A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 58

After she finished speaking, Lu Xueyin gazed at Sheng Lan in a manner that felt like a scene straight out of an idol drama.

A clearly signaled “Heat” should not be met with fake reserve.

Sheng Lan wanted to respond with action; in that moment, she even forgot her “Fake Alpha” persona. However, Lu Xueyin, quite unromantically, brought up a “transaction.”

“You still owe me one marking.”

Sheng Lan blinked. Sensing that she couldn’t quite keep up with Lu Xueyin’s train of thought, she wisely yielded the conversational initiative. She played the role of the obedient “little sister” waiting for her elder’s instructions, nodding to show she remembered the debt.

Lu Xueyin was satisfied with her attitude, but regarding the marking itself, she said not another word.

This little interlude interrupted the lightheaded bliss Sheng Lan felt from the “I like you.” Her IQ came back online. Sniffing the fluctuations and concentration of Lu Xueyin’s pheromones, she realized the date hadn’t quite arrived yet, so she considerately expressed that she was on standby at any time.

Lu Xueyin grew even more satisfied. Before releasing the embrace, she gave Sheng Lan a light peck near her lips.

Going back to sleep was no longer an option. While Lu Xueyin did her makeup, Sheng Lan discussed changing the livestream plan. Lu Xueyin was competitive by nature and felt she had held them back due to her poor state and fear of ghosts; she wasn’t particularly willing to retreat while their momentum was high.

However, she still had a headache from lack of sleep. There were several days left, and for a high-traffic show, there would be one final explosion of popularity at the end. Giving way during the haunted house livestreams to recharge for the equestrian competition seemed like a better way to put a perfect period on this variety show than being overly ambitious and risking a fall.

Besides, she wasn’t the only one tired; Sheng Lan was too. Taking a break wasn’t the same as not broadcasting at all. There was nothing wrong with a bit of “slack” to find balance. By the time they left the room, they had reached an agreement.

They ate the breakfast prepared by the crew. Because they had decided to prioritize their own enjoyment—and to ensure they didn’t draw the Hide-and-Seek cards—Sheng Lan sent their intentions for the last two livestreams to Director Cheng before the host even arrived.

Director Cheng was surprised and asked for a reason. Sheng Lan replied with a single word: “Tired.”

On camera, Lu Xueyin couldn’t hide her exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped, and she looked listless. Director Cheng was speechless; rather than chasing heat at any cost, she preferred stability.

Away from the lenses, the two could treat this as a vacation.

In the morning, Sheng Lan took Lu Xueyin to the stables. The walk there under the sun was hot, but once they reached the rattan chairs in the rest area, the breeze coming from all sides made the temperature perfect. Sheng Lan remarked that sleeping there would be comfortable, which immediately made Lu Xueyin drowsy.

She survived the crisp wind of the stables, but she couldn’t escape a deep sleep in the fields. While Sheng Lan was out picking a basket of fruits and vegetables, Lu Xueyin couldn’t hold out any longer. She sat on a tree stump, hugging her knees, and fell into a light slumber.

When Sheng Lan’s shadow flickered across her eyelids, her lashes fluttered, showing signs of waking. Only when she heard Sheng Lan say, “Let’s stay here for a while,” did she relax. Her curled-up posture was uncomfortable, and she didn’t expect to sleep long. To her shock, when she woke up, a vast expanse of sunset glow covered the sky.

Just like in the morning, her eyes were blank as she stared for a moment. Only then did she feel the stiffness and a pins-and-needles sensation in her limbs. She wanted to just flop backward and stretch out on the ground, but she felt it would be ungraceful. In a rational state, she found it hard to do such things.

Sheng Lan, however, had no such “idol baggage.” she flopped back to give her a demonstration. Lu Xueyin watched her for two seconds, seemingly afraid she wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation and would do something she’d regret. She struggled to stand up.

In her state, she couldn’t do it alone. Sheng Lan reached out, but instead of pulling her up, she pulled Lu Xueyin down into the grass with her.

Grass, soil, and sand were beneath them. Above, they were shielded by a dense canopy of trees. The dappled afternoon light had turned into a gentle, brilliant crimson. A slight turn of the head revealed a vast sunset rarely seen in the city. No high-rises to block the view, no roar of traffic, no competing neon lights.

“Just act like the cameras aren’t there,” Sheng Lan said. “It’s not like I’m going to do anything to you anyway.”

The string in Lu Xueyin’s heart suddenly loosened. She looked at the sky and laughed. When Sheng Lan asked what was funny, she just shook her head and idly plucked a few blades of grass, staying silent.

Once her guard against someone vanishes, the knowledge she had accumulated about them takes on a new form. This time, she was absolutely certain: even if they were at home, in total privacy, Sheng Lan wouldn’t “do anything” to her without consent. Sheng Lan would give her respect because she cared.

As she sat up, she noticed tiny insects buzzing around but none bothering her. She realized her peaceful sleep was likely because Sheng Lan had been driving away the bugs the whole time.

On the way back to the manor, Lu Xueyin checked her phone. She didn’t even need to look at gossip sites; she had direct messages from Jiang Ling and her mother, Wei Wan.

Wei Wan rarely contacted her during work hours for fear of disturbing her, but this time she sent a message praising Sheng Lan. She wrote simply, “She has put in a lot of heart,” fearing that saying more would cause trouble. Lu Xueyin understood the meaning—with their current status, they didn’t need to “put on an act” all afternoon. Doing so was a sign of genuine care.

Lu Xueyin had previously mentioned that Sheng Lan wanted to visit the nursing home after filming. She made sure to tell her mother that it was Sheng Lan’s own idea. This implied their “fake” relationship was shifting into something real and reassuring.

Back at the manor, the other guests teased them. Meng Qing said sarcastically, “Why are you even ‘Trial Loving’ anymore? Just get married on the spot.”

In reality, they were already married, just missing the official announcement.

That night’s haunted house session was approached with a relaxed vibe. Lu Xueyin, having slept all afternoon, was in good spirits. Before starting, Sheng Lan even played a mobile game with her. This lack of “aggressive competitiveness” was interpreted by the audience as supreme confidence.

When they entered the dressing room for the general extras, they realized one thing: since they hadn’t submitted a script and the crew hadn’t prepared one for them, they had been demoted from “High-Level NPCs” to “General NPCs.”

Sheng Lan looked at the racks of white robes and tight-fitting costumes. Her gaze landed on a suit of silver armor in the corner. She felt that Lu Xueyin wouldn’t be able to relax if she were exposed, so being “wrapped up” tightly was safer.

Lu Xueyin’s eyes were on the armor as well. They agreed instantly. As they entered with the other extras, Sheng Lan felt a sense of novelty. She whispered to Lu Xueyin:

“This is my first time being an extra. Director Cheng is getting a real bargain.”

“With me acting opposite you, you’re making a huge profit too,” Lu Xueyin countered.

Sheng Lan couldn’t stop laughing.

The two of them didn’t follow the other NPCs to their assigned spots. Although they held the status of “General NPCs,” they enjoyed a high degree of freedom. Since they were there to have fun, they wandered around like tourists who had accidentally stumbled into a haunted house. Whenever they crossed paths with the other two couples’ scripts, they decided whether or not to intervene based purely on their mood.

Lu Xueyin wasn’t much of a gamer. She had been the “good girl” type since childhood, with few friends and a workaholic attitude that started before she even graduated. Most of her knowledge of online games came from watching videos; her own gameplay usually stalled at the tutorial phase. Moving through the haunted house, she simply followed Sheng Lan’s rhythm. As her internal fear faded, her curiosity grew. The two-hour broadcast took them from the first floor to the third, and they were just about to check the clock tower when the closing bell rang.

Two armored NPCs acting suspiciously had long since caught the eyes of the audience, but to everyone’s surprise, no major “accidents” occurred. The sudden shift to a warm, relaxed atmosphere was something the viewers weren’t used to, but while the heat dropped slightly, the “sugar” was still there—a steady, solid performance.

The next day’s focus was practicing equestrianism and finally checking in at the pool. Given broadcast regulations, the swimwear was conservative, paired with light wraps. Because the evening broadcast would still focus on “playing around,” they put extra effort into the poolside check-in during the day.

As their relationship shifted, the affection in their interactions became less about “acting.” Their pheromones were silently drawn to each other. Despite the breezy attire and minimal physical contact, they layered on the tension through dialogue, lingering gazes, and subtle micro-movements. They raced for two laps and even experimented with a segment of underwater dancing. Setting aside the “CP” factor, seeing two beautiful women perform like that was simply a visual feast.

When it came time to enter the haunted house that night, they truly let loose. They picked generic white robes and long-haired wigs, playing the role of classic “jumper” NPCs within the plastic CP’s standard ghost house script.

Lu Xueyin had been scared before, but she had never been the one doing the scaring—at least not in such a blunt, physical way. Her experience was rooted in acting and aura. When Sheng Lan changed her voice right in front of her, mimicking the chilling tones of both male and female ghosts, Lu Xueyin felt her skin crawl. Inspired, she put in her best effort, tossing various “haunting” props at unsuspecting players.

Later, while hiding from a chasing Meng Qing, Sheng Lan pulled Lu Xueyin into a wardrobe. Lu Xueyin hadn’t wanted to go in, but she was no match for Sheng Lan’s strength and was stuffed inside in two seconds.

Sheng Lan called it “hiding,” but she didn’t keep it secret. She whispered to Lu Xueyin, “You movie actors… isn’t this how it usually goes? Getting caught having an affair and hiding in the closet? And then a corner of your dress is left sticking out?”

Lu Xueyin looked down. Sure enough, the hem of her robe was caught in the door. “…”

She silently pulled it in while Sheng Lan’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter beside her. Lu Xueyin could feel the entire wardrobe vibrating.

Meng Qing, who had originally run past, noticed the cabinet shaking and doubled back. She yanked the doors open to find two “female ghosts” flirting face-to-face. The scene was almost too much to witness.

“Stop playing in my territory! Isn’t there another couple over there?” Meng Qing complained.

The Bing Tang CP was busy with a high-budget escape room script. Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin had accidentally intruded the day before and messed with a few clues, so they decided not to crash that party again—it would be too obvious a “scene-steal.” It was better for the “Silly Squad” to stick together.

As the haunted house event came to a close, the production team prepared a small gift: a pass for a theme park. Essentially, it was an ad for a sponsor, and they dutifully thanked the “Gold Master” on camera.

Tomorrow would be the final day. The schedule was set: an equestrian competition in the morning, followed by gathering ingredients for a communal dinner. The dinner would serve as the “Farewell Meal,” followed by a final Q&A session. Then, the variety show would officially end, and they could pack their bags.

Sheng Lan followed Lu Xueyin back to her room. She noticed Lu Xueyin’s pheromones were present but not overwhelmingly thick. After a night of “playing wild,” the sweat had carried the scent, but after confirming Lu Xueyin didn’t need an immediate marking, Sheng Lan stayed for a bit until Lu Xueyin pulled up Sheng Lan’s livestream to “idle.” With a laugh, Sheng Lan returned to her own room to freshen up.

Alone, Sheng Lan’s thoughts turned tender. She worried Lu Xueyin might get scared thinking back on the spooky setups they made, so she kept the stream active as a form of “companionship.”

We can go home together tomorrow, Sheng Lan thought.

She spent a little longer interacting with her fans that night, discussing the “Sea of Flowers” event for the finale. “Little Flowers” were free gifts; if a certain amount was reached in a short time, it triggered a special effect. She asked her fans to save them up for 10:00 AM the next day.

Fittingly, the effect was a sea of roses—the same as Lu Xueyin’s pheromones.

Lu Xueyin, listening to Sheng Lan’s voice on her phone, couldn’t help but look at the screen. She was unfamiliar with the gifting mechanics, but she had a considerable amount of flowers saved up from her daily logins. Her finger hovered over a highlighted option: “Send Ta All Flowers.”

She was cautious, thinking that with how fast Sheng Lan’s chat moved, it wouldn’t be noticed. She clicked.

She forgot that because everyone was saving their flowers for the next day, there weren’t many being sent right now. The moment she clicked, a massive “1314” (Forever) heart effect filled the center of the screen. In the system broadcast, her ID even flashed with a rainbow glow.

Back in her room, though the lens was covered, Lu Xueyin felt as if ten thousand eyes were suddenly staring at her. Blushing with embarrassment, she dove under her covers.

The chat exploded with laughter. Sheng Lan laughed along: “Thank you, ‘Lu Xueyin,’ for the 1314 bouquet. Your friend Sheng Lan invites you to watch the Sea of Roses tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. Type ‘1’ to accept the invitation.”

There wasn’t even an option to refuse.

Lu Xueyin knew that to get the high-visibility scrolling text, she had to spend actual money. She spent two minutes fumbling with the recharge settings, worrying about how much was appropriate. By the time she returned, she felt her “520” (I love you) recharge was a bit meager compared to the sudden influx of viewers her previous action had drawn in.

Sheng Lan, guessing her dilemma, sent her a private message: There’s a $10 gift with bold text called ‘Sea Star.’

Lu Xueyin silently sent back a screenshot of her balance. Sheng Lan was slightly surprised by her generosity after all, this was the girl who once “haggled” over the price of a marking. Sheng Lan deleted the line “Maybe you should pretend to be a minor and ask for a refund” and replaced it with: “Thank you, Sister [Love You].”

Encouraged, Lu Xueyin sent a “Launching Sea Stars” gift and typed a single “1” in the chat.

Immediately, the screen was flooded with “1”s from the other viewers. Lu Xueyin was startled at first, then realized everyone was joining the 10:00 AM promise. It made her feel truly happy.

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