After the Scumbag Alpha Accidentally Marked the Blackened Villain - Chapter 5

The system’s sarcastic voice echoed in Lin Bie’s mind like a slap to the face.
“But didn’t Leng Jinxi hear me make Shan Yi apologize? Couldn’t your system reading be wrong? I demand a re-evaluation!”

The system sighed.
【Host, our system evaluations are precise and impartial. Please don’t question them. As for the rise in corruption value—before you transmigrated, the original host once pulled a similar stunt to gain Leng Jinxi’s favor. She stepped in to ‘defend’ her when others were mocking her.】

【Leng Jinxi probably thinks those two women today were actors you hired to recreate the same act for her benefit.】

Lin Bie nearly choked on her own frustration. She turned to see Leng Jinxi still watching her with that cool, unflinching gaze.

“…Leng Jinxi, do you have something you want to ask me?”

Leng Jinxi’s expression didn’t shift. “No.”

No? Then why did her corruption value just go up by five points? Was she planning to rip out Lin Bie’s scent glands next?

Lin Bie inhaled deeply. “I think there might be some kind of misunderstanding between us.”

Leng Jinxi’s brows knit slightly. She looked at her strangely. “I don’t believe there is.”

That’s exactly the misunderstanding!

Lin Bie wanted to cry but forced herself to move on. “Did you need something from me?”

“Your sister had to leave for an urgent matter at the company. The car to take you home is already waiting outside. The discussion about the wedding banquet has been postponed by a day.”

Lin Bie nodded. “Got it. You could’ve just messaged me, though. No need to come find me in person.”

After all, the original host and Leng Jinxi were engaged. They’d even flirted for a while. They had to have each other’s contact info, right?

Just as that thought crossed her mind, Leng Jinxi’s gaze snapped back to her, sharp as a blade.
“…And why exactly couldn’t I message you? Don’t you know?”

Lin Bie’s heart skipped a beat—but years of acting kicked in instantly. She forced an awkward look onto her face.
“Oh! I nearly forgot about that. I’ll pull you back in right away.”

Leng Jinxi stared at her a moment longer before turning and walking away. “Suit yourself.”

As her figure disappeared through the door, Lin Bie let out a huge breath of relief, wiping cold sweat from her forehead. She quickly pulled out her phone to search for Leng Jinxi’s name in her contacts.

Nothing.

Phone: nothing.

WeChat: also nothing.

Fortunately, her story still held water—she found Leng Jinxi in her WeChat blacklist. She breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, Leng Jinxi hadn’t suspected anything.

But just as she began to relax, her eyes landed on the original host’s note attached to Leng Jinxi’s WeChat profile:

“Lunatic.”

Just one word off from “neurotic,” yet the meaning was infinitely more severe.

If the original host and Leng Jinxi had flirted, why this kind of note? Could it be that their “relationship” hadn’t been just flirty after all?

Maybe something unpleasant had happened between them—something never mentioned in the novel. If so, it would explain why the original host later agreed to the engagement only to cause a scene at the wedding banquet.

But the story only summarized that part in a single sentence and never brought it up again. Lin Bie had no way to trace what exactly happened.

The more she thought about the nickname, the colder her neck felt. She quickly removed Leng Jinxi from the blacklist.

Her WeChat name was a single letter: “L.”

Minimalist, cold, and distant—just like her.

Lin Bie slid into the car and tapped on her screen, sending a message:

[I really thought I had already unblocked you.]

(With a bowing puppy sticker.)

Leng Jinxi didn’t reply.

Lin Bie scrolled up to check their chat history—and was immediately struck by how sparse it was.

Their first message exchange dated back two months ago when they’d added each other. A few greetings here and there. The last message was from a week ago—Leng Jinxi had written about preparing for the wedding banquet. The original host had replied with just:

[Got it.]

That was it. End of conversation.

It read more like a conversation between two distant acquaintances than two people about to get married. Let alone two people who’d supposedly been “flirting.”

Either the original host had deleted parts of the chat—or they’d never really talked via text at all.

Lin Bie reread the thread several times, her brain getting more and more tangled. Looking at her phone too long made her dizzy, so she eventually shut her eyes, forcing herself to stop thinking.

________________________________________

2:00 PM.

Lin Bie arrived at the Hengdian film lot on the west side of the city.

She had worked as an actress in her original world, so filming wasn’t a problem. She’d even studied the script ahead of time and felt confident.

What she hadn’t expected… was to run into Leng Jinxi here.

Just moments earlier, she’d been chatting casually with Su Nian. The system had updated her stats—friendship level with Su Nian now at 2%. Everything was going smoothly… until she spotted Leng Jinxi in costume not far away.

Just as Leng Jinxi began to turn toward them, Lin Bie panicked and ducked behind a tree.

“Su Nian… is Miss Leng in this production too?”

Su Nian nodded. “Yep. She’s the female lead. She and the director go way back. Didn’t you know when you auditioned?”

Lin Bie forced a smile. “Ah… that audition day was too dark for me to remember.”

According to the novel, the original host had auditioned for a role in this drama—and utterly embarrassed herself during the performance. Still, she got in thanks to her hefty financial backing.

The film’s director, Xie Yushu, had worked primarily on variety shows. Willing Heart was her first foray into scripted projects, and industry insiders had little faith in her. She struggled to secure funding.

Enter the original host—offering money in exchange for a role. Even if her acting was unwatchable, Xie Yushu had no choice but to accept.

So yeah… Lin Bie had known this mission wouldn’t be simple.

Leaning against the tree, she casually asked,

“Is Miss Leng filming today?”

“Yup. This afternoon’s shoot. I think it’s a scene with Shan Yi—they’ll be filming together for hours.”

Lin Bie’s grip on her script tightened. Her heart dropped.

“Shan Yi?”

“Yeah, the lead from that hit idol drama. She’s playing the second female lead here. Lots of scenes with Miss Leng.”

Lin Bie smiled faintly, but her lowered eyes were furrowed deep in thought.

So that’s what Shan Yi meant when she said “see you this afternoon.”

The system chimed in, helpfully providing context:

Back when the original host was planning to join this production, Shan Yi—seeking revenge—used her own funding to steal the role the original was gunning for. The original had been cast as the second female lead, but Shan Yi took her spot, forcing the host to accept a lesser role and delaying her entry into the crew.

And what puzzled Lin Bie most… was that the original host, known for her temper, hadn’t caused a scene. She had just accepted it.

Strange.

Although both Shan Yi and the original host joined the production through financial backing, Shan Yi had managed to take the role originally assigned to the host. That alone showed that the Shan family’s influence was at least equal—if not greater—than that of the original host. Yet when Lin Bie searched her memory, there was no mention of the Shan family anywhere.

This world… was far more complex and real than the novel had portrayed.

“You seem nervous. Don’t worry, your scene’s really simple,” Su Nian said, assuming Lin Bie was anxious about her upcoming shoot, and offered her some comfort.

Lin Bie snapped out of her thoughts and quickly shook her head. “No—no, it’s nothing. Let’s keep running lines.”

Leng Jinxi was the female lead of this production and a newly crowned Best Actress. No one in the crew would dare to target her—Lin Bie told herself that again and again to stay calm.

But it didn’t help.

Throughout the rehearsal, her mind kept drifting, and even Su Nian could tell something was off.

“What’s wrong?”

A wave of unease churned inside Lin Bie. In the end, she couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m going to check on something.”

She knew logically that no one would touch the female lead—but Shan Yi didn’t operate on normal logic. And after the sharp words they exchanged at lunch, Shan Yi could very well be taking her anger out on Leng Jinxi. If something happened to Leng Jinxi because of her…

She’d be done for.

Sure enough, when she reached the filming location, she saw Shan Yi standing at the edge of the lake in a jacket—while Leng Jinxi, soaked to the skin in a dark shirt, stood waist-deep in the water. Her wet hair clung to her face, and despite her pale, ethereal beauty, she looked utterly drained. Lin Bie was too far to hear the scene being shot, but the crew’s mutterings beside her reached her loud and clear.

“How many takes has this been? Why are they still stuck at this lake scene?”

“Has to be ten, at least. Miss Shan keeps messing up her lines.”

“She’s a decent enough actress for idol dramas, but this kind of emotional scene really shows her limits. Especially against someone like Leng, who just won Best Actress. If it weren’t for her money, no way would she have gotten this role. Poor Leng, having to stay in that cold water so long.”

The more Lin Bie listened, the more her anxiety spiked. She clenched her fists as she watched Leng Jinxi’s face grow visibly darker.

“Alright, another NG (No Good).” The stagehand shrugged, as if he’d seen it coming.

With no one paying her any attention during the break, Lin Bie grabbed an extra crew vest and cap, threw them on, and ran straight toward Leng Jinxi. As an assistant wrapped a towel around Leng Jinxi, Lin Bie rushed to her side and squatted down.

“Are you okay?” she asked urgently. She still remembered that Leng Jinxi had been running a fever this morning. Now she’d been in cold water for so long—wearing wet clothes, no less—it could only make things worse.

Leng Jinxi paused mid-sip of her hot water, glancing up. Her pupils trembled, then dimmed.

“Why are you here? Are you… watching me?”

“Don’t overthink it. I’m in this production too—I’m not that kind of person.” Lin Bie didn’t have the energy to reflect on why that was the kind of person Leng thought she was. She simply looked at the woman’s pale, wan face and frowned. “You’ve got a fever again.”

“None of your business.” Leng Jinxi turned her gaze away and took a sip of hot water. Just then, the director called for another take, and she pulled the towel off.

“I have a scene to shoot. Outsiders, please step aside.”

She turned to leave—but Lin Bie grabbed her wrist. The touch was soft and warm, making Leng Jinxi pause. A gust of wind blew past, making her shiver—something Lin Bie didn’t notice because it looked like a natural reaction.

“Shan Yi is doing this on purpose. Don’t go. This scene will never end.”

Leng Jinxi turned to her, noting the brown vest she wore, and frowned. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes.” Lin Bie nodded. But realizing how that sounded, she quickly clarified, “She’s targeting you because of me. I humiliated her at lunch. She’s taking it out on you. She knows… about us.”

She expected Leng Jinxi to be angry, or at least upset with Shan Yi. But instead, the woman yanked her wrist free without hesitation.

“Miss Lin,” she said icily, “do you really think the whole world revolves around you? That everyone’s actions have to prove how important you are? Don’t you think that’s just a little arrogant?”

Her eyes were filled with cold disgust. Lin Bie froze, unable to respond.

Leng Jinxi gave her one last look before walking away with finality.

“My affairs are none of your concern.”

Lin Bie’s hand fell uselessly to her side. She realized she had said the wrong thing in her panic, and rubbed her forehead in frustration.

When she turned around, she noticed Shan Yi watching her with a smug, mocking grin.

Lin Bie’s frown deepened.

Earlier, when she’d grabbed Leng Jinxi’s wrist, her body temperature had already been unusually warm. If she stayed in the lake much longer—in the middle of a heat cycle, as an S-class Omega—it would only get worse.

Sure enough, the next take was ruined again by Shan Yi forgetting her lines. Leng Jinxi’s condition was clearly deteriorating. The suppression patch on her neck was soaked through and barely working. Her body felt like it was burning.

Lin Bie’s brows furrowed with worry. Leng Jinxi had already been unwell this morning—now she looked even worse.

Ignoring everything else, Lin Bie ran to the director, Xie Yushu. “Director, please stop for now. Leng is really not doing well. If this continues, it’ll hurt both her and the shoot.”

Xie Yushu was already frustrated, and could see Leng Jinxi’s condition was off. She’d been planning to pause after the next take anyway. Hearing Lin Bie’s plea, she nodded. “Alright. Let’s take a break. Props team

—”

“Wait, Director! I just found the rhythm. I swear the next take will be perfect!”

Lin Bie had just started to relax—only for Shan Yi to speak up again.

“We’ve been at this for over an hour. If we stop now, won’t all our effort go to waste? Don’t you think so, Leng? Just one more take, we’ll get it this time.” Shan Yi’s words were laced with venom as she stared at Lin Bie.

“Shan Yi, you’ve gone too far.” Lin Bie’s voice was low and dark—darker than she realized herself.

Shan Yi smirked openly, clearly pleased with herself.

“I think you’re the new actress, right? Amazing what kind of people can be cast these days. What does this have to do with you? This is between me and Miss Leng.”

The words mirrored what Lin Bie had said to her earlier that day.

She was clearly out for revenge.

Lin Bie narrowed her eyes and locked stares with her.

“Leng, what do you think? Should we keep going?” Shan Yi asked, turning to the woman still standing in the freezing lake.

Leng Jinxi remained upright only through sheer willpower. When she heard Shan Yi’s comment about “wasting all our effort,” she didn’t hesitate.

“…One more take.”

Her voice was trembling, thin with weakness.

Lin Bie clenched her fists, ready to protest, but no one could override the actor’s own decision. Xie Yushu sighed.

“Alright. Let’s make it quick.”

Filming resumed.

Leng Jinxi stood in the lake, her body shaking uncontrollably from the cold. She struggled to maintain her posture and expression, forcing her body to stay composed.

Her vision blurred. She felt like she was burning from the inside out while encased in ice. The suppressant patch on her neck had long lost effectiveness. The heat cycle was creeping back in, her rising temperature undeniable.

Her lines came out on instinct—her mind almost gone. All her energy went into suppressing the surge of pheromones inside her. But the more she resisted, the stronger they surged.

Her neck gland was burning. Her body felt aflame. She could barely hold on. Weak from the fever, all she could do was bite her lip to stay conscious, her face ghostly pale.

Then—just as she was about to pass out—

SPLASH.

A loud splash echoed by the lakeside. Chaos erupted.

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, steadying her.

A cool, soothing touch pressed against the burning spot on her neck. She slumped into someone’s arms.

The scent of tequila and lime drifted around her—clean and cool.

And in the haze, that familiar-yet-strange voice reached her ears and sank into her heart.