Has The Live-in Alpha Stepped Up - Chapter 1
1: A Dream on the Brink of Death
“Beep beep beep—”
“Yizhu! Yizhu! Wake up!”
“Sis! Don’t fall asleep! Mom, stay with her—I’ll go get help! Doctors! Nurses!”
“Room 612, Bed 3, An Yizhu—hurry!”
Cries, collisions, and hurried footsteps tangled into chaos.
Before her eyes was darkness; around her, turmoil.
Until—bzzzz—an ear-splitting, nauseating hum drowned everything out.
Soon, her brain felt as if it had been tossed into an empty room, the hollow space absorbing all noise, leaving only the echo of her heartbeat pounding painfully in her eardrums.
And then—
The clamor of traffic on the street clicked into play, swelling from afar like a tidal wave, engulfing her skull.
She looked up—blinded by a dazzling white light.
The sun, at some indiscernible hour, was anything but gentle, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut.
“Beep beep beep—!”
“What kind of idiot stands in the middle of the road? If you want to die, go die somewhere else—don’t drag me down with you!”
“Miss, are you okay? Don’t just stand there in the road!”
Horns, curses, and concerned voices brought a sliver of reality.
An Yizhu snapped out of the haze, squinting as her vision struggled to focus. The ringing in her ears persisted, the noise drilling into her skull.
Instinctively, she raised a hand in apology to the crowd before staggering to the roadside. It took a while before she regained control of her body—like the groggy aftermath of anesthesia, pain present yet unreal.
She glanced around. Everything was unfamiliar—an entirely unknown street. She had no idea where she was, much less how she’d gotten there.
Across the sidewalk, a dusty floor-to-ceiling window plastered with a “For Lease” sign partially obscured her reflection.
But the shadowy figure in the glass still made her pupils dilate slightly.
A tall, slender woman in a plain white T-shirt and jeans stood there awkwardly, her limbs uncoordinated.
An Yizhu took a step forward.
The reflection mirrored her, shifting until her face emerged from behind the sign, blurred amidst the grime.
She looked down at the thin legs encased in denim.
Herself.
Standing…
Standing.
A verb she hadn’t been able to use since she was twelve, when a spinal cord disorder struck without warning.
That illness had given her no chance to fight—fate had bound her to a wheelchair in an instant.
Was this unfamiliar body truly hers?
An Yizhu tried to recall her last moments of consciousness.
The frantic beeping of machines, her mother and younger sister’s panicked cries.
With her frail body, could she have survived such a crisis?
She stepped closer to her reflection, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair—messy and unruly as ever.
Still the same sickly look.
But the corners of her pale lips curled into a faint smile.
Whether this was a final surge of lucidity or her last beautiful dream, at least now she could freely control this healthy body.
Without another thought, she wandered aimlessly down the street, savoring the act of walking.
She felt the dappled shadows of trees flow over her, leaving warmth in their wake. Every ray of light and shade was vividly alive.
An Yizhu reached out to grasp them.
This light was no different from the one in her hospital room.
It couldn’t be caught.
But it was warm.
And free.
The road was lined with dilapidated buildings, scattered with struggling shops on the brink of closure.
Yet An Yizhu loved everything here. What might seem like decay to the locals felt vibrant to her.
Then—
A car pulled up beside her, waiting at the same red light.
In the backseat sat a woman with an austere expression. She closed the file in her hands, her slender fingers tapping impatiently against the cover, producing sharp clicks.
The woman’s face was flawlessly sculpted, as if chiseled by a master artist—sharp features softened by waves of smooth, cascading hair.
Her light-colored eyes added an unforgettable depth to her beauty.
Anyone who saw her would feel an irresistible urge to approach—if not for the icy detachment in her gaze, a silent warning to keep away.
The woman glanced out the window, her eyes landing on An Yizhu.
Against the bleak backdrop of the street, An Yizhu’s sudden vitality was like a splash of color on a monochrome canvas. The woman’s furrowed brow relaxed slightly.
She watched as An Yizhu smiled under the sunlight, her little canine teeth peeking through, her hands reaching out as if to catch the light filtering through the leaves.
The contrast between An Yizhu’s brightness and the surrounding gloom composed a perfect painting in the car window.
The woman’s pale eyes lingered on the vivid image of An Yizhu—until the traffic light counted down, and the car drove away.
No wonder this dream body feels no fatigue, no matter how far I walk…
…Yeah, right!
Absolutely not!!!
An Yizhu felt like she was being tortured to death.
What kind of hellish ordeal was this?
She had only crossed three intersections, yet she was already gasping for breath, her body drenched in cold sweat.
A scorching heat surged from within, an invisible fire burning her alive.
Was it because, in “reality,” she was on the verge of death, and the dream was collapsing with her?
She looked up at the sky.
The earlier sunshine had given way to oppressive gloom.
[Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let go now.]
The thought crossed her mind.
Her mother, sister, and father would no longer have to worry about her condition day and night.
She had held on long enough.
The last of her work only needed minor finishing touches—anyone could take over easily.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind swept past, bringing a fleeting coolness.
An Yizhu regained a sliver of clarity.
But the heat refused to fade, her head throbbed, and stars danced in her vision—like heatstroke.
The only silver lining was that the dream showed no signs of ending.
Leaning against a lamppost, An Yizhu pressed a hand to her spine, tracing up to the nape of her neck.
Her body ached, yet the pain had no discernible source on her skin. The only tangible sensation was a faint, prickling itch—coming from her teeth.
She gritted them.
“Tch—”
A strange pain cut through her thoughts.
Somewhere in her skull, nerve endings flared with a splitting ache.
She rubbed her temples, but it did nothing.
This is unbearable.
But she was used to the unbearable.
As in countless nights before, she calmly negotiated with her body: “Give me a break. I’ll find a way to the hospital.”
Summoning her strength, she trudged forward. The earlier streets had at least held a few people, but here, it was practically deserted.
With no phone on her, she had to find help.
[A car passed by earlier and entered a factory nearby—there must be people inside.]
She forced herself toward the factory.
A mere hundred meters felt like an eternity.
Her sweat-drenched back chilled in the wind, her steps heavy as if wading through mud. A peculiar soreness burned in her throat, her breaths turning ragged.
She really was like a little mermaid who’d traded her voice for legs—only to find every step agony.
All beauty was fleeting, vanishing like foam in an instant.
Clutching at the last glimmer, An Yizhu dragged herself to the factory’s guard booth.
She knocked on the window.
But disappointment struck—the door was locked, the booth empty.
Instead, the factory’s main gate stood wide open, as if inviting her in.
She had no energy left to explore.
The factory was enormous—even within view, there were seven or eight buildings.
Peering through the guard booth’s glass, she spotted a map of the factory on the white wall inside.
The moment her eyes landed on the map’s title, a precise set of data flashed in her mind.
10.3041 million square meters.
The factory’s total area.
A square plot, each side measuring 321 meters.
Her knowledge of this factory extended down to the decimal.
She even knew that R&D and lab zones made up over 50% of the total floor space.
How did she know all this?
Because the map bore three bold characters:
“Yuhe Pharmaceuticals.”
She knew it all too well.
Every detail of this place had been designed by her.
After her spinal disorder robbed her of the ability to walk at twelve, she left school. As her condition worsened, she spent her days confined to hospitals.
Amidst the torment, the one silver lining was the endless time to nurture her artistic talent.
She had always loved drawing as a child, but her parents prioritized academics, only allowing her to dabble in it.
After falling ill, painting became her sole solace. Her parents no longer objected—they even encouraged it.
Her family was financially stable, covering her hefty medical bills while indulging her art supplies.
By chance, she became an illustrator.
To pass the time, to keep her mind from wandering into dark places—and to leave more traces of herself in this world.
She loved the work.
Especially her final project—illustrating a novel.
That novel had a character she adored.
Not the protagonist, nor even a major supporting role—but a woman who captivated An Yizhu every time she appeared.
A mesmerizing, dangerous antagonist.
Yu Guqiu.
A renowned beauty in Jiangcheng, a top-tier Omega.
In the ABO universe, power usually belonged to the more aggressive Alphas—even if their rut cycles made them lose control, it was a dominant kind of out of control.
Omegas were often at the mercy of their heats, more fertile and susceptible to pheromones than others. While they received more societal privileges, they were also trapped by them.
Yet Yu Guqiu rose above it all, becoming the true power behind the Yu family.
Out of love for the character, An Yizhu—with the author’s permission—expanded on many briefly mentioned scenes, pouring detail into them.
Including the old factory of “Yuhe Pharmaceuticals,” the foundation of the Yu Group’s empire.
An Yizhu stared at her surroundings.
Was this the reward for a lifetime of virtue, balancing meat and veggies in her prayers?
[If this is the final dream before I leave this world, then it’s a perfect ending.]
The thought lightened her steps slightly.
The Yuhe Pharmaceuticals complex was meticulously organized—R&D zones, production areas, offices, cafeterias, recreational spaces, dormitories—all arranged with precision.
The rest was lush greenery, now vibrant with spring.
But something was off.
From the main gate to the back, An Yizhu encountered not a single soul.
The sprawling factory’s surveillance cameras were mere decorations, letting a stranger roam freely.
For a factory, even if workers rested, machines couldn’t—every halt meant massive losses.
Yet the production zones were silent.
The place felt like a ghost town, eerily quiet.
The calm before the storm—everything reeked of strangeness.
The dark clouds overhead grew heavier, threatening a downpour. An Yizhu felt as if she’d been thrown into a fish tank, the stifling, humid air choking her.