Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 32

Chapter 32

 

In life, people often experience a kind of illusion, mistaking obsession for reality.

 

What we call “deep affection,” when broken down, was really just over a month of being together. Besides, there was still a glaringly obvious agreement between Song Yanrong and Su Jia.

 

Although their relationship had already broken through that barrier, Song Yanrong could still occasionally sense Su Jia’s pretense.

 

Before today, she didn’t think much of it. Pretending or acting—it didn’t matter. Since they were partners, Su Jia was just trying to protect herself, and that was understandable.

 

Sometimes, she even found Su Jia’s caution rather endearing.

 

But now she realized—if Su Jia’s acting was for the sake of someone else, or even done in cooperation with someone else—then that changed things entirely.

 

Song Yanrong did have real feelings involved. She was genuinely moved by Su Jia. She liked her.

 

And who wouldn’t wish that the person they liked would like—or even love—them more?

 

Even so, her tone remained somewhat teasing. Because she knew well: she and Su Jia weren’t at the point of love yet.

 

They were still at a transitional stage—clearly drawn to each other, yet still stuck in a tug-of-war. No one could predict what would happen next.

 

So when she made that comment, it sounded more like flirtation or banter.

 

But when Song Yanrong’s gaze landed straight in Su Jia’s eyes—
When she gently called her “Jia Jia” for the first time—
When that whole sentence sank into her ears—
Su Jia’s heart felt like a wall that had been struck. A subtle tremor rippled through her.

 

“The gift I want most… is for Jia Jia to love me just a little more.”

 

That day, Song Yanrong got no answer.

 

Su Jia slid down from the bed, knelt on the wheelchair, and ended the conversation with a kiss.

 

Of course, she couldn’t answer her.

 

But later, as Su Jia thought about it, she realized that she—someone so skilled at pretending—could’ve easily said something sweet to please Song Yanrong.
Would saying “I love you” really be that hard?

 

Song Yanrong hadn’t been that serious anyway; she was joking. It could’ve passed easily.

 

It wasn’t until much later that she understood why she hadn’t said it in that moment.

 

It was because… she was afraid too.

 

Song Yanrong’s hand rested on Su Jia’s back, sliding down her spine, encircling her waist with unconscious pressure. Through the thin hospital gown, she seemed to be tracing the shape of that rose tattoo.

 

Her movements were light—so gentle they made Su Jia’s heart pound.

 

Su Jia’s chest suddenly tightened.

 

It felt like she had fallen into a vast, echoing valley. Each heartbeat would bounce off the walls—again and again.

 

One echo would soon be drowned by the next.

 

And then another, and another.

 

Song Yanrong gathered Su Jia’s legs and pulled her into her lap. Su Jia’s chin rested in her hair. Outside the window, the drizzle fell like a mist. The glass fogged up, obscuring the view beyond.

 

Song Yanrong said softly:
“Jia Jia.”

 

Su Jia nuzzled her.
“Mm? What?”

 

This time, Song Yanrong didn’t speak right away.

 

She was a businesswoman with a strong sense of self-interest. Deep down, she had a darker nature. But because she rarely cared enough, people often mistook her for being gentle and kind.

 

After a pause, she said calmly:
“Actually… I’m not a generous person.”

 

Even if they were just partners—purely business—she still didn’t want her partner to be working with someone else.

 

…

 

The next day, around noon, they prepared for discharge. Su Jia was supposed to finish her final IV session and go home in the afternoon.

 

But she suddenly received a call from an agent at Baijia Entertainment, asking if she had time for an audition that afternoon.

 

Su Jia was thrilled. This was her first chance to act since leaving the theater troupe.

 

After hearing the news, Song Yanrong went to check with Dr. Song Lu. She was told that Su Jia was now physically stable enough for moderate activity—but she still needed to avoid overexertion in the short term.

 

She returned to the room to discuss it with Su Jia.

 

The moment Su Jia heard this, her expression froze.
“You think I shouldn’t go?”

 

Song Yanrong didn’t miss that brief flicker across her face. She remained patient and calmly explained:
“I wouldn’t make that decision for you. If it’s something you love, I won’t stand in the way. I just think it’s important to prioritize your health.”

 

Su Jia’s expression softened slightly. She realized her reaction had probably seemed a bit dramatic to Song Yanrong. She composed herself and replied,
“I’m fine…”

 

She wasn’t throwing a tantrum—
But that brief moment of panic was rooted in trauma. The idea of someone stopping her from chasing her dream brought back nightmares and emotional wounds.

 

Her dreams had been crushed so many times—thrown to the ground, trampled on, and taken away.

 

So when Song Yanrong repeated Dr. Song’s advice, she instinctively thought it was a polite way of saying “don’t go.” Her defenses went up.

 

Song Yanrong stared at her for a moment and said,
“Alright then. Rest a bit. I’ll go handle the discharge paperwork.”

 

She turned the wheelchair to leave.

 

Su Jia called out:
“Song Yanrong.”

 

Song Yanrong looked back—but no further words came. So she smiled and replied:
“It’s okay.”

 

She knew how much acting meant to Su Jia—it was a dream she had nearly lost. She could understand that.

 

Still… the way Su Jia reacted gave her an odd feeling.

 

As if she had crossed a line.

 

…

 

That afternoon, after Su Jia finished her final IV, Song Yanrong drove her to Baijia Entertainment.

 

The company was located in a tall office building in the northern district of South City, right next to the CBD. A massive LED screen atop the building played advertisements featuring Baijia’s hottest actress.

 

Before getting out of the car, Su Jia turned to Song Yanrong.
“I’m heading in.”

 

Song Yanrong smiled.
“I’ll pick you up afterward, alright?”

 

Her tone was soft—more like a suggestion.

 

Su Jia nodded. She reached for the car door button, hesitated a second, then leaned over and kissed Song Yanrong on the cheek.
“Be careful on the road.”

 

Though everything seemed normal between them, ever since that moment in the hospital room, Su Jia had sensed a subtle change in Song Yanrong’s mood.

 

The tinted window slid down. Warm, misty air blew into the cool interior.

 

That kiss was more like a gesture of comfort—or an apology.

 

An apology… between partners.

 

Song Yanrong sat in the back seat and watched Su Jia walk toward the building. She wore a pale blue camisole with a light knit cardigan—simple, but she still stood out in the crowd.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t be long before Su Jia became the brightest star in South City.

 

Soon, everyone would see her.

 

And when that day came… she wouldn’t need Song Yanrong anymore.

 

The window closed. Song Yanrong looked away and said,
“Let’s go.”

 

Baijia had both shared offices for agents and private ones.

 

Su Jia was led to a private office. Her agent, Monica, was a woman around forty years old—short hair, sharp features, and a clean, professional look. From her appearance and manner, it was clear she was experienced in the industry.

 

Although it was called an “interview,” Monica didn’t ask many questions. Before long, they were already talking about the terms of a contract.

 

Su Jia asked,
“You’re ready to sign me this fast?”

 

Monica smiled and replied bluntly,
“I know talent when I see it. Even if you never act, I could still make you famous with that face.”

 

Su Jia didn’t deny it.

 

To be honest, if selling her looks was part of the journey, she didn’t really mind. She had always been willing to compromise to achieve her goals.

 

Besides, Baijia was a company she had been eyeing for a long time.

 

She had no reason to say no.

 

Monica went over the contract with her and asked,
“You mentioned earlier that you’re married. Is your wife in the industry?”

 

“She’s not—she’s from outside the circle.”

 

“Then that’s no issue. These days, being married isn’t a big deal. We’ll just build your image as a devoted, loving spouse.”

 

Su Jia hesitated for a moment but didn’t object.

 

Monica brought out several contracts.

 

Su Jia read through each one carefully. After confirming there were no issues with the terms, she picked up the pen on the desk.

 

She briefly considered whether she should tell Song Yanrong.

 

But that thought was fleeting—like a speck of dust on water. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

 

She signed her name with a clean, decisive stroke.

 

From walking into the company to signing the contract, the entire process took less than an hour.

 

Monica watched her put the pen down and smiled as she reached out her hand.
“Looking forward to working with you.”

 

Su Jia shook it.
“Likewise.”

 

During their conversation, Monica’s phone rang multiple times.

 

“We don’t have any assistants available for you at the moment. For the next few days, you’ll need to handle things on your own. I’m often busy, so just call me if anything comes up.”

 

Su Jia glanced at the missed call on the table that she didn’t get a chance to answer and nodded.

 

Monica said, “You’ll understand once you work with me. I’m not someone who sugarcoats things, but as long as you’re good enough, I’ll make sure you get famous and earn money.”

 

Su Jia smiled politely and replied, “Then I’ll be counting on you, Monica.”

 

Monica wasn’t exaggerating. Su Jia’s face had the look of a natural-born star—every glance and smile carried the delicate charm of a beauty. Just sitting there in silence was enough to make people feel refreshed.

 

Nowadays, the market has become oversaturated, and everyone’s acting style is almost identical. If Su Jia has even a bit of acting skill, climbing the ladder isn’t a pipe dream.

 

They hadn’t talked for long, and it seemed like today’s meeting was coming to an end, but Monica suddenly handed her a script.

 

“Just so happens, I have a script here. The director is holding auditions today, and there’s a female supporting role. Lin Zhi is auditioning for the female lead and second lead. I’m heading over now. If you’re interested, I’ll take you along. If not, no worries—it’s just the first day anyway.”

 

Lin Zhi was Baijia’s most popular actress at the moment and had just won Best Actress.

 

Monica’s words were tactful and smooth.

 

She made it sound like Su Jia had a choice, but in reality, she was testing her. If Su Jia turned down work on her very first day, Monica would deprioritize her for future opportunities.

 

And let’s be real—Su Jia didn’t have the luxury of being picky right now.

 

Su Jia smiled gently. “Of course I’ll go.”

 

Not long after, Monica took Su Jia downstairs.

 

Once they got into the nanny van, Monica secretly observed Su Jia. She was reading the script and didn’t show the slightest trace of nervousness—more impressive than Monica had expected.

 

She pulled out her phone, replied to a few important messages, and then opened a WeChat chat buried down the list.

 

Monica: “She’s a promising one.”

 

Soon, a reply came in.

 

Han Yiwen: “Told you, you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

 

Monica: “We’re heading over to audition for a supporting role… Since you two know each other so well, if there’s a better role available, don’t forget about her.”

 

Not long ago, Han Yiwen had asked Monica to keep an eye on a resume in the submissions pile—a girl named Su Jia. Han had once helped Monica out in a big way when she was struggling, so Monica owed her a favor. That’s how Su Jia’s file got picked out.

 

Although her face was indeed stunning, Monica had assumed she was just another pretty face trying to pull strings. It wasn’t until she met her in person that Monica became genuinely interested and confident in her potential.

 

And after a brief conversation, she also came to like Su Jia’s bold personality.

 

Han Yiwen: “She doesn’t like someone like me, but she can handle herself.”

 

Monica (raising an eyebrow): “We’ll see.”

 

She paused, still wary. Even though Han Yiwen had assured her that nothing inappropriate was going on, Monica asked cautiously:

 

Monica: “You’re sure there’s nothing between you two, right? I can’t afford to deal with scandals between directors and actresses.”

 

Han Yiwen: “For now, no.”

 

Han Yiwen: “And if anything does happen, I won’t drag you into it.”

 

…

 

When Su Jia heard that Han Yiwen was the audition director and executive producer, she had asked herself—if she had known this beforehand, would she still have come?

 

She probably would have.

 

When she arrived at the audition studio, Su Jia waited for several hours. Monica had already left, so she sat with the other audition candidates outside.

 

Song Yanrong messaged her, asking when she’d be done.

 

Seeing the message, Su Jia suddenly felt a bit tired:
Su Jia: “Still not sure.”

 

The screen flickered quickly with a reply.

 

Song Yanrong: “It’s okay, I’m still working too, but I’ll finish soon.”
“Don’t wear yourself out, drink some water.”

 

Su Jia licked her dry lips.
[Su Jia]: “I finished my water. I don’t want to miss my audition if I leave to get more.”

 

The truth was, the role required her to control her water intake, but when Song Yanrong asked, she couldn’t help imagining the woman frowning—and that made her want to act cute.

 

Song Yanrong: “I’ll send Little K over.”
Two seconds later, another message followed:
“Isn’t your industry all about connections? Use me as your resource if it means you don’t have to suffer.”

 

Because of the weather, it was already dim outside, and the hallway lights had been turned on early.

 

Su Jia lowered her eyes and smiled. Before she could reply, she overheard a group of people nearby talking about the director inside.

 

That’s when she heard Han Yiwen’s name mentioned.

 

Su Jia looked at the message from Song Yanrong and thought for a few seconds. She typed and sent a message.

 

It wasn’t until past 6 p.m. that it was finally Su Jia’s turn.

 

She adjusted her state quickly. Her audition was for a one-scene background character in the film Twilight of Death.

 

The story had an apocalyptic backdrop. Her character wakes up in a tattered red dress, surrounded by a sea of bl00d, discovering that her loved ones are all lying dead around her.

 

One scene. Su Jia had to portray confusion, fear, horror, and finally, complete despair.

 

After her performance, the director asked her a couple of questions, then let her go.

 

Su Jia was confident she had secured the part. She was very goal-driven, but when it came to acting, she never approached it with a rushed, opportunistic mindset.

 

It was nearly 7 p.m. when she left the audition room, but many others were still waiting to fight for a role.

 

Standing in a quiet corridor, Su Jia took out her phone to check WeChat. The message she had sent 20 minutes earlier still hadn’t received a reply from Song Yanrong.

 

Still busy?

 

She knew that after that message, Song Yanrong probably wouldn’t come pick her up anymore, but the long silence still made her feel uneasy.

 

Just then, someone approached from behind.

 

Su Jia turned around and saw Han Yiwen, wearing a hat and mask, approaching and saying softly, “I’ll give you a ride.”

 

Su Jia declined. “No need.”

 

Han Yiwen replied, “Come on. People here know me—standing around too long isn’t good for your reputation.”

 

She had purposely waited until Su Jia’s audition was over before leaving. As a producer, she didn’t have to do everything herself—especially not when casting minor roles. She added, “Don’t you want to ask me about today? I don’t want to argue with you or upset you. Let’s just have a proper conversation, okay?”

 

Su Jia’s brows furrowed slightly.

 

…

 

Outside the Nancheng Film and TV base, a black car sat quietly in the misty rain, blending into the night.

 

The engine had just shut off. As the evening cooled, warm exhaust fumes mixed with the fog.

 

Only then did Song Yanrong reply to Su Jia’s earlier message:

 

Su Yaoxing: “Just teasing you. I might need to chat with Monica a bit more—no need to come pick me up yet.”

 

Song Yanrong: “Okay, so are you done now?”

 

She wasn’t trying to test Su Jia—she had just suddenly felt the urge to go see her.

 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise visit—more like a little tease.

 

If Su Jia suddenly appeared in the fog and knocked on her window unexpectedly, Song Yanrong figured she’d be quite pleased.

 

They were probably going to be together for a long time. Regardless of the future or their feelings, the emotional value someone brought to your life mattered. That’s how Song Yanrong saw it.

 

Her office was only about 20 minutes away. It was just a small detour.

 

Maybe it would help smooth things over from earlier.

 

If Su Jia really had other plans, Song Yanrong could just quietly leave—no big deal.

 

She hadn’t expected things to happen again so soon.

 

Next to her seat were one or two containers of takeout chicken soup and porridge, untouched.

 

Su Jia hadn’t replied for half a minute.

 

Song Yanrong lightly touched the warm porridge container and said to Little K, “I’m not convenient to go out. You go take a look.”

 

Just as Little K was about to get out, Song Yanrong’s phone buzzed.

 

Su Yaoxing: “All done. I’m about to grab a cab—see you at home.”

 

Song Yanrong stopped Little K, looked up Su Jia’s number, but didn’t get a chance to call—her gaze suddenly sharpened as if scalded.

 

She froze, spotting a familiar figure walking out with another woman just ahead.

 

That woman wasn’t unfamiliar either.

 

Han Yiwen.

 

Song Yanrong’s chest tightened as she watched Su Jia get into the passenger seat of a gray car. The vehicle started up. She tapped her fingers lightly on the edge of her phone, expression unreadable.

 

Then she dialed the number under her finger.

 

A few seconds later, the car that had started turned off its engine. Su Jia’s voice came from the other end, “Hello?”

 

Song Yanrong, voice steady, asked, “Miss Su, are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up?”

 

There was a pause on the other end. “Mm. I’m just about to call a cab.”

 

Song Yanrong leaned back in her seat, the window slowly lowering as if being peeled away, and she gazed across the asphalt road. Calmly, she said, “I’m at the film base entrance.”