Guide To Lying Flat And Getting Rich As A Kept Alpha - Chapter 41
41
Luo Hetu: “Nonsense.”
How could she be a flamboyant peacock? She was merely a choice Cheng Youqing made to achieve her marital goals.
But Luo Hetu had always been optimistic. Over the past few days, she had come to terms with her situation, embracing the philosophy of “since I’m here, I’ll make the best of it.” Becoming Cheng Youqing’s alpha spouse was her fortune, and she was determined to seize it. If it had gone to someone else, she would have been heartbroken.
Li Baitian, unable to suppress her curiosity, asked, “So, where are you living now? At your wife’s place?”
“Yep, I’m a kept alpha, after all.” Luo Hetu replied confidently.
The last time Li Baitian heard her call herself a “kept alpha,” she thought it was a joke. She didn’t expect Luo Hetu to actually mean it.
“Don’t you make decent money? Doesn’t your Sike Internet Café rake in thousands or tens of thousands a day?”
“What I earn is peanuts in comparison. Besides, being a kept alpha has little to do with how much money I make.”
Li Baitian let out an “Oh,” and after a moment of thought, she understood. “Your wife must be loaded.”
Luo Hetu thought for a second, her face suddenly flushing. “Not that loaded.”
Li Baitian didn’t catch why she was blushing.
When pressed further, Luo Hetu clammed up, only saying, “I’m a kept alpha, so I listen to my wife. She’s super busy with work. I’d love to introduce you two, but it depends on her schedule.”
“Well, at least you didn’t have to get your gland removed.” Li Baitian said.
Li Baitian didn’t know that Luo Hetu was a “useless alpha.” In this chaotic era, gland removal was as serious as organ trafficking, a grim reality.
Li Baitian quickly shifted to her new ideas.
Luo Hetu smiled, genuinely pleased. “Your mind is sharp—it’s your gift. Your passion for movies held you back before.”
“Not exactly held back. I still love movies. So, tell me, what business should I dive into next?”
“Do what you love.” Luo Hetu said simply.
Li Baitian widened her eyes: “Really?!” She scratched her face a bit anxiously: “You already know what I love, so I don’t need to say it again.”
Luo Hetu nodded: “If you like movies, from a purely business perspective, you could open a movie theater. But I’m more inclined toward another approach: do you want to produce high-quality films or TV dramas? Do you want to have a group of talented actors and become a brand known for making top-notch productions in the industry? Celebrities make a lot of money. If you can become the capital behind the stars, you can produce movies based on your own tastes and also earn a lot of money. Of course, you could also be a director or cinematographer, but those fall into the artistic realm, which I don’t know much about.”
Li Baitian sipped her drink in silence, her eyes fixed on him.
She had changed her old, flashy hairstyle, perhaps because her business was doing well. Now, she looked clean and refreshed, with a smooth, full forehead and a delicate, attractive appearance. Luo Hetu took a bite of lamb and raised his hand to the side of his head:
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a married woman, I can’t betray my wife.”
Li Baitian: “This is admiration! Pure admiration! Will you be my mentor?”
Luo Hetu was startled by her: “I can’t teach you anything. I’m just giving you some ideas—it’s up to you to make them happen.”
“I’ve talked to a lot of people lately. Some push me toward traditional industries, others toward risky ventures that could get shut down, or internet stuff. You’re the only one who straight-up told me to do what I love and gave me a clear path. If I don’t take you as my mentor, who else would I pick?”
Luo Hetu’s attention drifted to something else Li Baitian mentioned. “Someone suggested you get into the internet?”
“It’s because of Sike Internet Café. Everyone in the business world knows the internet’s potential is limitless. It’s just getting started, and running an internet café is already this profitable. The internet’s a goldmine, but I don’t get it, and I’m not interested. Movies are my expertise. Honestly, I’ve been fed up with the industry for a while, and I have so many ideas…”
As Li Baitian shared her thoughts, Luo Hetu mentally noted that people were already eyeing the internet market.
Even without Li Baitian’s input, everyone knew the internet was a vast, untapped ocean of opportunity. The problem was that most didn’t yet understand which parts were the most lucrative.
But Luo Hetu did.
Unable to fend off Li Baitian’s persistence, she agreed to be her “mentor,” but only in a hands-off way, expecting loyalty without doing much work. Li Baitian eagerly agreed, promising to consult her “master” often and offering a 30% stake in any future film company to fulfill Luo Hetu’s dream of earning money while doing nothing.
Luo Hetu rode her trusty 28-inch bicycle to Southern Publishing House, delivering manuscripts for two new novels. Besides her first work, The Noble Lady of the Marquis’ Mansion, all her submissions to the publisher were works by an author she admired in her previous life—an author who had made a fortune through books and film rights alone. These works balanced literary depth with popular appeal. Luo Hetu didn’t need to rely on selling web novels anymore, and the formulaic nature of “feel-good, escapist novels” was easily replicable. Literary quality, however, was rare and irreplaceable. She had long decided to shift in this direction, sticking to one author’s works to avoid jarring stylistic changes.
The editor-in-chief couldn’t put the manuscripts down. “Teacher Xiao Luo, I can see your growth so clearly! Though it’s a pity you’re moving away from your earlier style.”
“No pity there. The market’s flooded with copycats. There’s no point in continuing.” Luo Hetu said honestly.
Her first novel was already in print and would hit shelves soon, with Southern Publishing House promoting it heavily in newspapers and magazines.
Since these works weren’t originally hers, Luo Hetu felt a twinge of guilt lingering at the publisher. She acted like a mere manuscript-delivery machine, leaving on her bicycle as soon as business was done. Little did she know, this low-key behavior made the editors admire her even more. They saw her as a reclusive genius—immensely talented, prolific, yet humble, pedaling around on her bike, delivering manuscripts reliably without ever needing to be chased. A true “immortal author.”
The editor-in-chief spotted her riding away from the building and pointed her out to an elderly colleague. “That’s Luo Hetu.”
The older woman glanced casually. “Oh, the young writer of those rebirth novels? My kids mentioned her. A bit sensationalist, isn’t she?”
“That one, yes, but her new book’s literary quality has taken a big leap. We have a sample copy.” The editor-in-chief handed over a fresh, ink-scented book. “Take a look when you have time.”
…
Luo Hetu visited Qianbao and Sike Internet Café, inspecting her businesses like a landlord on patrol. By the time she got home, it wasn’t too late.
The security guards in the villa complex were familiar with this bike-riding live-in alpha of the Cheng Group. Still, as they watched her pedal her unassuming 28-inch bike into the neighborhood, they couldn’t help but salute her with their eyes, muttering that even a nobody could stumble into fortune—not born to wealth, she wouldn’t look like a prince even in royal robes.
Luo Hetu parked her bike by the garage and opened the door, carrying her things, when a cool voice sounded.
“Where were you? It’s so late.”
Luo Hetu glanced at her watch—6:30 PM. Not exactly early.
It dawned on her that, used to single life, she never had anyone waiting for her at home. Based on what she knew and what the two aunties had told her, Cheng Youqing was swamped with work and rarely home before bedtime. It hadn’t occurred to her that if Cheng Youqing got home first, she should probably let someone know whether to wait for dinner.
Feeling guilty, she said sheepishly, “Sorry, I was out handling some things and bought some food. I lost track of time. I’ll call home next time.”
Cheng Youqing, already changed into a long, cozy nightgown that seemed to carry the soft scent of cotton, looked ethereal. Luo Hetu barely dared to look at her, quickly holding up the bags to claim credit. “I brought roast duck, fried skewers, and fermented rice dumplings—all from great shops. Have you tried them? Let’s eat together.”
Cheng Youqing’s expression softened. Truthfully, her mood had already lightened when Luo Hetu mentioned calling “home,” but Luo Hetu didn’t notice.
Auntie Wang chimed in, “Miss just got back too and hasn’t eaten.”
“Perfect timing, then.” Luo Hetu happily headed to the dining table. “These are delicious snacks. Some you even have to queue for. I used to ask Ye Qingzhu to line up for me, but she flat-out refused.”
Mentioning Ye Qingzhu made Cheng Youqing slightly unhappy, but since Luo Hetu had personally queued and thought to bring food home for her, she let it slide.
She had heard that Ye Qingzhu, now in the military, had caught the eye of a division leader and was recently transferred to the grueling J Division for training. As an alpha, Ye Qingzhu was probably Luo Hetu’s closest friend, but Cheng Youqing would never admit she’d felt jealous a few times over Luo Hetu’s special treatment of Ye Qingzhu. After all, she treated Ye Qingzhu as a friend, but Ye Qingzhu might not see her the same way.
Her newly differentiated alpha wife, despite her sharp mind, was still a rather innocent kid. Ye Qingzhu, a former gang leader, better not lead her astray.
Of course, Cheng Youqing wasn’t foolish enough to voice these thoughts. She recognized her bias against Ye Qingzhu and chose to stay silent, sitting at the table as Luo Hetu plated the snacks.
“Try some.” Luo Hetu beamed like a sunflower.
Cheng Youqing elegantly picked up her chopsticks, tasting a bit of each dish.
“Good?” Luo Hetu’s sparkling eyes watched her eagerly.
Cheng Youqing set down her chopsticks. “Not as good as the food you cook.”
Luo Hetu caught a hint of sweetness in the comment and shyly said, “Then I’ll cook for you more often.”
“No need. Let the aunties handle it.” Cheng Youqing stopped there, and the table fell quiet as Luo Hetu earnestly ate the snacks she’d brought.
Cheng Youqing added, “I read a foreign report recently saying young women exposed to cooking fumes might age their skin faster. I don’t know if it’s true, but since we have the aunties, you don’t need to cook.”
Luo Hetu looked up at her. “So, did you marry me because you’re after my looks?”
Cheng Youqing met her gaze but said nothing.
Luo Hetu smirked. “Knew it. This face and figure didn’t go to waste.”
Cheng Youqing pressed her lips together, choosing not to explain.
That night, during their “wifely duties,” Luo Hetu, for some reason, felt mischievous. Unlike her earlier cautious claims of inexperience, her top-tier alpha skills had advanced rapidly, to the point where she could tease her omega, refusing to continue until Cheng Youqing “told the truth.”
Cheng Youqing, eyes red at the corners, was driven to the edge by physiological frustration.
She bit Luo Hetu’s shoulder hard, muttering, “You do look very much to my taste.”
“Where, exactly?”
“Everywhere…”
“Sounds a bit perfunctory.”
This was why Cheng Youqing disliked alphas—their dominant role was so infuriating. And how could Luo Hetu, a top-tier alpha, have such self-control?
Ultimately, Cheng Youqing decided not to fight her own needs. Her fingers traced Luo Hetu’s toned arms, her shoulders, collarbone, down to her slim, strong waist, and further.
There wasn’t a single part she didn’t like.
Her gaze drifted upward, lingering on the small red mole on Luo Hetu’s ear, letting out a soft, unbearable sound.
She couldn’t hold back anymore.
Cheng Youqing refused to say more, yet it felt like she’d said everything, her discomfort nearly bringing her to tears. Luo Hetu’s heart softened. She leaned down to kiss her, giving her what she wanted.