I Turned Out to Be the Dead White Moonlight of the Canary - Chapter 24

Meeting Song Shi’an’s gaze, she quickly explained, “Sister, it’s not just anyone—it’s the original author. She… she calls everyone that way.”

 

After Yan Sheng’s explanation, Song Shi’an merely turned her head expressionlessly and said, “Hmm.”

 

Song Shi’an continued fishing, perfectly calm.

 

“Really,” Yan Sheng insisted, afraid she wouldn’t believe her.

 

Song Shi’an lazily replied, “Did I say I didn’t believe you?”

 

Yan Sheng shook her head awkwardly. “No.”

 

The other party was still sending messages, first praising her for making excellent and logical revisions, then suggesting that certain parts might need further adjustments.

 

Yan Sheng glanced at her phone, debating whether to reply now. But since the original author was a night owl, if she didn’t seize this chance to communicate, she might not be able to reach her during the day.

 

“Sister, can I talk to her first?” Yan Sheng asked cautiously.

 

“Go ahead,” Song Shi’an replied without even turning to look at her.

 

Yan Sheng couldn’t tell if she was angry, but seeing Song Shi’an pick up her phone to call someone, she didn’t dare ask further.

 

Song Shi’an directly gathered some friends to log into another game.

 

Earlier, she had been playing a simulation game with Yan Sheng, fishing and farming together.

 

The game even had a parenting system where they could raise a virtual daughter. Song Shi’an used to find such games boring, but with Yan Sheng—watching her fuss over their daughter’s growth—she suddenly found it quite interesting.

 

But without Yan Sheng playing, her enthusiasm waned.

 

After all, she had already spent the morning exploring.

 

Song Shi’an preferred competitive games.

 

Yan Sheng walked over to the computer desk, put on her headphones, and called the original author directly.

 

The two began earnestly discussing the plot.

 

Her voice wasn’t loud—certainly not as loud as Song Shi’an cursing during her game.

 

Yan Sheng had never seen what the original author looked like, but her voice was gentle and mature, very different from Song Shi’an’s. Song Shi’an’s voice carried a cool detachment, creating distance when they weren’t close.

 

Occasionally, Song Shi’an couldn’t help but glance at Yan Sheng. When she was focused on work, she seemed different from usual—serious and intense, her expression stern.

 

But her voice was excessively gentle. Song Shi’an realized Yan Sheng had never used that tone—firm yet tender—with her.

 

Around her, Yan Sheng was always obedient and cautious.

 

Was she really that intimidating? Song Shi’an felt she had been more than kind to her.

 

But asking outright was out of the question.

 

Yan Sheng and the original author discussed for two hours, and by the time they finished, it was almost midnight—Song Shi’an’s usual bedtime.

 

After hanging up, Yan Sheng nervously approached Song Shi’an. “Sister, I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

 

Song Shi’an set down the controller, turned off the console, and silently reached out to her. “Hmm.”

 

Yan Sheng lifted her effortlessly into the wheelchair and pushed her back to her room.

 

Normally, Yan Sheng would have gone straight back to revising after the discussion, finishing her edits before sleeping.

 

Yan Sheng actually shared the common habit of many writers—she preferred writing at night when inspiration struck more easily.

 

But Song Shi’an kept a very regular schedule, usually going to bed by 11 PM.

 

Yan Sheng truly couldn’t reconcile this version of Song Shi’an with the toxic female antagonist Shijiu had described—someone who indulged in nightlife, drowned in extravagance.

 

Song Shi’an lived like a retired bureaucrat, except retired bureaucrats didn’t play video games or start cursing wildly when provoked.

 

After guiding Song Shi’an back to her room, Yan Sheng urged her to wash up.

 

Once Song Shi’an finished, Yan Sheng carried her back to bed.

 

Song Shi’an lay down immediately, leaving Yan Sheng unsure whether she was still upset.

 

While Yan Sheng washed up herself, Shijiu started whispering in her ear again.

 

Little Yan Sheng, see how moody she is?

 

Her early routine is all a lie. Just a year ago, she was still partying in bars every night, splurging on male and female models like it was nothing. How could you believe a spoiled rich kid would ever truly reform?

 

Yan Sheng didn’t want to hear it.

 

Shut up. Sister isn’t like that.

 

No matter what Shijiu said, Yan Sheng refused to believe it.

 

Gu Qinghe and Cheng Yuncheng are coming tomorrow. Gu Qinghe genuinely loves Song Shi’an—even after learning she was pretending to be an alpha, he was willing to bankrupt himself for her. Could you do the same, little Yan Sheng?

 

Yan Sheng’s eyes darkened instantly.

 

Oh, and AA relationships aren’t unheard of in this world. Who knows? You might end up falling for Cheng Yuncheng instead.

 

Compared to Cheng Yuncheng, Song Shi’an is just a good-for-nothing rich kid. Wake up already.

 

Shut up! Yan Sheng’s breathing grew uneven, clearly furious.

 

She muted Shijiu, her slender arms tensing until veins faintly protruded.

 

Her usually clear, innocent eyes now gleamed with something ominous.

 

Gu Qinghe won’t get her. Neither will Cheng Yuncheng. Yan Sheng lowered her gaze, watching the faucet’s endless stream.

 

Hearing her resolute tone and sensing her skyrocketing corruption value, Shijiu panicked.

 

It desperately wanted to ask why its sweet, pure heroine’s corruption levels had spiked so high.

 

The running water masked Yan Sheng’s ragged breaths as she closed her eyes, her mind flooded with chaotic images.

 

The corruption meter kept climbing, pushing Shijiu to the brink.

 

Just as it nearly maxed out, the value began to drop again, slowly stabilizing.

 

When Yan Sheng finally looked up, her face had returned to its usual harmless sweetness.

 

Shijiu fell silent at the reset meter.

 

In all its years as a system, it had never encountered a host who could control their own corruption levels.

 

Wasn’t this just absurd?

 

Its delicate white lotus heroine wasn’t delicate at all!

 

Wasn’t this pure black instead?

 

Yan Sheng rinsed her face again and stepped out calmly.

 

Song Shi’an, still drowsy, cracked an eye open at the sound.

 

Though Yan Sheng wondered if Song Shi’an might not want her staying over, she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

 

Besides, since Song Shi’an was upset, wasn’t it her duty as the lover to coax her back?

 

After finding an excuse, Yansheng mustered up the courage to slip under the covers.

 

With the lights off, the two lay together for a long while.

 

Unable to sleep, Yansheng finally asked Shijiu: [Is she asleep?]

 

No, what do you want? Shijiu had barely finished asking when Yansheng sent her to the “blacklist.”

 

She moved closer to Song Shi’an, pressing against her, and whispered softly in her ear, “Sister.”

 

Song Shi’an had initially planned to pretend not to hear, but then the other girl pressed even closer, apologizing in a pitiful voice.

 

Opening her eyes in confusion, Song Shi’an asked casually, “What are you apologizing for?”

 

She couldn’t understand why Yansheng kept apologizing so frequently—what was the point?

 

“I shouldn’t have forgotten the time, and I shouldn’t have ignored you for so long,” Yansheng said sincerely.

 

Song Shi’an had expected something serious, but she couldn’t help chuckling softly.

 

She had intended to say it was nothing, but hearing Yansheng’s soft, pleading tone made her suddenly want to tease her.

 

“If you know you’ve done wrong, do you think a simple ‘sorry’ is enough?” Song Shi’an reached out and lightly scratched her chin.

 

Her tone was unnervingly calm, making it impossible for Yansheng to tell if she was actually upset.

 

“Shouldn’t mistakes be punished?” Song Shi’an murmured in her ear.

 

Her voice was completely flat, but that very lack of emotion made Yansheng shiver.

 

Especially when Song Shi’an’s fingertips began tracing her lips.

 

Unable to resist, Yansheng gently sucked on her finger before pushing it out with her tongue.

 

“How does Sister want to punish me?” she asked timidly in the darkness.

 

Yet Song Shi’an detected a hint of anticipation beneath that shy tone.

 

She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, adjusting it to a soft, warm glow—bright enough to see, but not harsh.

 

Her gaze inadvertently fell on the hair ribbon on the nightstand.

 

Picking it up, she said to Yansheng, “Sit up.”

 

Yansheng obediently sat beside her.

 

“Face me,” Song Shi’an commanded again.

 

Yansheng turned toward her.

 

“Take it off yourself.” Song Shi’an twirled the ribbon between her fingers—one she had once considered using but never had, still fresh from its box.

 

Nervously, Yansheng pulled down the straps of her nightgown, letting it slip downward inch by inch.

 

This wasn’t their first time being intimate, but under Song Shi’an’s composed gaze—her eyes betraying no hint of desire—Yansheng felt an indescribable shyness.

 

Song Shi’an watched calmly as the nightgown slid lower, revealing the delicate collarbones and the soft curves beneath.

 

The sight was like pristine winter snow marked by the playful pawprints of a mischievous cat—one dipped in paint.

 

And Song Shi’an was that very cat.

 

Her fingertips trailed downward, following the path of the falling fabric.

 

Yansheng’s breath hitched as goosebumps rose faintly on her skin.

 

Song Shi’an’s fingers paused at her abdomen—soft, unlike the toned muscles she herself had worked so hard to sculpt.

 

For the first time, Song Shi’an found herself questioning whether her own discipline was truly preferable.

 

She had always despised fragility—until she met Yansheng.

 

Song Shi’an realized she didn’t dislike delicate girls—she only disliked delicate girls who lacked independent survival skills.

 

Sometimes she felt conflicted. She disliked fragility, yet she didn’t dislike someone like Yan Sheng. Yan Sheng wasn’t strong, but she had an incredible vitality.

 

Song Shi’an wondered if this was because Yan Sheng was an alpha, giving her that unyielding spirit—even in fragility, there was resilience and independent thought.

 

But now she understood: the fragility she disliked was different from Yan Sheng’s fragility.

 

“Sister~” Yan Sheng called out softly, biting her lower lip lightly.

 

Song Shi’an crooked a finger, beckoning her closer. Yan Sheng leaned in, eager for a kiss, but Song Shi’an only gave her a brief peck before pulling away.

 

“Be good, no rush.” Song Shi’an tied a hair ribbon over Yan Sheng’s eyes.

 

Deprived of sight, Yan Sheng tensed immediately.

 

Song Shi’an lifted her chin and rewarded her with a deep, heated kiss.

 

Then her lips trailed lower, landing on a spot as red and tempting as a cherry.

 

Her fingers pressed down gently.

 

Song Shi’an took her time, teasing everywhere, drawing out Yan Sheng’s increasingly ragged breaths.

 

Sweet, unrestrained sounds escaped between Yan Sheng’s lips.

 

Song Shi’an was pleased with her reactions.

 

The nightgown was tossed aside completely, revealing a soft, flat stomach that rose and fell with each breath. Unable to resist, Song Shi’an leaned down and nipped at it.

 

Her fingers played skillfully before withdrawing, glistening under the warm yellow light—an unmistakable intimacy.

 

“Be good, do it yourself. Sister’s tired.” Song Shi’an wiped her fingers lazily, watching the flushed figure before her.

 

The rich scent of mint pheromones was intoxicating.

 

The beautiful alpha was blushing all over, her skin tinged pink.

 

“Sister, don’t…” Yan Sheng was unbearably embarrassed.

 

Song Shi’an chuckled. “Then sleep.”

 

She waited, perfectly composed, knowing exactly what she was doing.

 

Yan Sheng was on the verge of tears. After being teased like that, how could she possibly sleep? Every inch of her burned inside and out.

 

“Sister…” Her voice trembled with unshed tears.

 

“Should a misbehaving child expect Sister to reward her personally?” Song Shi’an teased.

 

Her fingertip pressed against Yan Sheng’s lips. “If you won’t listen, then sleep. Didn’t you promise to be good? Or was that just a lie, sweetheart?”

 

In this mischievous mood, Song Shi’an wasn’t inclined to spare Yan Sheng’s feelings.

 

Besides, seeing Yan Sheng on the brink of crying had its own unique appeal.

 

In the end, Yan Sheng obeyed, leaning back slightly to pleasure herself as instructed.

 

Song Shi’an watched quietly, an observer.

 

If not for the overwhelming pheromones radiating from her, Yan Sheng might have doubted whether she was even paying attention.

 

The thought of Song Shi’an watching intently made Yan Sheng even more sensitive.

 

Mint and citrus pheromones intertwined, and under Song Shi’an’s soothing scent, Yan Sheng finally reached her peak.

 

Afterward, she collapsed weakly beside Song Shi’an, docile as a cat begging for affection.

 

Song Shi’an stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “So good.”

 

Yan Sheng sat up, arms outstretched for a hug—and Song Shi’an didn’t refuse.

 

Leaning against Song Shi’an’s embrace, the faint scent of green oranges from her body filled Yan Sheng’s senses, making her unconsciously nuzzle closer.

 

“Mark me, sister?” she asked, craving Song Shi’an’s pheromones.

 

“Alright.” Song Shi’an lifted a strand of her hair and bit down on her scent gland, infusing it with omega pheromones.

 

A slight sting spread from the back of Yan Sheng’s neck, but it brought her a deep psychological satisfaction.

 

However, an omega marking an alpha couldn’t fully satisfy her.

 

Song Shi’an’s stirred pheromones remained restless.

 

Sensing her need, Yan Sheng leaned in and gently licked her scent gland—not marking her, but soothing her with her own pheromones.

 

After resting for a while and regaining some strength, Yan Sheng grew bold again as she watched Song Shi’an’s eyes shut in restraint.

 

Her soft hand slowly lifted the hem of Song Shi’an’s nightgown.

 

Song Shi’an didn’t stop her, so Yan Sheng grew even more daring.

 

Listening to Song Shi’an’s suppressed, controlled breaths, Yan Sheng’s movements became increasingly unrestrained.

 

She loved seeing Song Shi’an like this—her usually composed face now tinged with restrained desire.

 

Yan Sheng didn’t dare leave marks in visible places, only claiming her in spots no one would ever see.

 

Song Shi’an had intended to sleep early, but their antics dragged on until dawn.

 

The next day, she was woken by Zhu Yuandong’s call.

 

Zhu Yuandong phoned to ask if she was home.

 

Irritated, Song Shi’an told her to come later.

 

“Huh? You’re still asleep? That’s not like you, Song Shi’an.” Ever since she stopped hanging out with them, hadn’t she been an early riser?

 

Song Shi’an ignored her and hung up.

 

Meanwhile, Yan Wuyou, driving, received Zhu Yuandong’s call and listened to her complaints about Song Shi’an before asking, “Have you been single for too long?”

 

Zhu Yuandong paused. “Huh? Are you saying Song Shi’an isn’t waking up early because she’s indulging in pleasures?”

 

“What else?” Yan Wuyou replied dryly.

 

“She never mentioned her little lover staying over,” Zhu Yuandong defended.

 

“Think about it—she practically hinted at it last time.” Sometimes, Yan Wuyou wondered if Zhu Yuandong’s brain only worked for design and nothing else.

 

Zhu Yuandong fell silent.

 

On the other end, Song Shi’an, now awake, checked the time—past ten.

 

Yan Sheng was still asleep, exhausted from the night before.

 

But when Song Shi’an sat up and tried to transfer to her wheelchair, Yan Sheng stirred.

 

Though groggy, she helped Song Shi’an to the bathroom without hesitation—like it had become instinct.

 

By now, both were used to it, far less awkward than the first few days.

 

After freshening up, Song Shi’an was fully awake. The housekeeper had already prepared breakfast.

 

While eating, Song Shi’an sent a message in the group: Why call so early? Don’t you sleep till noon?

 

Zhu Yuandong: Stop lying. I don’t sleep that late. You’re the one acting weird—why were you up so late?

 

Song Shi’an casually replied: Couldn’t sleep from leg pain.

 

Zhu Yuandong and Yan Wuyou simultaneously sent a string of ellipses in the group.

 

Unaware her fib had embarrassed them both, Song Shi’an moved on.

 

Yan Wuyou: We’re coming over soon—let’s see how disabled you really are.

 

Song Shian sent a “get lost” message.

 

It would take them some time to arrive. Song Shian had already messaged the housekeeper yesterday to prepare some things for guests.

 

After breakfast, Song Shian asked the housekeeper to make her a cup of coffee, then took her tablet to check the stock market.

 

Seeing that she was busy, Yan Sheng brought over her laptop to continue revising the script.

 

Unexpectedly, the first to arrive wasn’t Zhu Yuandong or Yan Wuyou, but Gu Qinghe.

 

Only then did Yan Sheng belatedly remember what the system had said yesterday—Shijiu was still locked in the dark room.

 

She hurriedly let it out.