Stepmom Alpha’s Guide to Raising Kids - Chapter 49

“Your relatives…”

The elderly patient on the hospital bed let out a series of sounds as if possessed by a demon, her gaze darting back and forth across Lu Luozhu’s face.

“I might know where your relatives are. You should ask the wealthy Lu family.”

Lu Luozhu lowered her eyes, her expression unusually grave. All traces of amusement had vanished, her pitch-black eyes seemingly capable of absorbing all light.

She stood in the dilapidated ward, peeling wallpaper and the harsh glare of fluorescent lights overhead.

The alpha’s aura grew increasingly cold and menacing.

“Is that so? What a pity. I thought asking you would give me answers.”

Lu Luozhu sighed, then abruptly kicked the hospital bed.

Shen Jinhua’s body tumbled like a leaf in autumn, rolling straight onto the floor as the bed shook violently.

“Ah—”

The elderly woman curled up like a maggot, her frail bones seemingly on the verge of shattering from the pain. The alpha paid no heed, calmly stepping over to examine the medical records at the bedside.

“Patient has a 13-year history of hypertension, with peak bl00d pressure reaching… Concurrently, patient suffers from coronary heart disease, previously hospitalized… Long-term medication after discharge…”

Lu Luozhu skimmed through the lines of medical history. She had no habit of respecting elders or cherishing the young—especially not for the former director of the Loving Heart Orphanage.

The overwhelming pressure of the alpha’s pheromones forced a guttural, choking sound from the old woman on the floor, as though she might pass out from suffocation at any moment.

“Since that’s the case, let me ask you something you do know.”

Shen Jinhua looked at Lu Luozhu as if she were a demon crawled out of hell. “I don’t know, I don’t know anything!”

One by one, Lu Luozhu undid the buttons of her shirt, revealing a faint scar over her chest.

At the sight of it, Shen Jinhua’s pupils constricted violently, her body recoiling into the corner as if she had seen something horrifying.

“Ordinary injuries don’t leave marks over the heart.”

The alpha pressed a finger against the barely visible scar. “Doesn’t this look like it’s from heart surgery?”

Her neatly trimmed nails dragged lightly across the medical records, leaving a faint scratch.

“If my research is correct, my heart was perfectly healthy before the Lu family adopted me.”

Lately, Lu Luozhu had been piecing together clues from the past—and she’d uncovered something intriguing.

“And coincidentally, the Lu family’s daughter supposedly died from heart transplant rejection. Care to guess whose heart she rejected?”

Shen Jinhua suddenly shrieked, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t mean to—I had no choice! The orphanage couldn’t support so many children! Those kids were born but not raised—keeping them alive for years was charity enough!”

The blaring alarm of medical equipment interrupted the tense silence. Lu Luozhu’s composed voice cut through the noise as she slowly buttoned her shirt back up.

Shen Jinhua’s lips were turning purple, clearly on the verge of collapse. Lu Luozhu stood by the bed, activating her voice recorder.

She wouldn’t let a single piece of evidence slip away.

The elderly woman lay sprawled on the cold, rubberized hospital floor, her disheveled hair splayed around her, her gaze gradually losing focus.

“The Lu family paid me a lot of money to find a suitable heart for transplant…”

“The moment the Lu family saw your records, they decided on you. I suggested they look for another child, but they wouldn’t listen. I thought you knew each other…”

Shen Jinhua’s account was disjointed, but even from her fragmented words, crucial information could be pieced together.

Lu Luozhu checked the time on her wrist. Seeing that the woman on the floor had nothing more valuable to say, she asked one final question.

“Why wasn’t Qi Zi adopted?”

“Who would adopt a worthless, hormone-disabled freak?”

Shen Jinhua’s hospital gown darkened with fear, the stench of urine spreading across the floor.

Pain wracked her body, her limbs twitching uncontrollably. Her mouth hung open, drool trickling from the corner.

Pitiful. Disgusting.

The alpha withdrew her pheromones, tucking the recorder away. “I’m done with my questions.”

At the doorway, Shen Jinhua’s dilated pupils fixed on Lu Luozhu’s retreating figure. “Your family… the fire… it was the fire…”

Her voice was too faint. Lu Luozhu only caught the last two words.

“Fire?”

The next moment, the woman on the floor slipped into unconsciousness.

When Lu Luozhu left, a nurse entered for routine checks and let out a shrill scream at the sight of the unresponsive patient.

The hospital was steeped in the stench of decay and death.

Online, the orphanage segment of Baby Go Forward had been fully edited and released.

It propelled Lu Luozhu’s popularity to new heights.

# Lu Luozhu works with terrifying efficiency #
# What kind of decent person takes kids out to pick trash? #
# The canary is seriously selling itself #
# Did you two meet through proper channels? #

Comments flooded the screen. Some creators even spliced together footage of Lu Luozhu playing guitar on the street, approached by a tall, elegantly dressed woman in a pink cap.

The editing was masterful.

The wide brim of the cap obscured the woman’s face, but not the envy-inducing hand that slipped from her sleeve.

Using clips from Qi Zi’s past appearances, the editor enhanced the video, making it more vivid than the original.

A jade-white hand tipped the street performer’s chin upward.

The alpha was forced to look up amidst the bustling pedestrian street, her throat and jawline grazed by a single finger.

Public teasing.

Two coins clinked into the guitar case.

“You’re only worth two dollars. You’re the first cheap thing I’ve ever owned. I’ll treasure you.”

A line from one of Qi Zi’s movies was edited into the clip.

The screen exploded with comments: “Aaaaaahhhhh!!!!!”

The alpha’s fingers faltered on the strings, producing a discordant note.

“What would you like to hear? I can play anything.”

The street performer was met with a soft laugh.

“That won’t do. It’s illegal.”

“You’re short on cash, aren’t you? I’ll give you a way to earn some.”

The omega in the cap delivered the heaviest implication in the lightest tone.

A comment silently scrolled across the screen: “Is this a legit street performer? Or just some alpha selling themselves on the corner?”

“+1, the performance is just a front. That sugar baby alpha is clearly selling something else lol”

“Slowly typing a question mark… Did LLZ and QZ meet through proper channels?”

“I’ve got two bucks in my pocket—can I buy some too? (peeking cat emoji)”

“Get real, commenter above. In the original clip, Qi Zi spent nearly 200k. Not that Qi Zi couldn’t afford more, but WeChat’s daily payment limit is 200k.”

“Guess I’ve been poor too long—never knew there was a payment limit.”

As the video cut to the next scene, the omega guest hooked a finger through the alpha’s belt, pulling them toward a nearby five-star hotel.

The heavy wooden door closed, leaving the camera outside.

Fueling endless speculation.

The “Bamboo” ship fans were absolutely losing their minds.

Lu Luozhu remained oblivious to the edited videos circulating online, sneezing several times in the driver’s seat.

She drove her phoenix-adorned luxury car toward the film set, only to be stopped by staff before entering.

“No unauthorized personnel allowed.”

The black sedan sat alone on the dirt road as Lu Luozhu rolled down her window, her gaze landing on the young staff member’s face.

A new recruit.

Seriously? Did she really need to wear her marriage certificate around her neck?

The cold wind ruffled the alpha’s disheveled hair as she let out a long whistle.

“You dare stop my car? Do you know who I am? My identity would scare you to death.”

The staff member remained expressionless. “Please show your access pass.”

The strikingly beautiful alpha wasn’t in a hurry, whistling playfully. “If you knew how I got this car, you wouldn’t dare stop me.”

The luxury emblem stood proudly on the hood, but in the entertainment industry, luxury cars were a dime a dozen.

The staff member enforcing the rules neither worked in showbiz nor followed dramas, remaining largely unaware of trending gossip.

Playing along, the staff asked, “How did you get the car?”

Lu Luozhu: “I sold my—” body.

Before she could finish, her manager smacked her head with a script rolled into a tube.

“Shut up.” Qian Qianqian glared at Lu Luozhu before turning to the staff. “I’ll get her a pass. Let her through.”

A popular star brutally assaulted by her manager.

Qian Qianqian returned with an access pass, intending to hang it around Lu Luozhu’s neck—only to find something already there.

“What’s that around your…”

A red booklet hung prominently over Lu Luozhu’s coat.

Qian Qianqian: “…”

Qian Qianqian: “Not only is your heart problematic, but your brain’s broken too.”

Lu Luozhu smiled demurely. “My status versus yours—how could I use the same pass as you?”

Qian Qianqian: “.”

Amused by her manager’s barely contained rage, Lu Luozhu drove onto the set.

Retrieving a tablet from the passenger seat, she pulled up a small stool beside the director.

The production’s accounts had recently received mid-term additional funding, leaving Zhou Fan in high spirits. Spotting the investor, his face bloomed like a flower.

“Honorable President Lu graces us with your presence, bringing glory to our humble production.”

Lu Luozhu smiled and said, “Indeed.”

She converted the contents of the voice recorder into text and saved it in a document, then opened news reports from 16 to 20 years ago to review past fire incidents.

Across the nation, fires were countless—both large and small—amounting to at least 600,000 incidents annually…

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

After just an hour of searching, Lu Luozhu gave up.

The efficiency was too low.

Rubbing her throbbing temples, the alpha reached into her pocket for some candy to soothe her nerves, only to unexpectedly touch something long and slender.

Surprised, Lu Luozhu pulled it out—a pink, laser-printed, elongated package.

Lemon-flavored, medical-grade granules…

She silently slipped it back into her pocket.

Zhou Fan leaned over. “What are you eating, Lu? Share some with me.”

Lu Luozhu stared expressionlessly at the director.

Unfazed, Zhou Fan pointed to the three-story building ahead. “Thanks to your investment, Lu, we could build this massive set. This scene requires Teacher Qi to enter the building alone, where a fire accidentally breaks out. As the architect she plays, she needs to escape the blaze. Don’t worry—we’re using special effects materials. They look terrifying but aren’t hot at all.”

To demonstrate, Zhou Fan lit a small flame in his palm and poked it with his finger.

The fire was lukewarm, never exceeding 30 degrees Celsius.

“Safety measures are in place.”

On set, Qi Zi was a completely different person from her usual self.

In daily life, Qi Zi was like a dazzling yet distant and icy star, her beautiful features frozen beneath a layer of frost.

Even when displeased, she never raised her voice—just fixed others with her dark, piercing gaze, enough to make anyone retreat.

But on set, Qi Zi transformed entirely.

Her relentless pursuit of perfection meant she tirelessly repeated every shot, no matter how exhausted she became.

Sometimes, even when the director deemed a take acceptable, Qi Zi would keep trying for the best possible outcome.

Beneath her military coat, Qi Zi wore a thin white shirt and black dress pants. Her usually loose hair was now tied into a high ponytail, perfectly concealing the gland on the back of her neck beneath the fabric.

Hardworking and diligent, she never complained, even covered in dust.

What an amazing Teacher Qi.

So adorable, so delectable.

Lu Luozhu’s heart ached for her, but she had no intention of stopping her. She understood the significance of Qi Zi’s persistence.

On the open set, the small building was engulfed in roaring flames. The fire licked at the white walls, turning them charred black under the effects, while orange flames shot skyward—yet emitted little heat.

Lu Luozhu and the director sat 30 meters away. Though she couldn’t feel the heat, a sudden, electric numbness surged through her body.

The crackling flames seemed to sear her mind, plunging her into boundless agony.

Her body froze. Her rationality iced over. Her heart thudded dully in her chest.

Don’t go near.

Dizziness and nausea churned in her stomach, making her want to retch.

She had to leave—

She had to.

Otherwise, she’d burn to death.

Terror screamed in her mind, yet reason reminded her: though the flames looked terrifying, they couldn’t burn her.

Everything was fake, everything was special effects—yet the fear etched into Lu Luozhu’s DNA made sharp screams echo in her ears.

Qi Zi, playing the architect, stood in the hellish inferno of the burning room, her face unwavering in courage and determination.

The architect yanked at the door handle, but it was locked from the outside.

What to do if it wouldn’t open?

Cold sweat dripped from her temples as she pressed a damp handkerchief over her nose and mouth. The orange flames cast a glow on her beautiful face, accentuating her delicate features with an even more striking allure.

Strands of hair clung to her cheeks, slick with sweat.

I have to find a way out, the architect repeated silently in her mind. I have to stay calm.

Only calmness could lead to survival.

If the door was blocked, the window was the only option.

The moment Qi Zi’s fingers touched the glass, she immediately recoiled.

Despite being fully immersed in her role, an expression foreign to her character flickered across her face.

The glass was scalding.

Her fair fingers reddened instantly, soon to blister.

She tried smashing the window with the prop hammer prepared for the scene.

The glass didn’t budge.

Qi Zi’s face paled. She turned sharply—the film crew was trapped outside the window, separated from her by the glass.

She was alone in the fire.

Seeing her still inside, the crew panicked, screaming and gesturing frantically for her to escape, but their voices couldn’t penetrate the barrier.

Lu Luozhu, bent over in a corner retching, suddenly heard the shrieks behind her.

“Director! There’s been an accident—the prop flames turned real!”

Black smoke billowed into the sky. The director and the manager thought they’d misheard, but the acrid stench filling their nostrils was undeniable.

Qian Qianqian’s face drained of color. Hands trembling, she dialed emergency services.

“Didn’t your crew pass safety inspections?! Where’s the special effects technician? Get them out here now!”

While screaming orders, she called the police and fire department, then sent people to find the nearest fire hydrant.

Lu Luozhu stood less than twenty meters from the blaze. Her stiff fingers lost their grip—her tablet clattered to the ground, the screen cracking.

“Qi Zi is still inside.”

Fire was a primal terror for her. The orange flames reflected in her pitch-black pupils.

Yet she moved against instinct, sprinting toward the sealed door.

Qi Zi was still inside.

Her omega was still inside.

Lu Luozhu was certain—someone in the crew had sabotaged this.

Why target her? Why torment a poor girl with a gland disorder?

Trapped in the tiny room, Qi Zi watched as the smoke thickened. The prop hammer in her hand couldn’t break the tempered glass.

It should have shattered on impact—why was it now unbreakable? Had the hammer malfunctioned?

The air grew thinner. The damp handkerchief over her mouth dried rapidly.

Am I going to die here?

The white walls blackened under the flames’ assault. Thick smoke filled the cramped space, each breath searing her lungs with a stinging pain.

The heat distorted the air. Faintly, Qi Zi heard shouts of rescue from outside.

Death loomed like a shadow, and Qi Zi had never felt the presence of the grim reaper so acutely before.

The omega cowered in the corner, trembling uncontrollably from fear.

Had she always been like this?

A scene flashed before Qi Zi’s eyes—a little girl, her face smeared with soot, eyes wide with terror, her mind forcibly blocking out the memories out of sheer fright as she escaped through a window an adult had desperately broken open.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed behind her as the wooden door was kicked open.

The comforting scent of bergamot enveloped her, and Qi Zi’s eyes widened in disbelief as a tall figure draped in a damp blanket rushed in and wrapped her tightly.

The fire outside raged fiercely, waves of scorching heat crashing against them. Qi Zi’s once-luxuriant, seaweed-like hair, her pride, now curled and blackened from the flames.

The usually ice-cold, untouchable actress now looked as helpless as a rabbit caught in a predator’s grasp.

“Don’t be afraid.”

How pitiful.

Lu Luozhu didn’t realize how deathly pale she looked, her disheveled state no better than Qi Zi’s.

“Little Bamboo, someone’s trying to kill me.”

“Mhm, don’t be afraid.”

Qi Zi was lifted into a firm embrace.

I’m so useless, Qi Zi thought. Her body shook like a sieve, tears streaming down her face like broken strings of pearls.

She bit her lower lip hard, trying to stifle her sobs, squeezing her eyes shut as the heat around them grew unbearable—worse than being trapped in an oven.

Sweat and tears evaporated instantly in the scorching air. Qi Zi pressed her forehead against Lu Luozhu’s chest, whimpering softly.

“Lu Luozhu, I’m so scared… Are we going to die in here?”

Her voice was hoarse. “I couldn’t break the door or the window… I’m so useless.”

Lu Luozhu, of all people, should have been more terrified of fire.

Tearfully looking up, Qi Zi could only see Lu Luozhu’s chin. The damp blanket wrapped around them was their last line of defense.

It’s over.

Qi Zi was certain Lu Luozhu must be furious with her.

No words came from above, but the arms around her tightened.

Thankfully, the filming location was on the first floor. As long as they made it out the door, they’d be safe.

Lu Luozhu caught the scent of kerosene burning in the air.

The culprit wasn’t hard to guess—the answer was practically laid bare. But concrete evidence would be difficult to obtain.

Someone didn’t want this movie to be made.

Someone wanted to bury the truth of what happened back then.

The omega in her arms kept murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Even as the heat no longer dried her tears, Qi Zi’s crying didn’t stop. If anything, it grew worse.

Seeing the two escape safely, Qian Qianqian’s legs gave out, and she slumped to the ground in exhaustion.

“The special effects technician has been detained by the police. Everyone on set needs to give statements.”

Qian Qianqian noticed the red booklet tucked inside Lu Luozhu’s coat—the corner of the marriage certificate slightly singed, glaringly obvious.

She hesitated, then finally said, “You… thank you.”

Lu Luozhu didn’t respond with her usual sarcasm. She simply nodded. “Qi Zi has multiple abrasions. Spray some medication on them, but to be safe, she should get checked at the hospital.”

Compared to the scrapes and burns, Qi Zi’s mental state was clearly the bigger concern.

Omega trembled like a terrified little animal, shrinking into Lu Luozhu’s arms and refusing to come out.

Scalding tears fell heavily.

Lu Luozhu felt his heart clench at the sight.

Teacher Qi was crying so pitifully.

Zhou Fan wasn’t faring much better than Qian Qianqian—if not for the police holding him back, his legs would have given out, and he would have kowtowed to Lu Luozhu on the spot.

Lu Luozhu said coolly, “No word of the incident on set is to leave this place.”

Qian Qianqian wiped her tears: “Don’t worry, I have collaborations with various media outlets.”

Compared to Qi Zi, Lu Luozhu’s injuries were much more severe.

Her arms, wrists, and fingers all suffered burns of varying degrees. If she hadn’t been holding Qi Zi, she wouldn’t have gotten burned at all.

The pain hadn’t been noticeable in the fire, but now with the cold wind blowing, the burned areas throbbed with an unignorable sting.

Lu Luozhu held Qi Zi securely in her arms. “Sugar mommy, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Qi Zi’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, letting out a pitiful hiccup.

“I’m sorry.”

Lu Luozhu: “And?”

Qi Zi looked confused, then tentatively pressed her lips against Lu Luozhu’s coat.

Lu Luozhu: “Sugar mommy owes me quite a few tips. Remember to pay them all at once.”