After the Scumbag Alpha Accidentally Marked the Blackened Villain - Chapter 30

Leng Jinxi hadn’t gone far when Lin Bie turned a corner and caught sight of her figure — distant, graceful, and cold. Her expression darkened instantly.

She quickly strode forward, catching up in a few steps, and grabbed Leng Jinxi’s wrist.

“Leng Jinxi,” Lin Bie called out, her voice low and laced with barely contained anger.

Startled by the warmth of her palm, Leng Jinxi’s body flinched slightly. She turned to face her.

“Is there something you need, Miss Lin?”

Still calling her Miss Lin?!

Rage instantly surged through Lin Bie like wildfire up three floors. Her face darkened further, and her voice came out awkward and strained: “Where were you just now?”

There were so many things she wanted to ask, swirling endlessly in her mind. But in the end, this was all she could say.

Leng Jinxi looked at her, confusion flickering in her calm eyes. “And what I was doing… what does that have to do with you, Miss Lin?”

Her words were sharp and final, cutting deeper into Lin Bie’s already simmering frustration. Lin Bie frowned.

“Fine. Then let’s talk about something that does concern me. Why haven’t you replied to my messages?”

It had been three days. By now, she should’ve at least said something back.

What could possibly be stopping her from responding?

Just as Leng Jinxi parted her lips to speak, Lin Bie added, “I know you saw what I sent.”

Leng Jinxi’s expression wavered. Her lashes dropped, trembling gently in the sunlight — beautiful, delicate, yet painfully sharp in Lin Bie’s eyes.

She was avoiding her. Hiding things from her. Didn’t want to see her.

Fine!

Lin Bie drew in a deep breath, reminding herself: Leng Jinxi was a sensitive, guarded antagonist. Her darkening arc was already over 70% complete. In the original novel, she had even removed the protagonist’s gland and perished with her. She had to be patient — explain things slowly, carefully, without pressing too hard.

“Those two sentences from before — they weren’t directed at you. A friend had just messaged me at the time, and I was replying to her, not you. I swear.”

Realizing she was still gripping Leng Jinxi’s wrist, she let go. Her skin was so delicate that even a brief hold had left a faint red mark on the porcelain white flesh. Lin Bie looked away, pained.

“Those words weren’t for you. Since I’ve already asked for our engagement to continue, I would never do anything to betray it. Please, just trust me — just this once.”

She felt like she’d explained herself to Leng Jinxi a hundred times, yet the walls between them remained. Leng Jinxi was like a snail that would timidly extend its feelers toward her — and then retreat into its shell at the slightest gust of wind.

Lin Bie sighed inwardly. She had completely forgotten about her earlier vow to keep her distance from Leng Jinxi.

Leng Jinxi raised her eyes. There was a complexity in them — a soft, shimmering mist that made Lin Bie’s heart pound.

“I don’t know how to respond to you,” Leng Jinxi murmured, pulling her hand back as if afraid Lin Bie might grab it again.

“You’ve said it all very clearly. I believe you. I believe you’ve changed. And if I made you upset, I apologize. It was my mistake.”

She lowered her head. Her voice carried no emotion, her movements empty and mechanical — like a puppet following orders.

Lin Bie’s anger was extinguished like ice dousing a flame. She stood frozen, staring at this unusually lifeless Leng Jinxi.

But the relief she expected after receiving an apology never came. Instead, she felt even more stifled. Something about Leng Jinxi’s strange demeanor tugged tightly at her heart.

“What’s wrong…”

Before she could finish, Leng Jinxi had already brushed off her gloom, stepped forward, and gently took a tissue from her pocket. She leaned in to wipe the sweat from Lin Bie’s forehead, her movements tender.

“You must be tired, running over like that. Be good. Don’t run so fast next time.”

Her touch was soft, her voice warm and gentle like spring water, but also distant — untouchable.

That familiar camellia fragrance wrapped around Lin Bie again, and she froze, caught off guard.

So close — she could see her own bewildered reflection in Leng Jinxi’s dark eyes. They were beautiful, ink-dark and deep, tinged with sorrow. A quiet kind of heartbreak, like a blade cutting through mist.

That sorrow surged into Lin Bie’s chest like waves driven by wind. It was aimless, helpless.

Leng Jinxi was hurting.

She looked like a lone figure in a tiny boat, adrift in a stormy sea.

She used to have at least that one fragile boat to cling to — now even that seemed on the verge of collapse.

Lin Bie didn’t know why, but she could feel it — Leng Jinxi was deeply unhappy. She was lonely. She didn’t think anyone could help her.

Even though she believed Lin Bie, she was still in pain. That pain wasn’t about Lin Bie. It came from somewhere else.

As if her strength had been sapped, Lin Bie could only watch blankly as the camellia scent faded, and Leng Jinxi disappeared from sight.

She stared in the direction she had left, feeling that fragile trace of camellia slowly vanish — impossible to hold onto.

What’s wrong with Leng Jinxi?

—

In the days that followed, Leng Jinxi’s demeanor improved somewhat. But only slightly — just enough for a polite greeting when they met on set. Outside of that, she remained distant. She never once messaged Lin Bie on her own.

Lin Bie didn’t know what was wrong. She reminded herself that this sadness had nothing to do with her. But night after night, sleepless and restless, she would see Leng Jinxi’s sorrowful eyes replay in her mind like an old film — impossible to forget.

She tried sending her messages. Her fingers would hover over the keyboard, only for the drafts to be deleted again and again.

After all, she was only someone bound to Leng Jinxi by a business engagement. They’d even signed a prenuptial agreement. By rights, Leng Jinxi’s problems weren’t hers to meddle in. She was overstepping.

That’s what she told herself. Repeatedly.

During this time, she dug through the dust-covered contacts on her phone and found a single name listed under the surname “Zheng.”

She racked her brain but couldn’t recall any manager named Zheng. Most likely, the original Lin Bie had only been nominally under this person.

When she called, the voice on the other end was sharp and businesslike — a man.

Lin Bie relayed what Xie Yushu had told her, including the upcoming variety show plans. The manager replied with a single sentence: “The company is aware. We’ll notify you of next steps.” Then hung up.

Strange.

She looked up the company online and found it was a tiny agency. Each manager handled multiple artists across all kinds of industries.

Lin Bie immediately began to doubt his professionalism.

If it was the original Lin Bie, she wouldn’t have cared. Acting wasn’t her focus. But she was different. She had decided to make a career in this industry. That meant she needed a serious, competent manager.

In her previous world, too many careers had been ruined because of unqualified managers.

She would have to visit the company herself one day.

Even as she thought this, she once again found herself staring at her chat with Leng Jinxi — those few, pitiful lines exchanged in recent days.

Something felt off. A shadow loomed over her heart. Like something was going to go wrong.

Just then, an unfamiliar call came in.

Lin Bie glanced at the caller ID: M Country.

Her brows furrowed. Anyone calling from abroad who knew the original Lin Bie was probably not someone good. She hung up without hesitation.

But the caller was persistent. It called again. And again.

After the third time, Lin Bie finally gave in and answered.

“Hello? Who is this?” she said, her tone cold.

“Why did you take so long to answer?” a woman’s voice replied, startled by her icy tone. Then quickly recovered, clearing her throat — trying to sound more mature than she was.

“Who are you?” Lin Bie repeated, puzzled. The voice sounded young — too young. Did the original Lin Bie have friends this much younger?

The girl on the line grew annoyed. “You’re marrying my sister and don’t even know who I am?”

Lin Bie froze, something clicking in her mind.

“Leng Wenxia?”

“Took you long enough,” the girl huffed, voice full of pride.

“What do you want?” Lin Bie asked, frowning. In the original novel, Leng Wenxia was barely mentioned — a background detail in the Leng family. Her name appeared fewer than five times, and she never showed up in the story. Why was she calling now?

Could it be a butterfly effect caused by her presence? Like the system had warned — her actions subtly changing the plot?

“Can’t I call just because I want to?” Wenxia shot back, then quickly softened her tone.

“I’m coming back to the country soon. You and my sister are getting married. Of course I need to check you out — make sure you’re treating her right.”

When she’d heard about the engagement while abroad, she’d been furious. Looking into Lin Bie’s history had only made things worse. In her mind, Lin Bie was nothing but a dissolute, partying scumbag alpha.

Lin Bie: “…Well, thanks on behalf of your sister.”

“So you’re picking me up from the airport,” Wenxia said.

“Right. My sister’s too busy with work to come herself. I figured I’d call you instead. You’re practically family already — and I haven’t even met you yet! Gotta see for myself if you’re treating her properly.”

Busy with work? Lin Bie ignored the thinly veiled threat. Thinking back, she realized she’d never seen Leng Jinxi resting on set — always filming.

If she was too busy to pick up Wenxia, then Lin Bie wouldn’t run into her at the airport. All the better. She could make a good impression on the Leng family and maybe learn more about Jinxi from Wenxia.

Two birds, one stone.

Lin Bie made up her mind. “Alright, I’ll pick you up. When’s your flight?”

“Tomorrow. Five PM.”

The next afternoon, Lin Bie arrived at the airport before five. With some time to spare, she texted the newly added contact, Leng Wenxia, that she had arrived, then walked toward the arrivals gate.

The waiting area was crowded with people greeting family and friends. Lin Bie found a quiet corner to wait.

She looked down, opened her chat with Leng Jinxi again. Seeing the days-old messages, she hesitated, deleted, rewrote, and finally sent a message:

[I’ve picked up Wenxia. Focus on your filming. Don’t worry.]

Just as the message sent, she heard a message notification go off right behind her.

On instinct, Lin Bie turned around.

A pale, elegant hand held a phone — delicate fingers poised.

In that instant, the noise of the airport seemed to vanish.

Her heart trembled.

As her gaze followed the line of that arm upward, a familiar camellia scent filled the air.

And then — before anything else — she met a pair of deep, gentle eyes as dark as ink, looking right at her.