Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 41
Chapter 41
It was winter that year.
Su Jia’s mother, desperate to keep the family business running, borrowed money wherever she could. Before the bankruptcy, the Su family was already heavily in debt. Creditors came to their door, pounding bricks and fists against the metal gate, the noise savage and menacing.
Her mother, with no choice left, opened the door pleading for a few more days—but the mob surged in, smashing everything.
The house fell into chaos. Cushions were slashed, fluff floated through the air like snow. Furniture, glass, fish tank shattering—each crash more agonizing than the last.
Su Jia was held in her mother’s arms. Through the fingers covering her eyes, she watched a small goldfish flopping on the floor, gasping for air. It struggled, no longer blowing bubbles of life—just dying.
Then someone stomped on it. It split in pieces.
Su Jia squeezed her eyes shut hard—but that was only the beginning. They dragged her mother and ripped Su Jia from her arms. The family maid—who had raised her alongside her mother—rushed in to protect her, trembling.
“She’s just a kid!” the maid cried.
One creditor snarled: “Kid? If you can’t pay, hand her over to us! Maybe then we’ll give you a few days!”
Su Jia’s mother and the maid pressed in front of her protectively. Her mother fell to her knees, begging—“I’ll pay tomorrow, even if I sell the company!”
But they didn’t listen. They fought even harder to take Su Jia. In the wrestling, some men took advantage—it was horrifying.
The living room filled with screams and sights Su Jia had never imagined—vile laughter, threats, and abuse amid the wreckage.
The maid, usually timid, suddenly fierce in fighting for Su Jia. Su Jia had never seen her so angry.
Then, there was a sickening scream. The maid collapsed—limp and heavy like a vine cut from a pot.
She heard her mother’s voice wrenching through the chaos: “Help!” Her mother clutched her, crying, begging. Su Jia looked in disbelief as the maid lay motionless, no breath, just bl00d streaming down her forehead, staining her white hair.
The creditors panicked—they realized someone was dead.
At that moment, the strong arms holding Su Jia went limp. Amid the tumult, she heard her mother fall—boom!—the sound echoed like a drum.
That night, her mother was rushed to the hospital for the first—and only—time.
…
Through cold winters and hot summers, birthdays came and went. One spring day when cherry blossoms bloomed, Su Jia carried a basket of petals to her mother’s hospital.
At the ward door, nurses flitted around urgently.
She asked why. They avoided her eyes, their expressions vague—something required an adult.
She said she was fourteen—old enough.
They said nothing more.
Soon after, her mother lay still as a dried fish. On the bedside table, a sloppy note—half-finished scribbles. Nurses and doctors moved around in silence.
Su Jia didn’t cry. She seemed to have no tears, and no voice.
Then her relative, Su Hui-min, arrived—took all papers, hired a lawyer. As Su Jia was a minor, Su Hui-min became her legal guardian and took control of all assets—Su Jia included.
But soon everything was gone. Furniture, money—gone. Su Hui-min moved with her to the countryside. Sometimes the aunt’s gambler lover visited—their life worsened.
Su Jia hardly slept. She lived in fear, even lost her voice for a time—ironically cured when a dog barked at her.
Eventually she confessed: the neighbor hadn’t taken her to the hospital when the dog bit her—it was Han Yiwen who did.
Neighbors all avoided Su Hui-min—they wanted no part of her mess.
If Yiwen hadn’t stepped in… Su Jia might have died alone.
Yiwen had saved her.
Su Jia said: “I hid my connection with Han Yiwen. At first I didn’t want to bring up the past, so I stayed silent about her. I thought you’d never meet her. But then she came to the hospital—I stayed quiet because… I felt guilty.”
Song Yanrong asked: “There’s nothing else between you two—so why guilt?”
Su Jia paused, voice hoarse: “It’s connected to your car accident.”
Song Yanrong fell silent. It was late, and Su Jia was exhausted. She let her rest.
…
Song Yanrong’s mind spun through seasons while she listened. Su Jia’s words rolled over her, crushing her inside—sharp, aching, tingling with pain.
She realized that when she transmigrated into this world, she assumed Su Jia was the “previous character”—sweet, passive. But she was wrong.
Su Jia had suffered great heartbreak—once pampered, then humiliated and reduced to a pariah. To survive, she learned schemes, cunning, flaws.
That was the real Su Jia. Pure innocence would have been terrifying.
It seemed like Song Yanrong was excusing her—but the truth was, she felt deep pity and admiration. Had she walked in her place, the pain would have warped her even more.
And after entering the Song family, Su Jia endured more trials.
Song Yanrong admitted: she had grown soft. Even before she realized the meaning of “guilt,” she had softened.
But she wouldn’t repeat her mistakes easily. Though she cared deeply for Su Jia—wanted to cherish and comfort her—Su Jia was also dangerous.
Song Yanrong closed her eyes, feeling pins and needles in her fingers. She noticed something stuck on her hand, rubbed it unconsciously, as if the voice of an Omega whispered again.
Lately, Su Jia had even begun calling her “Yanrong” in bed.
Drawing a deep breath, Song Yanrong finally sat up, dragging her weakened body to the bathroom to cleanse herself of the world’s filth.
…
Glass of water rattled on the table.
Su Jia rubbed at her mouth and sat in bed a while. What she revealed last night was true—she said too much, recited history so vividly it was as if it happened again. Perhaps that’s why she had nightmares—of chaos, screams, fish tank shattering, her maid’s skull breaking, her mother frozen like a corpse. Dog bites ripping limbs.
All fled, leaving mist. In it, she saw someone in a wheelchair reaching for her—but she couldn’t grasp them.
She awoke in a cold sweat. Half a glass of water quelled her racing heart. The past became past.
She stepped barefoot to the balcony, drew back the curtain. Warm wind lifted her blue-gray dress—it felt alive in the city’s stillness.
Alone, she stood by the window. She tried calling out, “Mom…” Then a tremor ran through her, cold sweat prickling her spine. She hugged herself like a vine around her chest, forehead pressed to the glass, breathing like a suffocating fish.
For two long minutes, until tears dried, she calmed.
She collapsed on the balcony, glared upward with a terrible hatred—for no one in particular.
She had had chances to change it all.
And yet…
She smiled crazily. One tear slid into her hair.
…
Next morning, around 7 AM
Su Jia, weak from few hours of sleep and her cold, stifled dizziness as she dressed and headed to the set for Double Lives.
Last night’s events were vivid, and though Song Yanrong’s attitude had softened, she was still left alone in the room.
She stepped into the living room, wincing at dizziness, only to hear snips of scissors.
She walked toward the sound and saw Song Yanrong in her wheelchair, trimming a plant’s stray branch.
Song Yanrong looked up, studied her face, and said, “Breakfast is on the table.”
Su Jia asked, “You?”
“I’ve eaten,” Song Yanrong responded.
Su Jia washed up, rested a hand on Song Yanrong’s leg and teased: “You ate early to avoid breakfast with me?”
Song Yanrong paused, then explained quietly: “No… I drank last night and felt chilly on the couch, so my stomach’s off—I ate earlier.”
She didn’t add anything unnecessary and put the scissors away.
Su Jia crouched beside her, brushing her fingers over cooled fabric.
Sunlight flickered across Su Jia’s face like broken stars.
Su Jia began: “You said we were partners—but I got lost, too. I wondered why you helped me, what you gained. It struck me—it was unfair. I gained so much and you so little.”
From the beginning, she felt insecurity and fear—a muscle memory from ten years of survival.
When Han Yiwen reappeared, Su Jia’s first thought was: “She can’t show up in front of you.”
“It was too strange that night—Han Yiwen’s car disappeared, all surveillance lost. If you remembered seeing her or something else, Yiwen would be the only suspect. And she was with me that night. I was afraid you’d blame me, even implicate the Song family.”
Su Jia coughed. “I don’t want more trouble. I don’t want to go back to that life.”
Song Yanrong looked into her eyes—those eyes that first drew her, full of sincerity and feeling.
“I’m sorry, I should have trusted you.”
Song Yanrong sighed, gazing at Su Jia’s red-rimmed eyes and fragile submission. She thought for a long time.
Her fingertip twitched, interrupted by a buzzing.
She checked her phone: it was a message from Song Qi.
Qi was leaving Nancheng tomorrow, asking her to go home tonight. Song Yanrong had known already—Ying Junmei had called the day before. She replied: “Okay.”
Then: “Your wife’s coming back too, right?”
Song Yanrong paused, put down the phone, and looked at Su Jia.
“I think I can understand you. But I need time to settle things. We both do. And I owe you an apology—about my leg, and last night… I was impulsive. I’m sorry.”
“Time,” Su Jia whispered.
“Yes. I get what you mean… But I think we should remain as we are, for now.”
Their relationship had moved too fast—physically and emotionally. Last night’s clash was from that initial imbalance. Song Yanrong felt for Su Jia, softened—but her survival instincts remained.
Su Jia’s face flickered, but she said nothing.
That was okay—she could wait.
At least Song Yanrong was no longer rejecting her entirely.
Her hand still rested on Song Yanrong’s leg. She longed to see her stand.
But she composed herself, voice rough and serious: “What Yiwen said… it means someone was watching you that night.”
Song Yanrong sensed the meaning: “Who do you suspect?”
Su Jia lowered her head, cheek pressed to the fabric. “Yanrong—be careful of the Song family.”
She didn’t finish—but what she meant was: They’re different. They devour and spit out—you aren’t safe.
Song Yanrong’s eyes softened. She wasn’t pushing her away. Her voice was calm: “I know.”
Coincidentally, tonight was one of the rare times most of the Song clan would be together. Song Lü was coming home too.
Song Yanrong had already suspected many—but now she suspected Song Hanshuang most. Still just suspicion—but she could find out more tonight.
And as Su Jia’s warm hand pressed into her thigh, she finally stood—Song Yanrong would take her home tonight.