulation, never one to spiral into negative thoughts. Still, Zhao Jia understood. After all, it was Yan Wei.
At 12, Yan Wei won her first Best Actress award. From there, her career skyrocketed. By 22, she was invested in the Shenhai Group, and by 23, she became its second-largest shareholder—flourishing in both business and entertainment. At 27, she had practically swept both domestic and international film awards.
This was her first project after a two-year hiatus. Of course people were watching. It was only natural Jiang Mi would be scrutinized—or even judged harshly.
To Jiang Mi, Yan Wei was more like a lighthouse—a guiding star.
Zhao Jia sighed. She believed Jiang Mi would settle her nerves eventually, but she still worried about tomorrow. Yan Wei’s personality was notoriously cold and hard to read. At the launch ceremony a few days ago, Yan Wei made only a brief appearance before leaving. She barely responded to Jiang Mi’s attempts at friendliness.
Granted, Yan Wei had an excellent public reputation. Even with that frosty demeanor, she had almost no haters. But how to describe it?
After the ceremony, Zhao Jia caught a moment where Yan Wei looked at Jiang Mi—and that gaze was far from kind. In fact, it felt… dark.
Hopefully, everything goes smoothly.
Zhao Jia silently prayed.
…
To ensure the film’s quality, all the locations and set designs for Spring had been carefully planned and polished half a year in advance. Most scenes were shot on location.
A bustling small-town street and an old residential building were the most frequently used settings. Especially the apartment building—most of the interactions between the female lead and second lead happened there.
The story begins in early spring. A woman wearing a dark green qipao appears in Liang Yongping’s sight. The woman tells her she just rented the second floor, making them upstairs-downstairs neighbors from now on.
That night, Liang’s fiancée tells her that the new tenant upstairs is named Qin Shui.
The makeup room was located next to the residential set. Jiang Mi had just finished her hair. To match her role as Liang Yongping, she had dyed her hair back to black. The dark brown clip pulled her hair into a simple updo. She wore a plain light gray knit cardigan, faded jeans, and white sneakers.
Zhao Jia walked behind her, placing a blue cloth bag on the table. “We’ve already handed these out to the rest of the cast—except for Ms. Shen Ruoxi. Can you give this to Teacher Yan yourself later?”
The first scene to be filmed today was the breakup scene between the main and second lead. Shen Ruoxi, who played the fiancée, wasn’t scheduled to shoot today.
Jiang Mi glanced at the bag and nodded.
“Everyone really liked the gift you picked,” Zhao Jia said. “They were all very happy.”
Jiang Mi replied, “I just hope Teacher Yan likes it.”
“She will, she will,” Zhao Jia assured her.
A moment later, a staff member came to call Jiang Mi to set. She told Zhao Jia to put the gift away for now—they’d give it to Yan Wei later when there was more time.
“That works. I heard Ms. Yan will be staying at the same hotel as us for the next few days,” Zhao Jia added casually.
Jiang Mi paused for a moment but didn’t have time to say more. She quickly gathered her things and left the dressing room.
When she arrived on set, Yan Wei was already downstairs with Director Jiang Qu. Crew members bustled around them, setting up equipment.
Yan Wei’s long, black hair was tied up. She wore a blue and white floral fitted dress, her skin dazzlingly fair in the light. As Jiang Mi approached, Yan Wei looked her way—and the pressure hit her like a wave.
“Nervous?” Director Jiang Qu suddenly turned and asked.
Jiang Mi snapped out of it. “A little, but I’m okay.”
Jiang Qu nodded. “Good. We’ve changed the schedule. Today, we’ll start with the kiss scene between Qin Shui and Liang Yongping. You two still seem unfamiliar—I want to see if it helps you find some chemistry.”
Jiang Mi: “…?”
Jiang Qu’s films were all known for emotional intensity—bold, sensual, and deeply nuanced. She was famous for her raw, almost brutal depictions of desire and inner conflict. Her ability to dissect the darkest sides of human nature was unmatched.
Yan Wei’s film where she played an assassin was also directed by Jiang Qu. Rumor had it that, because it happened to rain one day, the director spontaneously decided to film a love scene. Though it only lasted a few seconds, Yan Wei’s acting made it go viral across the internet.
People joked that you didn’t need to see below her neck—just one look at her expression, and you’d climax.
But Jiang Mi never expected that this kind of unpreparedness would hit her so soon. She especially didn’t expect that the kiss scene—the very scene she occasionally lost sleep over—would be their first.
Even though she’d mentally prepared herself for weeks, theory and practice were two different beasts…
She had planned to get more comfortable with Yan Wei first, to at least improve her image in her eyes. That way, when it came time to shoot this kind of scene, it wouldn’t be so awkward—or humiliating.
Her palms started to sweat.
From what she knew of Jiang Qu’s directing style, kiss scenes were almost always real—rarely staged with camera tricks.
Maybe… just kill her now and save everyone the trouble.
In a flash of panic, Jiang Mi looked at Yan Wei, silently pleading. Surely Yan Wei didn’t want to do this either—she obviously didn’t like her much.
Maybe her stare was too obvious, because Yan Wei looked up. Jiang Mi froze.
Then, she saw Yan Wei expressionlessly nod toward Jiang Qu.
Jiang Qu then turned to her. “Jiang Mi, you’re okay with it, right?”
Jiang Mi forced a smile. “…No problem.”
No problem, I’m fine, yes, okay, good good…
“…Actually, Director, I kind of do have a problem,” Jiang Mi spoke up, taking a deep breath and sneaking a glance at Yan Wei. She lowered her voice. “I don’t have much experience with kiss scenes.”
Jiang Qu was unfazed—she’d heard this before. “And how do you get experience without filming? You did fine during your audition. Let’s just give it a try.”
Jiang Mi relaxed just a bit. “Okay.”
“Great. If there’s no issue, go over the script and run through the emotions yourselves. We’ll do a trial shoot in half an hour.”
Is this how all big-name directors work? So casual?
Jiang Mi had just carefully picked up the script to review it again when Director Jiang Qu called her aside.
“I know you’re probably nervous right now—maybe because of unfamiliarity, maybe for other reasons. What I want to do is break that nervousness. Do you remember how you felt the first time you saw Liang Yongping?”
Jiang Mi paused for a second. “Sadness, heartache, pain.”
“And when you saw Qin Shui?”
“Same.”
“What about now, when you see Yan Wei?”
Jiang Mi hesitated.
Jiang Qu continued, “You don’t feel any of that when you look at Yan Wei. Because in your eyes, she’s still Yan Wei. So all that’s left is nervousness. What I need is for you to break that barrier as fast as possible. Right now, you can still be Jiang Mi. But once we start filming, you must be Liang Yongping. When the day comes that you no longer see Yan Wei as Yan Wei, then you’ve succeeded halfway as an actor. Remember this—in this space, you need to become Liang Yongping as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”
Jiang Mi was stunned by the encouragement. With Yan Wei’s level of experience, she clearly didn’t need this kind of emotional prep. The scene order change must’ve been to help her—to help Jiang Mi let go of distractions and get into character faster.
She responded gratefully, “Director, thank you.”
Jiang Qu said, “I heard you even kept calluses on your hands to stay true to the role. In this flashy industry, it’s rare to find someone who can stay grounded and treat acting with real respect. You’re promising. Work hard.”
Jiang Mi felt a little embarrassed. Liang Yongping was someone used to doing things herself—cooking, cleaning, the works. There was no way her hands would be perfectly soft and manicured.
Jiang Qu added, “Hold onto that original passion and love for the craft.”
Jiang Mi quickly composed herself—she was an actor. Here, Yan Wei was no longer her idol but her scene partner. If she lost her grip, she’d affect Yan Wei too.
She forced herself to fully calm down and walked over to Yan Wei. “Teacher Yan, shall we run lines?”
Yan Wei nodded.
Jiang Mi grabbed a folding stool and sat down beside her.
For a moment, the only sound around them was the flipping of pages.
Jiang Mi lowered her head and slowly immersed herself in the script.
“You’ve never filmed one before?”
Yan Wei suddenly asked.
Jiang Mi was startled, realizing she was referring to a “kiss scene.” She nodded. “Mm, that’s right.”
Yan Wei looked up from the script and glanced at Jiang Mi’s slightly flushed earlobes, her expression cool and unreadable.
She didn’t say anything else.
Jiang Mi tried to find something to say. “Last time…”
But halfway through the sentence, she stopped herself.
Fortunately, Yan Wei didn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation either.
Just as they finished running lines, a staff member shouted, “Scene prep! Lead actresses to the second floor, please!”
This was a major emotional turning point in the film. In the scene, Liang Yongping felt uncertain and afraid about their relationship and tried to pull away. Qin Shui, however, confronted her, emotions overflowing, and kissed her uncontrollably.
Director Jiang Qu said, “Let’s block the scene and do a trial run. Don’t be nervous—focus on your emotions, alright? Let’s go.”
But no one had mentioned if the kiss would be a real kiss or a staged one. Except for her, everyone else seemed to already know the answer.
Jiang Mi was panicking, but since no one said anything—and no one asked—she followed along, half-confused, into the scene.
…
Liang Yongping opened the door and tried to escape, but in the next second, the door slammed shut behind her. She turned around—and met Qin Shui’s smiling eyes.
“So you think being with me now means you’re cheating?” Qin Shui approached Liang Yongping, narrowing her eyes.
Was there another meaning to the word “cheating” in this world?
“I never said that,” Liang Yongping replied.
Qin Shui stood right in front of her now. Liang Yongping’s hands were clearly trembling. Qin Shui should’ve been angry that she could say something so irresponsible—but her voice remained soft. “You do know what cheating means, right?”
Of course Liang Yongping knew. That was why she had come to end things today. Their relationship had gotten too close recently. After what happened in the bathroom last night, she could no longer pretend nothing had changed.
No matter what, she still had a fiancée.
But Qin Shui didn’t press further. “It’s been a while since you called me ‘sister.’”
Her fingers lightly touched the rim of Liang Yongping’s ear, tracing down to her earlobe. The cool sensation made Liang Yongping shiver. She should’ve run—but her legs wouldn’t move.
To Liang Yongping, the woman’s unique rose-like fragrance was now overpoweringly clear. Her breath quickened.
But in reality, Jiang Mi was truly nervous.
Because what she smelled wasn’t something imagined for the role—it was Yan Wei’s real scent as an Omega, the distinct aroma of white brandy.
And right then, an entirely inappropriate thought popped into her head: She was the only one who could smell Yan Wei’s pheromones right now.
Maybe it was that thought, or maybe it was the closeness—she could feel every breath from Yan Wei—it became nearly impossible to ignore her presence.
Uncontrollably, her Alpha pheromones stirred within her glands.
But Qin Shui’s “taming” continued. She tucked a lock of Liang Yongping’s hair behind her ear, gently placed a hand on her waist, and slowly leaned in.
That beautiful face drew closer and closer. The heat of her breath intensified. Their noses brushed. Jiang Mi could see her eyes clearly. The kiss was coming—Jiang Mi’s hands instinctively clenched into fists. A cold sweat broke out on her back.
“Cut!”
At that moment, the warmth disappeared along with Yan Wei.
Jiang Mi was saved.
Yan Wei took a step back, her eyes briefly lingering on Jiang Mi’s flushed earlobes. She lowered her gaze slightly, her fingernail gently rubbing her fingertip, then calmly walked toward the director.
Jiang Mi snapped out of it and saw only Yan Wei’s retreating back.
It dawned on her that Yan Wei had been using camera blocking, not actually planning to kiss her. She had just been too nervous to notice.
From the monitor, Director Jiang Qu’s voice came: “Your emotions were too restrained, the struggle wasn’t strong enough, and your eyes were a bit unfocused. If the camera goes in for a close-up, it won’t look good. Jiang Mi, adjust yourself. We’ll go again in ten minutes.”
Jiang Mi bowed her head in shame. “I’m sorry, Director.”
Jiang Qu didn’t say anything else.
Zhao Jia came over with a water bottle, patting her shoulder to comfort her: “Well, what do you expect? Big-name director, award-winning actress—they’ve got experience for days. How do you feel? Don’t stress. We’ll take it slow.”
“……”
Jiang Mi didn’t answer. She didn’t even dare to speak—honestly, it’d be better if she lost her voice for a while.
It wasn’t that she was excited—she was paralyzed.
She reached for Zhao Jia’s phone.
Right now, her head was full of Yan Wei’s face, Yan Wei’s warmth, and the feeling of her hand on her earlobe. And this wasn’t even the real shoot yet. When the actual filming started…
She couldn’t breathe.
“What are you doing?” Zhao Jia asked, watching Jiang Mi open her banking app.
Jiang Mi muttered, “Just checking if I can afford the breach-of-contract penalty if I decide to run away.”
Zhao Jia: “…???”