Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 25
Chapter 25
“What’s wrong?”
Since morning, their interactions had been almost harmonious.
But after leaving the civil affairs bureau, Su Jia hadn’t spoken much—she stared out the window, lost in thought.
Song Yanrong couldn’t read her. It surprised her that the sweet, honey-like smiles from earlier had vanished, replaced by cold detachment.
Su Jia turned to her, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
Song asked: “Are you feeling unwell?”
Su Jia forced a small smile. “No, not at all.”
Song frowned inwardly. She wasn’t one to press for answers, yet this sudden change unsettled her.
“Alright,” she replied softly.
That uneasy atmosphere lasted until they returned home. Su Jia stepped in first; Song changed shoes at the door and used sanitizer, then entered.
“Oh—and here.”
Su Jia took a small stack of folded A4 papers from her bag and placed them on the coffee table. “I thought about it… and I don’t really need this anymore.”
Song waited quietly for the rest.
Su Jia offered a gentle smile: “After all, Miss Song and I aren’t going to have children together.”
Song paused, then let out a light chuckle tinged with iciness. “True enough. Just toss it.”
…
That evening—the same day Su Jia had teased Song—Su Jia already regretted it. She didn’t know what came over her. Knowing how the situation was, she should have been sweet, followed Song’s lead.
In their contract, Song was “Party A”.
Even if she was just acting, she should be acting for Song’s sake.
But in the following two days, she couldn’t find a moment to smooth things over. Song kept going out every day.
Song had arranged for three meals a day, delivered fresh by staff.
That morning, the breakfast arrived and Su Jia called out from the doorway.
Shortly after, Song came out wearing regular clothes. Su Jia asked, “Heading out again?”
Song nodded. “Mm.”
Su Jia placed the breakfast on the table.
Song wheeled forward. “I’ve sold off some vacant properties and storefronts in the city center. I’m looking at some land near Qishui these days—I need to inspect it personally.”
“Qishui?” Su Jia said. “Isn’t that all old district?”
Even if she bought the land, what real use was it?
Song replied, “Yes, but I need to see it.”
Su Jia glanced at her. Though she didn’t understand, she didn’t doubt Song’s decision to spend money that way.
Quietly, she said: “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me.”
Song smiled. “Why would you think that, Ms. Su?”
But Su Jia’s odd behavior that day made Song more cautious. She realized Su Jia’s moods could influence her emotions.
So these past days, she kept busy, staying focused—
Avoiding the trap of softness and attachment.
Su Jia ladled porridge and handed it over.
“Thank you.”
“It was my fault the other day,” Su Jia said, looking up. “I was in a weird mood, so I spoke harshly.”
Song lifted her steaming bowl. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Truthfully, she disliked that Su Jia didn’t give the real reason. It meant she didn’t want to—so Song shouldn’t push. But since Su Jia brought it up, Song wanted to know.
What had sparked this cold war over the past two days?
Su Jia replied: “I overheard someone in the restroom—a newlywed—saying she couldn’t wait to tell her family and friends about her marriage… and I felt something.”
Her words carried a genuine emotion even if it was faint.
Song’s expression softened. Who wouldn’t feel that way?
The thought gave her a pang of sympathy.
After a moment, she said gently: “I understand.”
She, too, had lost loved ones.
She, too, had no one to share happiness with.
Song sighed, nudged the plate of beef dumplings closer to Su Jia. “Eat.”
Su Jia knew Song had let it go. Whatever discontent she felt that morning was gone.
As for her own suspicions…
She still wanted confirmation. Was Song lying to her?
“So… was that new bar fun?” she asked.
“It was loud,” Song shook her head. “Not fun.”
“Hmm,” Su Jia acknowledged. “What did Ms. Zhao want?”
“It was her late wife’s memorial day. She wasn’t in good spirits.”
A flicker of surprise passed Su Jia’s eyes as she nodded and lowered her gaze.
She stopped pressing—maybe it was true. But what about Zhou Yuan?
“Did you see Zhou Yuan?”
Su Jia looked at Song. Song, unbothered, dismissed the topic: “She just came over to make a scene.”
…
“Then when will you be back? I’m not going out today—do you want me to order something for you?”
“Two or three o’clock, maybe later,” Song answered. “Have the maid prepare lunch. Weren’t you going to contact the agency?”
“Yes—someone said Bojia Media is recruiting soon. She applied for me.”
“Okay.”
A few of these exchanges made them seem like newlywed wives. Song noticed that while Su Jia was trying to reconcile, her emotions were slowly becoming more natural.
Just then, a phone rang at the table.
Song glanced at the screen—they made eye contact.
It was Ying Junmei.
She got straight to the point, asking Song to come downstairs to see her at Nanping Bay.
Not surprised she found this place—inevitable. Song frowned slightly.
“I’ll go.”
“I’ll come with you,” Su Jia offered.
Song shook her head. “You don’t need to—she’ll likely direct all her anger at you.”
Su Jia agreed.
She understood that Song might soon be called out by her grandmother, and she didn’t want to be caught in it.
…
Outside Nanping Bay, a black Mercedes waited.
The chauffeur stepped out respectfully and opened the rear door, helping Song Yanrong into the car.
Ying Junmei wore a relaxed, traditional-style outfit and asked: “How’s your health these days?”
Song replied: “It’s okay.”
But in her heart, she worried—her legs hadn’t improved lately.
“You still ghost off when you’re upset—no word, no trace. But this is your home too.”
“I know you blame me for what happened to Su Jia, but neither grandma nor I knew Zhou Yuan would act so impulsively. I asked Mrs. Zhou—she didn’t know either. Otherwise, the elders wouldn’t have allowed this. Mrs. Zhou has since reprimanded her, saying Zhou Yuan lost control for a moment…”
“What you did to Mrs. Zhou… as someone younger, you shouldn’t have. But Mrs. Zhou came to see me personally for an explanation… I’ve already told her we’re sorted.”
Ying Junmei spoke earnestly for several minutes.
When she didn’t receive a response, she sighed: “Yanrong.”
Song turned to her. “Yes. Understood.”
She had nothing to say, and she didn’t think she could change their minds.
She guessed why Ying Junmei came.
Ying Junmei took her hand—warm, dry, textured—and said tenderly:
“Before your mother passed, she left you 30% of Song Corp. She trusted you—you know she didn’t give that because she wanted you and the family to quarrel like this. Then you got hurt… your grandmother never gave up on you. She loves you more than anyone. You need to know: grandma would never hurt you.”
At that moment, Song felt a tightness in her chest.
These words sounded comforting and nurturing coming from a relative, but they came off as patronizing—suppressive, stifling, even depressing.
The feeling struck her as too familiar—like:
“Your legs are paralyzed, Yanrong. It’s okay, grandma’s still here.”
“Your sister’s going to the dance… don’t be sad, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“If your legs could heal, you’d wear prettier dresses—but it’s okay. You still look nice.”
“It’s okay, you stay home… then people won’t stare at you.”
This kind of message, disguised as care, was actually confinement.
Song Yanrong’s chest suddenly felt tight, as if she couldn’t breathe.
Thinking about how the original character must have felt—every day hearing such words after the car accident—she shivered. The flashbacks triggered a visceral discomfort, a reaction she couldn’t control.
She gently withdrew her hand from Ying Junmei’s, inwardly recoiling at those words. The original had been spoiled, her bad traits nurtured from childhood. She’d never been a good person—audacious, bold, and when she had taken Su Jia away, it had bordered on madness.
But those few sentences that flickered through her mind painted a different image:
A woman stripped of confidence, demeaned, her dignity trampled—reduced from a celebrated heiress to a_disabled_an object of pity…
Song’s heart clenched painfully.
“Yanrong, Yanrong…” Ying Junmei called again.
Snapped back, she took a deep breath and replied about the board meeting: “I’ll consider it.”
In business, revealing your plans early is a cardinal mistake—giving the other side the chance to mount defenses.
Ying Junmei’s comforting tone concealed more—she feared Song’s shareholding power. Those words had been a subtle attack on her confidence, a form of psychological manipulation.
What Ying Junmei wanted was control—letting the original obediently trust her.
Ying Junmei visibly relaxed, relieved her plan seemed to work. She offered a soft sigh:
“I’ve been so worried about you two sisters these days. Just don’t make waves at home. A family should stay together. Oh—and one more thing.”
“Zhou Yuan, despite her recklessness, isn’t a bad person. Granny has always liked her. After things ended with you, Mrs. Zhou brought her to the Song family once. She ran into your elder sister… they got along well these past few days.”
Song froze.
That night, Zhou Yuan had said: “I’m getting married.”
She hadn’t thought much of it—but the bridegroom had turned out to be none other than Song Hanshuang—her older sister. The chaos of it all.
“We agreed on next month. We’ll pick a good date. Your sister and Zhou Yuan both agreed.”
Song was speechless. Have fun, she thought bitterly.
“Then our families will be tied by marriage—no more grudges. And your relationship with Su Jia? No one will interfere. Enjoy yourselves for two years. When you want a proper marriage, we’ll find someone…”
Song smirked, serene and cold: “But I am already married.”
…
After getting out of the car, Song didn’t go anywhere else.
She made a phone call in a low voice:
“Move 10 million out of the fund cash to buy a failing cultural company in the southern city. Check the background—no other investors except me.”
The manager asked, “For what use, Ms. Song?”
“Film and TV.”
After a moment’s thought: “Use a proxy shareholder—no connection to me on paper.”
“Understood.”
Hung up.
Her conversation with Ying Junmei had jolted her awake—Bojia Media had other investors. If someone in the Song family or elsewhere wanted to undermine Su Jia, she might not notice in time.
She needed to secure a fallback plan—for Su Jia’s future.
Glare of midday sun on the asphalt. She paused, asked her aide Xiaok to put away the umbrella. The sun burned her skin—it gave her relief. A physical sting she could handle better than mental suffocation.
She headed inside.
In their home, jasmine blossoms greeted her. Su Jia peeked in from the balcony:
“I ordered two pots of jasmine yesterday—they just arrived. Can you smell them?”
Song paused, then said, “Yes.”
Su Jia smiled gently: “Want to see them?”
Holding tight on the mental echo, Song nodded.
White jasmine bloomed on the balcony, thriving under sunlight.
“Good choice,” she said.
“You like them? I thought you’d like these.”
“Yes.”
The scent was mild, the home’s warmth giving it comfort. It really feels like home, she thought fleetingly.
“The air conditioner isn’t good for them,” Song noted.
“I’ll move them later.”
“I’ll do it.”
“No need—they’re not heavy.”
She said nothing else.
The tightness in her chest remained. Her clothes were soaked with sweat. She couldn’t stay long—uncomfortable in her wheelchair—so she switched to sitting on the sofa.
Su Jia joined, bringing a bottle of new-brand cold beer.
“Not a pleasant chat?” she asked kindly.
Song leaned back, took a sip. The icy beer soothed her core.
“It’s okay,” she said softly.
“I just remembered something unpleasant,” she added.
Su Jia, perceptive, nodded: “Then don’t think about it.”
“Right.”
Su Jia sat beside her, wiped sweat gently from her forehead. Close now, Song could see the soft fuzz on Su Jia’s cheek. She lifted her gaze to Su Jia’s intent, tender expression—the kind seen in the clearest springs of affection.
Song lifted her hand to still Su Jia’s, then the tissue glided to her lips.
Song’s breath quickened.
“You’re soaked,” Su Jia murmured.
“Got some sun,” Song replied.
“Hot?”
“Outside, yes.”
As if chatting casually, Su Jia’s hand moved to undo the top button of Song’s shirt—revealing the swell beneath, the hint of black bra.
Her palm pressed gently to Song’s body.
Song inhaled sharply but didn’t stop her. She watched Su Jia’s seductively skilled motions, her delicate nose, and full, red lips—so tempting.
Even though it hadn’t been her intention to allow this, Song recognized how much she craved Su Jia’s comforting presence. Everything felt inevitable…
Su Jia’s touch remained soft, but tension built in the living room. The light revealed every detail, from the razor-sharp outlines of jasmine to the midst of blooming roses.
Song grasped Su Jia’s hand. She stayed silent, then whispered:
“I accept.”
Su Jia asked: “Accept what?”
“This dizzying feeling.”
Song rose her other hand, guiding the back of Su Jia’s neck. “I want to kiss you… may I?”