Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Song Yanrong left her bedroom and knocked softly on Sun Jia’s door. Inside, she was still packing.
In a white spaghetti-strap dress down to her calves, Sun Jia stood bent over, hair falling from her shoulders. Sunlight fell on her as if she were adorned with gilded apricot blossoms—soft, pure, and gentle, matching her demeanor.
“I’ll be done soon,” Sun Jia said.
“No rush—the old madam hasn’t returned yet. We may be here a while,” Song Yanrong said, pausing. “Might even have to stay for lunch.”
“That’s okay,” Sun Jia replied softly, her eyes downcast. “You’re here.”
Song Yanrong stopped in her tracks. There was nothing particularly notable in that sentence—but in that soft tone, it sounded as if Sun Jia truly leaned on her. And it gave her a faint, pleasant warmth.
For a moment, Song Yanrong thought: if anyone else had said that, she’d be convinced they were performing emotional manipulation (PUA). But in this context—it felt sincere.
A few minutes later, Song Yanrong noticed Sun Jia only had a small black purse.
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Yes.”
When Sun Jia first came to the Song household, she’d moved in with many items—long dresses bought by her mother, a rabbit plush sleeping companion, familiar bedding…
“All that’s left behind,” she said out loud.
“Good,” Song Yanrong nodded approvingly. Sometimes letting go of burdens allows clarity.
Song Yanrong then noticed Sun Jia’s fingertip nails—one on her pinky was chipped from the incident on the stairs.
“They look like they need trimming.”
Sun Jia looked down and nodded.
“I’ll do it later.”
They chatted idly while she sorted her bag.
A soft knock came from downstairs—it was the old madam’s return.
Song Yanrong suggested, “I’ll go down first. You can wait here.”
Sun Jia agreed—that way she’d avoid even more scrutiny.
…
As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, Song Yanrong smelled wood perfume and Wuyi tea in the living room.
A grand swan-shaped chandelier hung overhead—an antique from her late grandmother, said to have come from a French auction house. At night, its swan-shadowed walls cast a graceful dance.
A servant welcomed her, “Third Miss, may I assist?”
A commanding voice cut in: “Let her come herself!”
Pushing her wheelchair forward, Song Yanrong saw the elderly matriarch, Ying Junmei, dressed in deep-blue silk. Though her features were soft, her eyes now shone with strict resolve.
Stepping forward, Song Yanrong assumed a contrite tone.
“Grandma, I was wrong.”
Unphased, Ying Junmei asked sharply, “What were you wrong about?”
The original Song Yanrong would’ve deflected. Instead, Song Yanrong admitted directly:
“I was wrong not to tell you sooner that I like Sun Jia, and wrong to bring her away from the engagement banquet without consulting you.”
Ying Junmei’s white hair seemed to lighten further. Her crease-lined brow deepened in shock.
“Do you hear yourself? I’ve spoiled you rotten, and now… this? You think you can just take someone else’s — that sister’s fiancée — away because you like her?”
Song Yanrong replied softly, “Please don’t be angry yet.”
She reached for the Wuyi tea on the table and offered it to Ying Junmei.
“This isn’t official—she isn’t formally your sister’s fiancée yet. With proper management of public opinion, this won’t hurt the family’s reputation.”
Seeing Ying Junmei bristle, she added,
“Besides, Sister Hanshuang doesn’t even like Sun Jia, and she’s got her own string of affairs. If the marriage had moved forward and something went wrong, that’d be a real scandal.”
Though she didn’t know all the novel’s details, she remembered that the old madam arranged this engagement for Sun Jia because of an old friendship with her mother.
Ying Junmei didn’t take the cup but listened. Then sighed.
“Are you truly in love with this woman, or are you trying to take something from your sister? Think carefully.”
A pang of realization struck Song Yanrong.
She observed the old madam’s posture—subtle but telling:
Though every word seemed strict, they were quietly protective of Sister Hanshuang.
It became clear she had a duty to the family line—and that line belonged to Song Hanshuang.
Song Yanrong’s chest tightened. That weight… that expectation…
She gently said, “I won’t go overseas. If you worry about Song family reputation—there’s a simple solution…”
Just then, heavy heels sounded: Song Hanshuang returned.
“What?! You even dared to come back?” she spat, hair and outfit immaculate and fierce.
Song Yanrong remained calm. Ying Junmei intervened, but Song Hanshuang lunged forward, grabbing Song Yanrong’s collar.
In one swift motion, Song Yanrong produced a gleaming dagger and held it to Song Hanshuang’s neck—sharp enough to sever an artery.
“Stop this,” Ying Junmei gasped, gripping the armrest, voice shaking.
Leaning back slightly, Song Yanrong raised her chin:
“Don’t worry. As long as she pledges to behave herself, nothing more will happen.”
She’d knowingly brought Sun Jia because she understood who Song Hanshuang truly was: a vindictive, opportunistic figure who fascinated her from the beginning.
Song Hanshuang froze. She quickly backed down, tension in her eyes.
“Fine—I won’t touch you,” she spat.
Holding her gaze, Song Yanrong slid the knife away but kept the blade pointed toward Song Hanshuang’s side.
“Remember this,” she warned coldly. “Stay away from Sun Jia, or else.”
The atmosphere in the living room was icy.
From the side door, Sun Jia stepped in with a single click of her heels—confident, composed, expression lazy yet alert.
Ying Junmei finally exhaled in relief, though her face was still stern.
“Enough. Is it truly worth this uproar over an outsider omega?” she asked Song Yanrong.
“Yes.”
Silence followed. Song Hanshuang frowned, insecure.
“Mother, are you going to make me stand it? Sun Jia is my sister-in-law now? That’s a joke!”
“Sister-in-law?” Song Yanrong corrected easily. “Starting today, she’s your sister’s wife.”
Song Hanshuang gaped in shock.