The Scumbag Alpha Movie Queen Pampers Her Wife - Chapter 20

The soft glow of the lamp enveloped the two women in a warm halo, their shadows intertwining like lovers embracing, creating an atmosphere of lingering tranquility. Ji Yuran clutched a pillow to her chest, her toes fidgeting nervously on the floor.

She lowered her head, accepting Gu Muchu’s scrutinizing gaze. Her index finger repeatedly poked small holes in the soft pillow, seemingly engrossed in her playful activity.

At least, that’s how it appeared on the surface.

The standoff didn’t last long. Gu Muchu shifted slightly, creating a gap large enough for one person to slip through.

Of course, Ji Yuran wouldn’t refuse—in fact, she welcomed the opportunity. Since Shen Yiyan had left, the two had barely exchanged a word, and Ji Yuran hadn’t replied to Gu Muchu’s WeChat messages.

Gu Muchu had even worried that she was angry.

The guest room had a cold, impersonal atmosphere until Gu Muchu moved in, bringing a touch of warmth and life. A wooden wardrobe, built into the wall and carved with sawtooth patterns, stood beneath an artsy calendar.

As Ji Yuran entered, her eyes immediately fell on the rumpled bedsheets. She nudged the slightly sunken pillow aside, placing it next to the one she had brought, arranging them side by side.

She even adjusted the overlapping edges so that the edge of her own pillow rested on top, like a kitten always placing its paw as high as possible.

Gu Muchu seemed to catch a fleeting hint of amusement at the corner of Ji Yuran’s lips. She closed the door and glanced at the rumpled bedding, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

Usually so meticulous and presentable, she now looked so disheveled. She wondered if Ji Yuran would find her repulsive.

I should have tidied up before opening the door.

“I’m sick,” she said, changing the subject while reminding Ji Yuran. “I don’t want to infect you.”

As the words left her mouth, Ji Yuran turned and sat on the bed, her delicate shoulders straightening with a newfound pride. “Gu Muchu, do you think I’m clumsy?”

Gu Muchu moved closer and sat beside her, placing her hand on the edge of the bed. Feeling the mattress sink beside her, she couldn’t help but smile. “How could I? I’m the one who’s clumsy with words, making you angry. And now I’m shamelessly asking you to take care of me.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Ji Yuran retorted, her voice losing some of its conviction toward the end. “You helped me vent my anger, and I don’t want to owe you a favor.”

She often used such high-sounding reasons to justify getting closer to Gu Muchu. It allowed her to find solace and ease her unspoken emotions.

Having known Ji Yuran for so long, Gu Muchu couldn’t deny being touched.

In her previous life, she had been completely absorbed in her career, accustomed to solitude. This feeling of being cherished was strangely wonderful.

Like a light sail adrift on the ocean finding temporary shelter in a harbor, she couldn’t bring herself to reject Ji Yuran’s kindness at that moment.

Softening her tone, Gu Muchu finally relented. She circled to the other side of the bed, lifted the thin quilt, and prepared to lie down.

“Alright, I’ll try not to move around too much during the night, okay?”

Gu Muchu wasn’t sure if her sleeping habits would frighten Ji Yuran, but she didn’t think she had any particularly unbearable habits.

Ji Yuran mumbled something unintelligible without looking at her. She pulled the quilt over herself, rolled closer, and poked her head out from under the covers. The corners of her eyes glowed a delicate crimson in the light, making her look utterly vulnerable.

Gu Muchu sighed, realizing her side of the bed had been claimed. She reluctantly moved to the other side.

In truth, the bedside lamp was within Ji Yuran’s reach. If Gu Muchu showed any signs of distress during the night, Ji Yuran could immediately switch on the light to check on her.

But she would never admit that reason aloud.

Perhaps Gu Muchu was running a fever. The thin cotton blanket trapped the heat, allowing Ji Yuran to relax her guard. She gently nuzzled her nose against the fabric, cautiously inhaling the Alpha’s pheromone scent.

The aroma of Black Cherry and Wild Rose, a blend of fruity and floral notes, permeated the air with an aggressive, all-encompassing intensity.

Because they were sharing a bed, both women had applied pheromone-blocking patches to the back of their necks as a precaution.

The night was as thick as spilled ink, the curtains drawn tight. Only a faint glow from the ceiling light remained, rendering the room pitch-black.

Gu Muchu found it unsettling to suddenly have someone beside her. She deliberately softened her breathing. The rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths filled the room. The person beside her seemed to have fallen asleep, the blanket rising and falling in sync with their breathing.

She opened her eyes, her vision slowly adjusting to the darkness. The outlines of the furniture gradually emerged, like small animals lurking in the shadows.

“Gu Muchu,” a soft, clear voice suddenly called out from the darkness.

Ji Yuran deliberately lowered her voice, testing whether Gu Muchu was asleep.

“Hmm?” Gu Muchu, lying on her side with her hand near her face, turned her head slightly. “I’m awake. I’m here.”

Silence followed, punctuated only by soft rustling sounds and the faint tug of the blanket. Ji Yuran seemed to be making small movements as she slowly asked, “Are you comfortable in the guest room?”

“Comfortable or not, it’s all the same to me,” Gu Muchu replied, closing her eyes and sinking into the mattress’s softness. Her voice carried a hint of weariness.

Having slept in cramped rental rooms and luxurious Waldorf Astoria suites, she wasn’t one to fuss over comfort.

In the darkness, with her vision obscured, her other senses heightened. After a long pause, she murmured, “If you’re not comfortable in the guest room…”

She must think I’m feeling wronged, Gu Muchu realized. That’s actually quite touching.

Gu Muchu, however, didn’t see it that way. Small spaces had their advantages—easy to manage and reassuringly secure.

“No need to change rooms. It’s fine here,” she blinked. “What’s wrong? Already missing me after just one night?”

“Of course not!” Ji Yuran huffed softly, her voice carrying a nasal quality that made her sound particularly endearing.

Gu Muchu smiled faintly.

“It’s alright, I’m used to it here,” she said. After a moment’s thought, she realized that the Original Self’s influence on Ji Yuran couldn’t be undone overnight. Change would have to come gradually, through everyday interactions. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

The simple words stirred the calm waters of spring, rippling with subtle waves. The Omega let out a small, muffled “hmm” and buried her face in the blanket, curling up into a shrimp-like ball.

Gu Muchu guessed she was embarrassed again, and sighed inwardly.

I don’t mean to say these things, she thought, frustrated. Anyone who didn’t know me would think I’m being flirtatious, just tossing out teasing remarks.

The blanket tugged sharply, and a moment later, Gu Muchu felt a chill on her stomach.

Ji Yuran wished she could suffocate herself under the covers, having yanked the thin blanket completely away.

Gu Muchu sighed and was about to turn on the light and get out of bed to fetch another blanket from the closet when the person beside her sensed her movement and offered a corner of the blanket.

The small triangle of fabric was clutched tightly in her palm, the pale color standing out in the dim light.

“You can have it,” Ji Yuran said, realizing how childish she had been. She blushed furiously, relieved that Gu Muchu couldn’t see her flushed cheeks. “I sleep very still.”

Gu Muchu remained unconvinced by Ji Yuran’s weak explanation. Staring at Ji Yuran’s profile, she asked skeptically, “Really?”

“Believe it or not,” Ji Yuran muttered, shifting slightly. She was completely wrapped in the thin blanket, her cheeks puffing out involuntarily.

Gu Muchu found her utterly adorable. She tugged gently at a corner of the blanket, this time meeting no resistance and easily pulling it over. To prevent Ji Yuran from snatching it back, she carefully tucked the edge under herself.

The two lay some distance apart, the blanket stretched nearly taut between them. The gap in the middle was wide enough to comfortably fit another person.

The weather wasn’t particularly warm, especially now that early autumn had arrived. While the daytime felt pleasant, the nights grew chilly, and cold air seeped through the gap.

Remembering her fever, Gu Muchu bristled with annoyance.

“Leaving such a huge gap—who’s supposed to sleep there?” No wonder the blanket wasn’t enough; half of it was being wasted like this. “Move closer.”

Ji Yuran seemed conflicted, guessing at the implication behind Gu Muchu’s words. She slowly murmured, “Okay,” and wriggled over like a silkworm, stopping just one centimeter from Gu Muchu’s back.

The two remained frozen in place. Gu Muchu’s breathing grew increasingly audible, and Ji Yuran could even hear the thump of her own heart against her ribs.

Her heart raced.

Clutching her pajama top, Ji Yuran froze, too nervous to move.

Gu Muchu understood. She didn’t press Ji Yuran to snuggle closer, but leaned slightly in her direction.

Finally, they were pressed tightly together.

Through the thin pajamas, Ji Yuran could clearly feel Gu Muchu’s feverish heat and the sharp outline of her spine, making her seem both slender and alluring.

Normally, Gu Muchu exuded competence and intelligence, her every movement radiating professional grace. Yet in her illness, she seemed fragile and vulnerable.

Ji Yuran’s heart fluttered briefly, as if sinking into soft cotton before quickly withdrawing.

Her temperature is so high.

Gu Muchu was equally uncomfortable. Even with her eyes closed, she could vividly imagine Ji Yuran’s delicate, protruding butterfly bones.

She knew her thoughts were inappropriate, but the more she suppressed them, the harder they became to control. She had shared a bed with roommates before, but never felt this restrained and awkward.

The temperature continued to rise, the air thick with unspoken tension. Ji Yuran bit her lower lip, her face flushed as if scalded, the crimson of oxygen deprivation.

Back to back, each lost in her own thoughts, they remained silent, yet both knew the other wasn’t asleep.

Knowing full well what was on each other’s minds, they gradually synchronized their breathing.

Gu Muchu’s throat ached, and her chest felt stiflingly hot. Continuing like this wouldn’t work. Ji Yuran was easily embarrassed, so it fell to Gu Muchu to break the silence. She spoke first.

“I suddenly remembered a movie.”

Her melodious voice, tinged with the crispness and freedom of an autumn night, drifted into Ji Yuran’s heart. Ji Yuran loosened her death grip on the bedsheets and mumbled, “What movie?”

Gu Muchu carefully recalled the plot. “A horror film. There’s a scene like this, where two people are leaning back-to-back. There’s even a line: ‘Good friends, back-to-back.’ I don’t know if you’ve seen it.”

Ji Yuran: “……”

The carefully cultivated, nervous, heart-fluttering atmosphere was mercilessly torn apart by an invisible, giant hand. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, and an awkward silence hung heavy in the air.

When the person behind her didn’t respond for a long moment, Gu Muchu sensed trouble. Realizing she’d ruined the mood, she was about to speak when Ji Yuran beat her to it.

The Omega’s voice, muffled by the thin blanket, sounded gloomy and resentful, with a hint of speechless dismay.

“Gu Muchu, you’re such a buzzkill.”

Ji Yuran held her breath for a long moment before finally managing to squeeze out a few words. She pulled the blanket up to her cheeks, leaving only her bright eyes visible, her long lashes half-lowered and trembling slightly.

This reaction was exactly what Gu Muchu had expected. She had always been terrible at playing along with jokes. It was precisely this gentle nature, so apparent to outsiders, that made most friends treat her like a senior, never teasing or joking with her the way they did with their peers.

While she received plenty of respect, she lacked the close intimacy that comes from genuine connection.

“I’m sorry,” Gu Muchu said after a moment’s hesitation, turning to face Ji Yuran. “I shouldn’t have mentioned horror movies at night. Did I scare you?”

On second thought, the Omega didn’t seem particularly brave. If she really was sensitive to such things, Gu Muchu should apologize.

“Gu Muchu!” Ji Yuran snapped, her voice tight with anger, each word laced with frustration and a hint of bitterness. “It’s not about the horror movie at all…” The hurt in her voice nearly overwhelmed her, even as she berated herself inwardly.

She had been so desperate, even standing on tiptoe to peer into the wall, but Gu Muchu’s defenses were impenetrable, leaving no opening.

And now, to hide her true feelings, she could do nothing at all.

“What?” Gu Muchu asked, her voice muffled and indistinct.

Ji Yuran pulled the blanket tighter around herself and snapped, “Nothing. Just go to sleep. You’re still talking so much even when you’re sick.”

She vowed to never speak to Gu Muchu again.

Gu Muchu turned on her side, cocked her ear, and listened quietly for a moment. Realizing Ji Yuran genuinely didn’t want to talk, she conceded, “Sorry for being so noisy when I’m sick.”

Such beautiful passive-aggression.

Gu Muchu genuinely apologized, assuming Ji Yuran was simply tired of dealing with her and found her talkative.

An inexplicable anger surged in Ji Yuran’s chest, rising and falling like a trapped flame. She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

Well-timed tenderness felt like a warm spring breeze, but ill-timed tenderness could feel like a lack of understanding.

Her hand, hidden beneath the blanket, slowly curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palm, helping Ji Yuran regain some composure.

But she was terrible at hiding her emotions. Finally, she turned around, her peach blossom eyes gleaming brightly in the dim light.

“Gu Muchu, are you being passive-aggressive with me?”

Gu Muchu’s mind went blank for a moment as she turned around. The soft mattress rustled quietly as she met Ji Yuran’s gaze.

Their eyes locked, and in the dim light, everything relied on heightened senses. Their gazes seemed to stretch out like shimmering silver threads, the Omega’s long lashes glistening with a dewy sheen, like delicate frost flowers clinging to them.

Gu Muchu’s clear mind began to cloud again, as if she were developing a fever. Her body felt increasingly hot, her breath growing feverish.

Ji Yuran had come prepared with a litany of scolding words, but when she met the Alpha’s gaze, her heart plummeted.

It was like falling from a great height, her heart unable to keep pace with her body’s descent, gradually losing control.

Waves of inky black curls tangled with long, straight black hair, creating an undeniable sense of harmony. The two were so close that Ji Yuran could touch Gu Muchu’s chin by simply leaning forward.

Gu Muchu blinked, feeling the hot breath against her neck and the stinging sensation in her eyes.

Even in the most chaotic moments, she would remain calm and composed, and now she needed to say something.

Gu Muchu felt uneasy. A strange, indescribable emotion, like vines coiling around her heart, slowly tightened, creating a suffocating sensation.

“I’m sorr—” She tilted her head slightly, breaking eye contact and avoiding synchronizing her breathing with Ji Yuran’s.

But in the next instant, a soft palm covered her lips.

Ji Yuran’s palm was damp, likely from nervousness. The rich fragrance of hand cream lingered around her nostrils, growing intensely warm as her ragged breaths fanned across it.

“Who told you to apologize? You’re not allowed to apologize!” The Omega interrupted her, disliking how Gu Muchu always apologized, making them seem distant and formal. In a moment of unprecedented boldness, she covered Gu Muchu’s mouth.

By the time they realized what had happened, both of their bodies had frozen in place.

Gu Muchu finally lowered her gaze, carefully studying Ji Yuran where the Omega couldn’t see.

Even though she couldn’t clearly see Ji Yuran’s expression, she could sense the Omega was so nervous she was on the verge of tears.

It was strange, like a born telepathic connection.

Her throat tightened, and she moved her fingers slightly. “Okay.”

The single syllable escaped her lips, her upper lip brushing against Gu Muchu’s palm as she spoke.

Ji Yuran jolted, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Her heart clenched, the surging bl00d sending a tingling, electric sensation through her limbs. She hastily withdrew her hand and turned her back to Gu Muchu.

What should I do…?

Ji Yuran felt utterly humiliated and disheveled.

With her long hair loose, Gu Muchu could vaguely discern the Omega’s neck, where a pheromone-blocking patch was discreetly affixed.

The entire exchange felt like a shared hallucination. She felt like she and Ji Yuran were like the characters “No-Brain” and “Grumpy,” with herself as “No-Brain” and Ji Yuran as “Grumpy.”

Gu Muchu, never one for smooth talk, had effortlessly delivered insincere flattery at banquets. Yet when facing Ji Yuran, all her practiced charm failed.

She felt like a clumsy child bumping into walls everywhere she turned.

“If you’re scared, just stay close to me.” Gu Muchu withdrew her hand from under the blanket and slowly brushed Ji Yuran’s hair down, covering the pheromone-blocking patch at the nape of her neck.

“I’m not scared at all,” Ji Yuran mumbled, hunching her shoulders. She felt Gu Muchu’s movements, both disappointed and drawn closer.

Their relationship was like that of a senior and junior, carefully maintained by a delicate, transparent thread.

“Ji Yuran,” Gu Muchu called out, using her full name.

Despite the throbbing pain in her temples, especially after taking the potent medication, and the exhaustion that weighed down her body, she remained remarkably alert.

“What is it? I’m trying to sleep,” Ji Yuran grumbled, shifting her body as if someone had turned her shoulder away, unwilling to engage.

Gu Muchu felt a sudden pang of guilt, realizing she might have disturbed Ji Yuran’s sleep. “You’re like a ghost, appearing out of nowhere from the door or the closet,” she said, each word deliberate and earnest.

“No matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”

Ji Yuran couldn’t resist breaking the silence. Her shoulders twitched slightly, the earlier embarrassment completely gone. “Gu Muchu, that’s such a cheesy thing to say.”

Seeing her happy, a faint smile touched Gu Muchu’s eyes.

For a moment, neither spoke, as if they had drifted off to sleep.

In the deep, silent night, a light rain drifted through the air, its falling trajectory illuminated by the dim yellow streetlights.

Half-dreaming, half-awake, Gu Muchu felt as if she were floating on clouds. She realized someone was gently patting her, and she forced her eyes open.

Warm yellow light softened Ji Yuran’s sharp features, her bright eyes filled with concern. Yuran’s hand brushed against Gu Muchu’s cheek, as if checking her temperature.

Gu Muchu’s gaze softened, her cheek pressing against Ji Yuran’s palm as she managed a weak smile.

The Omega bit her lower lip, struggling internally before stroking Gu Muchu’s forehead, then getting out of bed and leaving the guest room.

When she returned, she was holding a cup of warm water. She pressed the glass against Gu Muchu’s cheek, gently reassuring her, “It’s not too hot.”

This was the first time Gu Muchu truly felt the other woman’s genuine kindness.

Following Shen Yiyan’s instructions, Ji Yuran broke open a few capsules and painstakingly helped Gu Muchu sit up.

The Omega, never strong to begin with, was now covered in a fine sheen of sweat from the effort. She placed the capsules in her palm and coaxed Gu Muchu in a gentle, childlike tone, “Time to wake up, sleepyhead. Take your medicine.”

Gu Muchu allowed herself to be manipulated, obediently opening her mouth as Ji Yuran’s fingertips pushed the capsule in. Her parched lips pressed against the cool rim of the glass.

Her rationality had crumbled. Her body burned with fever, her throat felt like it had been slashed by a razor. Mistaking it for dehydration, Gu Muchu tilted her head back and gulped down water.

“Slow down, you’ll spill it,” Ji Yuran said, steadying the glass to ensure a steady, gentle stream flowed into Gu Muchu’s mouth.

Hearing this, Gu Muchu slowed her movements, lifting her gaze to meet the Omega’s. Her features softened, her gentle, refined face radiating a hint of foolishness.

She thought she heard Ji Yuran mutter, “Like a fool.”

After finishing the medicine, Gu Muchu lay back down, feeling her body grow limp. Her skin burned with fever, yet her bones felt icy cold, a stark contradiction.

Moments later, the blanket beside her was lifted, letting in a rush of cool air before being tucked back in, trapping the warmth.

Ji Yuran nimbly slipped under the covers. Having never seen Gu Muchu so docile, she tilted her head, studying her for a moment, her thoughts unreadable.

It was only in moments like these that she dared to stare at Gu Muchu without restraint.

“Tell me if you feel unwell,” Ji Yuran said, not expecting a response. She lay down with her back to Gu Muchu. After a moment, she kicked at the blanket with her foot and turned to look at her.

She ducked her head back under the covers, then peeked out again, still worried about the Alpha’s condition. She sighed deeply, a mix of helplessness and immense relief.

Thank goodness I came today, she thought. If Gu Muchu had developed a fever during the night, no one would have noticed, and her condition would have worsened.

Turning over, she finally faced Gu Muchu and drifted off to sleep, reassured.

Seeing Ji Yuran’s actions, Gu Muchu hummed vaguely, unsure whether it was a response or merely an unconscious nasal sound.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Sunlight streamed through the glass window, casting rainbow-like patterns on the floor, while the air hung thick with lazy warmth.

Sensing movement beside her, Gu Muchu frowned in annoyance, her eyes remaining closed. Then she remembered she had spent the night with Ji Yuran, and the irritation in her heart dissipated.

A warm presence seemed to lean closer, then roll away. It repeated this pattern three or four times before she finally snapped, opening her eyes to find Ji Yuran’s face inches from hers.

Omega slept peacefully, her thick eyebrows perfectly shaped, her full lips slightly parted, and the fine downy hairs on her forehead swaying gently in the light. Her eyelashes trembled lightly.

Trembled?

Gu Muchu suddenly felt amused as memories flooded her mind like a tidal wave. She shook her head, propped her temple against her hand, and quietly stared at Ji Yuran.

Ji Yuran seemed to be sleeping soundly, her breathing long and even, undisturbed by Gu Muchu’s presence.

Gu Muchu’s lips curled into a mischievous smile as she reached out and pinched Ji Yuran’s nose.

At first, the younger woman endured it, but after a while, her brow furrowed. She casually brushed away Gu Muchu’s meddling hand and shifted her position.

Gu Muchu chuckled, her breath catching in amusement, and flicked Ji Yuran’s forehead lightly.

“Ouch!” Ji Yuran clutched her forehead, glaring at Gu Muchu through half-lidded eyes, her voice thick with sleepiness and indignation at having her dream disturbed. “What was that for!”

Gu Muchu’s expression remained nonchalant. “Giving up the act already?”

Ji Yuran nervously rubbed her forehead, glancing away. “I wasn’t acting…”

Still denying it even after being caught red-handed.

Gu Muchu decided not to expose her clumsy lie. She ruffled Ji Yuran’s messy hair. “Last night… I really owe you one.”

Ji Yuran blinked, still processing the words. She quickly scrambled away from Gu Muchu, burrowing under the covers and muttering grumpily, “I knew I shouldn’t have bothered!”

“Can’t I even say thank you?” Gu Muchu chuckled, amused. She knew Ji Yuran was all bluster, uncomfortable with genuine affection and feigning indifference to hide her surprise.

She wondered what kind of environment had fostered such a stubbornly contrary personality.

Seeing Ji Yuran wasn’t planning to emerge, Gu Muchu sat up, reached for her phone on the nightstand, and opened her WeChat chat with Lan Jing.

Even though the film crew had been idle for days, the repeated delays were bound to raise eyebrows. If they dragged on any longer, rumors of “diva behavior” would start circulating.

First Light of Dusk: Xiao Lan, have you booked the tickets yet?

Great General Monster: There are no direct flights tomorrow, Sister Gu. Would early morning work? QAQ

Gu Muchu often marveled at Lan Jing’s professionalism. When she said “the day after tomorrow,” she stuck to that deadline like glue.

It was impossible to fault her work, yet her rigid adherence to the schedule felt oddly inflexible. Anyone trying to find fault would be stymied by the girl’s usual efficiency.

Gu Muchu sighed. If it has to be early morning, so be it. Direct flights from N City to S City were rare anyway, and she was used to pulling all-nighters.

She had once juggled two dramas simultaneously, flipping her days and nights. After gaining fame, such grueling schedules became less frequent.

She glanced at the time: 9:30 AM. After lunch, she’d pack—plenty of time.

Just as she typed “Okay,” the sheet covering her was gently tugged.

Ji Yuran, seemingly displeased by Gu Muchu’s coldness, craned her neck to peek over, then hesitated, realizing it was wrong to eavesdrop. Her indecisive posture resembled a student lingering outside the teacher’s office.

Noticing Yuran’s movement, Gu Muchu glanced at her. After sending the message, she received a simple “OK” emoji in response, ending the exchange.

Ji Yuran, caught off guard by Gu Muchu’s casual glance, awkwardly withdrew her hand. Her gaze remained fixed on Gu Muchu’s phone, as if trying to burn a hole through it with her eyes.

“Why are you staring at me?” The Omega seemed determined to find any excuse to strike up a conversation, her imagination running wild.

At moments like this, her mind conjured absurd scenarios—like Gu Muchu secretly plotting against her with others behind her back.

Ji Yuran’s little thoughts were written all over her face, making it impossible for Gu Muchu to miss them.

Gu Muchu rather liked Ji Yuran’s pure and straightforward nature, even though the younger woman seemed to believe she was hiding her reactions perfectly.

Gu Muchu put down her phone, threw back the covers, and got out of bed.

She opened the built-in wooden wardrobe, which was surprisingly spacious—large enough to accommodate several people standing inside. Rows of neatly organized clothes hung from the racks, while jewelry glittered on the flat shelves. At the back stood a full-length mirror, reflecting Gu Muchu’s tall Alpha figure and Ji Yuran’s head peeking out from behind her.

Gu Muchu began searching for something to wear.

“We’re leaving tonight, so I’m getting up to pack,” she explained, unable to bear Ji Yuran’s overthinking. As she spoke, she draped a long dress over her arm.

The answer eased Ji Yuran’s anxiety. She lifted her chin slightly, the corners of her lips twitching upward before she quickly suppressed the smile.

If Ji Yuran had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously right then.

But before she could fully process Gu Muchu’s words, the joy on her face vanished, leaving her looking like a deflated balloon.

“You’re sick and still running around all day,” Ji Yuran said, her grip tightening on the bedsheet, her voice growing sharper with the pressure.

Gu Muchu, who was trying on clothes, looked up at the sound of her voice.

It was rare to see Ji Yuran so openly vulnerable.

Ji Yuran averted her eyes, cleared her throat, and explained, “I took care of you so late last night, and now you’re going to work today? You’re showing absolutely no respect for the fruits of my labor…”

The Omega wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, the corners of her eyes tilting upward, yet she somehow managed to look utterly aggrieved.

Gu Muchu suddenly felt a pang of guilt, as if she were some heartless woman who slept with someone and then ran off.

We’re legally married, for heaven’s sake!

The thought flashed through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. After selecting her jewelry, Gu Muchu placed the trinkets on the dresser, leaned down close to Ji Yuran, and lowered her forehead. “I don’t have a fever anymore. Feel for yourself.”

Ji Yuran’s cheeks flushed crimson, and her fingers, hidden beneath the blanket, seemed to be nervously twisting together, their faint outline visible through the thin fabric.

Her expression was wary, like a small animal hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce, her grip on the blanket tightening. “Stay away from me.”

Gu Muchu was amused by her reaction. “If I don’t go to work, how will Little Ji live comfortably?”

Ever since the nickname “Yuran” had emerged, Gu Muchu had become endlessly amused by discovering new ways to address Ji Yuran.

As expected, Ji Yuran stiffened her neck, her toes curling as she gripped the bedsheets beneath her. “I don’t need your charity,” she insisted. “I can live happily on my own.”

Gu Muchu paused, then nodded solemnly. She knew Ji Yuran was a proud Omega. “You’re right.”

She had thought of Ji Yuran as a younger sister, but to those with ulterior motives, her words could easily be interpreted as implying financial support or patronage.

Gu Muchu was still adjusting to the ABO dynamics of this world, trying to avoid unintentional verbal improprieties and learning to maintain appropriate boundaries.

For instance, her earlier remark about “taking care of” Ji Yuran had sounded like an offer of patronage. Now, as she reached to unbutton her pajamas, she looked up to meet Ji Yuran’s wide, watchful eyes.

Gu Muchu froze, her hand pausing mid-motion.

“I’m not looking!” Ji Yuran hastily threw back the covers. As the warmth dissipated, she scrambled to the bathroom on all fours, seizing the opportunity to wash up.

Watching the Omega flee in disarray, Gu Muchu finally unbuttoned her collar, only to suddenly chuckle as she reached the last button.

Clumsy fool.

Meanwhile, Ji Yuran stepped into the bathroom, ready to brush her teeth, when she realized her toiletries were still in the master bedroom. To retrieve them, she would have to pass the guest room.

I should have made Gu Muchu change in the closet, she thought, inwardly berating herself.

Two idiots.

Muttering under her breath, Ji Yuran crouched down and opened the cabinet under the sink.

Fortunately, since this was the guest room, disposable toiletries were usually stocked. She grabbed a paper cup, filled it with water, and began brushing her teeth.

Her right cheek bulged with the toothbrush, foam clinging to the corner of her mouth. Gazing at her disheveled reflection in the mirror, Ji Yuran smoothed down a stray strand of hair on her forehead before finally flashing a satisfied smile.

Yet, her mind suddenly conjured up the image of Gu Muchu from moments ago.

The Alpha wore silky pajamas that draped smoothly, the fabric catching the light with each movement, accentuating her superior physique. The pajama pants ended just above her delicate ankles, revealing a sliver of her slender waist. Above that, her figure curved with breathtaking fullness.

Ji Yuran’s face flushed crimson, but thankfully she was hidden in the bathroom, sparing her from Gu Muchu’s teasing.

Her thoughts drifted. She quickly rapped her head, forcing herself to focus, then glanced back at the tightly closed door and let out a long sigh of relief.

Wiping the water droplets from her face with a washcloth, a few stray strands of hair clung to her temples. Ji Yuran stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to shake the image of that alluring figure.

After a mental struggle, she slowly reached up, grasped the collar of her pajamas, tugged it open slightly, and peeked down.

After a careful comparison, Ji Yuran felt ashamed of her thoughts.

Then she stole another glance.

A faint smile flickered at the corner of her lips. Hesitating for a moment, she reached up and touched her own chest. Feeling the softness, Ji Yuran stroked her chin, a smugness creeping into her expression.

Mine are definitely better.

At half past three in the morning, faint lights flickered outside the dimly lit window. Dense, heavy clouds gathered, blending the pale moonlight with the cabin’s interior lights.

Gu Muchu lay in her business class suite, a fresh fruit salad on the small table before her, while an old movie played on the screen.

She checked her phone and found no signal, her thumb unconsciously tracing the device’s edge. She recalled Ji Yuran’s pleading gaze as she left home, like an abandoned puppy.

A smile tugged at Gu Muchu’s lips as she opened their chat window, only to see the glaring “No Connection” message at the top. She sighed again, restless and uneasy.

An hour and a half felt like an eternity. By the time she landed at S City’s airport, Ji Yuran would likely be asleep.

I wonder what she’s doing right now.

Bored, Gu Muchu leaned forward, peering around the partition at Lan Jing in the next suite. The young assistant was engrossed in a game, but when she caught a glimpse of movement, she paused it immediately.

“Sister Gu, is there anything you need me to do?”

Lan Jing’s childlike face seemed at odds with her Beta temperament. Freckles dotted her cheeks, making her look even younger.

Gu Muchu tugged at the blanket covering her knees and beckoned Lan Jing over. The young woman hurried over and bent down to listen.

“Do you know Guo Hao?” Gu Muchu lowered her voice, mindful of the other sleeping passengers. A hint of coldness crept into her tone as she spoke the name.

She had no memory of this person, likely a third-rate actor with connections in the industry.

Hearing the name, Lan Jing paused to think, scratching her head. “Hmm, it sounds familiar, Sister Gu. Should I look him up after we land?”

This exchange reminded Gu Muchu of those over-the-top CEO novels. Lan Jing was still new to the industry and unfamiliar with many things. Instead of scolding her, Gu Muchu cleared her throat and nodded in agreement.

The journey stretched on endlessly. Bored, Gu Muchu reclined her seat and lay down. She would need to settle into the accommodations arranged by the production team later, so she might as well rest now.

Her nap lasted an hour. Even after landing, she felt groggy as she straightened her rumpled clothes and headed to the baggage carousel to retrieve her suitcase. Lan Jing went to contact the airport pickup.

The empty carousel hummed softly as a few scattered suitcases circled around. Gu Muchu sat on a bench, scrolling through her WeChat Moments while waiting.

Her WeChat Moments were mostly filled with posts from socialites and industry professionals she wasn’t particularly close to. Occasionally, she’d see audition notices posted by directors. As for personal updates, she could scroll through them in a single swipe.

Gu Muchu was used to being independent and didn’t enjoy sharing her life with others.

Her fingertip glided across the screen, skimming past most posts. They were either meticulously edited atmospheric photos or stunning travel snapshots.

Then, an unexpected name appeared, and Gu Muchu’s scrolling hand immediately stopped.

Little Lion: Watching the moon alone—so healing! [Image]

Attached was a photo. Gu Muchu initially thought Ji Yuran had sneaked out while she was gone, but the timestamp showed it had been posted just three minutes earlier.

She was about to reply with a safety warning when she realized it was a screenshot from a game.

Rolling, surging clouds cradled the indigo night sky, with a massive full moon hanging above. In the distance, tall towers loomed faintly through the mist.

The screenshot featured a little girl with pigtails adorned with pink bows, wearing a red cloak with glowing hearts trailing behind her.

For some reason, the scene reminded Gu Muchu of the landscapes she’d seen from the airplane window. She stared at the image for a long time before suddenly smiling.

She remembered that Ji Yuran had previously blocked her from seeing her WeChat Moments.