The Salted-Fish Alpha and the Actress Got Their Marriage Certificate - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

She didn’t care.

Realizing this, Xi Ling suddenly stopped smiling, her clear black-and-white eyes reflecting only Ye Cike. Such earnest focus made Ye Cike feel uneasy.

She stepped back, putting some distance between herself and Xi Ling.

Unexpectedly, Xi Ling reached out toward Ye Cike’s cheek. Startled, Ye Cike nearly dodged again.

She froze in place, but the anticipated warmth never came. Xi Ling’s fingertips veered midair to Ye Cike’s shoulder, brushing it lightly like a dragonfly skimming water.

Xi Ling held a wilted leaf between her fingers, her bright, innocent eyes wide open.

“It got stuck on you.”

As if the misleading gesture hadn’t come from her at all.

She lowered her gaze and blew gently, letting the leaf drift to the ground. Ye Cike’s heart settled too, though she couldn’t quite figure out why it had raced for a moment.

Ye Cike didn’t dare dwell on it.

“Let’s go pick some oranges,” she said quickly, changing the subject. Her long legs carried her far, her retreating figure tinged with panic.

Xu Mumu, who had just finished packing, overheard Ye Cike’s words and smacked her lips. “How can you two be so extravagant? I’m so jealous!”

Xi Ling glanced at Xu Mumu, her lips curving into a honey-sweet smile. “Ye Cike spoils me~”

Her expression was blatant boasting.

Caught off guard, Xu Mumu felt like she’d been force-fed a mouthful of dog food. She clutched her chest dramatically, feigning heartbreak. “Xi Ling, shut up! I’m too young to hear this!”

Xi Ling responded with a light laugh. The exchange delayed her a bit, and as she turned to catch up, she saw Ye Cike standing at a nearby intersection.

Ye Cike was waiting for her.

Xi Ling quickened her pace, catching up to Ye Cike with a radiant smile. “Let’s go.”

“What were you and Xu Chaochao talking about? You seemed so happy,” Ye Cike said, curious. Even from a distance, she could sense Xi Ling’s cheerful mood.

She was practically glowing, her metaphorical tail wagging.

“That was Xu Mumu,” Xi Ling corrected.

Ye Cike felt a headache coming on. The sisters looked identical, and today their outfits were similar. How did Xi Ling tell them apart?

Before she could ask, Xi Ling explained, “It’s the color of their hair ties. And Xu Mumu is slightly shorter than her sister.”

Ye Cike tried to recall the differences between the two, but her thoughts tangled like yarn, growing messier the more she tried to sort them. Finally, she gave up. As the saying goes, no problem is too big if you’re willing to let it go.

“So, what were you talking about?” Ye Cike hadn’t forgotten her original question.

Xi Ling pointed to a roadside stall. “I want to eat mandarin oranges.”

Ye Cike followed her finger to a small stall piled high with vibrant orange mandarins, each round and fresh-looking.

The earlier topic slipped Ye Cike’s mind instantly. She stepped forward to pick out oranges.

She wanted to choose the biggest, tastiest ones, focusing intently and completely missing Xi Ling’s sly smile at her successful diversion.

As expected of an award-winning actress, Xi Ling’s expression shifted so quickly it stunned the nearby cameraman.

“Here.” Ye Cike handed Xi Ling a small bag stuffed with mandarins.

Thanks to Xi Ling’s hard work, they finished their tasks early, leaving the rest of the day free. The two hopped onto a tricycle and headed back the way they came.

The small village remained tranquil, the breeze gentle. Back at the courtyard house, Ye Cike let out a long breath.

She wanted a nap. She was exhausted.

Just as she was about to say goodbye and head to her room, Xi Ling leaned in close, lowering her voice. “Why didn’t we get a script?”

The two sisters hadn’t returned after selling their goods, and Meng Gujin’s team was nowhere to be seen.

Xi Ling knew how these reality shows worked. Even the most authentic ones usually had a rough outline, not like their group, left entirely to their own devices.

Ye Cike felt a twinge of guilt. It was, of course, because she’d “pulled rank.”

“Guess.”

Xi Ling peeled a mandarin from the plastic bag, her delicate brows furrowing in mock confusion. “I can’t guess.”

She popped a segment into her mouth, the sweet juice spreading across her tongue. Her eyes squinted in satisfaction, as if the mandarin wasn’t ordinary but some rare delicacy.

Even Ye Cike couldn’t resist wanting to try one, wondering if it was really that good. But then—

“Where’s the egg I gave you this morning?” Ye Cike suddenly asked.

She remembered Xi Ling saying she’d eat it in town, but with the busy stall and selling, Ye Cike had been distracted and hadn’t noticed whether Xi Ling ate it.

At lunch, they’d only had a quick bite of boxed meals. Xi Ling, picky about oily food, had barely touched hers.

Xi Ling tilted her head, brushing back a strand of hair with a hint of regret. “Oh, I forgot. I’ll eat it when I get back to my room.”

Ye Cike didn’t respond, just studied her with a blank expression, as if weighing the truth in her words.

“Really, really, trust me,” Xi Ling said.

Her lips pursed slightly, her eyes naturally drooping, making her look pitiful, as if she might tug at Ye Cike’s sleeve any moment.

If this were filmed and posted online, it’d surely make fans scream. Few could resist her pleas.

Like Ye Cike, who had no defense against this expression.

Closing her eyes briefly, Ye Cike pressed a hand to her temple, exasperated. “Xi Ling, are you a fairy? The kind that only drinks flower dew? You skip proper meals but devour fruit.”

That big bag of mandarins was already half gone, all eaten by Xi Ling on the ride back.

Xi Ling smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not a compliment.” Ye Cike pushed open her room’s door listlessly. “Eat regularly, or you’ll get stomach problems.”

She leaned against the doorframe, her breathing slow, no longer hiding her exhaustion.

Xi Ling frowned, her worry obvious. “Go sleep.”

Ye Cike nodded, closed the door, and stumbled to her bed, collapsing into the soft bedding.

It wasn’t normal. Even picky eaters get hungry sometimes, but Xi Ling was always so restrained with food.

And Ye Cike wasn’t normal either. Alphas had exceptional stamina and shouldn’t be this tired after half a night’s work.

“I need to see a doctor,” she murmured, her words soon swallowed by steady breaths.

The sounds of voices, heavy objects dragging, and clinking dishes stirred her. Ye Cike’s eyelashes fluttered, on the verge of waking.

“So noisy.”

She sat up abruptly, still groggy, and looked out the brightly lit window.

The courtyard had been cleared, a blazing bonfire at its center. Tables and chairs were neatly arranged, and an array of dishes was already set out.

Clearly, on their last night, the production team had gone easy on them, preparing a relaxed bonfire party.

Tying her hair back quickly, Ye Cike stepped outside and immediately spotted Xi Ling in the crowd.

She’d swapped her practical hoodie for a mid-length strapless white dress, a silk scarf tied in a pretty bow at her neck. She was holding a piece of paper, earnestly discussing something with a staff member.

Ye Cike deliberately lightened her steps, weaving through the noisy crowd to approach Xi Ling quietly. But before she got close, Xi Ling tilted her head and smiled at her.

She wore light makeup, the tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes glinting softly.

“Ye Cike, feeling better?” she asked gently.

Ye Cike, sensing her slightly quickened pulse, shook her head. “Not really. Also, which cold dish has too much vinegar?”

She’d caught a sharp tang of vinegar amidst the aroma of food.

The sudden topic change left Xi Ling momentarily speechless. She blinked. “Hungry? You’ll have to wait a bit—I’m about to perform a dance.”

The director, determined to make the most of Xi Ling’s expensive appearance fee, had insisted she perform.

Ye Cike felt off, her instincts urging her to return to her room and rest.

But hearing Xi Ling was dancing, she couldn’t move her feet.

She nodded, found a spot off to the side, and sat down obediently.

The noise around her grew louder. She even overheard Meng Gujin asking Xi Ling about her dance.

Irritation surged. She propped her head on one hand, her fingers tapping the table erratically.

So annoying.

Then the clapperboard snapped, the crew took their places, and music began to flow.

Xi Ling’s performance started, and the surrounding noise faded like a receding tide.

Her eyes sparkled with the firelight, her steps graceful as she danced to the music. Without pointe shoes, she still moved like a butterfly flitting through flowers.

As the music’s tempo rose, Xi Ling’s movements grew more breathtaking—pausing, soaring, like a butterfly drawn to the flame, heading toward self-destruction at its peak beauty.

Everyone watched, captivated and silent. Only Ye Cike lowered her gaze, then stood abruptly, saying to the director, “Sorry, I need to step away.”

The director nodded and waved her off. Xi Ling’s fluid movements faltered slightly but resumed as if nothing had happened.

Ye Cike finally understood the source of her unease.

Amid the mingled scents, she’d clearly detected a familiar grassy fragrance—Xi Ling’s pheromones.

Heightened senses and a racing heart were signs of an oncoming susceptible period.

In ancient times, alphas in their susceptible period hunted their omegas, their enhanced senses and strength meant for competing with other alphas and tracking hidden omegas to mark them.

Her last susceptible period was just ten days ago, and now another was coming—the shortest gap yet. Her body couldn’t handle the strain, explaining her sleepiness.

Instead of returning to her room, she walked farther, leaning against a low wall in frustration.

“Overdid the suppressants?” she wondered.

It wasn’t impossible. Either way, she couldn’t continue filming. She’d need to leave by morning at the latest.

“Tap, tap.”

Someone approached. Ye Cike’s heightened senses instantly registered the hurried, uneven footsteps.

Without thinking, she turned to leave.

“Ye Cike!” a clear voice called behind her.

She turned and met Xi Ling’s wistful gaze, suddenly feeling guilty and looking away.

Xi Ling spoke slowly, aggrieved. “Was my dancing bad?”

“No, it’s not that,” Ye Cike denied quickly, terrified Xi Ling might cry.

Xi Ling stepped closer, trying to read her expression. “Then why did you leave?”

“Stay back,” Ye Cike said, retreating. Then, realizing her pattern of always backing away from this omega, she faltered.

It was the first time Xi Ling had heard such a blunt dismissal. Her eyes welled up, glistening with unshed tears.

Ye Cike panicked, wanting to offer a tissue but hesitating because of her susceptible period.

“I didn’t mean you should leave,” she said, then backtracked, frustrated. “No, that’s not right. I’m in my susceptible period, but I can’t take suppressants.”

An omega’s pheromones were the best comfort, but Ye Cike had no omega partner, relying on suppressants and synthetic omega pheromones.

Xi Ling’s eyes flickered, piecing together the situation. Within seconds, she understood.

The sweet-tart scent of mandarins spread. Ye Cike frowned, urging irritably, “Go, don’t worry about me.”

At her words, Xi Ling’s eyes reddened, tears clinging to her lashes, making her look especially pitiful.

“Sorry, I was too willful,” she apologized softly, raising a hand to wipe her tears. Instead, she smudged her makeup, her eyes even redder.

Ye Cike’s breath caught.

“It’s my fault. I can’t leave you like this,” Xi Ling said, head lowered. “Do you… need my personal clothing?”

Her pink-tipped fingers tugged at her dress, betraying her nervousness.

In theory, clothing worn close to the body carried traces of pheromones, and natural ones were far more effective than synthetic.

“P-personal clothing?” Ye Cike stammered, her mind racing. She touched her earlobe, eyes darting. “No way! You can’t just give that out!”

Xi Ling’s lips trembled, her eyes brimming with tears. “But it’s just a scarf. Don’t you like my pheromones?”

Ye Cike froze, her gaze landing on the pretty bow at Xi Ling’s neck.

Close to the body, near the glands, steeped in pheromones, and technically clothing.

“What are you thinking? Why aren’t you talking?” Xi Ling pressed, looking deeply hurt, her mood plummeting. “If you don’t want this as compensation, you can ask for anything else that might help.”

Why wasn’t she talking? How could she dare?

Ye Cike mentally cursed herself for her shameless thoughts, completely ignoring Xi Ling’s offer.

Distractedly, she mumbled, “Fine, the scarf then.”