A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Earlobe
Jiang Mi always thought that if she ever got to act with Yan Wei, she would be ecstatic—so thrilled that she’d laugh in her sleep just thinking about it.
But now that it was actually happening, Jiang Mi couldn’t force even a hint of a smile.
After the third NG (no good), she saw disappointment in Director Jiang Qu’s eyes. Standing in front of the mirror in the restroom, she tried to extract the sense of failure from her body. It’s just a kissing scene, not something else—why can’t I do it?
Was it because the person acting opposite her was Yan Wei?
Because she knew this person too well, she couldn’t fully immerse herself into Liang Yongping’s world. Because the first person she always saw… was Yan Wei, not Qin Shui?
Jiang Mi exhaled deeply. Jiang Mi, you’re so unprofessional.
After mentally berating herself, she stepped out of the restroom—only to bump into Yan Wei right outside.
Still, she greeted her proactively: “Teacher Yan.”
As usual, Yan Wei only gave a nod in response and walked past her toward the Omega restroom.
Jiang Mi slowly turned around. She had said this countless times already and didn’t want to repeat it, but the words still came out: “Sorry, Teacher Yan, and thank you.”
Yan Wei paused. For those two silent seconds, Jiang Mi didn’t know what she was thinking. That look made her nervous for no reason.
Jiang Mi thought Yan Wei might say something, but in the end, Yan Wei only gave a quiet “Mm.”
Jiang Mi returned to set. Not long after, Yan Wei came back too. Jiang Mi wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but she felt that the brandy scent on Yan Wei—her Omega pheromones—was even stronger than before.
“Departments ready, scene one, camera two, take four.”
As the clapperboard snapped shut, Director Jiang Qu called, “Action.”
Jiang Mi stood at the door. As Liang Yongping, she was fleeing through that door for the third time.
Qin Shui blocked her at the entrance, stepped close to her, and smiled as she asked, “So you think being with me right now is cheating?”
Liang Yongping avoided Qin Shui’s fingers playing with her earlobe. “I didn’t say that.”
Qin Shui was almost pressed up against her. The rose scent—just the fragrance of her body wash—was familiar from many times when Qin Shui had come to her after a shower. In a soft voice, Qin Shui said, “You haven’t called me ‘sister’ in a long time.”
She said if Liang Yongping called her once, she would let her go.
Liang Yongping opened her mouth, but in the next second, her eyes were cast in shadow.
Qin Shui said, “Call me.”
Just as Qin Shui drew infinitely close, the director called out again: “Cut!”
Jiang Mi clearly saw the shift in Yan Wei’s expression—going from passionate to calm, gentle to indifferent. It was flawless, masterful.
That was the gap between her and Yan Wei. A huge, undeniable gap.
Director Jiang Qu put down her walkie-talkie with a sour look and waved her hand. This time, she didn’t even look at Jiang Mi: “We’ll stop shooting this scene today. Change sets.”
Jiang Mi stood frozen, feeling the complicated looks from those around her. She lowered her head and walked out of “Qin Shui’s room.”
Thick-skinned, she approached Jiang Qu. She knew the issue wasn’t just the kiss or physical contact—she’d felt completely unfamiliar and lost within the character.
Jiang Qu took a deep breath and said, “You still haven’t grasped Liang Yongping’s emotional state and transformation. Your gaze is too timid, too weak. Even in a world without our AO distinctions, Liang Yongping is emotionally and sexually the dominant one. Qin Shui is the one being subdued. Do you get what I mean? You need to portray a soft kind of strength—not erase Liang Yongping’s dominance entirely. Simply put, you’re too affected by the fact that you’re acting opposite Yan Wei, so you’re scared.”
Brutally honest.
Jiang Qu continued: “You’re an actor, not a student. I don’t have the time or energy to analyze every scene with you. I’d rather find someone else who can act better. You understand what I’m saying?”
She was still being polite.
Jiang Mi’s face stung, burning hot.
“I’m sorry, Director…”
“I don’t want ‘sorry.’”
Jiang Qu said, “Table reads are over, and you and Yan Wei still feel too unfamiliar. At her level, she doesn’t need to, nor is she obligated to, accommodate a newcomer like you. She can summon her emotions flawlessly. Even blown up a thousand times in a movie theater, her performance will be impeccable. But you can’t do that. What you need to do now is get closer to her—become familiar with her. That’s the only way you’ll start to naturally embody the character.”
She gave Jiang Mi twenty minutes to adjust, then shoot a different scene.
Magically, everything unrelated to romantic or intimate scenes went fairly smoothly. By around 6 p.m., Jiang Mi had finished all her scenes for the day.
The kiss scene—postponed to tomorrow.
Jiang Mi didn’t leave right away. She sat in a corner of the set, opening her script again.
Zhao Jia had rarely seen her this quiet. She sat next to her and said, “Honestly, it’s pretty normal. Your scene partner is a film queen. It makes sense that Director Jiang is being strict—it means she sees potential in you.”
Jiang Mi replied softly, “I let her down. Yan Wei must be disappointed too… Actually, probably not. She probably expected this.”
She pulled the script over her face and then smacked it a few times against her cheeks.
Zhao Jia patted her head. “If Teacher Yan really didn’t like you, with her status, she could’ve had you replaced easily. But look—you’re still here, acting.”
Jiang Mi was quiet for a moment and then said, “I just need to think on my own.”
“Think at the hotel.”
“It feels more immersive here.”
No one knew how much time passed.
“Jiang Mi.”
Jiang Qu walked over.
Jiang Mi stood up. Jiang Qu waved her hand and sat down on the small stool next to her.
“Your scenes this afternoon were pretty good. Why is it just the emotional ones that don’t work? Weird. I always say this—if an actor wants to perform well, they either have to master technique or fully immerse themselves in the role—become the role. Which one do you think you are?”
She suddenly paused, then waved someone over from a short distance: “Hey, Yan Wei, come here too.”
Jiang Mi looked up and saw Yan Wei had put on a deep-purple trench coat. Her figure was tall and slender, her dark hair falling around her face, which looked even more delicate. Against the dark tones, she looked paler—almost like she was glowing.
She looked like she had a holy aura around her.
As Yan Wei walked over and sat down nearby, Jiang Qu repeated the question:
“So—which one are you?”
Jiang Mi said, “The second kind.”
Jiang Qu nodded. “Ever been in love?”
Jiang Mi froze, her gaze flicking toward Yan Wei. “No.”
Jiang Qu said, “Then that’s why it’s hard for you to portray intimacy. Let’s go back to analyzing the characters.”
“Liang Yongping is a woman bound by rules. Qin Shui is the disruptor—the liberator—and in a way, the savior.”
“Yongping grew up in a strict, oppressive household, surrounded by violence—emotional and physical. Even her fiancée is a product of that violence. She doesn’t love her, but she’s used to submission.”
“But in her time with Qin Shui, she realizes that marriage, family, all of it—they aren’t her only options. That realization shifts from emotional to physical.”
“When she realizes she has feelings for Qin Shui, she feels guilty and terrified. She’s afraid. She wants to run. But deep down, she needs Qin Shui to push her.”
“She’s afraid, but she also yearns to break free.”
“So her struggle isn’t just romantic—it’s about courage, about breaking her cage.”
Jiang Qu asked, “You said you could feel Liang Yongping’s pain. Why is she in pain?”
Jiang Mi lowered her head. “Because she knows all of it is her own choice.”
Jiang Qu nodded. “Exactly.”
Seeing she was touched, Jiang Qu looked at Yan Wei and mouthed: Help her.
Yan Wei tilted her head slightly and nodded.
Jiang Qu stood, patted Yan Wei’s shoulder, and left the two leads alone.
…
“Does Liang Yongping love Qin Shui?”
“Huh?”
Jiang Mi was caught off guard. Yan Wei was staring at her. She didn’t repeat herself, but Jiang Mi understood.
She answered, “It’s love and hate… I guess.”
She hesitated for a second.
Yan Wei bluntly cut through her hesitation: “Jiang Qu is right. You understand Liang Yongping. But you don’t believe in her.”
Without belief, you can’t act.
If the actor doesn’t believe in the role, how can the audience?
As Yan Wei turned to leave, Jiang Mi called out, “Then what about you, Ms. Yan? Do you think Qin Shui loves Liang Yongping?”
Yan Wei paused. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. Jiang Mi tensed as Yan Wei slowly stepped closer. She leaned down, her soft black curls falling forward, her scent enveloping Jiang Mi.
“What did you just call me?”
Jiang Mi froze.
That one second of pressure made her scalp tingle. In that moment, she understood—Yan Wei had entered the role.
Yan Wei was Qin Shui now.
Her eyes told her: Qin Shui loved Liang Yongping—deeply, fiercely.
So much that she wouldn’t even accept a distant, formal title from Liang Yongping’s lips.
Jiang Mi felt like she had found a breakthrough.
In the next second, Yan Wei stepped back.
When Jiang Mi looked again, her eyes were calm and clear—she was already out of character.
That smooth entry and exit from the role filled Jiang Mi with awe. She straightened up. Just now, Yan Wei had taught her something: If you question Qin Shui’s love, I’ll show you what love means.
And maybe, seeing Jiang Mi finally understand, Yan Wei didn’t stay long.
After she left, Jiang Mi’s thoughts became clearer: Yan Wei and Qin Shui were completely different—and so were she and Liang Yongping.
Qin Shui loved Liang Yongping, but also resented her.
Liang Yongping loved Qin Shui, but saw Yan Wei as an untouchable idol.
On the way back, Zhao Jia listened to her thoughts and joked, “Then it should be easy for you to get in character, right? You already idolize Yan Wei so much that you’d love her no matter what name she has. Shouldn’t that make the acting easy?”
Jiang Mi considered it. It made sense, but… something felt off too.
She didn’t dwell on it. After the morning’s setbacks, she didn’t have the energy.
Zhao Jia sat up and suddenly said, “Just don’t fall too hard, okay? Getting too into character isn’t always good. Qin Shui is Qin Shui. Yan Wei is Yan Wei. Don’t mix them up.”
Jiang Mi gave her a puzzled look. “I’m very clear about that.”
Wasn’t that why she was struggling? Because she couldn’t blend reality and fiction?
She thought of her conversation with Yan Wei and spaced out a little. Maybe Yan Wei wasn’t as cold as she seemed…
Zhao Jia sighed internally. What she meant was: don’t let the fake romance become real. Yan Wei was filtered through too many rose-colored lenses in Jiang Mi’s eyes. As her manager, Zhao Jia was a little worried.
But looking at Jiang Mi’s dazed, exhausted face, she said no more.
Her Jiang Mi, aside from one short-lived crush, had never really shown signs of emotional awareness. And anyway, Yan Wei was so cold—fine as an idol, but impossible to truly fall for.
Even if Jiang Mi was the type to flirt without realizing it and leave a trail of admirers behind her… she never noticed any of it.
But this was Yan Wei.
Someone worldly and discerning.
Jiang Mi’s clueless little charms? Completely beneath her notice.
There’s no way Yan Wei would ever be interested in Jiang Mi.
Absolutely no way.
…
In the black van on the way to the apartment, Yan Wei glanced at a text on her phone and swiped it away.
From the front seat, her agent Su Rui asked, “After a full day… what do you think of this Jiang Mi?”
Yan Wei looked out the window and cracked it open slightly. The orange-red light from outside danced in her eyes, giving her a rare softness. The breeze stirred her hair and her thoughts.
Lately, people had been asking her that question a lot.
Even Director Jiang asked her again today.
What do you think?
What does she think?
Yan Wei took a quiet breath. The evening air was fresh—no trace of the milky Alpha scent, no flushed earlobes, no burning skin…
Yet why was she still so unsatisfied?