The Scumbag Alpha Movie Queen Pampers Her Wife - Chapter 29

When Lan Jing knocked and entered the room, she immediately sensed the lingering tension between the two women. The air felt thick and sweet, like a honey stick coated in syrup.

She coughed loudly, her expression teasing.

The makeup artist behind her caught sight of Ji Yuran and a flicker of admiration crossed her eyes.

The Omega’s beauty defied the industry’s obsession with pale, slender, and youthful looks. Even in stillness, she radiated an irresistible allure that seemed to emanate from within. Her beauty was like a strangler fig, silently drawing attention to itself.

Lan Jing had mentioned this person was Gu Muchu’s assistant. With such striking presence, it was strange she hadn’t noticed her before.

Seeing the newcomers, Gu Muchu released Ji Yuran’s arm, leaving faint red marks on her inner wrist.

The two women quickly distanced themselves.

This subtle avoidance only piqued the makeup artist’s curiosity, but she wisely kept her thoughts to herself. The entertainment industry was notoriously complex and chaotic. For an Alpha as exceptional as Gu Muchu to be without someone by her side in private would be the truly remarkable thing.

“I’ll go out first,” a hoarse female voice broke the silence. Ji Yuran pulled up her loose hood, gathering her soft, wavy hair into two strands that draped over her shoulders.

She brushed past the makeup artist, leaving behind a subtle breeze carrying the secrets of a young girl’s heart.

Gu Muchu’s gaze followed Ji Yuran until she disappeared completely. Only then did she lower her eyes, turn, and look at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artist, holding a navy blue makeup bag, was about to unzip it when her eyes inadvertently landed on the safety pin tucked into the folds of Gu Muchu’s sleeve.

The pin was crooked and askew, its needle holes starkly visible against the smooth, delicate fabric. Though the camera wouldn’t focus on this detail, it felt jarringly out of place with Gu Muchu’s polished appearance.

“Envious?”

Sensing the makeup artist’s lingering gaze, Gu Muchu boldly revealed the pin. Her sleeve swayed with her movements, occasionally exposing the safety pin hidden beneath.

She showed no embarrassment whatsoever.

The makeup artist broke into a cold sweat, inwardly cringing for her. “Miss Gu, would you like me to…?”

The rest of her sentence went unsaid. Gu Muchu, her lashes lowered, noticed the woman’s hesitation and sat up straight in the wooden chair, her gaze shifting to the makeup artist.

“Help me with what?”

The makeup artist, feeling like she had been granted a reprieve, breathed a sigh of relief and cautiously ventured, “Miss Gu, should I remove this paperclip for you?”

Lan Jing cast a subtle glance at her, and the makeup artist felt a sudden chill down her spine, sensing she had said the wrong thing.

Gu Muchu’s rusty mind slowly whirred. She blinked, deliberately flicked her sleeve, and the paperclip jingled softly like a silver charm dangling from her cuff.

“Isn’t it cool?”

She didn’t understand the makeup artist’s remark, finding it somewhat bizarre. In Gu Muchu’s eyes, this chaotic arrangement of paperclips was clearly Ji Yuran’s deliberate choice.

A blatant display of favoritism.

The makeup artist pondered for a moment before offering a well-intentioned suggestion: “I could replace it with something more elegant.”

The assistant behind her seemed to gasp through gritted teeth.

“They’re just paperclips. What kind of fancy tricks can you even do with them?” Gu Muchu’s tone was matter-of-fact, leaving the makeup artist speechless. Fortunately, Lan Jing intervened to smooth things over.

“Hurry up! The Director’s going to start nagging us soon.” She tugged at the makeup artist’s sleeve, winking pointedly.

The makeup artist awkwardly fell silent and finally began applying Gu Muchu’s makeup with meticulous care.

As November approached, the temperature dropped, turning even the curled edges of the leaves brittle and scorched, as if they had endured a scorching summer.

Ji Yuran sat on the vermilion railing of the long corridor, flipping through Gu Muchu’s script.

Noticing her distracted demeanor, Gu Muchu approached. The shadow enveloping the Omega made her eyes shine with particular brightness in the dim light.

After meeting Gu Muchu’s gaze, Ji Yuran’s eyes drifted down to the safety pin at her cuff. Seemingly embarrassed by her clumsy attempt at repair, she lowered her head and began flipping through the pages haphazardly.

Her eyes skimmed over the densely written early pages until she reached the blank final page.

Gu Muchu’s thumb rubbed the page’s edge before flipping it back, her voice carrying a deeper meaning as she said, “Reading this far ahead in the script… can you even keep up?”

Gu Muchu had always made notes in her scripts. Now that she had officially signed the contract, the latter half of the script had naturally been given to her.

The pristine, unmarked page clearly indicated the film’s ending.

Exposed for her attempt to hide her distraction, Ji Yuran pressed her palm against the script’s cover, straightened her spine, and changed the subject. “If you’re filming, why are you here?”

Her head bobbed and swayed, making anyone who didn’t know better think she was the Executive Director of the drama.

The two stood and sat, like figures in a grand historical scroll, standing together on the banks of the long river of history. The sensation of breaking through the dimensional barrier was inexplicably both heart-stopping and surreal.

“I’m here to make sure you focus on your studies,” Gu Muchu said, deliberately changing the subject. “Don’t let your mind wander later.”

With that, she rolled up the script and tapped Ji Yuran lightly on the head.

Today’s scene involved a water-drowning sequence, to be filmed at a remote pond. The surface was covered with drifting cotton-like debris, and the stone walls were slick with moss.

Despite prior warnings about filming in harsh environments, Gu Muchu frowned deeply. She had assumed the crew would make some effort to improve the conditions, but they hadn’t.

The Executive Director, megaphone in hand, waved his other arm and shouted at the clustered actors, “Scene Four, Take Three! Actors, take your positions!”

“Let’s go.” Hearing the call, Gu Muchu handed the script to Ji Yuran and stepped in front of the crew’s camera.

Her scene partner was Liu Xiangyue, a seasoned second-tier actress in the industry. The two nodded in acknowledgment, a perfunctory greeting.

With the set and equipment perfectly positioned, the director signaled. Gu Muchu’s expression turned grave, her usual gentle demeanor gradually transforming into that of a completely unfamiliar soul.

Ji Yuran was so excited she was nervous, clutching the corner of her script and holding her breath. Liu Xiangyue, who was acting opposite Gu Muchu, secretly marveled at her performance, nearly losing her grip on the intense emotions of the scene.

Even the subtlest shifts in Gu Muchu’s facial expressions conveyed entirely different emotions. Liu Xiangyue found herself drawn in, slowly slipping into character as well.

Liu Xiangyue delivered her lines, which she had rehearsed countless times in her mind, with practiced ease. In this scene, she was supposed to fall into the water first, with Gu Muchu following closely behind.

The woman’s robes billowed as she leaned back against the railing, her toes pivoting as she reached for Gu Muchu’s sleeve—only to grasp at air.

A splash echoed through the air as water droplets sprayed upward. Gu Muchu’s lower body plunged into the murky pool, its surface slick with black, viscous grime. Despite her protective gear, she couldn’t help but blink when the acrid water splashed onto her face.

This involuntary reaction ruined the close-up shot.

As expected, the Director yelled “Cut!” He leaned against the corridor railing, half his body jutting out, and bellowed, “Liu Xiangyue! You were supposed to jump straight down! Why were you looking over here? What’s with needing help from the sidelines? Have you even memorized your lines properly?”

Ji Yuran’s gaze fell on the Director.

She had long heard of his notoriously strict standards in the industry, his relentless pursuit of perfection in his work, and his complete disregard for second-tier actors.

The rumors were clearly true.

Gu Muchu stood drenched, her costume clinging to her legs, accentuating her graceful silhouette. A gust of wind sent shivers through her.

Just when she thought the scene was over, the Director barked at her again, “Xiao Gu, control yourself! No blinking! That shot was almost there.”

Gu Muchu, accustomed to such demands, lowered her head apologetically. “My apologies. Let’s try again.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Ji Yuran’s eyes. She glanced around, noticing the crew members’ tight-lipped expressions and solemn faces, yet no one dared to whisper a word.

Lan Jing, sensing her thoughts, patted her left shoulder reassuringly. “That’s just how filming goes. Even award-winning actresses can’t guarantee a perfect take every time. It’s normal.”

However, the Director’s starkly different treatment of Liu Xiangyue and Gu Muchu made it clear he favored the latter.

“The director is such a pain,” Lan Jing muttered, leaning in close to Ji Yuran’s ear and nudging her shoulder playfully. “He only shoots niche art films, clearly aiming for awards. But Sister Gu is truly amazing. If you ever need help, just ask her.”

“Not interested,” Ji Yuran replied coolly, subtly dodging Lan Jing’s touch and continuing to watch Gu Muchu.

“Take the actors to wardrobe and makeup for touch-ups. We’ll do another take,” the Executive Director barked, his instructions crisp and efficient. Crew members scurried around Gu Muchu, forming a protective circle around her.

Gu Muchu took a deep breath, suppressing her inner discomfort, and followed the staff toward the dressing room.

Before leaving, she glanced across the crowd and met Ji Yuran’s gaze.

The Omega’s eyes softened, a flicker of barely perceptible concern mixed with a profound sense of accomplishment. The frustration she’d felt about the scene instantly dissolved.

Yet Gu Muchu still instinctively shielded half her face with her hand, blocking the other woman’s view.

Strands of her hair clung to her face, matted with stubborn duckweed. Gu Muchu knew she must look utterly disheveled.

This scene, a minor highlight of the film, had taken four takes to perfect.

When the Executive Director finally signaled approval, everyone on set breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yu Yue watched Gu Muchu’s retreating figure, rose from her seat, and hurried after her.

After the shoot, Gu Muchu finally had time to freshen up. Palace lanterns hung from the eaves of the ancient, fragrant corridor as she walked toward the dressing room, encountering no one along the way.

A slow, shuffling sound drifted from the stairwell, drawn out and dense, conveying the inner turmoil of the approaching person.

She glanced sideways, catching a fleeting glimpse of a black shadow darting past like a startled rabbit in her peripheral vision.

Gu Muchu pretended not to notice, continuing forward as if unaware, but paused at the corner.

The shadow stretched long and slanted. She reached out, grabbed the person’s wrist, and yanked them around.

Ji Yuran hadn’t expected Gu Muchu to be lurking in the corner, waiting for her. The towel in her hand nearly slipped from her grasp.

“What’s that? Let me see,” Gu Muchu demanded, her tone like a schoolchild interrogating a classmate caught sneaking snacks during recess, as if she were about to demand, “Share half with me!”

“It’s nothing,” Ji Yuran mumbled, tugging at the plain towel. The Alpha’s tone made her feel inexplicably ashamed, and she tried to hide it behind her back.

Gu Muchu took in her reaction. Just as she was about to speak, unhurried footsteps echoed nearby.

Panic surged through her chest, and her body reacted before her mind could process. She pulled Ji Yuran into the narrow space beneath the stairs, hiding them both.

The cramped space forced them into close proximity, highlighting Ji Yuran’s graceful figure, now accentuated by her wet clothes in a sensual, nude-like hue.

Gu Muchu self-consciously touched the tip of her nose.

Their breaths intertwined, rising and falling in unison, until footsteps approached, then receded into the distance.

The water-loosened wild Alpha pheromone quietly released, yet despite being drenched, the passing breeze carried a throat-tightening restlessness.

“Ji Yuran…” Gu Muchu exhaled heavily, her mind suddenly racing. She haphazardly gathered her long hair from her chest and tossed it behind her, trying to suppress the urge to move closer, but her body still leaned forward slightly.

To her surprise, Ji Yuran recoiled in alarm, backing away until her back pressed against the wall, realizing she had nowhere left to retreat.

The smooth towel was unfolded and pressed firmly over the bridge of her nose, leaving only her clear, bright eyes to warily assess Gu Muchu, wary of her approach.

“Gu Muchu, you… stay away from me.”

The Omega furrowed her delicate brows. Unlike her usual awkwardness, her tone was flat and devoid of any pretense.

Gu Muchu belatedly realized she was being rejected by Ji Yuran.

Now it was her turn to feel dejected.