A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 56.2

Sheng Lan couldn’t help but hiss. She didn’t even have time to look away; she watched Lu Xueyin bite down and then saw her look up with a defiant, provocative glint in her eyes before letting go.

An intense, burning emotion immediately surged through Sheng Lan. The desire to kiss her, which had been building up for a long time, became almost uncontrollable. Her eyes held a swirling vortex, looking as if they wanted to pull Lu Xueyin in and never let go.

Lu Xueyin had never really understood what it meant to “act spoiled based on being favored,” because her constant state of high alert had never allowed it. But the experiences and tests she’d shared with Sheng Lan had created a strange sort of “safety zone.” She felt that even if they weren’t on a livestream, even without the cameras, Sheng Lan wouldn’t actually hurt her—at most, she’d get a few kisses. Or maybe a few bites in return.

She found the helplessness within Sheng Lan’s strength fascinating.

The original plan for the interrogation involved a series of scripted questions. Lu Xueyin had gathered “trap questions” for couples and questions the production team had asked guests in previous seasons. She had about a dozen ready to go.

But when the time came, she couldn’t bring herself to say them. It wasn’t because the script was too cheesy or embarrassing, but because a selfish desire had suddenly taken a sharp turn in her mind. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, the impulse grew.

She had suffered too much in her life, with too few people to help her. She was used to making decisions and facing consequences alone. Usually, she’d rather lose an opportunity than take an uncalculated risk. It seemed her personality lacked any “impulsive” genes.

But now was not the time for impulse. The cameras were above them, broadcasting to the entire internet. Even if she wanted to slip in something personal, she should hide it under the guise of the “cringey” script.

However, she didn’t want something vague or ambiguous. She didn’t want an answer where she couldn’t tell if it was a line, a performance for the show, or the truth.

As Sheng Lan turned back with a puzzled look, Lu Xueyin made her decision and threw a “straight ball”: “Do you like me?”

The unexpected always catches people off guard. Looking at Sheng Lan’s stunned expression, Lu Xueyin could guess how shocked the audience in the livestream must be. Yet, she felt a sense of relief.

Because Sheng Lan clearly realized that this wasn’t a line.

Sheng Lan could easily answer this. Whether from her heart or for the sake of the show’s effect, the answer was a “yes.” Much like Lu Xueyin’s relief, Sheng Lan also sensed the signal Lu Xueyin was sending—that the result didn’t matter.

She met the “straight ball” with one of her own. Without any flowery words or hesitation, Sheng Lan nodded and said, “I do.”

Satisfied, Lu Xueyin pressed against her back again, her finger lightly touching the place where she had left the bite mark. Sheng Lan, maintaining her head-tilt, found the angle difficult to maintain.

Unusually, they both felt a moment of awkwardness, not knowing how to continue. Lu Xueyin made the choice for her. She took a blindfold from the table and covered Sheng Lan’s eyes.

She was the bold one, yet she was also the timid one. Having received the answer, a delayed sense of bashfulness hit her. She didn’t dare look into Sheng Lan’s eyes.

The blindfold was a simple black one, but the light-blocking effect was surprisingly good. With her sight gone, Sheng Lan’s other senses sharpened, allowing her to think more clearly.

With that one direct question, the rhythm of the interrogation was completely disrupted. Lu Xueyin shifted to other questions, maintaining a direct style so the first question didn’t seem out of place. Without the “over-the-top” elements, the questions sounded more like things a real couple would ask. In this setting, the “obsessive” persona turned into a “loyal dog,” making it feel less like an interrogation and more like a couple having a small disagreement, with Lu Xueyin venting her grievances.

Sheng Lan realized before the audience did that Lu Xueyin was eyeing the other items in the room, preparing for the next phase. Given the constraints of the broadcast, the single bed became the best option. Sheng Lan’s cooperation encouraged Lu Xueyin to choose it.

Her only hesitation was not knowing how Sheng Lan would strike back. Tailing Lu Xueyin had created a strong sense of being watched, and it seemed that whoever reached the interrogation room first held the advantage. But knowing Sheng Lan’s personality, she wouldn’t surrender that easily. Unless that “confession” had actually made her go soft.

Lu Xueyin decided to rely on herself. She took the remaining chains to replace the restraint straps.

Sheng Lan listened to the footsteps. She used her free hand to lift the blindfold and guessed Lu Xueyin’s intent. She smiled and stayed silent, scanning the tools on the walls. Without a phone or watch, she had to rely on her internal clock. Being sensitive to music, she could estimate the time based on the number of song changes in the background audio.

Lu Xueyin was less skilled at this. Her focus had wavered during the interrogation, and her rhythm was off. The intentionally stretched-out background music became a distraction, leading her to miscalculate the passage of time. She thought they still had a while in the interrogation room for one more interaction.

In reality, it was almost time to leave.

The two groups of guests upstairs weren’t stupid. With the NPCs’ help, they would realize the third floor was empty and head down. While they could ignore the “plastic CP,” the “Bing Tang CP” would definitely come to play spoiler.

Sheng Lan moved her wrists, her mind racing through eighteen different plans while she maintained a lazy, “ready for slaughter” appearance on the surface. She showed no “reverence” for what was about to happen; the interest in her eyes practically said, “I can’t believe I’m this lucky.”

They weren’t in a hurry, but the audience was.

Just as Sheng Lan suspected, the Bing Tang CP realized something was wrong. The basement was a blind spot in their thinking. After running up and down several times, they turned their attention to the mirrors.

The mirrors on the second and third floors were changed by NPCs from the outside. The first floor mirrors, however, were changed internally, with NPCs moving through hidden passages. They acted immediately.

They pushed through the blocked passages and successfully reached the basement door. They shared a brief exchange, deciding on a “trap the turtle in the jar” plan. They left the butler and servants to guard the door while they entered the basement together.

They tried to remain silent until they found their targets. The basement door, like the revolving doors inside, was silent. When the interior was revealed, Tang Yingyue let out a low gasp. “What on earth are all these?”

Even the “ice block,” Yan Bing, found herself talking more than usual as the show reached its end. Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin seemed tireless in their performance. Having used up their vacation time early, they had provided high-quality streams consistently, and their ability to “cause trouble” had only grown.

Yan Bing led Tang Yingyue deeper into the room, spotting Sheng Lan’s graffiti on a meme. Both realized they hadn’t lost this competition for no reason. It went back to what Sheng Lan had said on the first day of the haunted house: “It’s a dating show. No matter how things change, the focus should be on your partner; everything else is fluff.”

Even though they knew this, it was hard to execute. Livestreaming for such long periods was exhausting. Focusing on each other without it becoming boring or “exploding” was difficult, so they usually opted for the safe route.

Unlike Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin. Regardless of the location or the cards other guests held, their core was always each other. If the conditions weren’t there, they wrote their own script. It was a high-stakes, unconventional way of streaming that required intense improvisational skills.

Yan Bing gave Tang Yingyue a hand gesture, one their characters used in a TV drama they both starred in. No matter the result, give it your all and leave no regrets.

Tang Yingyue nodded, turning her focus away from the humorous basement. The gesture was natural, not a rehearsal. But even their CP fans weren’t buying it, flooding the chat with: “DON’T YOU DARE GO OVER THERE!!!”

To prove they were true fans, they added in parentheses: (Can you just wait two more minutes, please??)

In that moment, Sheng Lan completely flipped the script. Just as Lu Xueyin finished prepping the single bed and prepared to move her to a new set of restraints, Sheng Lan seized her opening and pinned Lu Xueyin instead.

Without any specialized tools, she simply tore a strip from her own long skirt and used the fabric to bind Lu Xueyin’s hands behind her back.

“Sister, being too soft-hearted will get you in trouble,” Sheng Lan whispered.

Some people are simply born with gentle hearts. Even when the storm clouds gather and they walk upon thorns, their essence remains unchanged. If Lu Xueyin were capable of being truly cold-blooded, she wouldn’t be Lu Xueyin. She could only muster a stubborn retort: “Then now is the time to test your sincerity.”

She wanted to see if the sweet words spoken during the earlier interrogation were true or false.

As Sheng Lan moved, the chains still linked to her ankles let out a light metallic clink. After tethering Lu Xueyin to the headboard, the first thing Sheng Lan did was unlock her own chains and handcuffs. Then, she picked up a pair of scissors and began a bold, sweeping redesign of her formal gown.

Director Cheng’s voice boomed through the earpiece: “STOP!! The sponsors are furious!!!”

Sheng Lan remained unfazed. She knew this brand well. She began reciting their design philosophy and praising the designer’s vision, weaving in the brand’s history and ad copy for their latest collection. Finally, she added a playful quatrain: “Mention my name for a ‘break-your-bones’ discount.”

Director Cheng went silent as a grave.

Having “lost contact” with the outside world, Sheng Lan focused on preparing for their escape from the Bing Tang CP’s “manhunt.” High heels were no longer an option. She sifted through the discarded fabric, cutting pieces of the unembellished lining into the shape of shoe covers and using strips of cloth as laces.

The result was crude, but she worked with lightning speed, her back to the cameras to shield the process. She didn’t know where the Bing Tang CP was, but she was willing to trade precious seconds for a tactical advantage. There was no need to panic; even if they were caught, they would do it with elegance.

The makeshift shoe covers were the same color as the dress. When held against the pile of fabric, they were nearly invisible. Sheng Lan walked to the bed and gestured for Lu Xueyin to turn around and sit.

Acknowledging Sheng Lan’s earlier cooperation and sensing the clock ticking, Lu Xueyin was exceptionally helpful. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could leave. The audience, unaware of their unspoken pact, went wild seeing Sheng Lan remove Lu Xueyin’s shoes.

In the control room, Director Cheng was torn. On one hand, she trusted Sheng Lan’s plan. On the other, the Bing Tang CP was moving with terrifying efficiency. Using their status as “Castle Owners,” they ignored the NPCs and roadblocks, their heavy footsteps echoing through the halls.

Director Cheng made a split-second decision. She instructed an NPC on the path to the interrogation room to write a message on a meme board—the most popular comment from the chat: “DON’T YOU COME OVER HERE!!!”

On screen, Sheng Lan finally moved. She grabbed the “shoe covers.” Her movements accelerated. It was unclear if she was rushing because of the encroaching hunters or because she was embarrassed by her handiwork.

Lu Xueyin had guessed what was happening when Sheng Lan knelt to remove her shoes, but her feet were sensitive, and the physical tension kept her from overthinking. When Sheng Lan actually slid the cloth covers onto her feet, she felt a wave of helpless amusement.

But it was time to “flee.”

The Bing Tang CP had grown impatient with the maze of revolving doors. Fearing they might pass their targets in the silence, they made a critical error: they stopped hiding their footsteps and lowered their voices no further.

Sheng Lan’s sharp senses immediately distinguished the synchronized footsteps of two people from the aimless wandering of the NPCs. She finished the shoes, grabbed the tape recorder, and led Lu Xueyin toward the door. After a brief pause to track the movement outside, she pulled Lu Xueyin out.

She immediately pushed through a revolving door, daringly circling back toward the direction the Bing Tang CP had come from. Lu Xueyin understood the logic—the exit was that way—but she was stunned by the proximity. Alphas are territorial; even if they weren’t in Yan Bing’s line of sight, the “scent” of a rival could trigger an alarm.

As they moved, Sheng Lan noticed Lu Xueyin’s pulse racing through her wrist. She looked back at her. Lu Xueyin’s face was a mask of calm, but her heart was pounding against Sheng Lan’s palm. Sheng Lan stopped for a moment, letting her catch her breath.

Inside the interrogation room, the Bing Tang CP discovered the scene. They felt the lingering warmth on the bed.

“Oh my god,” Tang Yingyue gasped. “Did they… sleep together?”

Yan Bing’s expression froze. Tang Yingyue whispered, “You know, the way they do in movies when the lights go out? Is it possible?”

Yan Bing nodded. Sheng Lan’s style was bold enough to make anything possible. The terrifying thought hit them: if they had interrupted a “key moment,” the audience would hate them for the bad timing.

They muted their mics and held a quick huddle. They decided to stop the pursuit. If they went in, they’d be the “villains” who ruined the show. If they didn’t, Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin would have to find their own way to conclude the scene. They decided to wander the basement aimlessly instead.

By sheer coincidence, they walked right into the path where Lu Xueyin had just let go of Sheng Lan’s hand. As they entered a revolving door, Lu Xueyin and Sheng Lan were momentarily visible across a one-meter-wide aisle.

The atmosphere was electric. But the Bing Tang CP simply stopped, turned on their heels, and took a different path.

The competition was back to just the two of them.

Sheng Lan led her to a destination: a safety exit marked with “Do Not Enter” tape. She pushed it open, looked back at Lu Xueyin with eyes full of defiance, and stepped through.

The choice was Lu Xueyin’s. It was clearly a trap—Sheng Lan’s home turf. But Lu Xueyin’s competitive spirit and curiosity won out. They emerged back into the narrow hidden passage from the start of the night.

Sheng Lan had vanished into the shadows of the first floor. Lu Xueyin followed the trail to a small staff breakroom under the stairs. Sheng Lan had locked the door from the inside.

As Lu Xueyin pushed open the door, her eyes met Sheng Lan’s. The room was tiny, a triangular attic-like space with half-dimmed lights. Sheng Lan stood up and, with a single long stride, pulled Lu Xueyin into the room.

As the door clicked shut, Sheng Lan held her in a face-to-face embrace. Her breath was warm against Lu Xueyin’s ear as she asked her first question in a voice that broke all the rules: “I prepared this place for you. Do you like it?”

The roles were reversed. This room was smaller than the basement, the light a warm, hazy orange. Sheng Lan chose a different kind of interrogation. She didn’t use the chains; instead, she swept the props off the desk and lifted Lu Xueyin to sit on it. She braced her hands on either side of Lu Xueyin’s legs, pinning her in place.

“Are you afraid of me?” Sheng Lan asked.

It was a loaded question. Lu Xueyin could be afraid of Sheng Lan as a “villain,” or she could be afraid of the embrace. She shook her head and whispered, “The distance is too close.”

Sheng Lan didn’t push for a deep answer. Instead, she used a playful, narcissistic deflection to ease the tension: “I know. I’m a bit too dazzling, aren’t I?”

Lu Xueyin gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. She did think Sheng Lan was dazzling—like the sun.

“Do you like it here?” Sheng Lan asked again.

Lu Xueyin hesitated. It was cramped and dim. “It’s… okay.”

Sheng Lan ignored the hesitation. “I don’t really like it here either. It’s stuffy and small. But I just discovered one advantage to this room…”

Lu Xueyin looked at her, the soft green tenderness in her eyes impossible to hide in the low light. “What advantage?”

She expected a cheesy pick-up line. Something about it being better because she was there. But Sheng Lan wasn’t interested in being a cliché. She wanted to be a “madman” of action.

“It’s a very good place for a kiss,” Sheng Lan said.

She wrapped her arms around Lu Xueyin’s waist, lifted her up, and in one fluid motion, spun her away from the desk and into the shadows by the iron rack, a complete blind spot for the cameras.

Just before they disappeared from view, Sheng Lan leaned down, the classic silhouette of a deep kiss forming, before pushing Lu Xueyin into the corner.

On the screen, all that remained were two pairs of legs, standing amidst the discarded petals of a torn red rose dress.

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