Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 50

Chapter 50

 

A week after the filming of Shuang Shuang wrapped, the production team released a teaser. The drama began airing on a short video platform, updating one episode per week.

 

Just three days after the teaser was released, it garnered over 5 million likes, and the numbers continued to climb.

 

The name “Su Jia” appeared in the public eye for the first time. After the first episode aired, Su Jia, who played the wife, captivated audiences with her serene and elegant appearance. Coupled with the freshness of a new face, her name even surpassed that of the already popular Loli in trending searches.

 

In addition to Su Jia’s performance, the show’s unique premise and brisk pacing became a breath of fresh air amid the sluggishness of mainstream dramas. This boosted not only the show’s popularity but also the short video app’s traffic.

 

The drama sparked a new trend in short web dramas. More and more influencers started creating content inspired by it.

 

The show’s popularity peaked during the final two episodes, when the wife—played by Su Jia—was revealed to be disabled and betrayed by her lover while dressed in a wedding gown.

 

Su Jia’s innocent yet sensual face, her tearful eyes, the red dress highlighting her despair, and her expression as she jumped into the river in heartbreak—became the subject of screenshots turned into avatars, backgrounds, or reaction memes labeled “Heartbroken Beauty” and shared widely on Weibo.

 

No one expected the previously unknown Su Jia to break into the film industry with just a supporting role in a short-form series.

 

Monica, a seasoned agent, had seen many rise to fame overnight. Given Su Jia’s natural advantages, it was only a matter of time. After watching her audition, Monica immediately secured her several higher-quality scripts.

 

The most significant of these was Goodbye Moonlight, a suspense drama directed by Li Zhou. Originally, Su Jia auditioned for the third female lead. But when she arrived, the director noticed her resemblance to the female lead and added a test scene for the main role.

 

Nothing was confirmed yet—casting processes can take a long time.

 

As filming pressures mounted, Su Jia’s time grew limited, and her moments with Song Yanrong decreased.

 

Their longing was eased through video calls and phone conversations during spare moments.

 

But Su Jia wasn’t the only one buried in work. Song Yanrong was, too—more precisely, because the business world of Nancheng had entered a period of economic turmoil…

 

This was an unexpected financial crisis.

 

In Nancheng, November suddenly turned cold.

 

The lush green leaves began to wither under the gloomy, frigid climate. In one night, yellow and green leaves blanketed the streets. Even with sanitation workers sweeping from before dawn, it was futile.

 

By daylight, another wave of dead leaves rolled across roads and sidewalks.

 

Every day, many leaves fell. But it wasn’t until bare branches remained that people realized the trees were dying.

 

Song Yanrong stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out from the 28th floor of the YR Group. A mass of dark clouds was drifting in from the distance, as though determined to destroy the city.

 

Xiang Ying knocked and entered, standing quietly behind her:
“President Song, Miss Zhou Yuan went to the Song Corporation.”

 

Xiang Ying, aside from Su Jia and little K, was the only person who knew about her leg’s recovery.

 

Song Yanrong responded indifferently, “Then it’s almost time.”

 

“Madam Zhou didn’t go herself, but Miss Zhou showing up… do you think Mr. Song will help the Zhou family this time?” Xiang Ying asked.

 

Song Yanrong didn’t answer, only said:
“Soon, they’ll probably come to us directly. Let them in when they do.”

 

Xiang Ying nodded. “Understood.”

 

Song Hanshuang would help the Zhou family—but not yet.

 

The Zhou family was the first to face crisis due to poor management. This was part of the novel’s plot. In the original, the Zhou family gave up substantial interests to the Song family, even agreed to let them take equity shares. But because the amount required to save them was so large, and the Song Corporation had its own mess to deal with later, Song Hanshuang ultimately withdrew all support and let the Zhou family collapse.

 

The Zhou family fell into obscurity, just like the Su family once did.

 

This eventually led Madam Zhou to deeply resent the Song family. Zhou Yuan repeatedly defied her mother over her feelings for the original protagonist. Madam Zhou, enraged, fell ill and never recovered.

 

Despite some changes to the original timeline, the outcome would likely remain the same.

 

After all, Song Hanshuang and Zhou Yuan’s marriage was one of convenience.

 

Formed by interest, dissolved by interest—such truths never change.

 

…

 

In the luxurious top-floor CEO office of the Song Corporation, antiques worth fortunes lined the display shelves. Song Hanshuang leaned back in a camel-colored leather chair, staring coldly at the woman before her.

 

Zhou Yuan’s face was ashen, her voice sharp:
“You think your Song family will be fine while the Zhou family collapses? Like it or not, I’m still your wife. You think you’ll get away unscathed?”

 

Song Hanshuang scoffed:
“You’re mistaken. Right now, it’s your Zhou family begging me. Zhou Yuan, if you still don’t see the situation clearly, then it’s a miracle your family survived this long. Once it’s in your hands, it’s doomed.”

 

Seeing Zhou Yuan’s expression, she added with a sneer:
“What, your mother didn’t tell you? The only one who can save your family is the Song family. So where’s your confidence coming from?”

 

“What do you want, then?” Zhou Yuan snapped. “What will it take for you to fund my family?”

 

She hadn’t been home in a long time. That morning, she overheard a news report at a bar mentioning the Zhou family’s financial troubles. Returning home, she found her mother aged overnight, dark circles under her eyes, clearly having not slept in days.

 

She learned their company was on the verge of collapse, unable to maintain operations. If they couldn’t secure funding in two weeks, they’d go bankrupt. Her mother had already visited Ying Junmei, who refused to meet. Song Hanshuang had met them once—but demanded equity shares. The second time, she refused entirely.

 

Now, it was clear they were forcing a merger with the Song Corporation.

 

Furious, Zhou Yuan had cursed them. But her mother stopped her, saying no one else had the power to save them.

 

Zhou Yuan took a deep breath.
“Song Hanshuang, help us this time, and I’ll stop opposing you. At home or in public, do whatever you want.”

 

“You overestimate yourself,” Hanshuang replied coolly. “But I’m not unwilling to help. Have your mother sign this contract, and I’ll wire the funds.”

 

She slapped a document onto the table.

 

Zhou Yuan picked it up and flipped through it. She wasn’t an expert, but she could tell—it was a company acquisition contract.

 

She threw it on the floor.
“Song Hanshuang! Your Song family is the top enterprise in Nancheng, and this is how shameless you are?!”

 

Hanshuang’s smile vanished. She narrowed her eyes.

 

A glass shattered at Zhou Yuan’s feet, shards scattering like broken pieces on a chessboard.

 

“You want to talk about shame? Your family arranged this marriage for the Song family’s wealth and power! And you—you tried to crawl into someone else’s bed for revenge, and they didn’t even glance your way. You want to call me shameless? Look in the mirror!”

 

Each word struck like a blade.

 

“Shut up!” Zhou Yuan shrieked, raising her hand to slap Hanshuang. But Hanshuang grabbed her wrist mid-air—prepared, as if this had happened before.

 

Zhou Yuan winced in pain. “Let go.”

 

Realizing she’d shown weakness, she quickly steeled herself.

 

“And you?” she spat. “You think you’re a CEO? You’re just Ying Junmei’s puppet! She says jump, you jump. You think you’re somebody? You’re nothing but a dog.”

 

Furious, Hanshuang raised her hand—but Zhou Yuan didn’t flinch.

 

“Go on, hit me! I’d love to see the world find out you, the polished CEO, are actually an abuser and a beast!”

 

Hanshuang paused, then shoved her aside.

 

Zhou Yuan fell, her elbow slamming into the corner of a desk. Pain shot through her body.

 

Hanshuang glanced down, adjusted her sleeve, anger slowly subsiding.

 

She wasn’t going to waste time arguing with someone already on the edge. When Zhou’s company truly collapsed, Zhou Yuan would come crawling.

 

Coldly, she said:
“Fix your arrogant attitude. Sign the contract, and you’ll get to continue living as Mrs. Song. Refuse, and you’ll end up a disgraced heiress, begging for scraps. Your choice.”

 

Zhou Yuan stood, clutching her arm. Hanshuang’s voice echoed like a devil’s:

 

“You made your choice. If you hadn’t agreed to marry me, it wouldn’t have come to this. Don’t blame anyone else—blame your own stupidity.”

 

…

 

Outside the Song Corporation, Zhou Yuan stood still in her designer suit. The chill autumn wind cut through her like ice.

 

She stood motionless for several minutes before getting into her car.

 

Raindrops splattered the window—first a few, then many. The glass was quickly soaked like a starlit sky.

 

Staring at it, she broke down, leaning on the steering wheel, crying uncontrollably.

 

Where had it all gone wrong?

 

She didn’t understand.

 

Why had Song Yanrong changed so suddenly? Why had her life and family crumbled? It all felt like it had fallen apart overnight.

 

Zhou Yuan cried for a long time. When she finally lifted her head, her cheeks were still wet, but the sorrow in her eyes was gone.

 

She opened her makeup mirror, wiped away the smudges, and fixed her appearance.

 

Pressing on her bruised arm, she rubbed harder and harder—wanting to remember the pain.

 

There was already one woman crying at home.

 

That was enough.

 

She was going to see Ying Junmei.

 

She could bow her head if needed.

 

Later, when her mother asked if she regretted marrying into the Song family, she said no.

 

Because even then… she didn’t know Song Yanrong had truly given her up.

 

…

 

Due to unresolved financial issues, the Zhou family was reported for tax violations.

 

Madam Zhou had no choice but to bring the contract herself. Song Hanshuang agreed—but Ying Junmei said:

 

“Flies don’t land on flawless eggs. Let’s wait until the tax issues are settled. No need to clean up their mess if we take over.”

 

Hanshuang hesitated. “If we wait any longer…”

 

Ying Junmei sipped her tea.
“When you were little, I taught you: the lower the purchase price, the higher the profit. Business has no place for soft hearts. Their rock bottom might not be the lowest yet. Wait until they offer that factory.”

 

Sometimes Hanshuang thought she was ruthless—until she met Ying Junmei again.

 

She was only a student.

 

Ying Junmei always thought her too soft, not cruel enough.

 

She asked: “You came to ask me—have you developed feelings for Zhou Yuan?”

 

Hanshuang broke into a cold sweat.

 

Was Ying Junmei insane? Or was she insane? Feel something for that dirty woman?

 

“No!” she said angrily.

 

Ying Junmei reassured her:
“Madam Zhou takes tax matters seriously. I doubt there’s a real issue. Once she voluntarily merges her assets into your name, you’ll have greater power. Even if Yanrong sells shares one day, you’ll be fine. After this, you can divorce and find someone else. It’s a small matter.”

 

Hanshuang nodded, saying nothing.

 

She didn’t know what to say.

 

Ying Junmei continued:
“Yanrong’s been active lately—check who’s backing her. If they’re capable, bring them over.”

 

Hanshuang gave a perfunctory answer.

 

Then she remembered Zhou Yuan’s words:
You think you’re someone, but you’re just a puppet.

 

Leaving the Song villa, she looked up at the gray sky.

 

It was a rotten day.

 

She lit a cigarette, took several deep drags, then crushed it beneath her heel.

 

She couldn’t stand that house another second.

 

The crisis in Nancheng quickly spread across various enterprises.

 

They soon discovered that while all other companies were struggling just to stay afloat… the previously unremarkable YR Group was thriving on its own.

 

Its subsidiary, the Huayin app, was undergoing an IPO with a valuation of two trillion yuan.

 

This caused a stir in the business world.

 

And when they finally began to take this company seriously, they realized that the largest shareholder behind YR had quietly changed from an unfamiliar name… to Song Yanrong.

 

Only then did they realize that Song Yanrong was the founder of YR.

 

That day, Song Hanshuang hosted a dinner with a long-time business partner.

 

Business had been rough lately, and several projects had stalled due to cash flow issues in the factories. She had to call in favors and find alternative suppliers on short notice—if a breach of contract occurred, not only would the losses be substantial, but the Song family’s reputation would also take a significant hit.

 

She had recently heard about a tech company that invented a new device capable of increasing past product yield by 30%. But the company refused to sell just the device; it was an all-or-nothing deal—they would only sell the entire company.

 

Under normal circumstances, acquiring a tech company wasn’t a big deal.

 

But at this delicate time, acquiring a company required careful consideration. Ideally, she wanted to persuade them to sell only the device and the technology.

 

So, she asked the business partner to act as a go-between and arranged a dinner with the designer.

 

The dinner had been going well—until someone suddenly brought up YR Group.

 

“Big Miss Song, speaking of YR, your family really produces talent! I’ve met the young Miss Song before—who knew she was so capable! I just realized yesterday that besides Huayin, several trending e-commerce apps also belong to YR.”

 

“Exactly! My daughter’s been filming on the platform herself. Honestly, it’s not bad. Business has been hard lately, but this helped move quite a lot of factory inventory.”

 

“That’s not all. I heard the young Miss Song has a sharp eye for investment too. Just the other day I dined with President Zhou Songyun—she said she made a fortune thanks to the young Miss Song’s tips on foreign investments. Meanwhile, we’re all suffering.”

 

“Hey, Big Miss Song, when can we get the young Miss Song to join us for a meal?”

 

Song Hanshuang: “……”

 

She almost flipped the table.

 

Lately, what irritated her most was hearing the name “Song Yanrong.” Everywhere she went, people were talking about her. It used to be just “President Song,” but now—somehow—the distinction had become necessary.

 

Just recently, she went golfing with a friend and happened to run into Song Yanrong. Someone shouted “President Song” in their direction.

 

She instinctively responded.

 

But that person awkwardly looked at her and then apologized, saying they were calling for Song Yanrong!

 

Her face turned cold instantly. But she still had to grit her teeth and finish the meal—for the sake of that new equipment.

 

It wasn’t just outsiders—even she and Ying Junmei hadn’t realized that Song Yanrong was the major shareholder behind YR.

 

She had hidden it well.

 

As if deliberately ensuring that no one would find out. YR’s public shareholders and legal representatives had always been others. Now that she was finally exposed, it seemed to signal something else: Song Yanrong no longer needed to hide.

 

Like a king riding to battle, shedding armor and disguise on the frontlines, donning instead the crown of a queen.

 

She believed everyone else would lose. She was confident she would win.

 

Ying Junmei, upon hearing the news, had called Song Hanshuang demanding to know why she hadn’t said anything—her words laced with dissatisfaction.

 

Song Hanshuang, exhausted, for the first time found it all laughable—and, for the first time, responded with anger.

 

“Grandma, is it because I’m not as capable as Song Yanrong? Or because the once obedient granddaughter now only cares about her own rise to power and no longer thinks of you?

 

Or perhaps… it’s that all this wealth and power no longer belongs to you?”

 

Ying Junmei was livid, calling her an unfilial granddaughter and heartless over the phone, repeatedly saying, “It’s all for your own good.”

 

Song Hanshuang hung up on her for the first time.

 

She actually understood.

 

Even if she hadn’t before, now she did.

 

To Ying Junmei, nothing mattered more than money and power—than the reputation of the Song family as Nancheng’s top enterprise.

 

But she wasn’t bothered by it.

 

Because in that, she had learned well.

 

Besides wealth and power, she now cared for little else.

 

Song Yanrong’s success was just a stroke of luck. Meanwhile, she had the Song Corporation—a legacy built over generations. Once the economic crisis passed and the merger with the Zhou family was complete, everything would return to its rightful place.

 

She was merely down on her luck—for now.

 

She once believed this was just a minor bump in the road—something not even worth mentioning.

 

No one stays on top forever. Everyone has their lows.

 

What she didn’t realize… was that this wasn’t her low point.

 

It was only the beginning of the fall—

 

Three days after that dinner, in the afternoon, Song Hanshuang was in a meeting over the production shortfall. They were discussing ways to lure that tech company and minimize costs.

 

The discussion was intense and gave her a headache—she hadn’t slept well in days.

 

She leaned against her chair, eyes closed, listening to the chatter.

 

Useless fools.

 

Her assistant walked in and approached her carefully, observing her expression and whispering something.

 

Her expression instantly darkened.

 

The room fell silent.

 

The assistant hesitated before saying, “News just came in. That chief designer… is currently signing with Miss Song’s company.”

 

Song Hanshuang stood up. “YR doesn’t even need that equipment!”

 

“I looked into it. I heard YR is building a factory… specifically to accommodate that equipment.”

 

The assistant’s voice was cautious.

 

Even the most loyal employees were moved by Song Yanrong’s sincerity. It was a brilliant move—the company had no real future, only sentimental value among its engineers.

 

But she hadn’t just bought the company. She had built a new factory under YR and offered those engineers equity, assigning them to dedicated projects—everyone stood to gain. And with that, loyalty was guaranteed.

 

A senior executive frowned. “But building a factory… the land, construction, labor, logistics—all very costly…”

 

True enough.

 

Song Hanshuang considered this, and a new realization dawned.

 

“She’s retaliating,” she said. “She’s gone mad.”

 

She ordered everyone out and dialed Song Yanrong.

 

Just as she was about to press call, her screen was flooded by an incoming call—from a shareholder.

 

Almost at the same time, the assistant pushed the door open again, looking stunned.

 

She didn’t answer the call and instead asked, “What is it?”

 

The assistant took a deep breath. “President Song… Qishui… the land in Qishui is now in the government’s new development zone.”

 

Her phone slipped slightly in her grip before she caught it.

 

Her face paled. The string of news had pushed her to the brink—she was hearing a ringing in her ears.

 

“Say that again?”

 

“Just announced—Qishui is becoming an economic development zone.”

 

The same Qishui she had dismissed and looked down on.

 

Song Yanrong had bought it for just a few billion—and now it was going to multiply in value by hundreds of times…

 

…

 

Song Yanrong was exhausted too.

 

She had been sitting for too long today. Now that she was up, her legs felt sore and heavy, bl00d barely circulating.

 

She walked around, checked her phone—it was already past 11 PM.

 

Another long day of overtime. Hard to believe that someone with the highest net worth in Nancheng was still working late.

 

She rubbed her stiff neck and opened her pinned WeChat chat.

 

Before she could type, the chat jumped upward—new message.

 

Su Yaojing: “What are you doing?”

 

Song Yanrong: “Can I video call you?”

 

She had just asked when the call came through.

 

The screen glowed warm yellow—it was clear she was in a car.

 

Song Yanrong laid back on the sofa, smiling. “Heading back to the hotel?”

 

“Mm, just finished shooting. I’ll be back in Nancheng in a few days,” Su Jia’s lazy voice came through like music, making it feel as though she was right there.

 

“That’s great. I still need a bit more time here.”

 

Su Jia rested her head on the car window, city lights reflecting through the glass onto her luminous face—her features like a goddess.

 

“Even in the crew, I’ve been hearing about President Song’s glorious feats,” she teased.

 

“You’re not bad yourself,” Song Yanrong laughed. “What did you have for dinner?”

 

Su Jia paused, as if just remembering. Song Yanrong raised an eyebrow.

 

“You didn’t eat?”

 

Her tone held a hint of disapproval. Su Jia lifted a small box. “I planned to eat after filming, but now it’s so late. I’ll eat once I get back.”

 

“Heat it up first. Have Xiao Nuo remind you in the future,” Song Yanrong said. “Don’t ruin your stomach over a role.”

 

Su Jia nodded obediently, like a well-behaved kitten. “Got it.”

 

After a brief silence, Song Yanrong looked at the dark sky, then back at the screen, noticing that Su Jia was staring straight at her.

 

Su Jia smiled—her role this time was a Republican-era tavern owner. Her makeup was bold yet elegant, adding years and charm to her face.

 

Song Yanrong’s throat felt dry. She smiled gently. “What is it?”

 

Su Jia asked, “Did you miss me?”

 

Song Yanrong gazed at her, saying nothing at first. She studied her features for a few seconds, then softly and seriously answered:

 

“Day and night.”

 

Su Jia clearly hadn’t expected such a reply—she paused, then smiled wider.

 

Watching her smile, Song Yanrong asked sincerely, “So, Miss Su—when are you coming home?”