The Cannon Fodder Alpha Who Made the Heroine Pregnant - Chapter 27

27:

Early in the morning, Zhou Lan drove to the high-speed rail station with her guitar and headed to the Capital City.

Upon arrival, her first stop was a reputable real estate agency where she rented a fully furnished apartment.

The agent mentioned that the apartment had been purchased by a beautiful woman who had since moved to a larger home, leaving this one vacant.

However, the owner had strict tenant requirements, which was why it had remained unrented until now.

Zhou Lan wasn’t interested in backstories, but she figured a place previously owned by a beautiful woman couldn’t be too bad.

(Of course, that was just a stereotype—beautiful people weren’t necessarily tidy. But the apartment was lovely.)

A two-level unit: the first floor had a living room, dining area, kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, a balcony, and a bathroom. The second floor was the bedroom, complete with a workspace featuring a desk and a large bookshelf.

The wardrobe and bed took up a third of the space, leaving enough room for a piano—or an electronic keyboard. (Zhou Lan was proficient in many instruments.)

There was even a window-side reading nook, perfect for lounging with a book.

The landlord’s taste was impeccable. No renovations needed, Zhou Lan loved it at first sight.

She had already mentally mapped out how to use the space.

The apartment was great, but the rent was steep: 8,000 yuan per month, with a three-month deposit plus one month’s rent upfront.

Watching her account balance shrink, Zhou Lan winced.

Her current funds were pitiful compared to her past life’s bank account with its endless string of zeros.

Now, with just a few hundred thousand left, she couldn’t afford to splurge.

In her previous life, that amount wouldn’t even cover a decent instrument.

—

Zhou Lan hired a cleaning service through the agency, then headed to a nearby supermarket for essentials.

She sent the bedding and towels to a laundromat, requesting delivery by 5 PM.

After the cleaners left, she stocked up on everything—pots, pans, instant meals—just in case.

(Would she actually cook? Unlikely. But better safe than sorry.)

By 6 PM, exhausted, she collapsed on the couch.

But her efforts had paid off: the once-empty apartment now felt lived-in.

Sitting there, her mind drifted to last night—signing the divorce papers with Chu Zhao.

In a year, they’d go their separate ways, transitioning from legally bound spouses to complete strangers.

Zhou Lan turned to gaze out the window. Her twelfth-floor apartment offered a panoramic view of the city.

After a moment, she suddenly stood, grabbed her guitar, and began playing.

A melancholic yet freeing melody flowed from her fingertips as she composed, then jotted down lyrics.

Ten minutes later, she titled the song: False Relationship.

Like her and Chu Zhao’s marriage—a farce.

The song carried sorrow but also a hint of liberation.

Zhou Lan wasn’t mourning the end of their marriage but its inherent tragedy: two young lives forced together, now on the verge of freedom.

(Admittedly, her feelings were complicated. She did admire Chu Zhao, who perfectly matched her ideal type. Regret and relief coexisted, such was human nature.)

Complex emotions fueled her creativity. Whenever she felt this way, inspiration struck hard.

Satisfied, she closed her notebook and went downstairs to make instant noodles.

Mid-bite, her phone rang—Tong Kai.

“Boss,” Tong Kai sounded awkward. “I delivered the housekeeper and nurses to your villa, but…”

They’d been turned away at the gate. Security had checked with Chu Zhao, who denied authorizing their entry.

Zhou Lan facepalmed. How could I forget to tell Chu Zhao?

“I’ll have someone meet you,” she said before hanging up and dialing Chu Zhao.

After a long pause, Chu Zhao answered with a cold “Mn.”

(Zhou Lan could practically hear her hesitating over whether to pick up.)

“Chu Zhao?” Zhou Lan softened her voice.

“Mn.”

Once confirmed, Zhou Lan explained the situation.

Silence. Then: “Let them in.”

Nurses and a housekeeper were necessary. Chu Zhao couldn’t tend to her mother 24/7 while working.

She’d already asked friends to help hire staff, but Zhou Lan’s team had arrived first.

Remembering last night’s divorce agreement, Chu Zhao ultimately accepted the gesture.

“Thank you,” she said before hanging up.

(She also wondered where Zhou Lan had gone. The background noise suggested somewhere quiet, unlike the original host’s usual haunts. But it wasn’t her place to ask.)

—

After arranging the staff, Tong Kai sent Zhou Lan the evidence of Liu Qing’s affair.

Impressive efficiency. Zhou Lan instructed her to anonymously forward everything to Chu Meng.

(People like Chu Meng always checked their private messages. If he didn’t, she had backup plans.)

Results would come soon—likely by tomorrow. Chu Meng wouldn’t delay handling such a scandal.

The show was about to begin.

Exhausted, Zhou Lan showered and collapsed into bed by 8 PM.

The unfamiliar environment and sterile, sunless bedding (despite high-temperature disinfection) made it hard to relax. She missed the warmth of sun-dried sheets.

Drifting off, she dreamed of a day-long “date” with Chu Zhao—ending at the divorce registry.

Waking up, she scoffed. As if Chu Zhao would ever go on a date with me.

—

At 7 AM, Zhou Lan took a taxi to the recording studio where Hua Qiao waited.

The studio was top-tier. In her past life, her hit songs had earned hundreds of millions.

At her peak, she’d retained all copyrights—ensuring lifelong royalties. Even if she never wrote another note, the income would keep flowing.

The three songs sold to Chu Yue were time-limited licenses. Post-expiration, the rights would revert (though performances could continue).

Hua Qiao, as glamorous as ever in a mandarin gown and silk shawl, greeted her warmly: “Congratulations, your song’s gone viral.”

“Newborn” had gained traction organically, then exploded after Hua Qiao’s promotional push.

With proper release, it could dominate the charts.

“Sorry for the delay,” Zhou Lan apologized. “Family matters.”

Hua Qiao waved it off and introduced the session band: “Tender Grass Jumps Up and Kicks the Bull’s Balls—Screw Off, Don’t Eat Me”.

Zhou Lan didn’t bat an eye. (Bands had weird names. She’d worked worse.)

A quick search revealed “Screw Off” was a respected second-tier band. Hua Qiao had pulled strings to book them.

Their initial aloofness didn’t faze Zhou Lan. Musicians were often arrogant, talent was the only universal currency.

Thirty minutes of discussing the arrangement changed their tune. Zhou Lan’s insights—and the other compositions she’d sold earned their respect.

(Every band craved a signature hit. Zhou Lan’s portfolio proved she could deliver.)

Satisfied, Zhou Lan sat at the piano, fingers flying as she played “Newborn.”

The piano and guitar versions each brought something unique. She was pleased.

“Let’s record.”

With luck, they’d finish both instrumental and vocal tracks today.

As she opened her phone to record a demo, the screen lit up with an incoming call—

From Chu Zhao.

Zhou Lan’s eyes widened. Am I hallucinating? Chu Zhao calling me first?