Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

For people like Song Yanrong and Su Jia, the most secure kind of relationship in this world was that of allies.

Lovers and family couldn’t be fully trusted. But allies bound by mutual interests were a different matter.

However, they still lacked one key thing: a shared interest, a binding tie.

So Song Yanrong’s words still had holes in them.

But they weren’t useless. At the very least, they stirred something in Su Jia’s heart. The hostility she had felt toward Song Yanrong began to weaken.

Su Jia was deep in thought, her expression captivating. After seriously considering Song Yanrong’s words, she gathered her courage and said, “Miss Song… I’m still feeling a bit unwell. I’d like to go to the hospital shortly.”

Song Yanrong responded as she scooped a spoonful of milk porridge: “Alright.”

“But I’m worried…” Su Jia hesitated, trailing off.

“I’ll go with you.”

Song Yanrong was direct and decisive. The matter of yesterday’s abduction hadn’t been resolved yet, and she had never intended to let Su Jia go out alone.

This ABO world was far less orderly than her original one. The Song family was a typical example of a powerful family intertwined with capital and influence. Without protection, Su Jia’s fate would be no different from what was written in the book—in fact, after what happened, things might turn out even worse.

It was out of both sympathy and curiosity about her legs that Song Yanrong had taken Su Jia with her. She now felt responsible for that decision.

Song Yanrong’s decisiveness startled Su Jia for two seconds before Song said, “Hurry up and eat.”

“Mm…”
Su Jia lowered her gaze. What she’d just said had indeed been meant to prompt Song Yanrong to accompany her. She had two goals in mind.

First, because she couldn’t stay here forever. Now that she had made up her mind, she needed some kind of guarantee—she needed Song Yanrong to appear in public with her.

The Song family didn’t care about her, but they cared about Song Yanrong.

She needed everyone to know that she and Song Yanrong were in the same boat now.

Second, it was also to test Song Yanrong. If Song’s words just now were genuine, then things should unfold as she wished.

Third, her situation was indeed strange—especially whenever she was near Song Yanrong, she always felt an urge to get closer.

She thought it might take some maneuvering—but Song Yanrong had agreed without hesitation.

At the dining table, the two of them finished their meal in silence.

They cleaned up quickly, placing the dishes into the dishwasher, then returned to their respective rooms to change.

Song Yanrong rarely wore pants before. Today, she picked a set of casual clothes: a white T-shirt and black pants.

Dresses were still manageable, but pants—without anyone’s help—required her to lie down on the bed and use leverage to pull them on.

She still wasn’t used to it, and it wasn’t easy.

It was frustrating.

Once she’d finally gotten dressed, Song Yanrong lay back on the bed, breathing slightly heavier. She planned to find an opportunity today to resolve her lingering doubt.

She hoped the return of sensation wasn’t just her imagination.

After tidying up, she turned and noticed the phone she’d casually tossed aside the night before.

When she turned it on, the red notification dots on WeChat and her messages stacked up like a growing tower of blocks.

She only paid attention to three names:

Song Hanshuang, Grandma (labeled “Live Long”), and Zhao Wen.

She glanced at Song Hanshuang’s messages first.

Song Hanshuang: “Song Yanrong, you stole my person? You must be looking for death.”

Song Hanshuang: “No one can protect you this time. Just don’t let me catch you.”

Only two lines—both fiercely worded.

Song Yanrong calmly closed the chat window and moved on to check Grandma’s messages.

There weren’t many either.

“Yanrong, you’ve gone too far this time. Send her back immediately!”

“Where are you? Call Grandma.”

From the tone of the messages, her grandmother probably hadn’t slept all night. She was furious—but in the end, her concern softened her words.

Song Yanrong only had a rough idea of the book’s plot since she’d skimmed through Drowning in Indulgence without reading it thoroughly. She remembered the grandmother as strict in public but kind and partial toward her granddaughters—especially toward Song Yanrong.

She replied with one line:

“I’ll be back in a couple of days. Don’t worry.”

Lastly, she checked the messages from Zhao Wen—a particularly notable Omega.

Zhao Wen, 30 years old, came from a well-known real estate family in the capital. Later, she married a tycoon in Port City, turning from a socialite into a wealthy wife.

The good times didn’t last long—barely two months after their marriage, her wife died of a heart attack, and Zhao Wen became the widow both envied and pitied.

Since her wife had no relatives, all her assets transferred to Zhao Wen.

Being the only daughter in her family, Zhao Wen’s wealth was difficult to calculate.

She spent her days with bodyguards, drinking and partying, lounging around counting money, and throwing lavish parties filled with gorgeous women splashing around the pool.

She lived the life most people only dreamed of.

Song Yanrong opened the WeChat messages:

Zhao Wen: “Yo, Sister Song, so you didn’t like the women I introduced? Turns out you’re into forbidden love? Going after your sister-in-law? Better be careful—your grandma’s been calling me nonstop.”

Then she sent an address:

Zhao Wen: “My new place in the development zone. No one knows about it. Passcode: 3524.”

Zhao Wen: “By the way, Zhou Yuan is looking for you.”

Song Yanrong did remember Zhou Yuan—an Omega who had an ambiguous relationship with her original host—but she had no time to think about that now.

She replied simply:

“Got it.”

Then she locked her phone again.

Leaving her room, she saw Su Jia already waiting in the living room. When she saw her, Su Jia smiled.

Song Yanrong noticed she was holding a cup.

Su Jia explained, “I brought you a thermos.”

Song Yanrong: “…”

She suddenly felt like she was being treated like an elderly person.

“I looked it up. You really should avoid drinking cold water,” Su Jia said gently. Her long, curled eyelashes fluttered like a fan as she looked at her tenderly. “Miss Song, do you think I’m being too nosy?”

Song Yanrong: “…No.”

In fact, she felt a little embarrassed.

Su Jia nodded. Her gaze paused for two seconds on Song Yanrong’s slightly flushed cheeks—clearly from exertion and sweat—then drifted down to her motionless legs.

She understood.

Song Yanrong’s outfit today matched her pheromones perfectly: clean and fresh. But from the look of it, those pants must’ve been hard to put on.

They must’ve taken quite some effort.

For some reason, Su Jia suddenly remembered the hazy mist from last night, the light sandalwood fragrance in the air as she held that pale ankle.

Slim bones. Cool and smooth like jade.

Su Jia rubbed her fingertips—almost as if she could still feel it.

…

The bodyguard was already waiting downstairs. When the two of them came down, Su Jia gave a hospital address.

The bodyguard glanced at Song Yanrong in the rearview mirror. Seeing no objection, he started the car.

Su Jia studied Song Yanrong’s expression quietly and said, “Dr. Song Lü used to be my mother’s primary physician. I got used to seeing her whenever I was sick… I can go up by myself.”

But Song Yanrong wasn’t surprised at all. “It’s fine. I’ll come with you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her too.”

After the British matriarch married into the Song family, she gave birth to a son and a daughter—one Alpha and one Omega.

The Alpha had two wives. The first gave birth to Song Hanshuang and Song Lü; the second had Song Yanrong.

Song Lü, an Alpha, was Song Yanrong’s older half-sister. Now 29, she had earned a Ph.D. in medicine at 25 and was currently the deputy chief physician at the ABO Special Clinic.

But Song Lü had essentially severed ties with the Song family. She didn’t accept help from them, nor did she rely on their connections. She was like someone who existed outside the vortex. Other than being emotionally cold, she didn’t have many flaws.

In the novel, Song Lü and Su Jia had a good relationship in the later chapters.

So Song Yanrong already knew that the hospital Su Jia wanted to visit was the one where Song Lü worked.

The original host and this second sister didn’t get along—let alone met often. But since Song Yanrong liked to know both her allies and enemies, it made sense to meet people from the original host’s circle in person.

They took the elevator to the 8th floor.

The bodyguard followed from a respectful distance. Su Jia pushed Song Yanrong’s wheelchair toward the nurse’s station.

Su Jia asked politely, “Hello, is Dr. Song around?”

“She’s in the wards,” the nurse replied.

Just then, a woman walked toward them.

Song Yanrong looked over.

Song Lü’s black hair was tied back neatly. Her nose was high, her jawline clean and sharp. Her light makeup made her features seem even more distant. She walked briskly in a white coat.

Her gaze met Song Yanrong’s for less than a second—before quickly shifting away, cold and indifferent, as if they were strangers.

Song Yanrong: “…”

Well, no need to investigate further. One look said it all.

So when Su Jia asked if she wanted to go in, Song Yanrong shook her head. “No need.”

One meeting was enough.

Throwing yourself into someone’s cold shoulder wasn’t worth it.

Su Jia nodded and handed the thermos to Song Yanrong. Before leaving, she kindly reminded her to drink some water—keeping up her soft, caring image to perfection.

Director’s Office.

Sun Jia knocked twice on the door. A cold voice answered from inside.

The desk was by the window, and the morning sunlight poured in just right, illuminating everything in the office—except the green pothos in the corner.

Sun Jia walked in and sat directly across from Song Lu. Her face still wore that soft smile, but her tone was lazy and slow:
“Dr. Song, can I still trust you?”

With just that one sentence, Song Lu noticed something different about her. Her tone, her demeanor, even the aura of her actions had changed.

Song Lu showed no emotion. “That’s something you need to decide—not me.”

Sun Jia smiled again. She didn’t intend to hide anything from Song Lu—after all, Song Lu hated the Song family even more than she did.

Back when the Song family first approached her with kind words and promises of help, it was Song Lu who warned her:
“There aren’t that many good people in the world.”

When the old matriarch of the Song family proposed that she and Song Hanshuang get engaged, Song Lu had subtly warned her again:
“Don’t be foolish.”

At the time, Sun Jia had thought Song Lu was mocking her.

But now…

Sun Jia dropped her smile. “Can I ask you something?”

Song Lu looked at her without speaking.

Sun Jia asked, “Is it because of my genes?”

As she said this, she watched the brief flicker of surprise in Song Lu’s eyes.
“At first, the Song family partnered with my family because of our new energy chips. But after my mother passed away and the company went bankrupt, I was left with nothing. And yet the Song family still insisted on marrying me.”

In the beginning, she had truly believed the old matriarch had her best interests at heart—until Song Hanshuang laid hands on her, even imprisoned her, and the old woman turned a blind eye. That was when the doubt began.

It didn’t take long for her to awaken to the truth. After a few fragments of memory came flooding back, she understood it all clearly.

The Song family had ulterior motives.

But what exactly were they after?

Song Lu didn’t stay surprised for long. She said, “You already know. Why ask?”

With time, ABO society had evolved to the point where quality genes were increasingly rare. 3S individuals hadn’t appeared in a century. 2S-levels had long been classified as “top-tier,” followed by high-level S.

Alphas were considered superior, Betas average to below average, and Omegas… rare, especially the powerful ones.

The three Song sisters were all Alphas, but Song Hanshuang and Song Lu were both B-grade—mid-tier.

Only one had promise: Song Yanrong, who was an S-class Alpha from the moment she differentiated.

Unfortunately, Song Yanrong was rebellious and hard to control. Of course, that was because she had always been doted on. The old matriarch never had the heart to push her, especially after her injury.

Song Lu had long grown sick of the Song family and left them. So the task of carrying on the family’s “high-quality genes” fell to Song Hanshuang.

But she was B-grade. She needed someone with elite lineage to bear her children.

And Sun Jia… was one of the rare 2S-class Omegas.

A top-tier Omega. Orphaned, soft-spoken, easy to manipulate—how could they possibly let her go?

“When you warned me back then, I didn’t listen.”

Sun Jia tilted her head, looking at Song Lu. “Dr. Song, I owe you one.”

Song Lu didn’t respond right away. After a few seconds, she said, “I know a few top-tier psychiatrists.”

Sun Jia’s experiences weren’t the kind just anyone could endure. And after what happened last night—reportedly, Song Yanrong had forcibly taken her away—well… with Song Yanrong still waiting outside now, Song Lu wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

But she leaned toward the theory that Sun Jia had been deeply traumatized. Otherwise, why would her personality seem to change overnight?

Sun Jia didn’t respond. She walked to the office window.

That day when she had awakened, it had been under this same glaring sunlight—blinding and cruel.

“Dr. Song,” she said, “my heat has started.”

There was a moment of silence behind her.

Sun Jia turned around, her back to the light, and asked softly, “Can someone with pheromone insensitivity still have a heat?”

Song Lu’s expression grew serious. This was almost unheard of.

She pulled up her computer and had Sun Jia register, then sent her to have bl00d drawn.

In the ABO era, medical science was advanced. Test results didn’t take long.

After the bl00d test, Sun Jia returned to the office. Outside, she noticed that Song Yanrong was still waiting at the door. Passersby couldn’t help but glance at the wheelchair, then size up her body.

But Song Yanrong never once lifted her head, completely unconcerned.

Sun Jia furrowed her brow slightly for reasons she couldn’t explain. She walked over and stood in front of Song Yanrong. The moment she caught that familiar scent, her breath hitched. She unconsciously leaned in, one step closer.

But just then, Song Yanrong looked up in surprise—and Sun Jia immediately pulled herself back.

She had just… felt pity for Song Yanrong?

And what was with that pheromone of hers? Why was it suddenly so overwhelmingly attractive?

Song Yanrong was holding a tablet, reading over Nan City’s stock markets.

The original Song Yanrong had money, but most of it came from the Song family. She needed to get a grip on the market economy fast and start preparing.

A shadow fell over her face. Sun Jia stood very close. The rose scent around her felt like it was wrapping her in an embrace. Song Yanrong’s eyes darkened, and she leaned back.

“All done?”

Sun Jia nodded. “Mhm. Just waiting for the results. Are you tired?”

Song Yanrong answered honestly, “My back’s a little sore from sitting too long.”

“Results might take a bit more time.”

“No rush,” Song Yanrong said. “Go ahead.”

Sun Jia gave an apologetic smile. “I’ll be quick.”

She returned to the office, noticing the way Song Lu’s gaze lingered on the door for a brief moment before shifting back to a more playful expression.

“You’ve cut ties with the Song family,” she said. “So I suppose you’re not interested in knowing what’s going on between me and Song Yanrong.”

“Not interested,” Song Lu replied, eyes on her screen, tone flat.

“Do you know her well?”

“Do you know her well?” Song Lu shot back.

Sun Jia smiled faintly. “I don’t.”

Song Lu caught that little word: also. As in, she didn’t know Song Yanrong either?

She snorted. Did anyone really need to understand someone like Song Yanrong?

Sun Jia recalled something Yanrong had said and laughed lightly. “Song Lu, what if I told you Yanrong and I are allies—would you believe me?”

Song Lu was stunned.

Clearly, she hadn’t suffered enough yet. Becoming allies with Song Yanrong? Trading one trap for another?

She didn’t respond, simply pulled up the lab results.

When she saw them, her expression stiffened slightly.

Sun Jia, on the other hand, remained calm. “What is it?”

“Sun Jia,” Song Lu said carefully, “you don’t have pheromone insensitivity.”

“?”

“You have pheromone dependence syndrome—a rare condition that can occur in elite-level AOs.” She remained composed. “The most obvious symptom is a total lack of response to most Alpha pheromones. That’s why your condition was misdiagnosed when you differentiated.”

Sun Jia: “…Misdiagnosed?”

“Yes. Based on current ABO medical research, your condition means you are unresponsive to the pheromones of 99.99% of Alphas.”

Sun Jia was silent for a moment, then murmured thoughtfully,
“So Song Yanrong is the remaining 0.01%…”

Song Lu’s surprise returned briefly, but then realization dawned—especially recalling that Sun Jia had been taken by Song Yanrong last night. What she didn’t understand was why Sun Jia didn’t seem the least bit upset about this result.

“What’s the consequence?” Sun Jia asked.

“You’ve probably already noticed it yourself,” Song Lu replied.

She read Sun Jia’s expression and confirmed:
“You’ve been attracted once—it’ll happen again. But it’ll worsen each time. Eventually, inhibitors won’t work. You’ll need stronger injections, then temporary marking… then permanent marking. The attraction becomes addictive. In the end, you won’t be able to resist asking her to mark you.”

Song Lu didn’t sugarcoat it—her bluntness was almost a threat.

But Sun Jia was used to her sharp tongue and felt nothing.

“Is there no other way?”

“There is—leave now. While it’s not too late.”

“Really?” Sun Jia looked at the potted plant in the corner and asked softly, “Do you think the Song family will let me go? Do you think Song Hanshuang will?”

Song Lu didn’t hesitate: “No.”

Sun Jia appreciated the honesty.

She was right. The Song family wouldn’t. She had no other way out. In the world of capital, without a powerful backer, she’d end up worse than a beggar.

“Song Yanrong is exactly the kind of person you know she is. She might not protect you.”

Sun Jia was quiet for a moment. “Or maybe… I don’t know her at all.”

She didn’t finish the thought, as if still weighing it.

If this attraction was truly addictive—was Song Yanrong worth the risk?

The answer was: she had no choice.

In the visions she’d seen, there were still mysteries left to unravel—like the real reason behind her mother’s death and the company’s collapse. And if she ended up in Song Hanshuang’s hands… it’d be ten times worse than anything she was dealing with now.

Silence lingered for several minutes.

Sun Jia’s gaze grew distant, as if something more interesting had just occurred to her. Her dry lips curled slightly as she asked:

“Then what if I don’t leave? What if I embrace this—let her mark me completely? What would happen?”

Song Lu stared into those fox-like eyes and saw the spark of madness. Whatever mental condition Sun Jia had… it seemed to be getting worse.

She hesitated, wondering whether to tell the full truth.

In the end, she answered with a blank face:
“You’d feel very good.”

Sun Jia: “…Isn’t that a good thing?”

Song Lu: “…”

She hadn’t finished.

“But once the mark is complete, you’d be bonded to her—only her. The only way out would be forced withdrawal. And that’s more painful than death.”

“And if an Alpha marks an Omega… wouldn’t she also feel some form of dependence?”

“In theory, yes. If you’re each other’s 0.01%, then there’s mutual attraction. There will be an effect.”

And since Sun Jia’s level was higher than Song Yanrong’s, the effect could be stronger. But what that effect was, Song Lu didn’t yet know.

She gave one final warning:
“But if that person is an irresponsible, spoiled brat—someone with no self-control—then when she gets bored, she could discard you at any time.”

Sun Jia propped her chin on her hand, her lips curling in a sly smile, those foxy eyes gleaming:
“Then I suppose… we’ll see how good I really am, won’t we?”