After Cat A Saved the Wrong Female Lead - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Qin Shuyi (Revised)

It was Friday, two days before the Sunday meeting she had scheduled with Tang Li. Qin Shiyang checked the date again to be sure.

When she glanced back at the screen, the camera had tilted up toward the ceiling—Tang Li seemed to have fallen asleep, and soft, steady breathing came through the Bluetooth earpiece.

Qin Shiyang hung up the call.

The vehicle drove into a remote suburban area under the cover of night. After several twists and turns, it pulled up in front of a well-lit rehabilitation facility. The pristine white walls were framed by a vast field of bluish-purple roses that quivered gently in the evening breeze, painting a vivid, living picture that brought warmth to the place.

Upon closer inspection, the rose garden was composed of many different varieties, including rare ones placed generously outside, blooming in full force and infusing the early summer air with vibrant energy.

After parking the car, Qin Shiyang got out and, as usual, glanced at the roses’ flourishing state. The facility employed full-time gardeners who checked on the flowers even at night, and one happened to notice the familiar Maserati.

The rehab center was expansive and elegantly designed, clearly upscale. It wasn’t unusual to see visitors arriving in luxury cars. But the woman who stepped out of this one had a presence that stood out—she wore a bamboo green cardigan paired with wide-legged trousers in a relaxed yet stylish ensemble. The simplicity of her outfit only added to her cool, reserved aura. The gardener quickly stepped forward to greet her:

“President Qin, Miss Qin came out to look at the flowers earlier this evening.”

“Alright.”

Qin Shiyang didn’t say much. Just as she reached the inpatient building, the receptionist recognized her immediately and personally escorted her upstairs.

The electronic lock on Room 815 beeped open, revealing a woman seated on the bed, reading a book. Qin Shiyang called out:

“Jie.” (Big sister)

Qin Shuyi looked up.

She shared about 60% of her features with Qin Shiyang.

The reading lamp cast a warm glow over her hair, which was slightly yellowed and dry. Her lips had a pale, unhealthy tint, but it couldn’t conceal the overall beauty of her features. Qin Shuyi had relatively large eyes with single eyelids, giving her already lean and sharp features a cooler edge.

She was like a sword suspended in midair—damaged, perhaps, but still gleaming with the deadly sharpness of its former glory. Her eyes, as black as Qin Shiyang’s, differed only in their depth: one pair sparkled like obsidian; the other was shadowy and cold, like a deep, still pond. Only when she smiled genuinely did a glimmer of light appear in them.

“Xiao Yu.” (Little Yu — her nickname)

Qin Shuyi greeted her as well.

“You’re reading at night again without turning the light up. Always making people worry.”

The crisp sound of high heels echoed as Qin Shiyang walked over, adjusted the reading lamp one level brighter, and gently patted her sister’s pale wrist. She noticed the untouched bird’s nest soup on the bedside table, checked the bowl—it was still warm—so she stirred it and passed it to Qin Shuyi.

There were no caregivers or servants in the room. Qin Shuyi didn’t like being looked after too closely. Apart from meal deliveries and routine checkups, she lived entirely alone.

Ever since a car accident years ago had left her unable to walk, Qin Shuyi—never talkative to begin with—had grown even more withdrawn. Only her younger sister Qin Shiyang was allowed into her world. Back then, Qin Shiyang had just been “Miss Qin,” and Qin Shuyi had been “President Qin.” Now, the roles had completely reversed. The once-powerful figure had fallen from her pedestal, but she remained calm and composed when facing her sister.

She reluctantly took a couple of spoonfuls of the bird’s nest, which had been sweetened with rock sugar and lily bulbs. It was silky smooth and lightly sweet. But after two bites, she couldn’t eat any more. She looked up at her sister—whose features mirrored her own—and frowned slightly.

“You’re turning into quite the worrier, President Qin.”

As she spoke, Qin Shuyi finally caught a faint scent that didn’t belong to her sister. Being an Alpha herself, she’d sustained severe injuries during the accident, including damage to her gland. She could still smell pheromones but couldn’t mark an Omega, which made her a bit less sensitive.

The Alpha scent clinging to Qin Shiyang was so faint it was nearly imperceptible—thin as a thread, nearly one with her own scent. Only someone close to her could notice it. Qin Shuyi sniffed the air carefully and raised an eyebrow:

“You’ve picked up an Alpha?”

Qin Shiyang, seeing her sister couldn’t finish the soup, set it aside and started peeling an orange. She responded casually:

“What do you mean, ‘picked up’? Can’t you at least hope for something nice for once? Ever consider I might be dating?”

“That too,” Qin Shuyi mused. “Judging by how distracted you are, I’m guessing you’ve fallen for some Alpha.” For a moment, a rare teasing smile crossed her pale face. “But I really can’t picture the kind of girl you’d be into.”

That line—“the kind of girl you’d be into”—caught Qin Shiyang off guard. A figure flashed through her mind. She had no idea how distracted she’d looked, but the thought of the video call with Tang Li earlier annoyed her, so she quickly changed the subject—diving into updates about internal family drama and Bai Wanle’s recent actions.

Given the confident way Bai Wanle had tried to “impress” her, Qin Shiyang doubted their meeting was coincidental.

Once she switched into work mode, Qin Shiyang’s entire demeanor changed—sharp and focused. To an outsider, the two sisters sitting so closely might appear distant. The air between them held a subtle chill, but neither noticed it as their conversation unfolded in razor-sharp exchanges.

This room had the best view of the roses. Their mother—an Omega—had adored roses in her lifetime. The large rose garden at the rehab center had been funded and maintained by Qin Shiyang years ago. From seed to full bloom, it had thrived year after year. Now, in the evening breeze, the flowers’ clean fragrance drifted through the cracks in the windows, keeping the room from feeling like a stagnant, lifeless space.

….

Qin Shiyang’s habit of visiting her sister every month never changed, rain or shine. Qin Shuyi had been a gifted child—one of the most brilliant Alphas in both the Qin family and all of Huadu. But her life had taken a tragic turn. From brilliance to ruin, she had seen the world grow dim and had even considered ending her life more than once. It was Qin Shiyang who had pulled her back each time.

Having lost their parents early on, the sisters had relied on each other. Their bond ran deep. One was now nearly disabled; the other carried a rare and dangerous condition. It was the kind of tragic setup that would make them villains or beautifully broken protagonists in a novel.

By contrast, Tang Li’s family relationships were pitifully lacking. That day, it was her cousin—especially clingy—who came to see her. The cousin was a Beta, and Tang Li couldn’t find a strong excuse to refuse her, so she let her stay.

Most of her extended relatives weren’t genuinely concerned for her. They claimed they feared she’d lose control during her susceptibility period—but in truth, they probably just wanted her gone faster. They even dropped hints, testing whether she had ever marked an Omega. Disgusted, Tang Li pretended to retch when she got up, scaring her cousin into leaving.

Watching the woman flee in a panic, Tang Li, now refreshed after a suppression injection, was ready to change the lock code on her door. But when she reached the entrance, something struck her: her cousin had only entered because Tang Li had opened the door—but hadn’t she sent her the door code?

The realization made her face darken slightly. Barefoot, she dashed back to the bed and picked up her nearly dead phone, unlocking the screen to scroll through messages. Though she had a lot of contacts, she always pinned important conversations for the day and unpinned them afterward. Everything was organized. She went to her cousin’s chat first—nothing.

She scrolled further down and tapped into a familiar chat. Seeing the mistakenly sent door code, she let out a sigh of relief. But looking at the brief video clip and the string of “Jiejie” (big sister) messages, a wave of unease stirred in her chest.

She rarely called Little Fish “big sister.”

The replies had been delayed and short—just two lines, sent an hour ago:

?

Seems Miss Tang is quite the time-management expert.

The tension coiled in her gut like a cat with its neck seized, her mind racing to figure out how to fix this. She began typing—“typing…” blinking on the screen for several minutes—but before she could send anything, a new message popped up.

Like a puppet pulled by strings, Tang Li’s heart skipped twice. She turned the volume all the way up, then lowered it slightly. When she tapped on the voice message, the Omega’s melodious voice poured into her ears:

“You’ve never called me ‘big sister’ before. That’s not fair.”

A pause.

Then another message followed right after, with just a hint of playful demand:

“How about this—you cheer me up a bit, and I won’t stay mad.”