Transmigrated as the Imperial Princess's Scumbag Alpha Ex-Wife - Chapter 49

The weight of her words stunned Zhu Yu. It was difficult to reconcile the cold, accusatory “harm” with the Bai Shuzhou before her.

Whether in historical records or personal experience, Bai Shuzhou had always seemed flawless.

She was aloof and proud, yet rational and compassionate. Her pale blue eyes always held a frosty detachment, like untainted moonlight, yet she spoke to children with gentle tenderness. Her only flaw was her inability to look past Zhu Yu’s past self—that scumbag Alpha.

White Bird had been transformed from a Peacock into a Phoenix. Zhu Yu recalled urban legends Little Shan had once shared, about twisted individuals who pieced people together into grotesque displays, calling them “freak shows”—bloody, absurd, and terrifying even in description.

But Bai Shuzhou was also a victim of the laboratory. How could she possibly be connected to such horrors?

“She wasn’t… always like this,” Bai Shuzhou murmured, her voice low as she spoke of a past she preferred to avoid. Amidst the devastation, the first things that came to mind were tiny, bright fragments of memory.

AH-003 was unique. Though his NQ Band readings—a measure of an Ability User’s potential—were exceptionally high, he had never manifested any special abilities.

She had initially been admitted for treatment due to a mental power surge that triggered a comorbid condition, somewhat similar to Bai Shuzhou’s case.

Sweet-tongued and quick-witted, she often pressed her face against the glass, peering out with wide-eyed curiosity. She remembered every researcher’s name, though she couldn’t fully read the characters. She would quietly listen to their conversations, and when the Dean called someone “Little Li,” she would echo, “Little Li—”

When others smiled at her, she would chirp, “Sister!”

Seemingly well-behaved, she was secretly daring and reckless. Under Bai Shuzhou’s influence, she got into plenty of mischief. During outdoor breaks, they would sneak over the wall, and armed with nothing but a tattered umbrella, she would leap from high places alongside Bai Shuzhou. Miraculously surviving each fall, she would excitedly proclaim it “super fun,” nearly triggering the alarms.

Bai Shuzhou’s voice was soft and gentle, and as Zhu Yu listened, a smile unconsciously tugged at her lips. These memories felt like fairy tales, warm enough to soften the heart.

Though Bai Shuzhou had become the White Bird, her shadow lingered in many of these stories. Zhu Yu felt that not only had she glimpsed the White Bird, but Bai Shuzhou’s childhood had also become clearer to her—a stark contrast to her current self, yet strangely connected.

For some reason, Zhu Yu felt that Bai Shuzhou should always have been like that: free, joyful, like clear skies after rain.

Beneath her indifferent exterior lay a fervent heart, as close to the human world as the moon.

But when she snapped back to reality, she noticed Bai Shuzhou wasn’t smiling. The more beautiful the memories, the more painful the present reality felt.

Now, White Bird was timid and wary of strangers, the unquenchable fire still burning in her throat.

And Bai Shuzhou would never again reach out to the sky, squinting against the blinding sunlight with a faint smile, and say, “Jump, I’ll catch you.”

“If by ‘you’ you mean blaming yourself for failing to protect her,” Zhu Yu said, carefully watching her expression, “it wasn’t your fault. We should blame the perpetrators, those who benefited from her suffering.”

“If you’re willing to share more of your past with me, I’d be so happy. I want to understand you better.”

“We’re the closest of companions. You chose me, and you can trust me, confide in me.”

Zhu Yu intertwined her fingers with Bai Shuzhou’s, her words sincere enough to melt even the coldest ice.

“So many things…” Bai Shuzhou’s lashes lowered. For a moment, she nearly spilled everything, the urge stronger than the physical tremors within her, and far more dangerous. It was like a fire ignited deep within her soul, burning relentlessly, searing her heart with pain that refused to fade.

In the end, she pursed her lips, her tongue darting out to lick a bead of bl00d from her lip. She held it delicately, murmuring, “I can’t remember.”

This was the unspoken understanding between adults, where the conversation should have ended. But Zhu Yu nodded solemnly, “Oh, right. Your memories are all jumbled up. With such a huge gap, you must have been so scared.”

Bai Shuzhou replied, “I wasn’t scared.”

Zhu Yu patted her chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be with you!”

Choose me. Trust me. Entrust yourself to me. Love me.

Bai Shuzhou gazed into the girl’s bright, tear-streaked eyes and slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Zhu Yu awkwardly wiped away the tears. “That was an accident. I thought I’d never cry again. I don’t even like crying.”

“Really?” Bai Shuzhou chuckled softly.

Zhu Yu’s face flushed crimson as she stubbornly insisted, “Yes! It’s all part of my plan.”

She wasn’t stupid. If she cried, Bai Shuzhou would soften. She only cried when it was useful.

The two lingered in tender moments. Zhu Yu meticulously massaged away the marks she had left, carefully wiping them with a warm towel, afraid of leaving bruises.

Bai Shuzhou’s skin was too thin and pale, as fragile as freshly fallen snow. Even the slightest touch left a startling mark.

The hickey on her neck, visible even beneath her high collar, revealed a hint of crimson that only fueled speculation.

Her long, silver-white hair cascaded down, barely concealing the redness between her thighs, where Zhu Yu had been gently massaging the tender skin, filled with remorse.

So focused was Zhu Yu that she failed to notice the blanket, carefully draped over Bai Shuzhou’s feet, trembling almost imperceptibly with each movement.

Having confirmed Bai Qianze’s absence, Bai Shuzhou specifically instructed the Snow Leopard Knight to summon several ministers to inquire about the situation. Yet not a single one could discern the Emperor’s intentions.

All remained tight-lipped, even evading sensitive questions with practiced evasiveness:

“We are merely administrative officials, not privy to such matters.”

“Without Your Majesty’s authorization, we cannot disclose any information.”

“You are still recovering, Your Majesty. There is no need for you to concern yourself with these matters. Please rest assured that we will resolve everything.”

It had been years since they had received a private audience with the Emperor. As the nobles were escorted through the Snow Leopard Knight’s quarters, murmurs of unease rippled through their ranks.

In the seven years since Bai Shuzhou had transformed from the Heaven’s Chosen to a frail Omega, her image had become increasingly ethereal. Her peerless dance skills were now reserved for performances under the spotlight.

The Emperor had built her an ivory tower, showering her with meticulous care. Titles like “Imperial Rose” and “Ballet Queen” had long since reduced her to a mere symbol.

Most people no longer spoke of her astonishing talent, preferring to discuss her dancing or gossip, unless they were concerned about whether she could produce an heir—specifically, a more exceptional crown prince.

These ministers, who had once treated Bai Shuzhou with utmost reverence in his youth, had aged considerably over the years. Their accumulated experience and power had etched fine wrinkles between their brows, which deepened slightly as they silently scrutinized others.

One sharp-eyed observer noticed a red mark beneath Bai Shuzhou’s hair and abruptly shifted his clouded gaze to Zhu Yu’s face. His eyes swept down her figure with a sharpness rivaling that of a Cangying, making no attempt to conceal his hostility and contempt.

The young woman wore a friendly smile, but even in her crisp military uniform, she couldn’t compare to the imposing presence of Izalia. Her shoulder insignia were conspicuously empty, lacking any of the Alpha’s inherent aura of dominance.

Superficial, frivolous, foolish.

A half-breed, born in the slums, tainted with inferior genes—an Alpha!

No wonder she’s failed to conceive an heir after all these years. What can she do besides manipulate public opinion?

The ministers’ intense hostility made Bai Shuzhou’s questioning process exceedingly difficult.

Zhu Yu assumed their evasiveness stemmed from her presence, fearing she might take offense. She deliberately excused herself, creating a pretext to leave.

Standing at the door, her Mental Power still penetrated the room. Though eavesdropping felt wrong, the ministers’ condescending attitude made her suspect they were secretly badmouthing her.

Are they really talking about me? Let me hear this.

Yet even after she left, the ministers’ arrogance remained unchanged.

Adopting the tone of elders, they lectured Bai Shuzhou with feigned anguish, insisting she prioritize the Empire’s foundation. As a princess, she bore the sacred duty of perpetuating the Dragon Clan and must never demean herself.

Demean herself?

Bai Shuzhou remained silent, suppressing her Pheromone and narrowing her eyes slightly.

There was no anger, only curiosity. She desperately wanted to understand what had transpired during her seven-year absence that allowed these officials to treat her with such contempt.

Her Imperial Sister still lived, the Empire hadn’t changed hands, and she herself was merely ill, not dead.

When she inquired about the Empire’s financial expenditures and the Military’s frontline reports—matters she had understood since childhood—everyone offered evasive answers, adopting a condescending “You wouldn’t understand, let me explain” attitude.

The conversation took a sharp turn as they subtly and overtly reminded Zhu Yu that she was an Omega, already 25—practically 30 when rounded up. Their immediate priority, they insisted, should be producing an heir. If her current partner proved unsuitable, she should simply find another.

Each speaker delivered their remarks with practiced eloquence, their refined vocabulary blooming like lotus flowers. They even sprinkled in technical jargon to emphasize their expertise.

Zhu Yu, who had been leaning against the wall, slowly straightened her posture, her fists clenching tighter with each word.

Out of respect for their extensive knowledge, deep experience, and prestigious titles—as national ministers and domain experts—she had maintained a deferential attitude, even offering polite nods as she passed them, her demeanor humble.

But her courtesy had earned her no respect in return.

What kind of nonsense are they spouting?

These old geezers think they can stick their noses into my business, even reaching into my bed!

Insulting me is one thing, but parading these remarks in front of Bai Shuzhou, their contempt amplified tenfold, makes it unbearable.

Zhu Yu repeatedly reminded herself to prioritize harmony when dealing with outsiders and to maintain a low profile. These aging officials had grown arrogant and lawless, fueled by their unchecked power.

They have power, after all.

After a moment, once Bai Shuzhou had grasped the situation and committed the speakers’ names to memory, one minister had already opened his Light Brain, pulling up photos and profiles, eager to select a consort for Bai Shuzhou on the spot.

Creak.

The grand doors swung open with a graceful push.

Zhu Yu leaned casually against the doorframe, her long black hair neatly tied back. The collar of her military uniform was carelessly unbuttoned, revealing two buttons undone, and she twirled a dagger between her fingers with practiced ease. The cold glint of the blade danced across her fingertips, reflecting the smile in her dark, fathomless eyes.

Though her smile remained unchanged, her aura had subtly shifted.

Her gaze swept casually over the row of ministers, as if they were beneath her notice. “I believe someone called for me,” she remarked, her voice light and dismissive.

Her tone was laced with amusement, yet it sent a chill down the spines of those present.

The minister who had been speaking about her earlier forced herself to remain composed, adopting an imperious tone. “Get out! Who authorized you to enter?”

She unconsciously adopted a condescending tone, attempting to salvage the dignity she had lost in that moment of awkward silence.

Even if Zhu Yu’s military rank hadn’t been stripped away, she would still be subordinate to their positions. Now, she was merely a powerless puppet.

Before the minister could finish her sentence, Zhu Yu’s lazy glance swept across the room, and the dagger in her hand froze mid-spin.

Ignoring the minister entirely, Zhu Yu’s military boots struck the floor with crisp, authoritative steps. She strode unhurriedly through the crowd, like a vicious dog patrolling its territory, utterly fearless. Finally, she stopped at Bai Shuzhou’s bedside.

Her forearm tensed, and a hint of nervousness lingered in her pale blue eyes, which blinked softly. But as she met Bai Shuzhou’s gaze, only a delighted laugh remained.

She leaned down, her silver-white hair almost tangling with Bai Shuzhou’s ink-black strands.

A whispered, intimate exchange, granted permission by the Ballet Queen, unfolded under the astonished gazes of everyone present. The dagger, gleaming with a cold light, began to spin faster and faster.

All eyes were involuntarily drawn to it.

With a slight lift of her forearm, Zhu Yu turned her gaze away, her sweet smile unwavering. Her voice remained soft yet remarkably clear: “Your Highness is gracious, allowing us to stand while reporting to her.”

“But I—lack such refinement.”

Before the words had fully left her lips, the dagger shot forth with a sharp whistle, narrowly missing the head of the minister who had been shouting the loudest.

With a piercing clang, it pinned the pristine white feather—a symbol of her noble status—directly to the wall behind her.

The feather’s shaft continued to tremble violently.

“After all,” Zhu Yu tilted her head, her smile growing brighter and more innocent, echoing the minister’s earlier scornful words, “I come from humble origins and haven’t received much proper education.”

“Please forgive any rash actions I might take, Your Excellencies.”

A few inches lower, and the dagger would have pierced her skull instead of her hat, or perhaps her eye.

Zhu Yu wasn’t sure. She had practiced this at the bar, taught by an octopus who had retired from the circus. He had instructed her to grip the end tightly and hurl it with all her arm strength.

She learned everything quickly.

Actually, she had aimed slightly too low. She hadn’t intended to hit the feather, but now it seemed the effect was even more striking.

The room fell into dead silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The ministers, who had been speaking so eloquently moments before, stared in terror, their eyes wide with shock. They pointed trembling fingers at Zhu Yu, never imagining she would be so audacious. “Y-you… y-you…!” they stammered for what felt like an eternity, unable to utter a single coherent word.

There was a vast difference between cursing behind someone’s back and confronting them directly.

Zhu Yu clasped her hands behind her, her fingertips digging into her trembling wrists beneath her sleeves. Yet her expression remained flawlessly composed, even bearing a hint of flippant amusement.

The military uniform seemed to come alive with her movements, its sharp lines taut with a palpable aura of lethal intent.

Bai Shuzhou, who had remained silent throughout, finally stirred at this moment, gently nudging Zhu Yu’s fingers.

Her fingertips brushed lightly across Zhu Yu’s feverish wrist, a faint hint of indulgence flickering in her pale blue eyes as the corners of her lips curved almost imperceptibly.

The other nobles’ gazes remained fixed on Zhu Yu, humiliated and on the verge of releasing their pheromones to assert their status. But before they could act, the room was flooded with the overwhelming scent of roses.

Emerald vines gently coiled around the icy dagger, steadily returning it to its mistress’s hand, tracing delicate patterns across her palm.

Zhu Yu reversed her grip on the hilt and, utterly disregarding the others, leaned down, pressing one knee against the edge of the bed. In a posture that was both audacious and fiercely loyal, she completely enveloped Bai Shuzhou in her shadow.

She braced herself with one hand on the soft pillow beside Bai Shuzhou, the other still gripping the dagger that had just been so menacing.

Then, under the horrified gazes of the Empire’s most powerful ministers, she lowered her head and gently kissed her liege.

Amidst the stifling, bone-chillingly intense rose pheromones, Zhu Yu panted softly against Bai Shuzhou’s lips. The woman tilted her head back, deepening the kiss while caressing Zhu Yu’s shoulder. Her icy gaze remained fixed on the trembling, kneeling ministers.

Zhu Yu felt Bai Shuzhou’s cool, slender fingertips slowly brush across her glands, silver strands of hair falling forward as her voice, both cold and gentle, murmured:

“Good girl.”