Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Su Jia’s strength wasn’t great—but her body had long been numb to intense sensations. Suddenly placing her hand on Yanrong’s leg caught her by surprise. Song Yanrong froze for a moment before regaining composure.

Before Su Jia could speak, Yanrong leaned back against the headboard, placed her hand over Su Jia’s, and gently massaged it, frowning slightly:
“It’s okay—you just cramped up.”

“Oh…” Su Jia responded softly, but her gaze flickered down Yanrong’s leg, curiosity and doubt hidden behind her lashes.

A creeping suspicion: Is Yanrong’s leg truly paralyzed and without sensation?

They left the Song residence in the early hours—after 3 AM. The city was asleep as their black car sped through deserted streets.

Inside, Yanrong glanced at Zhao Wen’s messages flickering on her phone—words dripping with curses.

“Cut ties with Zhou Yuan for good. She’s gonna be trouble. And her mother’s worse.”

“When will she calm down?”

“If she tries to off herself, I’ll knock some sense into her.”

Yanrong sighed, then typed: “Ten minutes.”

She looked over at Su Jia, who appeared curious. “That Miss Zhou—I’ve seen her with you before.”

Su Jia chuckled. “Your girlfriend?”

Yanrong shrugged. “No.”

According to her remnants of the original body’s memories, there had been no romantic relationship with Zhou Yuan. Instead, their bond had been intense, possessive—beyond what Yanrong could easily define.

“I’m not in love with her,” she said firmly.

Su Jia nodded, unconvinced—but seemed fine with it.

The original body and Zhou Yuan had spent a lot of time together—from bars to entertainment clubs. Su Jia likely had some idea, too.

Unwilling to leave room for misunderstanding, Yanrong added: “Anyway, I couldn’t bring her home.”

Su Jia dropped her voice, almost interrupting: “So you don’t like her?”

“…Mhm.” Yanrong realized she was getting trapped in Su Jia’s soft trap. She smiled thinly: “You’re very curious about my affairs, Miss Su.”

Su Jia looked down shyly. “Sorry if I asked too much.”

Yanrong paused, looking at her seriously. “It’s fine.”

…

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a private hospital. All the main elevators were off-limits. A heat-phase omega’s pheromones—even at level C—can affect both alpha and others present, especially vulnerable patients.

They took a secured staff-only elevator. The floors were clear. In the corridor outside the ward, Yanrong noticed a faint fragrance. She didn’t feel its effect and asked Su Jia quietly.

“No,” Su Jia said.

“If you feel unwell, wait downstairs,” Yanrong suggested.

“Okay.”

Their pheromone levels were high, but exposure was short and manageable. Soon a familiar, annoyed female voice echoed down the hall:

“Song-jie, you better come in. This woman’s driving me crazy.”

At the ward entrance, several doctors and security officers stood by. Seated on a chair was Zhou Yuan, her milk-tea-colored curls framing a bold look: hot pink tube top, shorts, long boots, smoking casually.

Su Jia rolled Yanrong forward toward her. Zhou Yuan offered the cigarette pack, but Yanrong declined—she used to smoke, not anymore.

Zhou Yuan shrugged, exhaled a puff, and glanced at the pair behind. “Guess you two are a couple now.”

Her tone held no teasing—only annoyance.

“Handle her first,” she said, standing up. “She’s impossible right now.”

Though the Song and Zhao families only had occasional business ties, Zhao Wen and the original body had enjoyed a wild friendship.

When Zhou Yuan married, Yanrong gave away shares as a wedding gift. After Zhou Yuan’s wife died, Yanrong didn’t shun her—she took her out, partied, even when the original body went rogue.

Like a devoted older sister.

Zhao Wen always listened to the original body. Now, even in danger, she’d still take her to the hospital herself.

“Take care of her. I’m out,” said Zhou Wen, tossing the pack back without meeting their eyes.

A tall female bodyguard wearing a black T took it.

Yanrong said, “You two wait outside. Ask the driver to go slow.”

Zhao Wen crossed her long legs, gave one last look at Su Jia, then left. Outside a few meters, she stopped, sparked another cigarette, and muttered: “Zhou Yuan’s really messed up now…”

She paused. “She’s pretty though,” she observed, glancing at her tall bodyguard whose height nearly matched hers in heels.

Pan and looked at the woman—impassive.

“Hmm?” Zhao Wen asked, annoyed.

“I didn’t notice,” came the calm reply.

Zhao Wen sneered. The bodyguard, named Lu Ke, had been assigned by her family to record every movement. Cold and unresponsive—nothing got past her.

Zhao Wen, clearly irritated but liberated, sparked up another cigarette. “Smoke it or go back to my dad’s place.”

Lu Ke remained silent, stared at Zhao Wen’s expression. She knew from the start how much Zhao Wen disliked her. If a cigarette was the cost… she could afford to pay.

She took the cigarette, inhaled—with residual lipstick on the filter—and coughed as the smoke burned her throat, her face reddening.

Zhao Wen exhaled sarcastically. “Can’t handle that?”

Lu Ke ground it out with her fingers, then turned and followed—unfazed.

Not far behind, Yanrong pushed through the door. Inside the ward, the air smelled stronger—Zhou Yuan’s pheromones were thick.