Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

“Did you set the time with Song Lü?”

Song Yanrong gently ruffled Su Jia’s slightly messy hair, smoothing it back into place — as if taming the prickles of some small, wild animal.

As the car started moving, Su Jia rested her head on Song Yanrong’s shoulder and murmured sleepily, “Ah… I almost forgot.”

She had remembered just before leaving the house, but the moment she got into the car, it slipped her mind.

She added, “It’s a little after seven, at a lounge bar on Nanyang Road. She made the reservation.”

Song Lü rarely drank.

And asking Su Jia — who also didn’t drink much — to meet at a bar made it obvious her mood was absolutely terrible.

Song Yanrong realized this too. After a moment, she said, “If you end up drinking, send me a message. I’ll come pick you up.”

Su Jia smiled. “Okay.”

He glanced at the time. “There’s still an hour. We’ve got time to eat. What do you feel like having?”

Su Jia thought for a few seconds, then shook her head. “I’m not really hungry.”

In the front passenger seat, Xiao Nuo couldn’t help glancing back again. They were at a red light, but this time she noticed a sharp look from the driver, reminding her not to stare.

She pressed her lips together and turned away.

After that, she could only hear the soft and chilly tones of the two women’s intimate conversation from behind.

“You should eat a little. If you end up drinking later, it’ll help your stomach. Zhao Wen said there’s a new Cantonese restaurant that opened by the street.”

“Are you going straight home afterward?” Su Jia asked.

“If you’re not going home, I’ll head back to the office,” Song Yanrong paused, then added, “If you finish early, I can come pick you both up.”

Su Jia said, “If you’re tired, just go home after work. You’ve had a long day.”

A few seconds of silence followed.

Then Song Yanrong chuckled softly. “You’re going out drinking, and you expect me to rest easy at home?”

Her tone was calm, but the sincerity in her words was undeniable — even a bystander would feel a pang of envy.

After the partition between the front and back seats rose, their voices became inaudible.

They dropped Xiao Nuo off at the subway station first.

Then Song Yanrong and Su Jia ate a simple meal together. Afterward, she drove Su Jia to the entrance of the bar, reminding her again not to drink too much. Only when she saw Su Jia safely inside did she head to the office.

Outside the bar, the neon lights spilled across the car window like a scattered rainbow. The city felt alive in a way that was raw and real — a vibrancy Song Yanrong always appreciated at moments like this.

She shifted her gaze and suddenly noticed a white item at her feet.

Bending down, she picked up a used wet wipe — still damp.

Her mind flashed back to earlier: Su Jia, back pressed against the car window, her cries muffled by Song Yanrong’s hand.

Heat surged through her again.

Su Jia always craved intense, thrilling s3x — bold, uninhibited, even wild. That was probably her true nature: daring, unruly, almost reckless in her openness.

Her inner emotions only surfaced when she was completely overwhelmed — only in those climactic moments did Song Yanrong catch glimpses of what lay deep in her eyes.

None of it could be seen just from her face.

Song Yanrong didn’t like when Su Jia pretended to be something she wasn’t in front of her. That’s why these moments served as the best form of punishment — Su Jia couldn’t hide her pain, her desire, or the vulnerability in her voice.

She knew Su Jia needed time.

And she was willing to wait.

A woman who had been hurt, who guarded herself fiercely against the world — someone she loved.

She could wait.

But she also hoped she wouldn’t be the only one trying.

…

Su Jia met with Song Lü in a corner of the bar.

At first glance, Song Lü didn’t look much different. But as Su Jia got closer, she noticed the darkness under her eyes.

Song Lü ordered a Long Island Iced Tea — a drink with a heavy kick. Clearly, she didn’t plan to stay long. She just wanted to get drunk fast and leave.

Su Jia ordered a light fruit wine — just a sip, strawberry flavored.

Minutes passed in silence. Neither spoke.

Only the soft, lilting hum of a woman’s singing echoed from the center of the bar.

A Cantonese song. Her voice was pure and melodic, telling a quiet story.

“Loving you means hating myself too,
As if love bloomed on a cliff’s edge,
No matter how beautiful it looks,
It’s all just self-deception —
Thinking I could win your love.
Love beneath a crumbling wall,
Is burdened with too much sorrow…
I hate that I should’ve walked away…”

Song Lü couldn’t even remember when she first fell in love with Song Qi.

Maybe it had started earlier than she thought.

That forbidden, doomed affection — unfit for daylight — had begun the moment she learned that Song Qi had been adopted by Ying Junmei and had no bl00d ties to the Song family.

From there, it grew quietly, took root, and eventually flourished into something huge — like a towering tree in full bloom. And on one sweltering summer night, it became uncontrollable.

From that point on, she only lived and breathed for one person.

It had been Song Qi’s birthday — hosted in a flat in Nanping Bay. Under the pretense of celebrating, she’d filled the entire place with roses.

They both drank a lot that night.

When it grew late and everyone else had left, only Song Lü remained.

Song Qi, exhausted, lay sprawled on the carpet, staring at the sea of roses. Song Lü sat beside her with a bottle of red wine. She took a big swig and asked, “Auntie, do you know the meaning of roses?”

Song Qi’s breathing was slow. Her cheeks were flushed, and her expression warm and gentle.

“I don’t,” she replied.

“It means passionate, pure, and sincere love.”

Song Lü felt her body tremble — heard the warning tone in her voice. “Ah Lü…”

“Song Qi.”

She called her name directly for the first time. “I like you. You know that, don’t you?”

Song Qi sat up and grabbed her arm. “Don’t say it!”

Usually composed, restrained, polite — her gentle aunt now reeked of alcohol, her soft eyes filled with panic.

But Song Lü remained calm. She turned her head to look at her, gripping the wine bottle tighter.

“Don’t worry. No one else will ever know. So you don’t need to be scared… But I think you’ve known for a long time. That’s why you started avoiding my gaze. That’s why you stopped being warm with me. That’s why you gave all your attention to Song Yanrong when I was around.”

“But you forgot something.”

Song Lü stared at Song Qi’s pale face. “You forgot to hide your own feelings. You shouldn’t have sent me those pastries under Grandma’s name. You don’t even like peach crisps — I only said I did because you made them. And you shouldn’t have secretly come to the hospital to see me when I was sick without telling anyone not to mention it… Song Qi, I’m not asking you to accept me or be with me. But… can you not reject me so quickly?”

“But we’re…”

“We’re not!”

Song Lü cut her off. “We’re not real aunt and niece, are we? And even if we were — why should titles, social rules, or age be an obstacle to love? Why?”

Why must such rules exist?

Why must we give up on love just because of what others think?

Back then, Song Lü was young and defiant — ready to tear down the world’s rules for the one she loved.

Her words were fierce.

And the truth was — she had drunk far too much.

“Stop looking at Song Yanrong, Aunt. Even if it’s just to avoid me, can you stop looking at her like that? Please?” Song Lü’s inner calm began to collapse as she stared into Song Qi’s resistant eyes.

“Her being orphaned is pitiful, yes. But what about me? Am I not pitiful too? Look at me—am I not pitiful just because I can’t have the one I love?”

She said a lot.
A lot of things she had buried in her heart for a long, long time.

Song Qi’s eyes welled with tears—out of shame, out of being moved, and out of panic she couldn’t quite understand.

“A-Lü… you’re still young. You’ll meet someone better in the future.” Song Qi looked away, unable to face the burning emotion in those eyes.

After a few sips of wine, Song Lü asked, “Do you like me? Just tell me—do you like me? Even just a little?”

The scent of roses wasn’t overwhelming, but it stained the vision red—everywhere one looked, it was fire, burning painfully.

“Don’t say it.”

“Answer me.”

“Song Qi, answer me.”

“A-Lü, stop! We can’t!”

“You do like me!” Song Lü shouted. “You like me! Then why can’t we?”

She had drunk a lot—but she wasn’t drunk. Her mind was clear. She took another gulp of wine, pushed Song Qi to the ground, and kissed her.

Those lips she had dreamed of tasted exactly as she had imagined—soft and sweet.

She pried open Song Qi’s lips and poured half the wine into her mouth.

Only when they were both nearly suffocating did she pull away, watching the red liquor trickle from Song Qi’s lips—seductive and forbidden.

Song Lü wiped it away, her eyes filled with deep love. “If it’s love, then why can’t we?”

Song Qi cried, “You’re drunk…”

“I am,” Song Lü said. “Isn’t it good to be drunk together?”

She held Song Qi’s face in her hands, pleading.

“Aunt… please, let me have this.”

That was the last time Song Lü ever seriously called Song Qi “Aunt” in private.

When she wasn’t being serious, it was usually when they were doing that. Every time, Song Qi would blush furiously and rush to cover her mouth.

But Song Lü would just gently bite Song Qi’s finger, wrapping it completely in her lips.

They had spent the most secretive, happiest time of their lives together.

After that, life held no more joy.

Later.

Song Qi said she was getting married.

To a woman with an overseas background, arranged by Ying Junmei.

Song Lü cried, begged, raged—but still, Song Qi didn’t turn back.

The night before Song Qi’s wedding, Song Lü sent her a message. She’d bought two plane tickets and would wait at the airport until the very last moment.

But Song Qi didn’t come.

All she received was one line:

“A-Lü, I’m sorry. I can’t go.”

Her Long Island iced tea was finished.

The sharpness and coldness in Song Lü’s eyes now carried traces of defeat and loss. She ordered another glass.

Her long reminiscing and murmuring came to an end.

“Sū Jia,” she said, “do you know what the most important thing in a relationship is?”

Su Jia shook her head—she naturally didn’t know.

But for once, she was curious and eager to learn. “Why?” she asked.

Song Lü said, “Choice.”

“Every choice at every crossroads in a relationship matters. If you choose wrong once, the road after that becomes completely different.”

Su Jia understood, though her own experience was too limited for the meaning to hit deeply.

Just then, she received a message from Song Yanrong, asking how Song Lü was doing.

Reading it, her lips curled into a faint smile. She told Song Lü, “She seems to care about you.”

Song Lü paused. Once she understood who Su Jia meant, she gave a faint, silent smile.

She had always disliked Song Yanrong—ever since their father married her mother, and ever since Song Qi started favoring her more.

Later, she disliked her even more because of her temper.

But recently, she didn’t know why—maybe time really could change people—after seeing her again a few times, she felt different.

She didn’t feel so annoyed anymore.

In fact, sometimes she found this half-sister kind of interesting—maybe even… pure.

Not as cunning, not as greedy for money.

Unlike Ying Junmei and Song Hanshuang, whose minds were filled only with profit. Or like their mother, who took a massive divorce payout and never looked back.

Still, Song Lü looked at Su Jia and asked back, “Do you believe that?”

Su Jia smiled gently. “She’s not like the rest of the Song family. Don’t tell me you can’t see that.”

Song Lü said, “Easier to fool.”

The words landed.

Su Jia’s expression visibly darkened. She looked at Song Lü, her eyes like knives.

She could tell that ever since their last fight in the hospital, when she’d pissed Song Lü off, things had been tense. Even though they’d somewhat made up, the resentment clearly still lingered in Song Lü’s heart.

She was just waiting to jab it back at her.

“You’re mad at just one comment. What if Song Yanrong heard it?”

Song Lü swallowed her wine, her hostility softening. “Maybe if you explained it, it wouldn’t be such a big deal—unless you still don’t completely trust her.”

Her words were sharp, one cut deeper than the last.

She didn’t wait for Su Jia’s answer, just said to herself, “You’ve changed a lot. Like you don’t trust anyone anymore.”

Su Jia said, “I haven’t.”

Song Lü replied, “Even Song Yanrong.”

Su Jia said nothing. Her first instinct was to say no—but thinking deeper, she realized Song Lü wasn’t wrong.

“I’ve known you for so long, and for the first time, I think you’ll regret it,” Song Lü concluded.

Su Jia was silent for a while. Then she asked, “Why?”

Song Lü looked at her, took a sip of wine, and didn’t answer.

In her heart, she thought: Because I saw it in your eyes—you’re afraid. Afraid of losing.

And when you’re afraid of losing, it usually means—you’re already starting to lose.

It had only been twenty-something minutes.

Song Lü stood up with her phone, leaving before she got truly drunk. She’d timed it well and called for a designated driver in advance.

Su Jia also stood up.

As they walked out of the bar, Song Lü asked, “Want me to give you a ride?”

Su Jia looked at the car waiting by the curb. Xiao K, sent by Song Yanrong, had arrived early. She shook her head.

So Song Lü turned to leave.

Su Jia said, “Her flight’s tomorrow afternoon.”

Song Lü paused mid-step, gave a casual “Mm.”

Her reply seemed delayed—like the words had stayed stuck in her throat before coming out.

“You’re not going to see her one last time?”

“No need.”