Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Su Jia returned to Nanping Bay at 10 p.m.
The door opened, and apart from the faint breeze drifting in from the balcony and the soft rustling of leaves, the house was silent.
A cool, pale light spilled in, mixing with the warm glow of the living room. Su Jia could immediately see the closed door of the bedroom.
She walked over, then paused.
She raised her hand, but in the end, it was her palm that rested lightly on the door.
She asked, “Are you asleep?”
Just like last night, there was no response. But something stirred inside her, a certainty: Song Yanrong wasn’t asleep.
Su Jia leaned her forehead against the back of her hand. “I originally wanted to talk to you tonight… but I realized there’s something else I need to figure out first. Once I understand it clearly, I’ll talk to you.”
Her voice was low and hoarse, brimming with vulnerability—like a thin stream trickling through the quiet living room.
“Yanrong,” she called gently, but no further words followed.
Moments later, silence returned.
Inside the room, Song Yanrong opened her eyes and looked toward the door. A few seconds later, she closed them again.
Of course, she didn’t know that Su Jia had gone out so late to meet Han Yiwen. There were still many things she didn’t know—like whether what Su Jia wanted to “sort out” included those secrets.
Song Yanrong rolled over slightly, pressing the blanket along her legs to ease the discomfort.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about that photo.
Why had Su Jia gone to meet Han Yiwen so late?
That damned curiosity and desire to know—it bloomed even in this context, wildly and uncontrollably. It was disgusting.
She had always believed that even though Su Jia and Han Yiwen were destined lovers in the book, this was different. Putting aside the deception, her intuition told her there was no intimate relationship between them now.
But what if her intuition was wrong too?
She lay flat on her back and took a deep breath. She hated being trapped in emotional guesswork—jealousy and darkness were like seeds embedded in one’s veins, silently absorbing nutrients until they took root and grew.
And yet, when Su Jia said she needed to “figure things out” before talking to her, a sliver of hope still rose in her heart.
That sliver of hope revealed the softest part of her humanity—her weakness.
The next morning, Su Jia got up early and went to the company.
The past few days had been spent in auditions, but official filming hadn’t started yet.
Monica had arranged a small role for her in an ongoing historical web drama called Double Lives, only six episodes long. The script had only arrived two days ago.
The story followed a woman with amnesia who collapsed in a remote village called Bitter Mustard Village and was rescued by twin sisters.
The woman was beautiful, curvaceous, aloof, and rarely spoke. The younger twin quickly fell in love with her.
But when the older sister realized this, jealousy took root—because she, too, had fallen for the mysterious woman.
A hidden rivalry brewed between the sisters, often leaving them with injuries. The woman, however, remained indifferent—whom she spoke to or smiled at depended entirely on her mood.
She remembered nothing, not even her rescuers. No one knew how many scars she bore. To her, the world was a forest of unseen dangers.
At night, she slept clutching a sickle.
One day, she met a new face in the reeds: a newcomer from the neighboring village. Unlike the manipulative twins, this person saw right through her—even gave her a knife.
The woman shifted her attention to the newcomer and eventually fell for her. The twins’ resentment also turned toward the newcomer.
As her relationship with the new neighbor deepened, the village began to whisper of an impending marriage. The woman smiled often in public.
But the day before the wedding, her beloved fiancée had an accident—falling from a hill and breaking a leg. The incident left her depressed, but the woman still married her.
On their wedding night, the woman revealed the truth:
“I’ve had my memory back for a long time. I know who you are—the daughter of the person who hurt me. That’s why I approached you. I also led those foolish twins to harm me.”
Her wife, dressed in red wedding robes, lay powerless in bed.
“I lied to you,” the woman said as she touched her face.
Tears rolled from the bride’s closed eyes.
“You came to hurt me… didn’t you?” she whispered.
The woman’s wife turned away and never spoke to her again.
She was the daughter of her enemy—but she had only come to the village by chance, seeking escape. From the moment she first saw the woman, she had fallen in love.
She never knew the woman’s real identity.
From that night on, the woman locked her in a room, chained her wrists and ankles—she was no longer free. And she never spoke again.
Every night, the woman used various methods on her in bed to get her to speak.
But the wife only begged for death.
To keep her from killing herself, the woman chained her throat like a dog and stuffed her mouth with a gag…
Then one day, the woman’s secret was discovered by the twins, who kidnapped her wife for leverage.
That night, the woman went mad. She took a knife and chased them into the reeds.
The screams cut through the grass. She killed the twins—then turned to see her wife jump into the river.
Three days later, the wife’s body was found.
Seven days later, the woman took her own life at the same spot.
Bl00d soaked the reeds, staining the yellowed grass.
She had tried to untie her wife—but was pushed away. She hit her head on a stone. She couldn’t save her.
They met among the reeds—and perished there together.
Su Jia played the wife in the drama. Each episode was only ten minutes long and fast-paced. She hadn’t had much time to study the script. Monica said it was produced by a short-video platform—what mattered most was visual appeal.
Su Jia disagreed with that idea, but the rich complexity of the characters still attracted her.
Though it was a short project, having a strong early role mattered. And somehow, she felt a deep emotional connection to the story—especially the female lead.
She saw shadows of herself in the character.
The female lead was played by a currently trending online celebrity named Loli.
Because the underwater filming studio was fully booked, their shoot had been pushed to this week. The first scene was a drowning scene.
“Cut—!”
Su Jia was pulled from the water. The director snapped, “Your audition was great. What happened? You’re acting like a completely different person. I don’t have time for this.”
It had rained for three days. The temperature had dropped sharply. Su Jia felt like she’d plunged into winter.
She nodded, pale: “I’m sorry. I’ll adjust.”
That was her third “cut.”
“Director, how about I go first?” Loli smiled at the director. “She’s new, give her a break. Don’t be mad. I’ll treat everyone to afternoon tea.”
The crew laughed along.
Su Jia turned away and walked to the corner, wrapping herself in the towel again.
Half a minute later, someone finally came over to blow-dry her hair.
She silently recited her lines again. She knew something was wrong—but couldn’t pinpoint what.
Fourth jump. Another “cut.”
This time, the director was blunt:
“What, you think this is just a pretty-face drama? If you think you can coast through this, you can leave right now.”
“She’s crippled, betrayed, hurt, imprisoned—that’s why she wants to die. But you’re giving me a survival instinct. Your eyes say you want to live!”
“You’re not Su Jia now. You’re a broken soul, betrayed by your lover. You’re desperate to die. Understand?”
“Last chance. One hour. If you still can’t get it—leave. I don’t want idiots.”
Su Jia sat in the dressing room, soaked and shivering in her costume. Her pale makeup hadn’t been removed, making her look even more ghostly.
She wanted hot water but was too tired to get up.
She hadn’t felt this humiliated in a long time.
Without Song Yanrong at her side—there was no one left to shield her.
She was reminded of her awakening—of the time her mother died. Wasn’t it just like this?
Her nose tingled.
If only Song Yanrong were here right now. It had only been a few days, but it felt like forever since she last held her.
Come to think of it, Song Yanrong hadn’t spoken properly to her the last couple days.
She sat still for a moment, picked up her phone, and quickly found Song’s number.
She dialed.
It rang until the last second before someone picked up.
“Hello?”
Su Jia’s throat tightened. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. The director’s words rang in her ears:
“She was betrayed by the one she loved. That’s why she wanted to die.”
As she performed the fifth take, she suddenly felt the emotion take hold.
She passed the scene.
And with that emotional spillover—she inexplicably thought of Song Yanrong.
She finally understood what it must have felt like for Song to realize she had been deceived.
She hadn’t said anything yet.
Song Yanrong asked, “Is it urgent?”
It was loud in the background. Su Jia cleared her throat. “Are you busy?”
Song replied, “Yeah, a bit—”
Before she could finish, Su Jia heard a woman call her name: “President Song.”
“I’ll be right there,” Song Yanrong answered.
Su Jia frowned. “Where are you?”
There was a pause. Song didn’t answer and instead asked, “What did you want?”
Su Jia hung up.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then called Xiao K.
The call was picked up quickly.
“Where is Song Yanrong?” she asked directly.
Xiao K hesitated, then said, “Entertaining clients.”
“Did she go alone?” Su Jia pressed. “Who’s with her?”
“Xiang Ying.”
That name had come up a few times in recent calls. Su Jia hadn’t met her, but she instinctively connected it to the woman who brought Song home that night.
“The woman who brought her home last time?” she asked.
There was another pause.
“…Yes. Miss Xiang handles most of her engagements.”
“She’s… her secretary.”
With each added sentence, Su Jia’s face grew colder.
She stared into the mirror, her stunning peach blossom eyes narrowing.
“Send me the address.”