After Becoming a Scummy Alpha, I Met the Reborn Omega (GL) - Chapter 4

After being discharged from the hospital, Lin Changsheng found herself completely lost. She had no idea where to go. She thought about going home—but where exactly was home? She had been taken to the hospital after fainting and had no memory of where she lived.

With no other option, she turned to the only contact she had—Mo Zhaoyan. Since she had already told Mo Zhaoyan she’d lost her memory, asking about her address didn’t seem out of line.

Just as Mo Zhaoyan finished giving Tang Ying instructions, she received a message from Lin Changsheng:
“Hey… Mo Zhaoyan, I wanted to ask where I live? I’ve been discharged and want to go home.”

Lin Changsheng had agonized over how to address her—President Mo or Miss Mo felt too formal, but calling her wife was far too intimate. In the end, she settled on using her full name.

Fortunately, Mo Zhaoyan didn’t seem to care. Lin Changsheng had always called her that, even before. Still, Mo Zhaoyan remained skeptical about the whole memory loss situation.
“You don’t even remember where you live?”

Lin Changsheng flushed in embarrassment. “I did say I lost my memory…”

“How much do you remember, exactly?”

“Probably forgot everything from the last ten years…” she muttered, afraid Zhaoyan would press further. Thankfully, she didn’t. A moment later, an address popped up on her phone.

It was pretty far from the hospital. Lin Changsheng called a cab, and when she paid via mobile, she was stunned to see her account balance—it was in the millions. She’d never seen that much money in her life.

What she didn’t know was that in her other bank accounts, there were tens of millions more.

She finally arrived at the Mo family estate. Ten years had changed a lot—even the front gate was equipped with facial recognition. Technology like this was unimaginable to her. The yard was lined with peach trees—likely ornamental. Lin Changsheng had never understood the tastes of the rich.

As she stepped into the house, the contrast between the lavish exterior and the lifeless interior hit her immediately. There was barely any furniture. The space felt cold, dead. Not even a single servant in sight. The empty living room on the first floor gave off an unsettling chill.

She wandered upstairs. The master bedroom was unlocked and done in a minimalist style—functional but lacking warmth, more like a hotel room than a home. It clearly looked like Mo Zhaoyan’s room. What surprised her most was that, even after marriage, they had separate bedrooms. There was no sign of a shared life here.

She turned to the guest room.

It was in far worse shape.

The moment she opened the door, a rank smell assaulted her. The curtains hadn’t been drawn in ages, and the room was engulfed in darkness. She tried flipping the light switch, but the bulb was dead. With no choice, she made her way toward the only window.

As she walked past the bed, her foot knocked over a cluster of bottles with a loud clatter. She yanked the curtains open, letting sunlight spill into the room—only then did she realize those bottles were all alcohol.

It looked like no one had cleaned the room in a very long time.

Disgusted, Lin Changsheng began tidying up. The desk was a complete mess, covered in papers. She picked them up one by one, and quickly realized they were all research documents, mostly related to genetic studies.

“On ABO Gene Research: Inferior genes present numerous defects. Recommendation: eliminate defective gene carriers.”

A bold red stamp marked the report as “Invalidated.” Lin Changsheng frowned, confused by the document. She noticed a crumpled ball of paper in the trash and unfolded it.

It was her own medical report.

“Patient: Lin Changsheng. Based on multiple tests, subject’s gene classification is ‘Defective Alpha’. Current technology cannot enhance or reverse this gene type.”

At the bottom of the bin, she found a pile of ashes—what remained of another burned report. Only a few words could still be read:

“Lin Changsheng, based on instrument analysis, 80% probability of second-gender differentiation as…”

The rest was too charred to make out.

Lin Changsheng guessed it had been her gender classification report—likely done years ago before her secondary gender had manifested. But why had someone destroyed it? She couldn’t understand.

So… she had a drinking problem? She stared at the sleeping pills on the bedside table. Was she suffering from insomnia too? Everything in this room felt foreign to her… and yet painfully familiar.

She looked at the bed and imagined a different version of herself lying there, emotionally wrecked, washing down sleeping pills with alcohol, trying to numb the pain. Alone in this pitch-black room, cut off by a single wall from the one she loved—her light.

But that one wall had sealed them into separate worlds.

As Lin Changsheng stood frozen in thought, she didn’t realize Mo Zhaoyan had already returned. Standing silently at the door, Zhaoyan watched her for a long time. Her mind drifted—Lin Changsheng had once gotten angry and moved into the guest room, refusing to let Zhaoyan inside.

Back then, Zhaoyan had been buried in work. She never asked questions when Lin Changsheng got upset. She had truly never stepped into this room… never known what was happening behind that door.

After the divorce, she had sealed this room away—along with all traces of Lin Changsheng.

It wasn’t until after Lin Changsheng’s death that Mo Zhaoyan finally stepped inside, saw the chaos, and felt the lingering despair that had once filled this space. Maybe—just maybe—she could have saved her.

But she hadn’t.

Snapping back to reality, Mo Zhaoyan finally knocked on the door. The sound broke Lin Changsheng out of her thoughts. She looked toward the entrance and saw Mo Zhaoyan standing there, still in her coat. A smile lit up her face.
“You’re back?”

Her joy was written all over her face, and Mo Zhaoyan’s gaze softened at the sight.
“The company didn’t need me, so I came home to check on you,” she said.
In truth, she was worried—and also wanted to share a meal with Lin Changsheng, something she never had the chance to do in their past life.

“What were you looking at?” she asked.

Lin Changsheng instinctively hid the paper behind her back, but Mo Zhaoyan easily saw through the motion. Still, she didn’t press.
“Nothing. Just some random documents,” Lin Changsheng replied, brushing it off and putting the papers away before heading out of the room. Mo Zhaoyan followed her downstairs.

“This house is huge, but there are no maids?” Lin Changsheng asked along the way.

“You don’t like strangers in the house. So we never hired any. Just a cleaning service that comes regularly.”

“Do you know what I’ve been researching recently?”

They reached the living room, where Mo Zhaoyan finally took off her coat and sank into the couch, rubbing her nose bridge with a weary sigh.
“No. You never let anyone into your room. Not even me.”

She was still trying to figure out the nature of Lin Changsheng’s memory loss. Was it all an act? Dissociative identity? Time travel, even? Strangely, it was exactly ten years that had gone missing. Why had she gone back in time, yet Lin Changsheng had changed so drastically?

Could the time machine she had designed have caused some unintended side effect?

Lin Changsheng realized she wouldn’t be able to get much information about herself from Zhaoyan. She turned and headed for the kitchen, searching the fridge for food. All she found were some ready-to-eat meals—nothing substantial. With limited options, she settled for boiling noodles.

Watching her fumble around the kitchen, Mo Zhaoyan raised an eyebrow. Lin Changsheng had never once cooked before. Curious, she asked,
“Need a hand?”

Lin Changsheng, now wearing an apron, was skillfully slicing the last of the vegetables.
“Sure. You can wash the bowls.”

Surprised by how naturally she handled everything, Mo Zhaoyan nevertheless obediently fetched two bowls and began washing them. As Lin Changsheng prepared the noodles, she couldn’t help sneaking glances at Mo Zhaoyan.

This version of her was nothing like the sharp, distant CEO at work. Sleeves rolled up, focused even while doing something as mundane as washing dishes—meticulous and earnest. This was the side of her that Lin Changsheng had fallen for.

She liked this calm, domestic atmosphere. This—being together, quietly—was the life she had always wanted. Simple. Peaceful. Happy.

Soon, Lin Changsheng brought two bowls of noodles to the table and handed a pair of chopsticks to Mo Zhaoyan, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“This is a family recipe. Try it!”

Mo Zhaoyan looked at the bowl—it was just a random mix of whatever ingredients had been left in the fridge. Basically, a hodgepodge. Still, this was the first time Lin Changsheng had ever cooked for her. So she cautiously picked up a few strands of noodles, blew on them, and took a bite.

To her surprise—it was delicious. She took another bite, then glanced up. Lin Changsheng was still staring at her, eyes bright and hopeful, like a puppy waiting for praise. Mo Zhaoyan quickly obliged:
“It’s good.”

Grinning ear to ear, Lin Changsheng beamed.
“Of course! This is a Lin family secret recipe. Even my sister says it’s amazing!”
Then, she frowned a little.
“Wait, I’ve been married to you for three years and never made you noodles before?”

“You never cooked. And you rarely ever mentioned your family. If you really have lost your memory… well, that part seems real.”

Mo Zhaoyan still wasn’t entirely convinced.
Lin Changsheng scratched her head awkwardly.
“I told you I had amnesia. Do you know what happened to me before? Why don’t I talk about my family?”

Mo Zhaoyan did know part of the story, but it wasn’t something Lin Changsheng liked to revisit. Her parents had died in a car crash nine years ago—the same time she developed her medical patches. After that, she never mentioned her family again.

But there was something else, something that had scarred her deeply. Mo Zhaoyan only knew fragments, and she didn’t want Lin Changsheng to remember—at least not now. If she had truly forgotten… maybe that was for the best.

“I don’t know,” she lied gently.

“Do you know how I can contact my sister?”

Mo Zhaoyan paused mid-bite.
“You haven’t spoken to her in three years. I don’t have her contact info.”

Lin Changsheng looked down, clearly disappointed, quietly returning to her noodles. The defeated look tugged at Mo Zhaoyan’s heart.

“But,” she added, softening, “I can help you look for her.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

After dinner, Lin Changsheng volunteered to wash the dishes. While she hummed softly in the kitchen, Mo Zhaoyan stood nearby, watching her. When she was sure Lin Changsheng wasn’t paying attention, she quietly stepped out and made a call.

“It’s me. Changsheng’s… different lately.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s lost her memory.”

“Amnesia? Is she okay?”

“Physically, she’s fine. But she doesn’t remember anything from the past few years. Not even her parents’ death.”

Silence followed on the other end.

Mo Zhaoyan continued,
“You know… maybe forgetting isn’t such a bad thing. For her. For you. For me.”

“I understand. I’ll handle it.”
Then came a pause.
“I saw on the news—you were going to divorce?”

Mo Zhaoyan glanced toward the kitchen. Lin Changsheng was still there, washing dishes, singing quietly to herself like she hadn’t a care in the world.
“No. We’re not getting divorced.”

“Got it.”