Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 31

Chapter 31

 

Song Lu’s eyes changed instantly. Her spine stiffened. Stunned for a moment, she then rose and stepped toward Song Yanrong.

 

Song Yanrong shrugged and quirked an eyebrow. “I did warn you.”

 

Song Lu was astonished. “…That’s impossible.”

 

She had personally seen Song Yanrong’s test results—and with current medical science, full recovery of her legs was impossible.

 

Song Yanrong remained calm. “I know it’s hard to understand. That’s why I came to you.”

 

Her decision to come to Song Lu was straightforward. Song Lu was reliable—morally upright and discreet. Telling her first meant the secret wouldn’t leak, and she might explain the phenomenon. If her recovery was genuine, it would be a medical wonder.

 

Song Lu knelt in front of her, examining her legs, forgetting past conflicts—just a doctor facing a miraculous case. After a basic evaluation, she ordered a battery of specialized tests, including imaging. When the results came in, she consulted a specialist colleague.

 

Song Lu fell silent again.

 

Other than some residual nerve insensitivity, there was no structural issue—the bones and connective tissues had nearly restored. It was the sort of recovery that any medical student would call miraculous.

 

Song Yanrong waited quietly for Song Lu to complete her review. She already had a hypothesis ready. When Song Lu seemed about to speak, she ventured, “When did your legs begin to recover?”

 

Song Yanrong pursed her lips. “A little over a month ago… and you may not believe it, but it began after I met Su Jia.”

 

Song Lu didn’t show surprise, but grew deep in thought. After a pause, she asked, “When your pheromones mixed, did you notice any clearer effect?”

 

Song Yanrong’s lips curved briefly. She knew she had come to the right person.

 

Indeed, after every intimate encounter with Su Jia, her condition improved. Particularly after their pheromones combined, recovery accelerated. She’d come to Song Lu because she was an expert in Omega-Alpha interactions.

 

Song Lu realized: Su Jia’s “pheromone dependency disorder” is a rare condition—fewer than twenty global cases. But the effect on Song Yanrong was equally rare. Their molecules were literally healing each other: Su Jia’s pheromones aiding Song Yanrong’s regeneration, and Song Yanrong’s presence enabling Su Jia to combat her dependency.

 

It was as if they’d been physiologically designed for each other.

 

But…

 

One of them didn’t see it as a lifelong bond. Song Lu finally spoke:

 

“Modern medicine cannot explain this. But I agree: you two share an extraordinary attraction. From a pheromone perspective, it may reflect a rare Alpha–Omega natural harmony. Su Jia’s Omega pheromones are helping your legs recover…” She paused, adding, “Perhaps more, but I can’t yet interpret it scientifically.”

 

Because Su Jia is a stage‑2S Omega granted privacy protection, Song Lu couldn’t share details, even with Song Yanrong.

 

Once Song Lu confirmed her alignment, Song Yanrong felt like a weight lifted and smiled. “Great.”

 

Song Lu raised a concern: “Don’t you see this is also a vulnerability? Su Jia could hold your condition over you.”

 

Song Yanrong shrugged. “Even if it’s a vulnerability, she wouldn’t hurt me. So why worry?”

 

Song Lu hesitated—but was struck not by the answer but by the light in Song Yanrong’s eyes: sincere, uncalculating love. She wasn’t naive; she trusted Su Jia more than any business mind would allow.

 

Song Lu turned away without another word. Song Yanrong thanked her and invited her to dinner—a polite refusal followed.

 

Before leaving, Song Yanrong paused, then said, “Oh, my aunt mentioned at the meeting today—she asked me to remind you to return her a message.”

 

After leaving, Song Lu stared at her phone. A message from Song Qi read: “Just say anything.” After two seconds, she locked it and replied: “Don’t contact me again.”

 

When someone chooses to cut ties, they must be prepared for the worst. It’s not a lack of thought—it’s a lack of love.

 

Now, Song Qi—and likewise, Su Jia to Song Yanrong.

 

…

 

Song Yanrong didn’t intend to keep this from Su Jia. She planned to clarify everything at home once Su Jia recovered: that their bond was partly because of these pheromone effects, and yes, that had been her original motivation. She hated secrets.

 

Finding Su Jia asleep in their room, exhausted, she decided the next day would be better to explain. Before leaving, she checked an online interview invitation from HR specialist Anne, then grabbed the laptop and headed downstairs.

 

The hospital’s air-conditioning made her legs feel cold; she draped an extra coat over them as she rolled to the elevator. She dropped the coat accidentally, but just before she could retrieve it, another hand beat her to it.

 

She looked up into the face of a delicate, fair-haired woman in an artistic moss-green dress, slightly pale, holding a vivid bouquet of red roses. The deep scent, along with subtle perfume, undercut the bohemian vibe.

 

“Thank you,” Song Yanrong said as she accepted the coat. The woman nodded slightly and the elevator doors closed.

 

Pausing in her chair, Song Yanrong watched the number climb—and the woman’s gaze lingered on her. She didn’t dwell but noted it as the lift ascended to the eighth floor.

 

Back in the ward, Su Jia woke to find the room empty. On the table was a handwritten note:

 

“In a meeting in the car. I’ll be up later. Grapes are washed—eat when you wake.”

 

Elegant handwriting—sharp yet gentle strokes.

 

She’d noticed how well Song Yanrong wrote, especially when they signed their wedding agreement. A handwritten note carried more intimacy than text messages. Her finger brushed the note—and suddenly a quiet knock at the door.

 

Momentarily distracted by paper’s faint promise, she frowned: God, I hate this quality paper…

 

“Come in,” she said. The door opened—and in stepped Ha Yunwen.

 

“Jia-jia, it’s been so long.” Ha Yunwen greeted with a smile.

 

Su Jia’s eyes were cold. She didn’t look at her. Placing the note into a drawer, she said: “You shouldn’t be here.”

 

Ha Yunwen’s face faltered. “I promised I wouldn’t come back to China. But after hearing about your marriage to Song Yanrong, I had to return. I wasn’t sure where you were, but I ran into Aunt Song Qi and learned you’re hospitalized… So I rushed here.”

 

She sat down in the chair beside the bed, bouquet in hand. Her dark-rimmed eyes looked exhausted.

 

“Song Yanrong’s no match for Song Hanshuang—he’s disabled… I can’t understand it, nor can I bear it. Did the Song family force you?”

 

“No,” Su Jia replied coolly.

 

Her cold tone hurt Ha Yunwen. Softening, she asked, “Why are you so distant with me?”

 

After everything—even after that incident—Su Jia used to reply. Ha Yunwen thought Su Jia was busy abroad. But when she heard of Su Jia’s marriage, she rushed home—only to be ignored.

 

Su Jia fell silent.

 

Su Jia’s face visibly darkened.
“That matter—you’d best never bring it up again for the rest of your life.”

 

Her phone buzzed once on the table. She glanced down casually and saw a green app icon lighting up on the screen. She instinctively thought it might be from Song Yanrong.

 

Looking at Han Yiwen’s pale face, Su Jia took a deep breath and began to bluntly show her the door.
“You should go. If there’s anything, contact me by phone. But don’t come to the hospital again.”

 

Han Yiwen shifted from confusion to a bitter smile.
“You’re that scared of me seeing her? Afraid she’ll remember something?”

 

Su Jia lifted her gaze, her eyes like piercing ice picks as she shot her a look.
“Take care, Miss Han.”

 

…

 

Half an hour later, Song Yanrong returned to the hospital room.

 

As soon as she entered, she spotted a bouquet of red roses by the bedside and paused. The woman she’d seen earlier in the elevator flashed through her mind.

 

“Where did the roses come from?” she asked casually, pretending it was nothing.

 

Su Jia had just been messaging Han Yiwen, her mood dark, and hadn’t even thought about the flowers.

 

She glanced at them. “Someone I barely know gave them to me.”

 

“Who?”

 

“I said we’re not close… does it even matter?”

 

Song Yanrong stared at the roses for a couple of seconds, then nodded nonchalantly.

 

Since Su Jia had said it wasn’t a big deal, she didn’t press. Perhaps Su Jia hadn’t given her the chance to. Su Jia sat up and crooked her slender white finger at her.

 

Song Yanrong smiled, wheeled herself closer, and leaned in—but deliberately didn’t lean close enough for a perfect kiss.

 

Song Yanrong’s deep brown eyes were like still water. She reached out, cupped Su Jia’s head, and gently but firmly pulled her down.

 

Their lips met.

 

There was something unrestrained, almost forceful, in the way she kissed.

 

Su Jia was left breathless by it—she liked when Song Yanrong took control.

 

Especially in moments when Song Yanrong lost control, her kisses rough and hungry—it only made Su Jia crave her more.

 

She wasn’t just addicted to Song Yanrong’s pheromones. She was obsessed with her beautiful yet “imperfect” body.

 

She loved seeing Song Yanrong unable to move, at her mercy, until she dragged her down with her.

 

…

 

Su Jia’s checkups and IV treatments were scheduled to last four days. By the last two, the weather had turned overcast, and the city hinted at rain.

 

Song Yanrong had been busy hiring staff for the building and land she’d bought.
She was out during the day, back at the hospital every evening, sleeping on the VIP family cot.

 

Though they weren’t exactly sleeping apart.

 

In the middle of the night, her blanket would be lifted, and a fuzzy little head would crawl up from the foot of the bed, burrowing into her shirt.

 

Half-asleep, she would ask,
“Not tired?”

 

“I am. The light is too bright.”

 

There was only a dim green emergency exit light in the room—it wasn’t bright at all.

 

Song Yanrong chuckled, ruffling Su Jia’s hair through her long T-shirt.
“It’s late. Come out and sleep properly.”

 

“It’s too bright,” Su Jia whined softly.
“I want your eye mask…”

 

“I don’t even own an eye mask.”

 

Su Jia buried her face in Song Yanrong’s chest.
“Isn’t this one right here?”

 

Her breath was hot and damp, heating the air between them. Song Yanrong pressed her lips together, trying not to gasp as Su Jia bit her gently.

 

Light, teasing bites—painful, ticklish, soft and wet.

 

Before long, Song Yanrong had to grab her hands, nearly pinning Su Jia down in response. She suddenly remembered they hadn’t talked things out yet, so she resorted to another method to regain control.

 

And then another half hour passed.

 

Afterward, Su Jia lay curled in the crook of Song Yanrong’s burning arm, her leg draped over hers, both of them breathing heavily.

 

The lingering sticky heat on her leg made her mind pause.

 

Sometimes, she really thought she and Su Jia were lovers in a passionate relationship—
Well, they were doing all the things lovers do.

 

She thought again about how they could go home after tomorrow’s IV session. Then they could talk about the matter with her legs.

 

…

 

The next day, Song Yanrong went out to work as usual.
It rained.

 

By the time she returned, the hem of her skirt near the wheelchair was soaked.

 

The rain hadn’t brought any relief from the heat—outside was stifling. It was only upon entering the hospital that she finally felt she could breathe.

 

She carried a bouquet of roses as she exited the elevator.

 

At the corner near the nurses’ station, she froze.
The woman from the elevator the other day appeared in front of her, coming from the hallway.

 

Clearly, the woman saw her too—visibly startled for a moment but quickly returning to normal.

 

Song Yanrong wheeled forward.

 

Just as they passed each other, she suddenly stopped and called out:
“Miss Han.”

 

She turned around—and sure enough, the woman stopped in her tracks.

 

Han Yiwen.

 

The supporting female lead in the novel.
The heroine’s love interest.

 

Su Jia’s future partner.

 

They had met as teenagers in a drama club. After Su Jia’s family went bankrupt and she entered the Song family, they were separated for a long time—there might’ve even been a misunderstanding.

 

Later, Su Jia married into the Song family. When she was at her lowest, Han Yiwen returned to China.

 

She hadn’t read all the plotlines, but she’d seen the ending: Su Jia and Han Yiwen ended up together, a classic case of lovers reunited.

 

Before that, most characters—including the original “Song Yanrong”—didn’t know Han Yiwen and Su Jia had history.
Which explained why she hadn’t recognized her the first time they met.

 

Today was a pure guess. A gut feeling.

 

She also noticed—Han Yiwen recognized her.

 

Han Yiwen was stunned for two seconds, then stood tall and asked cautiously,
“Have we met before?”

 

They hadn’t, but Han Yiwen assumed Song Yanrong had looked her up.

 

They stood face to face.

 

Song Yanrong lifted her eyes, unflinching. Her gaze narrowed, and with the calm authority of a rightful wife, she smiled lightly.
“My aunt spoke very highly of you. I just happened to look you up.”

 

She lied casually.

 

Han Yiwen blinked, already knowing who she was, but still played along:
“May I ask who your aunt is?”

 

“Song Qi,” Song Yanrong said plainly.

 

Han Yiwen smiled knowingly.
“So you’re the third Miss of the Song family.”

 

“Visiting a friend?” Song Yanrong asked.

 

Han Yiwen paused, then replied seriously:
“Someone very important.”

 

Song Yanrong didn’t press. This was a stranger. If the woman wanted to act, she would play along.

 

“I’m here with my wife for a medical check-up. Director Han, if you need anything, feel free to reach out.”

 

Han Yiwen’s expression stiffened slightly, but she declined politely.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

 

…

 

Before going back to Su Jia’s room, Song Yanrong ran into Dr. Song Lu and stopped by her office to check Su Jia’s latest test results.

 

Ten minutes later, she returned to the hospital room door.

 

Running into Han Yiwen hadn’t been meaningless. But she had long learned to hide her thoughts, to mask her emotions behind a calm exterior.

 

Still, the roses that had been left on Su Jia’s table last time—
Today’s encounter in the corridor—
Han Yiwen’s words: “someone very important.”

 

Everything hinted at something unusual.

 

But Song Yanrong wasn’t the type to jump to negative conclusions.

 

She opened the door, holding the roses.
A trace of a familiar perfume lingered in the air.

 

Su Jia looked up from her phone, saw the bouquet, and said sweetly,
“They’re beautiful. Did you get them for me?”

 

“I’m holding them, aren’t I? Who else would’ve bought them?”

 

“Maybe you had someone pick them up for you,” Su Jia teased.

 

Song Yanrong laughed, her voice softening.
“No, I picked them myself.”

 

“Really?” Su Jia probed playfully.

 

Song Yanrong nodded, handing the flowers over.
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

 

She simply didn’t want anyone else’s roses to show up in this room again.

 

“Did you nap this afternoon?” Song Yanrong sniffed the air.
“Smells like perfume in here.”

 

“I did,” Su Jia replied lazily.
“Maybe it was one of the nurses?”

 

She stroked the delicate petals, then glanced at Song Yanrong, offering no further explanation.

 

She didn’t want Han Yiwen and Song Yanrong to cross paths. She didn’t even want her to know of Han Yiwen’s existence.

 

So that was a reflexive lie.

 

In reality, AO-specialist nurses weren’t allowed to wear perfume—especially not something this strong.

 

But Song Yanrong didn’t question it. She didn’t react.

 

Su Jia didn’t know Han Yiwen would come again today. She’d brought chicken soup but was turned away.

 

All Su Jia could feel now was relief—thankful that Han Yiwen left before running into Song Yanrong.

 

What she didn’t see, however, was the complexity hidden behind Song Yanrong’s lowered lashes.

 

Song Yanrong smiled gently but didn’t speak for a while. She simply looked at Su Jia in silence.

 

She remembered last time—Su Jia had brushed it off as a “barely known friend.”

 

She could accept that.

 

But this time, Su Jia had deliberately hidden the fact that she’d met Han Yiwen.

 

Why?

 

What was she thinking?

 

Once again, Song Yanrong realized—she couldn’t read Su Jia at all.

 

Yet if she questioned her now—peeled away the layers—it would only make Su Jia feel cornered. And it would feel like she was being lied to by both Su Jia and Han Yiwen.

 

That feeling wasn’t pleasant.

 

Su Jia finished arranging the roses, then looked up with a smile.
“Such a beautiful bouquet today. What would you like in return?”

 

Song Yanrong looked at her, gaze intense, as if trying to peer into her soul.

 

After a pause, she smiled lightly, half-joking,
“The best gift would be… if you loved me a little more.”

 

She said it with a smile, her cool demeanor tinged with a teasing charm.

 

As if playing it off as a joke could soften the emotions rising in her chest.

 

Just a joke.

 

No one would take it seriously.