After Becoming the Live-in Scummy Alpha, I Pamper Her with Real Strength - Chapter 16
He Song kissed those soft, sweet lips and forced her tongue between Mo Qingran’s tightly pressed ones.
Mo Qingran had a pheromone-suppressant patch stuck over her gland, but He Song kept pressing and grinding against it.
“He Song, please… let me go, okay? I’ll get you a suppressant.”
But the tightening grip on her wrist made Mo Qingran cry out in pain.
That sharp sound jolted He Song into a moment of clarity. She abruptly released her grip, closed her eyes, and buried her face in Mo Qingran’s neck.
Damn it, what kind of susceptibility phase is this? Are we sure I didn’t get dosed with something?
It felt surreal—how could society even function under a setting like this? Oh, right… this is a novel. Everything’s fair game.
Yet no matter how absurd, it was happening to her right now. And complaint or not, lucidity didn’t last long. That feverish storm surged up again—this next wave would only be harder to endure than the last.
Gritting her teeth, she bit down on her tongue until bl00d bloomed. The sharp sting granted her a moment of self-control. She let go of Mo Qingran, sank to the floor, and rasped through clenched teeth, “Go. Lock yourself in your room. Don’t come out, no matter what.”
Freed from He Song’s grasp, Mo Qingran stumbled back, panting hard. “But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Just go. Hurry.”
He Song was terrified she’d lose control again and hurt Mo Qingran. Her body’s reaction to her was far from normal: an Omega perfectly matched at 95%, instinctual attraction between Alpha and Omega, and her damn pheromone dependency disorder.
It was like stacking buffs—every one doubled the impact.
Mo Qingran slowly backed toward the stairs, arms crossed over her chest in a protective gesture. The sudden chaos of the night left her deeply shaken.
She couldn’t help but glance back. He Song was crouched at the kitchen doorway, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head buried in the crook of her arm, trying desperately to suppress it all.
To stay conscious, she clawed her arms—short fingernails dragging shallow red lines along her skin.
Mo Qingran froze mid-step, her pupils contracting.
He Song hadn’t lifted her head at all, but she could sense her. The scent of peaches was intensifying—Mo Qingran hadn’t left?
She looked up—and there she was. Mo Qingran, right in front of her, bending down to meet her gaze.
“You should leave. I…” He Song tried to urge her away.
Mo Qingran said gently, “Can I ask you for a mark, Miss He?”
Her eyes shimmered like a deep blue ocean under moonlight, calm and filled with quiet warmth.
He Song froze, staring at her in disbelief.
Mo Qingran exhaled softly and crouched beside her. “Right now, a temporary mark will help both of us.”
Tears brimming in her eyes, He Song bit her lip and forced out, “No.”
She already felt like she’d taken advantage. Mo Qingran didn’t owe her anything—least of all a mark.
God, how much more obvious do I have to be? Why is she still resisting like this?
Even through the haze, Mo Qingran wondered—was she really that unappealing to He Song?
“Suppressants won’t help as much. A temporary mark would ease the symptoms faster.” She pulled down her collar, baring the nape of her neck. With a crisp rip, she tore off the now-useless suppression patch.
Her gland, red and swollen, was laid bare before He Song’s eyes.
Mo Qingran leaned in, voice low against her ear. “Don’t want to mark me?”
Of course she wanted to.
He Song murmured, “You’d better not regret this.”
Mo Qingran gave a faint smile. “Why would I…—ahh!”
Teeth sank into the gland with painful precision. The scent of cedar flooded into her system. He Song didn’t know the proper technique for marking—everything she did was driven purely by instinct.
When it was done, she finally let go. A fresh bite mark, bl00d-tinged and raw, stood stark on Mo Qingran’s pale neck.
Mo Qingran collapsed into her arms, utterly drained.
He Song’s heart twisted in a mix of pain and tenderness. She gently wiped the tears from her face, her hand stroking Mo Qingran’s back over and over.
That overpowering flood of Alpha pheromones still lingered in Mo Qingran’s body, trembling even her soul.
But in He Song’s arms, she felt a rare tenderness—genuine, calming.
Gradually, her breathing settled.
He Song gently picked her up in a bridal carry.
Startled, Mo Qingran gasped, “You don’t have to—”
He Song: “You think you can still walk upstairs?”
Her long hair flowed down her back, catching the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. Mo Qingran rested her head on He Song’s shoulder and gazed dazedly at her stunning profile.
“You’re too light. You need to eat more. Didn’t I tell you to send me proof of three meals a day?”
Mo Qingran wasn’t short—about 165 cm—but she weighed no more than a kitten in He Song’s arms. Her waist was slim, and when He Song touched her back, she could feel the sharp curve of her shoulder blades.
Mo Qingran lowered her head. Her short hair brushed against He Song’s collarbone. “I forgot.”
He Song raised an eyebrow. She knew Mo Qingran had deliberately hidden her irregular eating habits—but didn’t call her out.
“Then starting tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”
“…I just get busy sometimes,” Mo Qingran murmured, “and forget mealtimes, so…”
“No. Non-negotiable. No matter how busy you are, you still have to eat.” He Song’s tone was firm and left no room for argument. “Don’t think I don’t know—you’ve been sacrificing your rest time just to work.”
Mo Qingran pouted and fell silent.
It didn’t take He Song much effort to carry her all the way to the bedroom. Once she settled her on the bed, she poured a glass of warm water for her.
“Still mad? Is that why you’re not talking?” He Song sat by the bed, watching Mo Qingran curled up under the blanket, facing away from her.
“How about this? When it’s time to eat, we’ll video call. I’ll eat with you, even if I’m on set.”
Mo Qingran’s heart stirred. She turned over to look at He Song, then slowly nodded.
Seeing how soft and adorable she looked, He Song couldn’t help but smile and reached out to poke her cheek.
The overly affectionate gesture stunned them both. If the earlier mark could be explained as a response to pheromone heat, then what was this—something a couple would do?
Flustered, He Song scratched her head, hurriedly said goodnight, and left the room.
The moment she stepped outside, she leaned back against the door and covered her face, overwhelmed.
After what happened tonight—their “intimate contact”—did something… shift between them?
Just as that thought formed, she shook her head vigorously, trying to dispel the ridiculous notion.
She and Mo Qingran… was that even possible?
Rubbing her face, He Song returned to her own room. Stop overthinking. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
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When filming reached Licheng, the real male lead of Fenghua Chronicle officially joined the production.
He wasn’t a newbie or some trendy idol, but a bona fide movie king—He Yan, one of the most celebrated actors in the industry.
Though titled the male lead, his actual screen time was limited—more of a high-profile guest appearance than a full-blown lead role.
For someone like He Yan to join the show was a major favor to Director Yan Zhao. Word had it—they must be close friends… or so people thought.
Watching He Yan, tall and dashing, argue with Director Yan like a squabbling child, He Song began to think she’d judged the situation too quickly.
It was their third argument of the day, this time because He Yan refused to wear the ridiculous clip-on fringe designed for his historical look.
“If it’s a period drama, shouldn’t it be normal not to have bangs? I don’t even have a wide forehead—just let me show it! Who wants to wear this ugly, short, sparse fringe? I’d look like a complete idiot.”
Director Yan rubbed his temples in exasperation. “I swear, ever since you won Best Actor, you’ve become more and more arrogant. Who are you even talking to? Watch your tone.”
He Song, completely confused, quietly asked one of the crew members who was giggling beside her.
“Word is they’re related. Director Yan is He Yan’s uncle—technically, his mother’s cousin.”
“Yeah, and He Yan only acts like this with him. Outside of this, he’s super chill—like the boy next door.”
“This is basically his long-awaited revenge. Back in the day, Director Yan used to chew him out constantly. Said he wasn’t allowed to talk back until he won Best Actor.”
“So this is karma,” another added with a laugh.
And so, He Song sat back and watched the drama unfold, full-on gossip mode activated.
To be fair, she actually agreed with He Yan—the fringe was hideous. Even with He Yan’s strikingly handsome face, that style turned him into a total nobody.
He Yan, deadpan, said, “You’re the one who told me: there’s no such thing as family on set.”
Director Yan felt a liver-spasm-level rage coming on. “The novel clearly describes the male lead like this. I’m just trying to stay faithful to the original character design.”
He Yan retorted, “Character fidelity isn’t achieved by a crooked fringe—it’s by acting. If I look ugly, I’ll just be insulting the audience’s eyes.”
Director Yan looked like he wanted to kick him. “What do you need to look good for? This is a female-lead drama. You’re just here to set off He Song’s character. Who cares about you?”
He Yan didn’t take offense. He flopped down onto the stool beside Yan Zhao, ready to keep fighting. “Haven’t you heard? Ugly male leads are ruining half the historical dramas these days. We still need some aesthetics, you know?”
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Author’s Note:
No, there was no “steamy scene”! Just a kiss and a neck bite—nothing more. Haven’t even confirmed the relationship yet!
I had to revise this chapter so many times from yesterday to today. It kept failing review. In the end, I had to cut all the spicy parts. 😮💨