A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 56.1

The filming location had undergone significant changes, the most obvious being that the number of NPCs had doubled. The “Black and White Guards” script for the plastic CP required a large number of NPCs to function. Meanwhile, as the “Castle Owners,” the Bing Tang CP had a butler and several servants helping them capture guests for forced card draws.

Under these circumstances, Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin’s script was heavily restricted. Specifically, the best location for Sheng Lan’s “Person in the Mirror” plan would have been the first floor, but that open area had to be avoided due to the Bing Tang CP’s high-ground advantage.

Since the upper floors were occupied, they turned to the basement.

The first floor featured artificial hidden passages added by the current owner to turn the castle into an “influencer” destination. These corridors were narrow and cramped, carved into the thickness of the walls with very limited space to move. The production team couldn’t clear the first floor just for them, it wouldn’t be fair to the other groups so they settled on the basement.

With only one day to prepare, the details were rough. After blocking the exit under the stairs, anyone inside was forced to either double back and find a mirror to exit or head deeper into the basement.

This dark, silent environment was unfriendly to Lu Xueyin. The soundproofing was intermittent, and the background music processed to match the ghost mansion’s theme was eerie. It used a “less is more” technique: stretched just enough, it was terrifying; stretched too far, it sounded like a glitch.

For Lu Xueyin, this “improvement” was worse than nothing. In a signal-dead passage, a glitchy, distorted melody was far scarier than straightforward horror.

Reminding herself that Sheng Lan wouldn’t lead her here for no reason, she steadied her nerves and pushed forward until she saw the door to the basement. When she opened it, she froze.

The livestream chat went blank for two seconds.

In the shadows, Sheng Lan followed. She had removed her heels and wrapped her feet in soft cloth; her footsteps were silent, and her pheromones were completely retracted. In this square hidden passage, she was betting that Lu Xueyin wouldn’t turn around. If she lost the bet, they would meet head-on.

She was currently in a dilemma. Lu Xueyin had opened the basement door but stood at the threshold, unmoving. Sheng Lan wanted to have fun, but the prerequisite was that they both had fun—not at the expense of someone else’s experience.

Lu Xueyin’s reaction made her worry. Had the production team made the basement too scary? After all, the background audio was pretty unsettling. Sheng Lan frowned, silently counting the seconds. She planned to move forward in thirty seconds; whether they met face-to-face or she continued to tail her would be up to fate.

Fate favored her. Within three seconds, Lu Xueyin stepped into the basement.

Sheng Lan followed almost immediately. The distance between them was less than three meters in that narrow alley. When Sheng Lan reached the basement door, she also froze for a moment before stifling a laugh. She finally understood why Lu Xueyin had hesitated.

The mansion’s paintings and mirrors were its main attractions. Since Sheng Lan’s script involved mirrors, the basement had been turned into the “Collector’s Room.” It was large, feeling more like an underground gallery with many displays and few rooms.

Because Sheng Lan had demanded less horror, and because actual creepy oil paintings were hard to find on short notice, Director Cheng had used memes. Influenced by the show’s recent comedy-gold moments, the director had framed “Panda Head” memes in black and white, stubbornly trying to maintain a “ghostly” atmosphere with internet jokes.

The chat exploded: [I won’t say who’s taking screenshots right now.] [The vibe is there… but also not there.] [A new couple profile picture has been born.]

Sheng Lan scanned the room, wanting to laugh. She pulled a marker from her pocket, picked a meme near her, and drew a “thumbs up” on it. Today’s script wasn’t suited for talking; they were too close, and speaking would be a “self-exposure.” She waved at a camera and wrote two lines on the wall.

First, a message to the fans: To clarify, Sister and I did not participate in the design of this venue. Second, a teaser to make up for the silence: Guess which one of us is the hunter?

Simultaneously, Lu Xueyin made a similar choice. On another painting, she wrote: I see you.

She still wasn’t great at interacting with the audience, but a month of streaming had taught her one thing: don’t force what you’re bad at. Do your job, provide good content, and the stream will be a success. She didn’t realize Sheng Lan had entered after her and was leaving ink on different paintings; the split-screen effect was hilarious.

Sheng Lan didn’t follow Lu Xueyin immediately. She observed the lighting to ensure her shadow wouldn’t give her away. She waited for the sound of Lu Xueyin pushing a mirror before she followed through the revolving doors.

The basement was a maze of silent revolving doors some connected two sides of a wall, others led to hidden rooms. Every step was an exploration. Deep inside, they began to encounter NPCs. Director Cheng had kept it mild; these NPCs merely made constant noise to build atmosphere rather than swarming the guests.

Lu Xueyin’s goal was clear: find Sheng Lan while unlocking the full map in case she needed an escape route. As she moved, she felt she was being watched. This intuition was a skill she had honed growing up in adversity.

Sheng Lan was hiding perfectly. Lu Xueyin slowed her pace and held her breath, but she couldn’t hear even a rustle. Realizing this, she didn’t imitate Sheng Lan by taking off her heels. She allowed the “click-clack” of her shoes to continue, refusing to let the person in the shadows lose her trail.

She acted as if she hadn’t noticed Sheng Lan’s tailing until she found the Interrogation Room.

The room was a deep grey, a square high-walled space with only one door and a crookedly drawn window. In the center was an easel with a half-finished painting. In the corner, a small bed had been modified with three sets of restraint straps. The opposite wall was covered in cold, metallic props: silver handcuffs, a black leather whip, chains hanging from iron racks, and various objects hidden in the shadows.

Lu Xueyin wandered the room with zero fear of being locked in. Instead, she had been “corrupted” by Sheng Lan’s style acting like a professional livestream host, she began inspecting the props to familiarize herself with them while showcasing them to the audience.

Unlike Sheng Lan, Lu Xueyin spoke. Her unique, cold voice recited descriptions of the items. She only recognized things commonly found in films; the ones she didn’t know, she simply looked at and put back.

Sheng Lan leaned against the doorframe outside, listening to the muffled voice. She could just barely make out Lu Xueyin talking to herself, performing both sides of an interrogation. Sheng Lan found herself genuinely looking forward to it.

The “Person in the Mirror” script was all about the feeling of being watched and the “cat and mouse” game. Her heart began to beat faster. This was a new feeling; she loved sports like horse riding or skiing that provided a physical rush, but this was different. The haunted house itself wasn’t a challenge—Lu Xueyin was the only thing that attracted her.

Every hair on her head seemed to tremble with excitement. Even though they hadn’t touched yet, the emotional stimulation was stronger than any previous “planned” intimacy. She knew Lu Xueyin was going to “interrogate” her, and she couldn’t stop wondering: would she treat it as just acting, or would she show her true colors?

Lu Xueyin didn’t give her more time to daydream. She finished her “intro” and walked out to find the “protagonist” of the interrogation. Sheng Lan ducked around a corner and pushed open a mirror, following the sound of Lu Xueyin’s heels.

That was when the consequences of her distraction hit her.

Lu Xueyin didn’t play around. Sheng Lan fell into the trap at the very first mirror. As the mirror swung open, she found Lu Xueyin waiting for her. She was more in character and more serious than Sheng Lan expected—and she was holding handcuffs.

Before Sheng Lan could even move her hand from the mirror, Lu Xueyin had cuffed her. Sheng Lan looked down and noticed that Lu Xueyin was barefoot. Fine veins were visible on her porcelain-white skin.

Suddenly, Sheng Lan heard the sound of high heels again. She turned her head, looking down the dark corridor.

“It’s a tape recorder,” Lu Xueyin explained.

Lu Xueyin had perfected her plan to lure Sheng Lan using footsteps. She had bet that Sheng Lan wouldn’t follow immediately, giving her time to walk a bit, take off her shoes, and circle back. The recorder made the plan foolproof.

Lu Xueyin hooked her finger through the other loop of the handcuffs, leading Sheng Lan toward the interrogation room. She delivered a line that felt incredibly cheesy when they designed it, but the shame of saying it out loud only added to the tension: “You stole my heart. You must stand trial.”

Sheng Lan was a professional; she didn’t laugh when she wasn’t supposed to unless she couldn’t help it. She hid her amusement behind a playful tone. “And how do you plan to try me?”

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk later,” Lu Xueyin replied, acting the part of a cool, stern “officer.”

Sheng Lan shrugged, accepting her fate, but added one last thing: “Before you interrogate me, could you put your shoes on?”

Lu Xueyin’s toes curled instinctively. Her expression didn’t change, but a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

They reached the interrogation room. This was the highlight the time to “taste the prey.”

The audience was already guessing the “plot twist.” Most felt Sheng Lan was being too passive and would likely flip the tables. Lu Xueyin thought so too.

She looked at the single bed and the restraint straps, but ultimately chose to cuff Sheng Lan to the iron rack, making her face the wall. She picked up a chain, knelt down, and locked it around Sheng Lan’s ankle.

Sheng Lan’s dress was inconvenient. Lu Xueyin used strips of cloth to tie up the voluminous skirt, revealing a portion of her shapely calf. From her kneeling position, Lu Xueyin glanced up and then nimbly untied the slipknot.

The skirt fell, blooming like a rose in the dark utterly enchanting.

Lu Xueyin’s pheromones were May Rose. She usually paid close attention to anything rose-related. It was a common element, but seeing it on Sheng Lan made everything feel strangely… different.

Sheng Lan “violated” the rules of the interrogation to speak again. “Sister, can you please put your shoes on?”

This gave Lu Xueyin the perfect excuse to vent the strange, swirling emotions within her.

She slowly pulled on her white gloves and picked up the small leather riding crop. Using the handle, she lightly brushed it against Sheng Lan’s cheek. “I haven’t given you permission to speak. You should be facing the wall right now.”

Despite the cold, harsh words, she turned around and put her high heels back on.

She was slightly shorter than Sheng Lan. With Sheng Lan currently near-barefoot, the shoes helped Lu Xueyin bridge the height gap, significantly boosting her aura and giving her the courage she needed.

The pleasantries were over.

In the initial chase, the possibility of them bumping into each other was enough to keep the audience hooked, but it wasn’t direct interaction. The main event was starting; any more stalling would cause the audience’s interest to drop. Since she had designed this script, she had to be willing to play it out.

As soon as she finished with her shoes, she returned to begin the second phase: the search.

From the moment they met, it was no longer a silent performance. Lu Xueyin, having forbidden Sheng Lan from speaking, had to carry the scene herself. Lines she had memorized and plays she had watched in the past flooded her mind, allowing her to handle the role with ease.

“I’m going to search you now.”

Sheng Lan couldn’t resist being mischievous. Even though she was forbidden from speaking, she chimed in: “Checking to see where I’ve hidden your heart?”

Lu Xueyin didn’t hold back. She raised the crop and cracked it against the air, the sharp snap echoing in the room. She pressed herself against Sheng Lan’s back, maintaining a distance so infinitesimal that stray strands of her hair brushed against Sheng Lan’s shoulder.

At her current height, she was close to Sheng Lan’s scent gland. With a slight tilt of her head, she could almost touch it. For any Alpha or Omega, the gland is a sensitive, untouchable zone. Lu Xueyin stared at it for two seconds, distracted, thinking that on the surface, it looked no different from any other skin.

She placed a hand on Sheng Lan’s waist. Her voice was restrained, yet a breath of warm air hit the back of Sheng Lan’s neck. “Do you want me to gag you? With something you might not like very much.”

Sheng Lan finally shut up.

The search phase was a perfect way to stretch the time, provided they could keep the rhythm of the livestream steady. Their recent pastoral streams had trained them well in pacing, and they both knew how to count the seconds to maintain the tension.

Lu Xueyin continued to use the handle of the crop as her primary tool. Even from a distance of ten centimeters, she could sense the supple resilience of the body beneath the clothes. When she applied pressure, the skin would dip, and when she released, there was a certain tactile resistance. It felt like a perfect canvas for writing—elastic, with just the right amount of friction.

So, Lu Xueyin did exactly that.

She had originally intended to imitate Sheng Lan by tracing the vertebrae of the spine, but she decided to write instead. She wrote her name.

Sheng Lan appeared to be wild and experienced, but emotionally, she was a blank slate. Even when playing around with friends, she had a line she wouldn’t cross. Regarding physical intimacy, she was no more familiar than Lu Xueyin; it was only her personality that made her seem seasoned.

Right now, she felt a surge of excitement alongside her anticipation for this interrogation. Any unexpected word or action from Lu Xueyin sent a thrill deep into her soul. The handle of the crop was cold and hard, a temperature she could usually handle. But today, she felt strangely vulnerable. Every stroke felt like a gust of cold wind or a touch of ice, causing her to shiver slightly.

They shared a subtle exchange. When their eyes met, Sheng Lan gave a small shake of her head. Lu Xueyin took it as part of the performance—she didn’t think such small movements meant Sheng Lan couldn’t take it.

No matter how many strokes a name had, it eventually ended.

Lu Xueyin asked, “Do you know what I wrote?”

Sheng Lan let out a low laugh. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Of course,” Lu Xueyin replied. She straightened Sheng Lan’s dress, but the gesture was deeply ambiguous and possessive, her hand tracing the curves of Sheng Lan’s body without quite touching. “In here, any question I ask you is an interrogation. You have the right to remain silent.”

Sheng Lan: “And then I’ll be punished.”

Knowing there would be a penalty, she still didn’t give a straight answer. Instead, she tilted her head to look at Lu Xueyin. “I’m quite curious to see what the punishment will be.”

Lu Xueyin was well-prepared; this was the question she had considered most. The moment Sheng Lan asked, Lu Xueyin leaned down and, without hesitation, bit Sheng Lan’s shoulder. She applied just enough pressure that when she let go, a shallow set of tooth marks remained skillfully done, leaving a mark without breaking the skin.

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