After Becoming the Live-in Scummy Alpha, I Pamper Her with Real Strength - Chapter 13

He Song followed Mo Qingran’s gesture and walked to the gray-white cabinet next to the living room TV. On the third shelf from the top, she found a small medicine box with a translucent blue lid.

As she picked it up, the rattling of pill bottles and plastic packets inside made her frown—Mo Qingran sure had a lot of medication.

She helped Mo lie back comfortably on the sofa, then hurried to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water.

Mo Qingran took out two white medicine bottles, poured out a few pills, and swallowed them with the water.

Seeing her clutching her stomach and shifting around restlessly, He Song asked with concern, “Is it your stomach?”

Mo gave a soft “mm” in response, slumping weakly into the cushions as she waited for the pain to subside.

He Song looked at her, distressed. “Wait here.”

A few minutes later, she came back with a pink hot water bottle, knelt beside Mo, and gently pressed it against her stomach. “This should help.”

She lightly adjusted and pressed the water bottle in place, and sure enough, she saw some of the tension slowly fade from Mo’s face. With a sigh, He Song joked, “Nine out of ten CEOs have stomach problems. You people are always swamped with work—running billion-dollar companies, reading contracts, attending back-to-back meetings. It’s like you’re working twenty out of twenty-four hours every day.”

Mo Qingran managed a weak chuckle. “You seem to know a lot about CEOs.”

He Song grinned. “From TV dramas. You reap what you sow, right? Work hard enough and you earn the right to say things like, ‘I’ll give you ten million—be my woman.’ Hahaha.”

By the time she got to the punchline, she couldn’t stop laughing.

Mo Qingran’s lips curved. “So nine CEOs have stomach problems. What about the tenth?”

He Song replied smoothly, “The last one’s just head over heels in love.”

Mo looked puzzled. “Head over heels?”

He Song explained, “It means they’re obsessed with romance. Their whole world revolves around dating, being in a relationship, getting married—nothing else.”

Mo nodded. “Doesn’t sound so bad. Work is exhausting.”

He Song hadn’t expected such a wistful comment from her, so she shared a story about a friend’s love life.

It was years ago, back when He Song was just a D-list newbie. She’d landed a tiny role thanks to a director who happened to notice her. It was only a few seconds of screen time—as the female lead’s handmaid. Her one line was: “Madam, the master has returned.”

The lead actress at the time was a famous film queen—award-winning, stunning even in her forties, with mesmerizing charm and brilliant acting. He Song had quietly watched and imitated her on set, and it was from that experience that her own performance began to take shape.

At the time, He Song was twenty, though she looked barely seventeen. Wearing a Republican-era maid’s outfit and sporting two slick ponytails, she had a fresh, youthful look—like an unpolished gem.

She worked hard, stayed humble, and got along well with the cast and crew. That role, though small, cemented her determination to pursue acting seriously.

In that production, there was another young actress, a film school student who hadn’t even graduated yet. She played the female lead’s younger self in flashbacks—a kind of second lead.

They were close in age and quickly became good friends. The girl’s name was Jiang Ruoruo, and she openly gushed about her boyfriend of three years—an intern doctor who was tall, handsome, and charming.

Not long after, He Song met this so-called “super hunk” who Jiang couldn’t stop mentioning. He was about 1.85 meters tall, wore a simple pair of black-rimmed glasses, a white tee, and black pants. His expression was a bit aloof, but he had a clean-cut vibe.

He came to visit Jiang on set but left after only half an hour.

He Song asked, “Where’d your boyfriend go?”

Jiang Ruoruo looked downcast. “He said he wasn’t used to the set atmosphere and went back to the hospital. But it seemed like he was angry…”

‘He Song, why do you think he’s mad? I asked him, but he didn’t say anything. He’s always like a brick wall—say something, he gives you one-word replies. Even my AI assistant has more personality!’

He Song had never been in a relationship, so she couldn’t say much. Honestly, she thought dating sounded kind of exhausting.

Jiang then spent the entire day obsessing over why her boyfriend was upset. He Song tried to suggest that she just message him and ask directly, but Jiang refused—she thought it would be embarrassing.

He Song couldn’t understand the whole pride thing in relationships—this unspoken rule that whoever reaches out first “loses.”

The next day, Jiang came to set with dark circles under her eyes. The first thing she said when she saw He Song was:
“I thought about it all night and still don’t get it. Maybe I should just break up with him.”

He Song: ……

Then, dressed like a “giant panda,” Jiang Ruoruo got a harsh scolding from the director.

Hearing this part of the story, even the usually composed Mo Qingran couldn’t help but ask, “So why was her boyfriend angry?”

He Song glanced over at Mo, who was lying obediently on the sofa, blinking up at her with soft, curious eyes. With that expression—sweet, harmless, quietly adorable—He Song’s heart nearly melted on the spot.

Drawing out her words with mock mystery, she finally said, “Because of one of the most common reasons couples argue.”

That afternoon, the very day Jiang Ruoruo declared she was breaking up, her tall, stoic boyfriend reappeared—face still tight with tension. But instead of going straight onto set to find her, he squatted outside the studio, holding a water bottle and staring blankly at the ground.

He Song noticed and approached. “Jiang Ruoruo’s inside. She got a lot she wants to say to you.”

The man scratched his head, looking lost. “I… I’ll go in later. She suddenly said she wanted to break up. I don’t want to, but I haven’t figured out what to say yet.”

Huh. Jiang Ruoruo was so loud and brash—who’d have thought she’d end up with such a bashful boyfriend?

He Song asked, “So why were you upset when you visited last time?”

He lowered his head even more, voice awkward and faint. “I… I wasn’t really mad. It’s just… when she was acting… he kissed her.”

He Song pieced it together immediately—he was jealous?

“That’s just acting. It’s her job. If Ruoruo continues acting, she’s bound to have more kiss scenes in the future. Can’t you handle that?”

“I can,” he said. “But she told me this script didn’t have any kiss scenes. Then that day…”

“Oh, that,” He Song crossed her arms and explained, “The director made a last-minute change.”

So all that fuss—just because of jealousy.

Afterward, the two of them went through their ups and downs, broke up and got back together more than once… until eventually, they walked down the aisle together.

Mo Qingran chuckled. “So what you’re really trying to tell me is… falling in love is exhausting.”

He Song pouted. “Isn’t it? Together, then apart, together again, then apart again. Back and forth with no end in sight. It’s not even that satisfying in the end, and yet you still can’t let go.”

“But they had a happy ending,” Mo pointed out. “When you started telling it, I thought they wouldn’t make it.”

He Song shrugged. “That was one of the lucky ones. Most relationships end in tears, or worse, miserable marriages.”

Mo Qingran looked at her, eyes shimmering in the warm glow of the lamp. It was as though He Song held within her a whole starlit sea of loneliness. Mo raised a brow. “So you’re not interested in dating right now?

Just acting?”

He Song rolled her eyes playfully and shrugged again. “Exactly. You pour in all your time and energy, not knowing if it’ll work out. It can derail your plans, your career, your whole life. From a business perspective, love is a terrible investment. High risk, low return. Practically gambling.”

To her surprise, Mo Qingran found herself agreeing.

The water inside the hot pack had gradually cooled. He Song took it away and asked, “How are you feeling now? Still hurt?”

The warmth vanished and left Mo a little disappointed—but the pain in her stomach had eased.

He Song added quickly, “Since you’ve got a stomach condition, you can’t eat the mango mille-feuille in the fridge anymore. I’ll make you some millet porridge instead. Good for the stomach. It won’t take long.”

As Mo leaned back into the couch, she watched He Song busying herself in the kitchen. For the first time in a long while, the big, empty house didn’t feel so empty.

The soft aroma of the porridge soon wafted out, teasing her appetite. Her stomach growled a little—only now did she realize just how hungry she was.

He Song stirred in a generous spoonful of sugar, ladled the porridge into a bowl, and brought it over.

“How long have you had stomach issues?”

Mo Qingran replied, “Since college, I think. That was when I just joined the board of directors. There was so much to do—I often forgot to eat. When I did remember, I’d just grab something quick to get by.”

She’d always been academically gifted, skipping grades and achieving far ahead of her peers—a classic overachiever. After her parents’ accident, she’d pushed herself even harder to grow up fast and take control of the company… and neglected her health along the way. By the time she noticed, the damage had already been done.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep a close eye on you,” He Song said. “Make sure you eat on time, every time.”

She knelt in front of Mo, gently stirring the porridge and blowing on it to cool it down.

As Mo looked at her, something shifted. Without realizing it, she leaned closer… and closer.

“You don’t seem like the gentle, nurturing type,” she said in a soft voice.

He Song instinctively looked up—only to meet Mo’s devastatingly beautiful face, inches away.

Crap. Too close.

They locked eyes. For ten seconds? Twenty?

He Song wasn’t sure. Her ears buzzed. Her heart raced. Her face burned. The air felt thick with something unspoken, something sweet and dangerously intimate.

Then, as if on cue, they both looked away at the exact same moment.

“Ahem… this porridge… it’s not hot anymore. You should drink it. There’s still plenty in the pot—have a few more bowls if you want.”

“Right. Um, thank you,” Mo replied, eyes darting everywhere but at He Song. Her chest fluttered wildly. What had just gotten into her?

Did she actually—almost—kiss her?

He Song fumbled her way to her feet and nearly tripped into Mo’s lap. In a panic, she hopped her way into the kitchen with exaggerated, clumsy movements, desperate to escape the awkwardness.

Her face was on fire. She needed something cold—and fast.

She grabbed a slice of the mango mille-feuille and took a big bite. The soft cream and sweet mango danced on her tongue.

She frowned. A bit too sweet. Must’ve added too much sugar earlier…

What she didn’t realize was that the corners of her mouth had been curled up in a smile this entire time.

Then, out of nowhere, a line Jiang Ruoruo once said popped into her head:

“The reason you think you’re not ready for love… is because you haven’t met the person who makes your heart race yet.”

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Author’s Note:

This is seriously the kind of romance that’s sweet enough to give you cavities.