Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

The shower water pattered in the bathroom like rain.

 

Song Yanrong’s wheelchair sat beside a single-seat sofa. She pulled her damp hair into a knot, glanced at her disheveled top and the smudged trousers, and swallowed hard.

 

Ignoring the lingering heat in her body, she picked up her blinking phone and checked unread WeChat messages:

 

Song Hanshuang: “Song Yanrong, are you crazy? Do you even know what you did? You had the audacity to strike Mrs. Zhou—we have a cooperation deal with the Zhou family, do you realize that?!”

 

Ying Junmei: “Come back right now! You owe me an explanation. Even if you don’t like Zhou Yuan, you shouldn’t ruin relations with the Zhou family!”

 

Ying Junmei: “What you did wasn’t just wrong, it was insane!”

 

Zhou Yuan: “Song Yanrong, you’ll regret your choice today.”

 

Her face stayed calm as she scrolled—yet inwardly, she thought, “Where do they get off?”
Whispers in their circle had made this a mess—but suddenly, Zhao Wen’s message felt refreshing:

 

Zhao Wen: “Xiao‑Song, what did you do to that Zhou woman today? My dad nearly went ballistic.”

 

She smiled wryly and replied:

 

Song Yanrong: “Thanks for helping today, Zhao‑jie.”

 

She’d used Zhao Wen’s social savvy to arrange a meeting with Mrs. Zhou, knowing the phone call would help.

 

Zhao Wen: “I only helped because I didn’t go to the bar for three months—I need compensation.”

 

Song Yanrong: “Wherever you pick.”

 

Zhao Wen: “But you’re not really in love with that Omega, right?”

 

The question made Song Yanrong pause. She typed her reply just as the water shut off in the bathroom. Her fingers trembled—not from the water, but the lingering sweat on her palms.

 

Su Jia emerged—cheeks flushed, chestnut waves wrapped in a towel. She sat on the edge of the bed, several steps away.

 

Song Yanrong tapped away—then paused and burst out laughing. Surprised, Su Jia asked, “Why are you laughing?”

 

Song Yanrong grinned: “You sound like you think I’ll just walk away.”
Su Jia tilted her head: “Should I?”

 

She was blunt, the same frankness as when she’d confessed she wanted her. That same forceful energy.

 

This wasn’t the naively sweet impression Song Yanrong originally had. Su Jia’s rawness seemed more alive, like she’d seen in the yard two days ago.

 

Feeling both protective and grateful, Song Yanrong handed her the white dress left in the bag: “Not running.”

 

The wheelchair rolled toward the bathroom again.

 

…

 

They showered, then had a simple dinner of congee by the window. Their phones lit up with notifications, but eventually Song Yanrong turned hers off. They later lay side by side on the bed; their bodies didn’t touch, but the closeness filled the space.

 

Before sleep, Song Yanrong asked, “Did you avoid getting your hand wet?”
Su Jia blinked slowly and replied, “No.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It did.”
“I squeezed a bit when I held you, afraid you’d topple.”
Song Yanrong: “Did it bleed?”
Su Jia: “No.”

 

As Su Jia moved, the scent of rose-hued liquor drifted, blending with the humid warmth. Su Jia asked quietly: “You’ve offended both the matriarch and the Zhou family this time.”

 

Song Yanrong smirked: “If you’re not in someone’s world, sooner or later you’ll fall out.”

 

Su Jia added softly:
“Everyone knows we’re together—yet they still can’t accept it. They expect us not to last, right?”

 

Song Yanrong nodded.

 

Su Jia continued:
“They believe that even if I got hurt, you’d move on quickly. That my fate doesn’t matter to anyone. Right?”

 

Her eyes caught Song Yanrong’s in the dim light.
Song Yanrong confirmed: “Right.”

 

In that silence, Su Jia spoke again, voice soft but firm, almost like a spell:
“Song Yanrong, shall we become genuine partners?”

 

Song Yanrong echoed her doubt: “Hm?”

 

Su Jia:
“Do you want to marry me?”

 

Silence followed.

 

Finally Song Yanrong answered calmly:
“Su Jia, if you’re suggesting marriage just to solve these problems, you don’t have to stake your future on it. It’s not worth it.”

 

Su Jia replied, “You once said that only when something becomes real can they truly accept it. You taught me that paper agreements can be more binding than words. Isn’t that right?”

 

Song Yanrong fell silent—realizing this was Su Jia’s first true test of that idea.

 

Su Jia continued:
“But marriage isn’t just a contract name. You’ve been easygoing before, but I didn’t expect you to care so much now. Isn’t marriage just a fixed relationship on paper? We can dissolve it later, just like a deal.”

 

She thought Song Yanrong viewed marriage like her—no emotional tie necessary. But perhaps Song Yanrong feared being trapped.

 

Su Jia spoke calmly:
“Marriage doesn’t require feelings. I didn’t follow you because I loved you. We both want different things.”

 

She paused, knowing this question would burden Song Yanrong:
“Marriage would bind us completely—only then could I feel secure. I need to claim you, even temporarily. Not love—it’s practical.”

 

Song Yanrong replayed those words silently three times. Then, composed yet complex, she asked: “What does that look like?”

 

Su Jia thought briefly:
“Like an agreement—no romantic obligation, mutual help, partners in crime.”

 

Song Yanrong paused—and then laughed softly:
“So, what we did earlier… did it feel like two partners in crime?”

 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

 

A short flashback:

 

The bathroom was humid and cramped. The moment Song Yanrong entered, it felt full.

 

Leaning on her shoulder, Su Jia whispered:
“It’s okay. I’ll do it.”

 

Song Yanrong sighed—but in surrender, held Su Jia tightly, sliding a hand under a sweat-damp shirt. She pinched her side, restrained but intent. The shirt tore further, muscles tensed, sensations overwhelming, like an unruly spring orchard. The cicadas outside rattled, the wind battered the branches—but neither wind nor sound mattered in that moment.

 

Back in the present:

 

Late night, the street was still, cicadas silent. Su Jia lay trembling in Song Yanrong’s arms. She rested her forehead against Song’s neck, brushing the crisp trousers between them. Her hand found the button.

 

Song Yanrong gripped it, then held Su Jia tighter as sweat ran down their skin.

 

“You’re tired,” she whispered softly—not refusal, but reminder. Su Jia still had wounds. More could risk another hospital visit. And this place… it wasn’t easy.

 

Emotionally and physically, the intimacy had stirred something precious in her. When Su Jia sang softly in the shower, her heart had raced again.

 

Su Jia’s words—no need for feelings—replayed in her mind.

 

Looking into Su Jia’s eyes, Song Yanrong waited for an answer: Was what happened in the bathroom something “partners in crime” would do?

 

Su Jia glanced at her, shrinking closer, her breath fragrant as orchids:
“I don’t know… maybe we’ll try again next time.”

 

Song Yanrong raised an eyebrow.

 

Su Jia continued quietly, but her voice carried weight:
“Our situations won’t change—just our label. And we’ll have a contract.”

 

Though light-voiced, the words bore a weight in Song Yanrong’s chest.

 

Song Yanrong, thoughtfully silent, let the moment linger.

 

Su Jia inhaled and added:

 

“This arrangement benefits me most, but… I’m scared this time. If you’re uncomfortable, you can add conditions.”

 

A hush fell—her proposal felt as formal as a boardroom handshake. Though not long ago, this was the woman who nestled in her arms intimately.

 

Song Yanrong sensed that Su Jia saw the bathroom intimacy as practical; just physical desire—not love.

 

Song Yanrong let out a silent smile.

 

The air conditioning wasn’t working that well. After the shower, there was still a slight sheen of sweat on her body, but it had dried by now, and the surrounding temperature had cooled.

 

Her heartbeat slowed.

 

She began to calm down and started thinking about the situation seriously—from a partner’s perspective, not as a woman thinking about another woman.

 

Marrying Su Jia wasn’t without its benefits. The Song family would stop trying to arrange political marriages for her; she could focus entirely on her own career. And those who used to bully Su Jia would be more cautious, hesitant to touch her because of Song Yanrong’s presence.

 

This way, at the very least, she and the female lead would no longer be enemies. She could fully rewrite the original ending of the novel.

 

Once things were settled—they’d go their separate ways. She’d walk her solitary bridge, and the heroine would walk her sunlit road.

 

In fact, there was even a high chance Su Jia’s presence would benefit her legs.

 

Breaking it all down, she had nothing to lose.

 

As far as cooperation went, it was a win-win.

 

“Sorry, I was too selfish. I was scared and just started talking nonsense. If you think it’s ridiculous, it’s okay to say no,” Su Jia said, her voice tinged with sadness as she looked up at the ceiling. “When that dog lunged at me today, I really thought I was going to die…”

 

It was the truth.

 

From the bottom of her heart—and also tailored to soften Song Yanrong’s heart.

 

Would the little bit of “special” she held in Song Yanrong’s eyes be enough for her to agree?

 

Song Yanrong replied, “I understand.”

 

Su Jia’s eyes flickered. After a few seconds of silence, she heard Song Yanrong’s calm voice:

 

“If you think it’s appropriate…”

 

Song Yanrong looked at the curtain, tinted orange-yellow by the streetlight.

 

She continued, “I agree.”

 

“This really will avoid a lot of trouble.”

 

Su Jia turned her body toward her. “You agree?”

 

In the dim light, Song Yanrong answered, “Mm. But we’ll need to further discuss the terms of the agreement.”

 

It had gone much more smoothly than she had planned. This kind of smoothness reminded her of the first time she asked Song Yanrong to take her away. Aside from that one thing, it seemed Song Yanrong had never really refused her.

 

Yet, on the other hand, she wished Song Yanrong had been a little harder to win over. That way, her own scheming and manipulation wouldn’t feel so heavy. That’s what Su Jia thought.

 

“It’s getting late,” Song Yanrong said. “We can discuss this another time. You should rest.”

 

Su Jia paused, then said thoughtfully, “Okay.”

 

Song Yanrong’s tone remained as gentle as ever, refined and composed, but something about it felt off—as if it had become more distant than a few hours earlier.

 

Su Jia could sense it, though she wasn’t entirely sure where that faint unease came from.

 

Originally, she had planned to keep pretending, to keep coaxing Song Yanrong by staying close, letting things develop slowly and naturally. But Song Yanrong wasn’t how she imagined, and things had unfolded in an entirely unexpected direction.

 

So, with only partial confidence, she opted for a faster solution.

 

And she had succeeded.

 

A contract marriage—Song Yanrong had agreed.

 

Su Jia looked at Song Yanrong’s elegant profile, her delicate nose bridge and phoenix eyes exuding a cold nobility.

 

Song Yanrong didn’t say another word.

 

Su Jia curled her fingertips, drawing light, ticklish patterns on the white bed sheets.

 

But still, Song Yanrong remained silent—as if she were asleep.

 

Su Jia asked, “Are you asleep?”

 

After a two-second pause, Song Yanrong opened her eyes. “Not yet. What is it?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

After a while, Su Jia lay back down. Surrounded by her scent, she held herself back from moving closer—she couldn’t let Song Yanrong see through her motives.

 

But for some reason, she still felt uneasy.

 

Her arm started to ache faintly.

 

Then Song Yanrong’s voice came, “I promised you, until you no longer need me, I’ll help you.”

 

Su Jia’s heart slowly eased. She seemed like she wanted to say more, but the fatigue in her body overwhelmed her thoughts…

 

Not long after—

 

Listening to the soft, even breathing next to her, Song Yanrong turned her head slightly and, through the dim light, saw Su Jia’s sleeping form leaning toward her.

 

Su Jia really had been exhausted today.

 

Song Yanrong looked at her for a while, not knowing what she was thinking.

 

Her middle and index fingers brushed lightly across the white dress, as if lingering heat and moisture still clung there.

 

She wasn’t feeling great herself. Her body, unable to release its built-up tension, felt like a dam forced shut halfway—overflowing pressure building up behind it.

 

She gently caressed the small sandalwood bracelet on her wrist, trying to bear the discomfort and restlessness—fighting the sensation of drowning…

 

…

 

It was her biological clock.

 

Song Yanrong awoke to a heavy sensation at her waist. She didn’t need to look closely to realize there was a woman pressed up against her, her body warm and fragrant.

 

Half of Su Jia’s body was draped over her, one leg curled over her own.

 

As her consciousness cleared, Song Yanrong suddenly tensed—there was a peculiar sensation on her leg—

 

Su Jia’s leg was resting on hers.

 

Fuzzy and slightly prickly, it made her skin itch.

 

But under the warmth, she could feel softness.

 

Given Su Jia’s position, she could guess exactly what part of her was touching her, and Song Yanrong’s whole body felt like it had been steamed by a heater. Her face and ears burned.

 

She licked her dry lips. Just as she was about to move her arm, Su Jia’s leg shifted slightly.

 

Song Yanrong: “…”

 

Given the current situation, it was best to give each other a little space.

 

She quietly slowed her breathing and closed her eyes.

 

Su Jia hadn’t fully recovered yet. Her body was heavy, her head foggy. Opening her eyes, she was met with the sight of Song Yanrong’s clean jawline—and froze.

 

When had she latched on like this?

 

She vaguely remembered a dream—of repeating what happened in the bathroom with Song Yanrong… Then suddenly, Song Yanrong’s expression changed, and she turned to leave. She got mad.

 

Then… she locked her up.

 

Used something to tie her hands. Then… the rest was a blur.

 

Su Jia narrowed her tired, sore eyes and looked up. Song Yanrong still seemed asleep. Her body temperature was usually lower, but maybe from being held so close, her face and neck now glowed with warmth.

 

Their skin tones were both pale, but Song Yanrong’s was even more so—as if untouched by the sun.

 

Now though, under the heat, her skin flushed like pink roses. Especially her lips—slightly chapped but full, giving her a fragile, broken beauty.

 

So different from her usual cold, aloof demeanor.

 

It stirred a desire to conquer.

 

After staring for a few seconds, Su Jia reluctantly moved her leg. Pressing against Song Yanrong had felt far too comfortable—the touch, the scent—she didn’t want to let go.

 

Sitting up, she saw that both of them were still wearing the similar white dresses they had casually grabbed from the street shops yesterday, along with lacy underwear.

 

She must’ve been restless even in sleep—the hems of their skirts had ridden high.

 

There were red marks on Song Yanrong’s pale thighs—one even bore the lace imprint of her underwear.

 

Su Jia reached out and touched the mark.

 

She thought, “Since Song Yanrong’s legs don’t have feeling, she won’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Song Yanrong: “…”

 

These days, her legs had become more sensitive than before—especially now, with Su Jia using her hand. The sensation was indescribable.

 

But what was this supposed to be? Was she being taken advantage of?

 

Thankfully, Su Jia didn’t linger on her legs for too long. A few minutes later, Song Yanrong pretended to wake up.

 

Su Jia was opening a bottle of mineral water. Turning around, she saw Song Yanrong propped up on her arms—those arms, usually fair and delicate, revealed lean muscle and defined veins when under strain.

 

They were strong.

 

That strength was part of what made her attractive as an alpha.

 

Yes, Song Yanrong’s hands were incredibly strong—Su Jia had experienced that firsthand last night.

 

But those legs—numb, without sensation—were supposedly her weakness. And yet, last night in her dream, it had hit all of Su Jia’s kinks.

 

A cold, delicate face. A calm, distant air. Strong arms. Legs that could be played with.

 

Su Jia looked at her and took a slow sip of water.

 

Before her awakening, she never had these thoughts. But now, she seemed to be constantly discovering new possibilities in her mind and body.

 

She asked, “Did you sleep well?”

 

Song Yanrong leaned against the bedhead, rubbed her arms, and replied, “So-so. Felt like I was having sleep paralysis.”

 

Cough—

 

Su Jia nearly choked on her water, then cleared her throat. “Really? I slept pretty well.”

 

Song Yanrong made a soft “hmm,” naturally choosing not to call her out. “How’s your hand?”

 

Su Jia raised it for her to see. “Still okay.”

 

Song Yanrong nodded and met her gaze for a few seconds before saying, “Let’s head back.”

 

…

 

They had a simple breakfast, then drove back to the city.

 

When they neared Nanping Bay, where Song Yanrong lived, she finally turned her phone back on. Before the missed calls and texts could flood in, she immediately switched to sleep mode to block all distractions.

 

Then she found a contact in her phone labeled “Adela” and called.

 

Staring out the window, Song Yanrong squinted against the harsh sun. The light reflecting off the pavement was painfully bright.

 

So she narrowed her phoenix eyes, making her gaze look even more cutting. With no smile on her face, the atmosphere in the car became stifling.

 

Su Jia glanced over, but couldn’t quite hear the other person on the call—she only knew it was a woman’s voice.

 

She was briefly distracted.

 

Then she heard Song Yanrong say, “I need the company’s financial reports from the past two years, and the project summaries from the last six months.”

 

“I’m a shareholder with 30% stake. Who gave you the right to question me?”

 

“If it’s too difficult for you, I can easily find someone who isn’t.”

 

The other side said something.

 

Song Yanrong responded, “Once you send the documents, go tell Song Hanshuang exactly what you gave me. And let her know—I’ll be attending the shareholders’ meeting next month as a major stakeholder.”

 

She ended the call.

 

Putting the phone down, Su Jia asked, “Are you planning to… enter the company?”

 

She wasn’t entirely sure. From what she could tell so far, Song Yanrong was smart, decisive—even strong-willed at times.

 

But she hadn’t heard of her having any business training.

 

“To silence public opinion is one thing,” Song Yanrong said, turning slightly, “But it’s also important to become someone they can’t shake.”

 

“And it’s a way to use Song Hanshuang’s mouth to remind the old lady what I still have in my hands.”

 

At the very least, it would buy her some peace for now.

 

Su Jia was moved by her words. From the outside, she’d thought their relationship seemed close—but now, it seemed Song Yanrong had no fondness at all for Ying Junmei.

 

She asked softly, “Have you always had a bad relationship with your grandmother?”

 

Without much thought, Song Yanrong gave a soft laugh. “Anyone who schemes against me—I don’t get along with.”

 

After a while, Su Jia didn’t respond. Song Yanrong tilted her head and saw her staring out the window, lost in thought.

 

Thirty minutes later…

 

They all arrived quietly at Nanping Bay. At nearly the same time, back at Jingyuan, things were heating up.

 

“Grandma, has Song Yanrong called you? What does she want?!”
Ying Junmei was seated, her expression troubled. Song Hanshuang had called earlier to report that Yanrong was demanding financial reports and threatening to sit in on the next shareholders’ meeting.
“She’s just throwing a tantrum,” Ying Junmei muttered.

 

“That’s not a tantrum!” Song Hanshuang snapped. “She’s trying to destroy Song Corp! She wants to get involved—that will mess everything up!”

 

“Enough!” Ying Junmei frowned. “Either be sensible or face family discipline!”

 

Song Hanshuang fell silent.

 

“Don’t provoke her for now,” Ying Junmei continued. “Just find her. And… Su Jia is influencing her—my granddaughter won’t listen to me anymore since Su Jia appeared.”

 

Song Hanshuang was internally seething—she wasn’t Yanrong’s sister!

 

At that moment, Madam Zhou called. Ying Junmei reluctantly answered.
“I’ve waited all night—has your granddaughter contacted me yet?” came the grim tone.
Ying Junmei replied calmly: “Madam Zhou, I’m helping out of respect for both families and future cooperation. But if you think the Song family owes you—think again.”

 

Madam Zhou ground out through the phone: “Do you know what Yanrong did to me and Yuan?”

 

“I know perfectly,” Ying Junmei sneered, “but what about you? You never informed me!”

 

Pausing to sip tea, she continued: “If I’d known your daughter would attempt something, I’d never have helped.”

 

Her tone dripped with restrained malice: “Not as stupid as her daughter, mind you.”

 

“Madam Zhou!” Ying Junmei’s voice hardened.

 

Madam Zhou shouted, “I respect our long cooperation, but your grandmother must know—because of your granddaughter, my daughter’s become the laughingstock of Nan City!”

 

Ying Junmei said gently, “I understand your maternal concerns.”

 

She reached for a fresh cup as Song Hanshuang refilled for her.

 

Continuing, she said: “I’ll make sure to rein in Yanrong. As for Su Jia—she’ll lose interest soon. Then we can handle it.”

 

“But…” started Madam Zhou.

 

“I’ll send Yanrong abroad for some hardship,” Ying Junmei revealed. “Perhaps… the two of us should discuss an alliance between families?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Your daughter and my granddaughter could be arranged—my granddaughter is still unmarried.”

 

At this, Song Hanshuang sprang up, stuttering: “Grandma!”

 

Ying Junmei held up a hand and addressed Madam Zhou: “One is Song Corp’s heiress, the other is Zhou’s daughter. A mutual match, wouldn’t you agree? Of course, Yuan’s opinion matters too.”

 

They ended the call.

 

Song Hanshuang, stunned, murmured: “Marry… Yuan?”

 

Overwhelmed, she muttered about Yuan’s reputation and resentment that it was now her turn to be cast aside.

 

Ying Junmei remained stoic:
“You think I want this? Think about last year’s losses—the 30% stake Yanrong holds. Her relations with the family have deteriorated. If she rebels, holding shares lightly, it’ll hurt Song Corp. But first—find Yanrong.”

 

Song Hanshuang clenched her teeth. Ying Junmei patted her shoulder:
“This is just a temporary measure. Once she’s sent abroad and calmed, we’ll make better plans.”
She raised a warning glance—Madam Zhou and Yuan might not agree.
“They will,” she insisted.

 

Stepping out, Song Hanshuang lit a cigarette in the shadows. She inhaled and murmured coldly:
“So this is how it feels… when an aunt wants her niece to be married.”

 

Now, it was her turn.

 

…

 

The next morning, the intense August heat in South City pressed down.

 

Song Yanrong spent an hour in the living room reviewing company data—absorbing documents at lightning speed.

 

Su Jia sat nearby, scrolling Weibo, glancing often at Song Yanrong engrossed in work.

 

Eventually she asked casually about what Yanrong was reviewing.

 

Yanrong explained:
“They’ve been losing for three years, but that doesn’t mean they’re worthless. Investment should look at future potential and valuation multiples—not just current profit or losses.”

 

Su Jia, not well-versed in numbers, listened in awe every time Yanrong dropped a business insight.

 

Convinced now that Yanrong really was serious about entering the company.

 

Su Jia reclined and smiled softly: “You’re amazing, Miss Song.”

 

Yanrong looked over, gently warned: “Be careful—don’t reopen that wound.”

 

“Okay,” Su Jia said.

 

Yanrong felt warmth at her ankle, sunlight filtering through the window. Her leg’s sensation had clearly improved since yesterday—so much so that even ambient warmth was noticeable.

 

She thought: Things will take time; consistency matters. And Su Jia’s touch helps.

 

Moments later, Yanrong looked up and said: “What is it?”

 

Su Jia said gently: “Did you forget something?”

 

Yanrong suddenly realized: “Oh—marriage.”

 

She closed the tablet, wheeled herself toward Su Jia:
“Let’s get ready. For our appointment—do we need the registry office?”

 

Su Jia: “Yes, but we’re not going there.”

 

“Then where?”

 

“To the special premarital screening center.”

 

Yanrong: “…”

 

…

 

In the ABO world, law requires couples to take a pre-marriage health check—including testing pheromone functionality, fertility, etc.—before they can marry.

 

Su Jia explained softly:
“This tests alpha pheromone vitality. Stronger pheromone molecules mean stronger fertility.”

 

Yanrong blinked.

 

Three hours later they arrived at a hospital.

 

The nurse handed Yanrong a pill labeled temporary receptive agent, saying:
“It triggers a receptive window in about 10 minutes. You’ll use the provided automatic collection tube to collect a ‘dew sample’ during the brief receptive period, and then let us know when you’re done.”

 

Yanrong was stunned: “…dew sample?”

 

The nurse began to explain, but Su Jia whispered into Yanrong’s ear.

 

Yanrong’s face flushed—earlobes burning red.

 

“You can ask your girlfriend to help if needed.”

 

Yanrong’s expression tightened, but Su Jia chuckled.

 

The nurse whispered: “Room is just around the corner. ‘Room 3: Pheromone Collection.’”

 

Su Jia smiled: “I’ll wait for you, Miss Song.”

 

Up to that point, Yanrong hadn’t fully realized what she’d signed up for—until she entered the “Pheromone Collection Room 3.”

 

Inside were romantic paintings, screens showing extreme sports, omega-pheromone lotions for sale, and a bedroom-style “self-service kit.”

 

Yanrong sat in her wheelchair, heart pounding—who was she, where was she, and what was she about to do next?