A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 43

She didn’t need to say it, Lu Xueyin would stick close regardless.

The two of them had no chance to chat further along the way. The “Bingtang CP” (Yan Bing and Tang Yingyue) objected to their decision not to team up, persistently trying to persuade them to join forces for a four-person livestream, claiming it would be safer.

Sheng Lan insisted on going ghost-hunting alone, refusing to budge no matter how hard Tang Yingyue tried to convince her.

Lu Xueyin, in turn, kept deflecting the pressure onto Sheng Lan. No matter what reasons Yan Bing used to persuade her, she simply replied that she’d follow Sheng Lan’s lead.

By the time they reached the changing rooms outside the stables, Sheng Lan gave Lu Xueyin a compliment: “So obedient.”

Lu Xueyin turned and walked away without a word.

The A and O changing rooms weren’t in the same area, and inside, they were further divided into small cubicles.

Now that Lu Xueyin knew Sheng Lan could ride, there was no need to pretend. Sheng Lan changed without any mishaps, finishing earlier than Yan Bing.

As fellow Alphas, Yan Bing took the opportunity to talk to her privately.

The changing room had no cameras, and with their mics turned off, it was a completely private space.

She asked Sheng Lan what she was thinking.

Sheng Lan understood her meaning and explained that it wasn’t about the hype.

If she didn’t want to share the spotlight, no one could freeload off her.

It was just that Lu Xueyin would be scared Liang Jiao had relayed that she was extremely afraid so Sheng Lan felt it necessary to take precautions.

“I want to spend time alone with Lu Xueyin.”

The reason wasn’t excessive in fact, it was perfectly reasonable.

Yan Bing wanted to argue further, but Sheng Lan suggested she consider changing the livestream theme instead.

“I’ve watched dozens of influencer check-in videos. The house isn’t that big. Unless the production team is willing to stage a haunting with NPCs, if both groups explore together, you’ll run out of thrills in three days max.”

Given their history of exchanging favors, Sheng Lan offered a friendly warning: “I don’t like ghost-themed missions. I’ll unlock the entire map as fast as possible and strip away its mystique.”

Yan Bing thought about Sheng Lan’s usual style and mentally translated it: I’ll ruin the horror atmosphere of the haunted house. Everything can be turned into a joke.

Her conclusion: “You’re not afraid of ghosts.”

Sheng Lan had already pushed open the changing room door. “What are you talking about, Yan Bing? Of course I’m afraid of ghosts, that’s why I’m going to destroy them.”

Only a ghost would believe that.

After a brief exchange, they ended up leaving late.

Lu Xueyin was stuck in an awkward conversation with Tang Yingyue. Even though Tang Yingyue tried to break the ice by bringing up Lu Xueyin’s movie roles, the atmosphere remained stiff.

The moment Yan Bing called her, Tang Yingyue scurried away.

Sheng Lan also called Lu Xueyin over to head to the stables together.

Lu Xueyin had done her homework and said along the way, “From what I’ve seen in past episodes, the second group activity usually starts around the two-week mark.”

The few times it was pushed forward were to maintain hype.

This wasn’t something that required professional judgment, if the audience casually commented that it felt forced, boring, or awkward, it was enough to indicate the guests’ performance was slipping.

The production team would then arrange countermeasures. Individual mission cards targeted specific pairs, while group activities involved everyone.

If opinions were split, the minority would yield to the majority. If votes were tied, an external poll would decide randomly selected by the production team, making the outcome unpredictable. They had to prepare for the worst.

They dropped the topic once they reached the stables. Taking advantage of the mild sunlight, the two fed the horses and interacted with them for a while before leading them to the riding grounds.

A short morning ride would suffice. Lu Xueyin wanted to see Sheng Lan’s real skill level, so the route included obstacles.

The two exchanged a glance. Considering their shared competitive streak, they didn’t bother discussing wins or losses, they just started.

The field stretched wide, the grass a deep, lush green.

The wind carried the scent of grass and the earthy tang of soil from afar.

Jogging brought a gentle breeze, but after warming up and picking up speed, it felt like charging headfirst into a strong wind.

Unlike Lu Xueyin’s steady riding style, Sheng Lan’s approach to horseback riding was downright wild.

She loved going against the wind, the rush of air against her face, and the thrill of galloping at full speed.

Horseback riding, skiing, bungee jumping these were the activities that truly exhilarated her.

Saying she grew up on horseback would be an exaggeration, but she had been riding for a solid decade, her palms roughened by reins.

In a simple flat-out race, it was hard to pull ahead by much.

But in terms of skill? She could leave Lu Xueyin in the dust.

Spotting wildflowers along the path, she leaned sideways to pluck one.

Without slowing the horse, she hung off its side, snatched a flower, and swiftly swung back into the saddle.

Glancing at Lu Xueyin, she caught the wide-eyed alarm in her expression, only to grin even more recklessly.

Lu Xueyin, irritated by the emotional whiplash, spurred her horse forward.

The original plan to tackle the obstacle course was abandoned.

Why bother?

Someone was clearly an expert, no need to prove anything.

Sheng Lan followed at a leisurely pace, keeping a deliberate distance.

Lu Xueyin could hear her but didn’t look back.

Unlike driving, horseback riding didn’t come with rearview mirrors, if she didn’t turn, she wouldn’t see.

She had expected Sheng Lan to catch up, preferably with an apologetic attitude.

But when she reached the rest stop and dismounted, still unsure how to phrase her displeasure, Sheng Lan handed her a small bouquet.

All picked along the way!

“You really aren’t afraid of falling off,” Lu Xueyin muttered.

Sheng Lan reassured her, “The later ones, I stopped to pick.”

Lu Xueyin: “You stopped, but you didn’t get off the horse.”

Sheng Lan shrugged. No need.

Her confidence was unshaken, and she clearly wasn’t taking the warning seriously. Pushing further would feel like nagging, so Lu Xueyin dropped it.

Beneath the towering, lush canopy of a tree at the rest stop, a small stone bench tried too hard to blend into nature, as if pretending it had always been there.

A man-made bird’s nest in the branches housed a camera and microphone, their every word and action was being livestreamed.

Spotting the nest, Lu Xueyin cleared her throat and reined in her emotions.

“Did you work late last night?”

They had wrapped up editing their “Imperial grain” video together by ten.

Being on camera all day was mentally draining, so after saying goodnight, Lu Xueyin had gone straight to bed.

Experience had taught her to pack noise-canceling earplugs just in case someone knocked on her door in the dead of night again.

She slept soundly until morning, only to wake up to a barrage of Weibo notifications.

What a lovely start to the day: multiple trending hashtags.

With little time in the morning, she had only skimmed the headlines.

Now, with a moment to spare, she pulled out her phone for the full story.

Sheng Lan had posted CP videos on her main account seven in a row before compiling them into a master post on her profile. The caption read: One more over @Danxia. Go watch the lipstick ad.

Lu Xueyin typed on her phone: You’re really dedicated to your job.

Astonishing.

Sheng Lan chuckled and started to lean back, only to pause mid-motion and shift direction, dropping her head onto Lu Xueyin’s lap instead.

Lu Xueyin tensed but held still.

Looking down, their eyes met. She resisted the urge to glance away, reminding herself to take the initiative, just like yesterday.

She reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Sheng Lan’s ear, frowning at the dark roots. “Aren’t you going to do something about this hair?”

Sheng Lan nodded. “I want to dye it. Meng Qing bought green hair dye, and I was just about to ask when you could help me with it.”

At this angle, their gazes met, allowing them to clearly see each other’s emotions.

Lu Xueyin realized Sheng Lan wasn’t joking and simply thought she was messing around, relying on her good looks to get away with it.

She ignored her.

Lu Xueyin unlocked her phone and continued watching the “Imperial grain.”

Sheng Lan tilted her head, facing Lu Xueyin’s abdomen.

If they were in casual clothes, at this close distance, she could feel Lu Xueyin’s body warmth.

Pheromones went without saying almost pressed against her skin, those rose notes couldn’t hide.

But now was different. The riding suit was snug and tightly fitted, so body heat was out of the question, and breathability didn’t extend to pheromones. Sheng Lan could only catch a faint trace of scent.

It teased her like a craving, unsatisfied with just a hint, yearning for something deeper, more.

But there wasn’t even a wisp.

She simply closed her eyes.

Lu Xueyin hadn’t muted the video, so Sheng Lan could hear the audio, and the viewers could also tell what she was doing.

Many in the livestream quickly flocked to the scene, making the already crowded scrolling comments even denser.

Unfortunately, Lu Xueyin had turned off the scrolling comments, so she didn’t see a single word from them.

Sheng Lan’s seven edited videos followed a deliberate sequence.

During livestreams, she had excellent control over the atmosphere. Now, personally editing and producing content, she had time to refine and adjust. With limited material, she managed to create endless possibilities.

The first video was a guessing game segment. When they mentioned each other’s names, there was a hint of irritation and feigned indifference. But when they met at the manor, an undeniable familiarity emerged, along with the bold “infidelity theory.”

The second video was their first “close contact,” the origin of artificial sweetness. It was brief, serving only to set the context, hardly resembling a typical CP edit.

The second led to the third, their early livestream interactions during a black screen. There were sounds of water and soft gasps, plus their sharp back-and-forth about “rewards.” This transitioned into the small task card “Sleep with Them,” followed by “fulfilling the promise,” and then a black screen for the massage.

The fourth was Lu Xueyin’s spotlight. It started with her forcefully wiping Sheng Lan’s lips while removing makeup, her fingers pressing inward.

Then came yesterday’s fresh interactions her standing up to tease Sheng Lan, the illusion of sharing a drink, and their intimate moments behind the curtain.

The fifth was the horseback riding scene, with a prelude: Lu Xueyin teaching Sheng Lan, who wasn’t paying attention to the lesson but rather staring at Lu Xueyin. Then came their playful interaction while washing the horse, carried purely by the atmosphere.

Lu Xueyin’s gaze at her seemed as if she was looking at her entire world, her affection laid bare.

That was why she could be cornered step by step until she had no retreat, forced to endure Sheng Lan’s domineering kiss.

The sixth video was a montage of their cooking moments. The shifts in Lu Xueyin’s attitude weren’t obvious when isolated in individual clips. But when the same interactions were lined up chronologically for comparison, the softening of her demeanor became unmistakable.

The seventh was clever, a cozy moment in the car on the day of their livestream return.

Chatting about breakfast, discussing daily life.

Strung together, it felt as though they had transitioned from an initially discordant relationship to lovers who could talk about the mundane details of their day.

The livestream days were short, and there wasn’t enough material to work with. They had never collaborated before either. Sheng Lan used contrasts and staggered timelines to showcase the evolution of their relationship, telling the audience: “We’ve changed.”

Even Lu Xueyin, as one of the subjects, felt it was different.

But among all the ambiguous interactions, what she cared about most was the cooking montage.

This was the video that best captured the shifts in her emotions from the stubborn competitiveness at the start, the polite insistence that it was just a professional collaboration, to the natural rapport later on, and the familiar ease that unconsciously surfaced in their conversations. It all left her startled.

Things she had experienced without even noticing had been dissected and laid bare before her at the most unexpected moment.

Lu Xueyin locked her phone screen and lowered her head, only to meet Sheng Lan’s gaze.

Too close.

All she could see in Sheng Lan’s eyes was her own reflection.

Which meant, in reverse Sheng Lan’s eyes held only her.

The intensity of it was nearly enough to melt her.

She wanted to pull away, but Sheng Lan was resting her head on her lap, leaving her no escape.

Sheng Lan raised a hand, her pale fingers waving playfully in front of Lu Xueyin’s face.

A gesture that mimicked hypnosis but, due to its brevity, came off more like a taunt.

She hooked a finger around the bottle pendant hidden beneath Lu Xueyin’s collar and tugged down, forcing Lu Xueyin to lean closer.

Sheng Lan: “Jiejie, it seemed like you were afraid of me just now.”

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