Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 34

Chapter 34

 

Late Summer, Early Autumn

 

The midnight rain in Nancheng had started to cool. Somewhere, a bell chimed twelve times.

 

Su Jia lay on the balcony of the guest bedroom. The city outside was painted in dim grays.

 

The window was open. The fine rain and chill breeze scattered across her face, keeping her mind from drifting into the exhaustion of her body.

 

But truthfully, she didn’t really need that kind of physical clarity.

 

Ever since Song Yanrong said those words and left, her mind had become unusually clear. She lifted her head—the rain was tapering off, but droplets still formed from the old rain, tapping against the window frame in a lonely rhythm.

 

She closed her eyes for a moment and stepped back into the room.

 

The air inside felt heavy once again, pressing against her chest. Even the jasmine scent had become overly strong, losing the elegance it once had.

 

Frustrated, Su Jia took a deep breath and left the room. The living room was dim and silent.

 

She glanced at Song Yanrong’s bedroom door.

 

Knocking a few times yielded nothing but the echo of emptiness.

 

Su Jia pushed the door open—she should’ve remembered: Song Yanrong had left just after ten and hadn’t returned since.

 

Still, she didn’t know what was wrong with herself. Knowing all this, she was still hoping for a response like before.

 

The Alpha’s scent in the air had already faded—maybe because Song Yanrong hadn’t stayed long today.

 

She sat on Song Yanrong’s bed, smoothing the small wrinkles in the sheets with her fingers. Her gaze fell to the table where a wooden box sat, holding a string of rosewood prayer beads Song Yanrong often wore.

 

Song Yanrong had always cherished them. Whenever she was deep in thought or in a bad mood, Su Jia had seen her fiddling with those beads.

 

But half a month ago, Song Yanrong had put them away.

 

That day, Su Jia was lying on the bed, sweaty, when she noticed the beads tossed carelessly on the table.

 

She’d asked, “Why aren’t you wearing them?”

 

Song Yanrong had replied, “They’re useless now.”

 

And since that day, she really hadn’t worn them again.

 

Su Jia lay back slowly, pressing herself into the mattress. Her expression was calm, but something restless lingered in her eyes—like even she wanted to lie to herself:

 

That Song Yanrong’s absence didn’t hurt her.

 

How could it not?

 

She stared up at the chandelier. The occasional raindrop fell outside, but most of the time the world was eerily silent.

 

She’d been in this room countless times before, but never had it felt this cold, this empty.

 

She turned sideways, and her slippers fell with a soft thud, shattering the silence.

 

Curled up on the bed, exhaustion started to take hold.

 

But after half a minute, she let out a long breath and opened her eyes again—resigned.

 

She finally decided to be honest with herself—

 

Was it really just because Song Yanrong almost became a piece in this game?

 

No, not quite.

 

From the very beginning, ever since Song Yanrong started helping her—calling them “partners”—Su Jia had allowed herself to hope.

 

She thought Song Yanrong was like Song Hanshuang. But later, Song Yanrong’s actions showed she was different.

 

She endured the torment of suppressants without touching Su Jia. She rushed across the city, risking offense to both the Song and Zhou families to rescue her from Zhou Yuan and Su Huimin.

 

At the wedding, she smashed a window to find Su Jia, cutting her leg in the process, and afterward, she helped her take revenge without hesitation.

 

She took her shopping and picked out clothes for her—like that dark green cheongsam, which she’d only worn a couple of times.

 

She remembered what Su Jia liked and disliked. When they ate together, there was never cilantro, chili, or shrimp on the table.

 

Su Jia had once asked Xiao K if Song Yanrong also disliked those things.

 

Xiao K had thought for a moment and said: “No, she actually likes them when eating out.”

 

Later, Su Jia asked Song Yanrong directly.

 

Song Yanrong said, “I do like shrimp, but it’s not something I have to eat. Since we don’t always get to eat together, I’d rather choose food we both enjoy when we do.”

 

Song Yanrong once said she’d seen Han Yiwen at the hospital. Su Jia remembered how she reacted when Song Yanrong walked in with roses, and how she casually dismissed the unfamiliar scent of perfume. Song Yanrong hadn’t called her out—she chose not to humiliate her.

 

She remembered the playful words Song Yanrong once said: “The gift I want most is probably for Jia Jia to love me just a little more.”

 

It didn’t sound like something Song Yanrong would say—but maybe, that was her way of reminding Su Jia, with half-truths.

 

Su Jia’s words… Song Yanrong had actually remembered them.

 

She said she wanted to act—so Song Yanrong personally helped her select agencies, explained the pros and cons, told her not to be afraid.

 

From auditions to cold reads, she was there the entire time.

 

Tonight, when Su Jia returned, she ran into Xiao K downstairs, who told her Song Yanrong hadn’t even eaten yet—she’d brought two bowls of chicken soup porridge with her, planning to eat with Su Jia.

 

She could think of it as a surprise, maybe.

 

Because Su Jia really thought Song Yanrong wouldn’t come again.

 

Yes—Song Yanrong’s kindness had completely blindsided her.

 

Su Jia pressed her forehead to the bed, hoping being closer to the sheets might bring her closer to that familiar scent of alpha vetiver.

 

In a way, wasn’t she part of the game too?

 

She’d gotten used to Song Yanrong’s kindness, even addicted to it. The more affection she received, the greedier she became.

 

Leaning on Song Yanrong’s love, she felt like she could do anything—lie, deceive, whatever. Song Yanrong would always be on her side.

 

Gradually, she believed she could control Song Yanrong completely.

 

Song Lü was right—she was too confident.

 

She misjudged. She underestimated Song Yanrong.

 

But… was that all?

 

No—it didn’t feel right.

 

Su Jia inhaled. Why did she feel so miserable?

 

Even if Song Yanrong had found out she was being used, shouldn’t her worry be about the consequences?

 

Why did she feel so… heartbroken?

 

“Miss Su, I liked you—but it ends here.”

 

That bitter, sour, angry feeling was like swallowing an unripe mandarin orange.

 

Su Jia pressed her hand to her chest. Something was stuck there, something she couldn’t spit out or force down.

 

But what did she do wrong?

 

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit her glands. For a second, it hurt so much she couldn’t make a sound—then it eased.

 

Her face was damp with sweat. She gasped for air and loosened her clenched hand from the crumpled sheets.

 

She was just trying to survive—to live a better life. Aside from herself, nothing in this world was real.

 

Not even the world itself was real…

 

She shouldn’t feel this way. Just like she gave up her past, the belongings her mother left behind—she’d abandoned them all.

 

She wouldn’t let the past trap her again. In this world, she was the only thing that mattered.

 

Anyone else could be sacrificed—used.

 

So what was her mistake?

 

It was the world’s fault. It was the awakening’s fault.

 

Not hers.

 

Su Jia stood up from the bed. After a moment, her reddened eyes faded in the dim light. She walked out of Song Yanrong’s room and closed the door behind her.

 

She thought she had calmed down—but when she stepped into the empty living room, into the silent house—

 

A long-lost sense of confusion quietly surfaced.

 

Some part of her firm resolve was beginning to shake.

 

Back in her room, she heard a vibration—her phone.

 

Su Jia glanced over—it was a WeChat message from Feng Qingrui.

 

Qingrui: “I’m exhausted… Jia Jia, are you asleep? I miss you.”

 

She looked at the red notification dot, her gaze lingering on Song Yanrong’s contact for a moment.

 

Her mind stirred. Her instincts were pushing her to say something.

 

She opened Qingrui’s message.

 

Su Jia: “No.”

 

Almost immediately, a video call came in.

 

Su Jia changed it to voice mode.

 

They chatted a bit, then Qingrui asked: “Jia Jia, what’s wrong? Are you in a bad mood?”

 

After a short pause, she guessed, “Did something happen between you and Song Yanrong?”

 

The words “I’m fine” stuck in Su Jia’s throat.

 

She finally said softly: “I had a dream. I dreamed that everything was fake—that we were all fake. Like a game designed by someone else. We only existed within that setup…”

 

“You’re sad because of a nightmare?” Qingrui responded cheerfully. “If everything is fake, doesn’t that mean everything is also real?”

 

“If everyone’s the same, then nothing’s different, right?”

 

“But I was the only one who was awake. In the dream, I saw the future. In that fake game world, I lived miserably—went through so much. Even more pain than I’ve already experienced. Qingrui… that dream told me, even your feelings for me were scripted—fake.”

 

Su Jia’s voice was low, falling like a stone in the quiet room—especially clear.

 

After a moment, Qingrui gasped like she’d pinched herself: “Ow! I just pinched myself, and it really hurt. Try it—you’ll see this world is definitely real.”

 

Then she laughed: “Even if we’re all in a game, so what? The world is a game. Born to play, dead to log off. So what if it’s scripted or fake? Isn’t what matters how we feel? Am I your friend? If I were in danger, would you want to save me? If I got sick and had no one to take care of me, would you worry about me?”

 

Su Jia was deep in thought. She hadn’t spoken so much to anyone in a long time—or rather, ever since her automatic awakening, she hadn’t discussed such deep matters with anyone.

 

Things that touched on deeper emotions.

 

It was as if she had forgotten what feelings were like.

 

Su Jia replied, “Mm.”

 

Feng Qingrui said, “Then that’s all there is to it. It was just a dream. You’re not going back to the way life used to be, and you won’t go through all those bad things again. Jia Jia, everything is getting better—you can feel that, can’t you?”

 

Su Jia didn’t reply this time. Feng Qingrui continued, “At first, I was really against you being with Song Yanrong. But over this past month, from what you’ve described… I can tell she treats you very well. Jia Jia, I’ve always believed that as long as a person cherishes the people and things in front of them, that’s enough. Just don’t let yourself have regrets.”

 

After a while, when she didn’t get a response, Feng Qingrui asked if Su Jia was sleepy.

 

Su Jia finally said, “Because of some reasons, I lied to Song Yanrong. She found out last night.”

 

“Was it something serious?” Feng Qingrui began analyzing. “Well, I’m sure it’s not some character-related issue like a third party…”

 

“…It is.”

 

“…”

 

Su Jia said simply, “I lied about meeting with Han Yiwen. Song Yanrong saw it and got really angry.”

 

She wanted to understand Song Yanrong’s thoughts from someone else’s perspective. She knew lying would upset people, but Song Yanrong’s reaction was far more intense than she’d expected.

 

She still didn’t know how to deal with it.

 

“Ah—Han Yiwen, huh? She just has a one-sided crush on you. But if Song Yanrong found out, of course she’d be jealous. Still, if it were me, what I’d care about more isn’t that, but the fact that you lied. Hiding a meeting and flat-out lying are two very different things. Her being mad enough to temporarily leave the house is pretty understandable.”

 

It wasn’t just leaving the house.

 

Su Jia thought, Song Yanrong’s temper seemed soft, but she was actually quite strong. When she said those words, her eyes were clear—without even a hint of softness.

 

“Then just apologize.”

 

“It’s not that simple.” Su Jia was feeling tired. Her glands had reacted strangely just moments ago. Lying on her side in bed, she said, “She really cares that I lied to her.”

 

“That’s not quite right, Jia Jia,” Feng Qingrui said.

 

Su Jia asked, “What’s not right?”

 

There was the sound of drinking water on Feng Qingrui’s end, and then her voice came back clearer: “It’s not about apologizing for what happened. It’s about apologizing for the hurt you caused her. As your friend, I believe you had your reasons for lying—but for Song Yanrong, that lie was very real. If she’s been lied to before, the pain this time would be even greater.”

 

“I’ve been lied to before. I know what that feels like—once bitten by a snake, even a rope looks like one for the next ten years.”

 

“So you think I was wrong?”

 

“You’re my friend, and you had your reasons, so no—you’re not wrong. But neither is Song Yanrong.”

 

…

 

7:00 AM.

 

The alarm rang.

 

Su Jia sneezed in bed, curled up. She didn’t even know what time she’d fallen asleep. Jolted awake by the alarm, her mind was groggy.

 

Lying there in a daze for a few seconds, she picked up her phone—no message from Song Yanrong.

 

Su Jia walked out to check the entrance. Everything was just as it had been last night—untouched, like no one had come back.

 

She frowned deeply. Today she had to meet with Baijia and Monica—she couldn’t be late.

 

There was breakfast on the table, delivered by the housekeeper. The menu had been planned a week in advance, all her favorite snacks and side dishes.

 

But Su Jia had no appetite. After quickly getting ready, she headed downstairs.

 

She hadn’t slept well last night. After waking up, Feng Qingrui’s words and Song Yanrong’s parting remarks kept playing in her mind.

 

In the elevator, she opened her chat with Song Yanrong and typed:
“Are you coming home today?”

 

Downstairs, she saw Xiao K’s car parked nearby. At first, she thought Song Yanrong had come back. But when she walked closer, she realized the car had just been left for her.

 

Su Jia felt a pang of bitterness.

 

But just as she was about to get in, a white car pulled up behind. In a blur, she thought she saw someone familiar.

 

A graceful woman stepped out of the driver’s seat and went to the backseat. Soon, Su Jia saw her carefully helping Song Yanrong out of the car.

 

The person who had been gone all night… returned with another woman.

 

Su Jia clutched her purse tightly, nails digging into the leather.

 

Song Yanrong also saw her. In those peach blossom eyes, Su Jia noticed a rare trace of coldness—perhaps something else too, but she didn’t look too closely.

 

She forced herself not to look too closely.

 

Song Yanrong looked at the woman beside her and smiled gently: “Thanks for last night. Go catch up on your sleep.”

 

The woman smiled back, her eyes exuding the allure of a mature woman: “You worked hard too, President Song. Call me if you need anything.”

 

Song Yanrong nodded. “Drive safe.”

 

“Song Yanrong!”

 

Hearing her name, Song Yanrong turned her eyes slightly. After a brief pause, she rolled her wheelchair forward and calmly asked, “Off to work?”

 

Su Jia stared at her, trying to read her expression—but it was blank. No joy, no anger, no sorrow. As if nothing had happened.

 

There were no crashing waves—only a blade suspended silently overhead.

 

“Who is she?” Su Jia only then realized her voice was hoarse.

 

After sleeping badly and not resting, her throat was bound to feel rough.

 

Song Yanrong seemed not to notice. She replied plainly: “A subordinate. Shouldn’t you get going before you’re late?”

 

She was even kind enough to remind her.

 

Su Jia clenched her teeth. Something churned inside her chest. She forced herself to stay calm and asked, “You spent the whole night with her?”

 

“Mm. Work,” Song Yanrong said flatly. “Didn’t sleep much. I’m exhausted—heading up for some rest.”

 

It was a perfect answer—flawless, without excuses—and yet, it made Su Jia feel extremely uneasy. She’d rather Song Yanrong yell at her.

 

The calmer Song Yanrong was, the more unsettled she felt.

 

She wanted to ask more—what kind of work? the whole night? just the two of you?—but Song Yanrong’s attitude made her feel like she had no right to ask.

 

Just one night—was that really enough to change how Song Yanrong treated her?

 

Song Yanrong was already passing her, heading upstairs.

 

“Song Yanrong!”

 

Su Jia called out, taking a deep breath to force down her frustration. “I want to talk with you tonight. Don’t leave.”

 

Song Yanrong didn’t look back, but she replied, “Okay.”

 

…

 

Upstairs, Song Yanrong caught the scent of jasmine again—stronger than yesterday.

 

She scanned the living room and found the plant had been moved to the balcony.

 

The buds were blooming wildly.

 

She remembered the day it was brought home—

 

The day she had crossed the line.

 

She didn’t know what Su Jia had been thinking when she decided to lie to her. But when she leaned in to kiss Su Jia that day, she hadn’t thought about anything.

 

She showered first. Last night, she had gone to the office to revisit a project she hadn’t finished. Part of it was just wanting a change of environment.

 

Unexpectedly, her new assistant Xiang Ying was still working, so they ended up working late together.

 

Practically pulled an all-nighter.

 

Now she was both exhausted and drowsy. She could’ve fallen asleep instantly—but that jasmine scent lingered like a drug, keeping her thoughts running.

 

She didn’t know if Su Jia had done it deliberately—or not.

 

Actually, she had a good idea.

 

After spending so many days together, she couldn’t say she completely understood Su Jia—but this current version was definitely not the same one she met the first time.

 

Still, it had never mattered to her—until this.

 

After her shower, she saw that breakfast was untouched.

 

Pushing her wheelchair easily, she sat down at the table.

 

Just then, a message came from the housekeeper with this week’s meal plan for confirmation.

 

She usually finalized it a week ahead, only making changes for emergencies or special needs.

 

She skimmed through, paused for two seconds, and replied:

 

“No other changes. Replace the beef dishes on Monday and Thursday night with shrimp. Add a single serving of steamed shrimp dumplings for breakfast on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Thank you.”

 

The housekeeper quickly followed up:

 

“Miss Song, we just got fresh shrimp in today. Should I switch tonight’s menu?”

 

Song Yanrong glanced down: “Yes, go ahead.”

 

The first step in ending things: start choosing what you like.