Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 36

Chapter 36

 

Han Yiwen met Su Jia’s cold, serious gaze—the warmth she felt when they first arranged to meet disappeared instantly, as if buried beneath fresh snow.

 

“You’ve never trusted me,” Han Yiwen said quietly.

 

Su Jia remained silent, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read Han Yiwen’s expression.

 

On that summer night, Han Yiwen felt the chill in her heart—she hadn’t expected Su Jia to become so cold.

 

Han Yiwen responded bitterly, “That night, I did have dark thoughts. But I told you the truth—I wasn’t the one who hit her.”

 

Several years ago, shortly before news spread that Su Jia would be forcibly arranged to marry Song Hanshuang, Han Yiwen had invited Su Jia to dinner—at that time Su Jia was still close with Feng Qingrui.

 

Before anything happened, the three of them were in a chat group. Han Yiwen believed that once she succeeded, she could rescue Su Jia from the Song family.

 

But that night shattered everything.

 

Su Jia had just entered the Song household. Already feeling wronged, Han Yiwen’s love had grown relentless—like a curse entwined in her bones.

 

When she learned Su Jia had a destined “place”—a forced marriage—her heart felt scorched.

 

“Song Hanshuang is unworthy of Su Jia,” she thought.

 

That evening, they went to a quiet bar. Feng Qingrui suggested it, and after their plan, she left early. Han Yiwen wanted to declare her feelings—she was ready to take Su Jia away.

 

However, Su Jia refused. She said she wanted to stay. She didn’t want to return to her past suffering. Even if it meant repaying Ying Junmei’s kindness, she would accept it.

 

Han Yiwen felt hurt and powerless. She held a smoldering resentment against the Song family.

 

That evening, she drank more than usual. When Su Jia went to the restroom, Han Yiwen overheard a conversation:

 

“The Song family is buzzing. I heard the Su heir is a real beauty.”
“I haven’t seen her. But Grandma Ying isn’t mean. Su’s family isn’t influential. They wouldn’t arrange a marriage to an ugly woman.”
“That’ll be fun. Song Hanshuang loves beauties. With our little Song… maybe a three-way drama’s coming.”

 

They laughed loudly.

 

Su Jia, fueled by alcohol, stormed out of the restroom. She grabbed one woman’s hair and slapped her—but couldn’t overpower four people.

 

Back in the present, Han Yiwen said, “I hated the Song family—especially Song Hanshuang. But I didn’t hate Song Yanrong. I hadn’t even met the Song family then! I told you—right?”

 

As those memories resurfaced, Su Jia recalled that cold winter night years ago—before her awakening, she was rescued by Ying Junmei, with no defenses left. She was desperate to escape her past under Su Huimin’s shadow. Ying Junmei’s flattery fooled her; her own naivety sealed the rest.

 

Then Ying Junmei tried to hint at arraning her to marry Song Hanshuang. Su Jia suppressed her resistance and agreed.

 

That evening with Han Yiwen and Feng Qingrui was rare—she drank past her limit. Feng Qingrui left early; when Han Yiwen and she emerged from the bar, it had started to snow.

 

A chill pierced her coat like icy blades. She felt eyes on her, cold and unnerving.

 

She turned and met a pair of calm, enigmatic eyes—Song Yanrong’s eyes.

 

Inside a car, Song Yanrong lit a cigarette, cigarette ash trembling. Before the ash could fall, wind swallowed it entirely.

 

Su Jia’s pupils constricted as she recognized her—this was the second time she’d seen Song Yanrong before the crash.

 

She froze. Han Yiwen emerged from the restaurant with a bruise on her face. Alarmed, Su Jia asked why—but Han Yiwen just tugged at a red scarf around her neck as if covering it, refusing to explain. To avoid Song Yanrong, she said nothing more.

 

As they left, someone called out from the restaurant:

 

“Oh, Madam Song, you’re out late and look dazed—drunk?”

 

Su Jia excused herself, wanting to avoid that gaze.

 

She explained: “We both drank. You more than me. Our directions home split, so I didn’t offer you a ride. You said you already called a driver, so I took a taxi… but you didn’t.”

 

That accident happened the next morning, causing a huge uproar in the Song family.

 

At that time Su Jia didn’t connect it to Han Yiwen.

 

But the next day, Han Yiwen appeared pale and said—her rental car was missing.

 

They were still young. Han Yiwen had rented it short-term for her film thesis vehicle. But the morning after Song Yanrong’s accident, as Han Yiwen regained consciousness, the car was gone.

 

“I told you—I confused her with Song Hanshuang. I saw her staring at you and thought she was the one I’d marry. I lost control,” said Han Yiwen, eyes pained.

 

She recalled going to her car after Su Jia left—she didn’t drive away. Her mind was fixated on “Song Hanshuang.” She canceled the driver and waited, watching the supposed Song Hanshuang with another woman. Her hatred for the Song family deepened.

 

Soon, she saw her stumbling out, drunk. A few friends teased her. She waved them off and departed alone.

 

“I followed her by car. Just missed someone crossing the lot—two minutes delay. When I resumed, I saw ‘Song Yanrong’ had already been hit.”

 

It was a quiet road with no witnesses. Terrified, she almost drove off—but got out instead.

 

With no experience in life, she panicked. When she saw Song Yanrong conscious but bloody, her first feeling was guilt—she’d had those devilish thoughts while drunk.

 

In panic, she fled back to the car. Once inside, it struck her—she forgot to have a driver. In haze and terror, she pulled into an alley and parked. She called a cab home.

 

When she awoke the next day, memories brought goosebumps. She searched for the rental car but couldn’t find it anywhere.

 

Even more terrifying—when she asked to review security footage, all cameras had malfunctioned that night.

 

Han Yiwen was used to talking things over with Su Jia. Afraid and anxious, she told Su Jia everything that evening.

 

Su Jia, perceptive as ever, detected Han Yiwen’s hidden motive: that she’d probably followed Song Yanrong.

 

No matter how Han Yiwen explained it was drunken impulse, and she never meant to hit Song Yanrong—Su Jia still grew wary.

 

She still remembered Su Jia’s disappointed look and the words:

 

“Han Yiwen, how could you be so dangerous?”

 

Han Yiwen’s self-defense: “I did it for you—”
But rebuked by Su Jia: “If you did it for me, then it’s even more ludicrous. You’re not love— you’re self-delusion!”

 

The slap snapped her back. To this night, the shame resurges in the dark hours.

 

Han Yiwen, shaken, replied: “I thought even if you doubted my motives, you’d still trust me. I didn’t expect you’d still not believe me after all this time. That’s why you were afraid Song Yanrong would remember me—remember that she’d seen me…”

 

Su Jia’s thoughts raced. Han Yiwen’s full confession reminded her that back then she had believed her. But now, she could no longer fully trust anyone.

 

Especially since Song Yanrong unexpectedly recalled that night—she had said she saw the person who hit her, wearing a red scarf.

 

A coincidence this perfect doesn’t exist.

 

That someone had a red scarf too.

 

That’s why Su Jia confronted Han Yiwen so directly.

 

Han Yiwen swore over and over that she hadn’t done it—only then did Su Jia finally relax a little.

 

She couldn’t help but reflect—she had heard from the Song family and Song Yanrong herself that all surveillance equipment near the crash site malfunctioned that night. There were no witnesses either. What’s more, Han Yiwen’s car disappeared under strange circumstances. Later, when Han Yiwen went back to the rental company, they told her the vehicle had already been fully purchased by someone.

 

But that car vanished after that—never seen again.

 

According to Han Yiwen, the crash had nothing to do with her. But then, why would someone deliberately hide her car?

 

If Han Yiwen was telling the truth, then the person who hid the car is likely the real culprit behind Song Yanrong’s accident.

 

Sun Jia didn’t answer right away. Instead, she asked a different question:

 

“Before the crash, did you have any contact with other members of the Song family?”

 

“No,” Han Yiwen replied. “I only met Song Jia later…”

 

After going abroad, aside from occasionally asking Feng Qingrui about Sun Jia, she’d had almost no further contact with anyone in China.

 

The disappearance of that car, and everything from that night, left a psychological scar on her—it became a nightmare she carried for years. It was the darkest, most cowardly moment of her life. In fact, it was one of the reasons she went overseas. The whole thing had been far too suspicious.

 

Even though drunk driving wasn’t taken that seriously at the time, it still carried a terrible reputation, and afterward she didn’t dare report it.

 

And because of that—and because of her near-criminal thoughts—Sun Jia began to distance herself.

 

Han Yiwen also knew, deep down, that she was no longer worthy of Sun Jia…

 

Until she heard that Sun Jia was going to marry Song Yanrong, she decided to return to China.

 

She thought: Song Yanrong is disabled—she’s not worthy. But more than that, she was worried about Sun Jia.

 

Judging by the circumstances of Song Yanrong’s accident, whoever was behind it had considerable power and background. She feared Sun Jia might also be pulled into it.

 

She visited Sun Jia at the hospital without warning, also because she was afraid Sun Jia might already be in danger. If she could show up unexpectedly a few times and see no sign of distress, she could be sure Sun Jia wasn’t being coerced into marriage.

 

And of course, she confirmed it.

 

She confirmed it in Sun Jia’s tone and attitude—Sun Jia wasn’t being threatened. She had agreed to the marriage willingly.

 

Whenever Han Yiwen thought of that, her heart ached like it had been smashed into fragments—unbearable pain.

 

Sun Jia listened with a solemn expression.

 

Indeed, it was a relief to know that Han Yiwen wasn’t the one who hit Song Yanrong.

 

But that only meant that someone else, hidden in the shadows, was targeting her.

 

That realization stirred a wave of anger and unease deep inside her.

 

Han Yiwen spoke again:

 

“Jiajia, I want to ask you something. Did you come looking for me in such anger… because you were afraid I might be involved in this, or because you were scared Song Yanrong might find out about our past?”

 

Sun Jia slowly looked at her, voice hoarse:

 

“Probably both.”

 

“You were worried that if Song Yanrong remembered seeing me that night, but couldn’t find the real suspect, she’d start to suspect me—right? So you didn’t want me to see her. So you lied to her… to protect me?”

 

That day at the studio gate, Han Yiwen had of course seen Song Yanrong—and overheard what Sun Jia had told her. It stirred a dying flame in her heart back to life.

 

That desire also showed in her words.

 

After speaking, she heard a soft, cold laugh from Sun Jia.

 

The wind blew by, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from who-knows-where. Han Yiwen breathed in deeply. The familiar fragrance instantly brought to mind the first time Song Yanrong had kissed her.

 

Sun Jia’s eyes stared out into the night, as if trying to find something in the darkness.

 

“I didn’t do it for you… I did it for myself.”

 

Han Yiwen looked at her, and for a moment, Sun Jia’s indifferent expression made her feel like she had never truly known her.

 

…

 

Han Yiwen lived in a new district, while Sun Jia had to go back to Nanping Bay—a trip of over thirty minutes.

 

Sitting in the taxi back, Sun Jia’s mind kept replaying everything that had happened over the past couple of days—most of all, Song Yanrong’s cold, unfamiliar demeanor toward her.

 

Han Yiwen’s words—“You lied to Song Yanrong for me”—were like a soft thorn, pricking her veins, making every place Song Yanrong had ever touched her ache, burn, and sting.

 

All of it slowly turned into the cold dampness of a late night.

 

She thought deeply.

 

Like a balloon that had been punctured, patched slowly, and now being re-inflated.

 

She hadn’t done everything solely for Han Yiwen.

 

Everything from the past that might implicate her made her instinctively wary—especially since she had been with Han Yiwen that night.

 

From the moment she found out Han Yiwen had returned to China, she had warned her: Stay away from Song Yanrong.

 

So the lies came naturally—a reflex.

 

She didn’t want Song Yanrong to remember anything. She didn’t want Song Yanrong—or the Song family—to find out and turn the blame on her. Although she tended to believe Han Yiwen was telling the truth, there was no proof, and she feared Song Yanrong wouldn’t believe either of them.

 

If things spiraled out of control, everything she had been trying to protect would go to waste.

 

It was better to pretend none of it had ever happened. After all, her closeness with Han Yiwen was just a thing of youthful days.

 

Besides, Song Yanrong no longer remembered what happened the night of the crash.

 

Sun Jia leaned her head against the car window. Compared to how well Song Yanrong had treated her, her own thoughts were despicable. Remembering what Feng Qingrui had said, she realized the damage she’d done to Song Yanrong was all too real.

 

Neon lights flickered in her eyes. A ridiculous surge of pity for Song Yanrong welled up inside her.

 

Even though she was the one who had lied to her.

 

And so, her mood dipped again…

 

Part of the reason she had rushed to confront Han Yiwen was because she hoped the culprit wasn’t her.

 

But another part—was for the kindness Han Yiwen had once shown her in their youth. Somewhere deep inside, she still felt something for her.

 

Not much—but something.

 

Soon, Sun Jia found herself facing yet another dilemma. Her anger earlier wasn’t just about that.

 

There was more. There was also… the thought of everything Song Yanrong had endured because of those legs.

 

So what was she really feeling for Song Yanrong?

 

What kind of emotion was it?

 

Song Yanrong had already seen through her. Her lies had been exposed.

 

Should she just tell the truth now?

 

But what if she failed?

 

What if Song Yanrong didn’t believe her?

 

…

 

After 9 p.m., the southern city was rarely lively at night—especially in this location.

 

The foggy skies hadn’t cleared, and it was even cooler than the past few days. If not for the calendar still reading “September,” one might have thought autumn had already begun.

 

The balcony curtains were fully open, and Song Yanrong’s reflection was visible on the glass—sitting on the bed.

 

She had only just remembered to check her tablet—her assistant had emailed her that afternoon with information on Han Yiwen.

 

It wasn’t that she deliberately looked into people around Sun Jia. But Han Yiwen’s attitude toward her was clearly hostile, not friendly. And something about her just felt… strangely familiar.

 

She couldn’t help but be curious—better to know than be caught off guard.

 

Reading through the report, her phoenix eyes narrowed. In that moment, her gaze revealed hidden fury.

 

Sun Jia once said that when she’d been bitten by the black dog raised by Su Huimin, it was the neighbor auntie who took her for the rabies shot.

 

But the records showed… it wasn’t the neighbor auntie.

 

It was Han Yiwen.

 

Sun Jia had been lying since back then.

 

Song Yanrong thought she could stay calm—but every time she tried to guess what was going through Sun Jia’s mind when she lied to her, a cold fire gathered in her chest.

 

She skimmed the rest of the report and, emotionless, closed the tablet and tossed it on the table.

 

Then came a loud thud.

 

She looked at the wooden box on the table.

 

After a moment’s pause, she picked up the box containing the red sandalwood prayer beads, opened the drawer, and firmly shut the box inside.

 

Bang—

 

The room fell silent again, like death.

 

Until her phone vibrated and shattered the stillness once more.

 

That’s how life is. Nothing lasts. Just when you think a moment will continue, something will always break it apart.

 

Song Yanrong, exhausted, picked up her phone.

 

It was a photo from Zhao Wen.

 

She tapped it open—it was a shot of two people facing each other beneath an apartment building.

 

Zhao Wen:

 

“Your wife’s meeting some woman in the middle of the night. Did you know about this?”