Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 23

Chapter 23

 

At night, they still returned to their own rooms.

 

After everything that happened over the past few days, it had been exhausting. The original body’s constitution was still weak, so Song Yanrong fell asleep early.

 

Her body floated like it was drifting on the ocean surface. When the tide surged, she was suddenly hurled by a massive wave onto an asphalt road…

 

She couldn’t move—her limbs were stiff, unresponsive, as if her body no longer listened to her commands.

 

She finally managed to sit up, only to realize she was sitting right in the middle of the road!

 

Then, a car with its headlights on drove straight toward her…

 

Her body was flung aside, crashing heavily to the ground. Bl00d streamed from her eyes, mouth, and ears.

 

Lying on the ground, she saw the black car come to a stop nearby, and the door opened.

 

Click. Click. Click.

 

The sound of high heels.

 

The headlights were too bright for her to open her eyes, but through the daze, she caught a glimpse of red—

 

Buzz—

 

The phone vibrated violently on the table. Song Yanrong’s body jerked as if in spasm, and she suddenly opened her eyes.

 

What she saw was the unfamiliar yet now-familiar ceiling light. She exhaled a long breath—what just happened wasn’t entirely a dream. The second half had been a real memory from the original body’s past.

 

It felt so real, as if she had relived it. Her back was drenched in cold sweat, her heart racing.

 

That flash of red—was something on the woman who hit her.

 

It seemed like a red scarf… or maybe a red-accented collar on a piece of clothing.

 

The only thing she was certain of: the person who hit her was a woman.

 

Her mind was still in a haze from waking so suddenly. She didn’t check her phone right away. Instead, after spacing out for a moment, she tentatively reached for her leg.

 

When she had startled awake earlier, she’d felt something twitch in her knee.

 

She tried to move. Though it took effort and felt numb, her toes actually responded—ever so slightly.

 

Song Yanrong stared in silence for a long moment.

 

In truth, she had been recovering a little each day.

 

For a pair of crippled legs to recover this much in a short time… she didn’t know if the medical advancements of this ABO world could explain it.

 

But to her, it was a miracle—and a cause for tremendous joy.

 

It meant… she had a very real chance at fully recovering.

 

The vibration stopped. Then it started again.

 

Pulled back from her excitement, Song Yanrong finally came to her senses.

 

She’d never had the habit of silencing her phone, even back when she was swamped with work. She forgot last night too. The caller was Zhao Wen.

 

It was 11 PM—not terribly late.

 

Oddly enough, if Zhao Wen hadn’t called, she might not have remembered the face of the woman who hit her.

 

Song Yanrong answered.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Song-jie, didn’t you say you owed me a round? Come out tonight.”

 

She could hear the wind whipping past Zhao Wen’s phone—probably riding in a speeding car. Song Yanrong pulled the phone slightly away, asking, “Lu Ke isn’t with you?”

 

“She’s driving. Why bring her up?” Zhao Wen said. “She’s so boring. If my dad really wanted someone to keep an eye on me, he should’ve found someone at least interesting. Now every time I go out, it’s like I’m being followed by a funeral procession.”

 

Song Yanrong: “…She’s right there, isn’t she? Keep your voice down. Be nicer to her.”

 

“Song, you sound just like my dad, always nagging,” Zhao Wen muttered. “Are you coming or not? Don’t go back on your word.”

 

Song Yanrong didn’t get it. Being called a “bureaucrat” by Sun Jia was one thing… but now she sounded like a dad?

 

Her eyes, still sore, gradually adjusted. She thought for a moment.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked.

 

…

 

After a quick wash-up, twenty minutes had passed.

 

As she wheeled herself toward the entryway, she passed by Sun Jia’s bedroom. Her mind paused briefly—Sun Jia was probably asleep.

 

Just as she was changing her shoes, she heard a door open behind her.

 

“You’re going out?”

 

Song Yanrong turned around. Sun Jia was standing in the doorway—perhaps she’d forgotten to put on a robe, wearing only a thin spaghetti-strap nightdress. Her figure was striking, every curve apparent. It was hard not to notice.

 

Song Yanrong pursed her lips, eyes lifting naturally, “You’re still up? Zhao Wen called. I’m going to meet her.”

 

“This late?” Sun Jia’s gaze lingered on the tight dress that exposed Song Yanrong’s collarbone. “Where are you going?”

 

“A new bar that just opened, I think,” Song Yanrong replied. Zhao Wen had sent her the location earlier, but she hadn’t checked the name.

 

Sun Jia hummed softly in response.

 

She already knew Song Yanrong and Zhao Wen were very close. She’d heard that one year, Zhao Wen’s birthday gift from Song Yanrong had been shares in the Song Group.

 

A strange sense of discomfort crept into her chest—Song Yanrong would drop everything to go to Zhao Wen at a single call, even at this hour.

 

Song Yanrong waited a moment, then said, “I’m heading out.”

 

Sun Jia nodded, “Mm.”

 

According to her plan, if she wanted to win Song Yanrong’s heart, this would be the perfect moment for a “reluctant fiancée” scene—showing concern, jealousy, maybe asking her to stay.

 

But right now… she didn’t want to.

 

As Song Yanrong closed the door behind her, she briefly considered adding, I won’t be late—but seeing Sun Jia’s indifferent reaction, she let it go.

 

…

 

The car arrived at a bar called CAT, surrounded by towering floral displays, likely congratulatory arrangements. Entry was restricted—VIP wristbands or special passes required.

 

Song Yanrong didn’t have any of that, but Zhao Wen’s people were already waiting and ushered her inside.

 

Seated in a wheelchair, she naturally drew attention. At first, she felt awkward, but she adapted quickly. Her aura—cold, regal, out of place in such a scene—made her stand out.

 

Since access was limited, the place was full of wealthy elites.

 

Many recognized Song Yanrong, but only a few dared approach.

 

Some feared her reputation and temper. Others felt they weren’t from a high enough social standing. A few looked on with disdain—or even… hatred.

 

The outer ring of the VIP booths was loudest, people crowding around one particular table.

 

The club music was deafening, so people had to raise their voices.

 

“I heard the Song family had a huge scandal. The younger one stole her sister-in-law, did you know?”

 

“I heard they liked each other first. The older sister just gave them her blessing in the end.”

 

“You believe that? That’s what they want you to hear. The truth is, this woman—Song Yanrong—used to hang out with the Zhou family heiress. Then on her engagement night, she saw the bride and snatched her on the spot.”

 

“God, these rich families are insane. What happened to the Zhou heiress?”

 

“No clue. But just like Song Yanrong, she’s probably no good either…”

 

Before the last word fell, one of the women suddenly screamed.

 

A full bottle of red wine had been poured over her head.

 

Zhou Yuan stood there, face cold, eyes filled with malice. She tossed the empty bottle aside and slapped the woman across the face.

 

Then she turned to her people. “Throw them out.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She walked a few steps, scanning the crowd—until her eyes locked onto a certain figure.

 

…

 

Song Yanrong was wheeled into the inner VIP booth. Zhao Wen waved from a sofa, glass of wine in hand, one arm draped lazily around a sexy woman’s shoulders, already wobbling from the alcohol.

 

Behind Zhao Wen stood a cold-faced Lu Ke, dressed all in black, hair tied up, expression frosty as always.

 

Seeing this, Song Yanrong sighed inwardly and approached.

 

Zhao Wen teetered over, still moving to the beat of the music. She looked like she might fall, but Lu Ke reacted quickly and steadied her.

 

Zhao Wen didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she’d come to expect it.

 

“What do you want to drink? I opened a few bottles of Latour,” Zhao Wen said.

 

Song Yanrong shook her head. Zhao Wen was clearly on the verge of drunkenness. “How much have you had? That’s enough for today. Let’s go home.”

 

“Home? What’s the point? It’s even more boring there,” Zhao Wen protested. “I only called you because I was bored to death. Now you want me to go home again?”

 

Unsteady, she dragged the wheelchair closer and suddenly clutched her mouth, face turning pale. “Hang on…”

 

Before anyone could respond, she dashed off in her heels into the crowd.

 

Song Yanrong: “…”

 

Lu Ke followed her quickly, and only then did Song Yanrong relax a bit.

 

After Zhao Wen went to the restroom, several people tried to strike up conversation. Song Yanrong answered coolly. This wasn’t her world.

 

Zhao Wen found home boring.

 

She found this place boring.

 

She opened her phone, scrolled through WeChat, and stopped at JIA. Their last message had been from that morning.

 

She hadn’t paid attention to Sun Jia’s profile picture at the time—only noticed a phrase. Now she opened it again:

 

die Freiheit.
(German for “freedom.”)

 

Under the thumping bass and chaotic chatter, Song Yanrong stared at the word for several seconds, then tapped to edit the contact name.

 

As she hesitated over what to call her—

 

A pair of silver high heels stepped into view. She locked her phone and looked up.

 

At the bar (intermission):

 

Zhou Yuan sits next to Song Yanrong on the sofa, smoking. Leaning in close beneath her plunging neckline, she whispers, “Do you realize you’ve made me a joke?”

 

To outsiders, it looks like the two have rekindled their intimacy.

 

Song Yanrong looks away, not wanting to talk—unless it’s to slap her twice over what she did to Su Jia.

 

Zhou Yuan, used to Song’s aloofness, barely conceals her resentment. She fixes her on Song’s profile and says slowly, “Song Yanrong, I’m getting married.”

 

“Is that so? Congratulations,” Song replies indifferently.

 

Zhou Yuan grits her teeth, “Congratulations is your entire response?” She sneers coldly, “You’re so polite to me, your old friend. I expected you’d want revenge for your little lover today.”

 

She inhales deeply from her cigarette, seated close as in the past, but with hope fading—she realizes they can never go back.

 

Provoking Song, she taunts, “Why are you staring at me like that? Want to hit me?”

 

“Why don’t you hit me?” she snaps. “After what you did to my mother—what else could you do—”

 

But Song doesn’t wait for her to finish. She delivers a fierce slap.

 

The bar goes silent. Zhou’s words die in mid-air. She stares at Song in disbelief and fury: “Song Yanrong!”

 

Few noticed—actions too swift.

 

Coldly, Song says: “You think I didn’t want to?”

 

Zhou, stunned, grabs a wine glass to smash it—only to be detained by companions. If a fight broke out, it’d be a huge scandal.

 

Zhao Wen returns from the restroom. Someone pulls Zhou away. “Enough, Yuan, we’re all acquaintances—calm down. Song’s drunk. Let’s go.”

 

Zhou lowers the glass as her reflexive anger fades. She’s shocked and hurt. She can’t believe Song hit her—even after her betrayal of Song’s mother, she never believed Song would hit her. That slap sounded like a bell tolling—deafening.

 

The DJ pumps up the tempo, shaking the bottles. Zhou is hauled out. Song looks away. That slap was deserved.

 

“Was that Zhou Yuan?” Zhao Wen slurs, pointing. “That b*tch again? Drag her over—I’d slap her to death.”

 

“Go home,” Song says.

 

“What did you say?” Zhao Wen is already drunk; eyes half-closed.

 

Lu Ke steadies her. Song points at the door; they escort Zhao out.

 

Once they’re outside, Zhao grabs Song’s hand. “Song-jie, stay with me… I’m lonely at that huge house!”

 

Song holds back a laugh: “Are you hearing what you’re saying?”

 

“You have another woman now. You abandoned your BFF,” slurs Zhao.

 

“Come back with me and I’ll introduce you to more women,” Song teases.

 

Lu Ke cross-checks. Song asks, “Why are you drinking so much? Before coming here?”

 

Lu Ke: “Yes.”

 

“This night—is this a special day?” Song says.

 

“Today’s commemorative day for Miss Tan,” Lu Ke says quietly.

 

Song pauses. Miss Tan—Zhao Wen’s late wife who passed months ago.

 

In the car, Song thinks, then messages Su Jia: “I won’t be home tonight.”

 

…

 

Early morning. By the balcony, the heat and cicadas keep the apartment uneasy.

 

Su Jia finishes her last sip of wine, placing the bottle on the table.

 

Song hasn’t been gone long, but her presence unsettles Su, like something lodged tightly in her chest.

 

She turns on a movie, “Tŭmí Huā” (Camellia without petals), a bittersweet lesbian drama where two women break up after a passionate affair—like spring ending as those flowers blossom.

 

Soft moans and merging white silhouettes fill Su’s vision—the entwined camellias tasting each other…

 

She empties the bottle, curling onto the sofa, fingers tracing the leather. She checks her phone—it’s past one. She sees Song’s message about staying out.

 

Su suddenly craves alpha’s scent—she’s a bit dizzy from the alcohol. She touches her flushed cheeks, but forgets what she replied, tossing the phone aside.

 

Moments later, she rises and heads to Song’s bedroom, drawn by that lingering alpha scent—as if she’s addicted, despite not being marked yet. She assumes Song won’t return tonight.

 

She’s not entirely sober. Battling drowsiness and desire, she strips off her nightgown and climbs into Song’s bed.

 

…

 

Thirty minutes later, the security door buzzes.

 

Song returns, sees the living room light still on. She hadn’t intended to come back—but Su replied “headache.”

 

Song sent more messages, called—no answer. Worry drives her to get off halfway home and check on her.

 

At Su’s door: unlocked. No one’s there. She calls out, peers into rooms—nothing.

 

Finally, she turns to the master bedroom.

 

The wheelchair rolls forward. Door slightly ajar. The TV’s glow reveals a sleeping figure tangled under covers, smooth legs exposed. The air carries alcohol and lingering sweetness…