A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 61

After the updates were posted, their phones lagged several times before finally refreshing the comment sections.

The reactions on both sides were vastly different. Fans had a solid grasp of their personalities; on Lu Xueyin’s side, they teased the shy actress, asking if the synchronized late-night posts meant they were currently sharing a bed. On Sheng Lan’s side, fans joked that she must have seen the comments calling her “unprofessional,” sat bolt upright in bed, and made a frantic “death-call” to Lu Xueyin to force her to cooperate.

However, one comment appeared on both sides: “She’s so indulgent, I’m actually crying.” A reply below added: “Yes, she indulges the fans, she does whatever they ask.”

As a result, this “fan-service” post was flooded with tags demanding more frequent business updates.

Sheng Lan told Lu Xueyin, “I’ve always liked chatting with them. On one hand, responding to affection is a great emotional value. On the other, gradually revealing my true self through these chats is a huge stress reliever.”

Lu Xueyin didn’t quite get the “stress relief” part, so Sheng Lan explained it was a way of testing boundaries. By slowly shifting the public’s fixed impression of her, she could foster a sense of “that’s just how she is.” That way, if she ever did something that didn’t fit her persona in the future, she wouldn’t face a tidal wave of backlash.

In short: Don’t hang yourself up like a piece of high-fashion clothing; be a living person.

Lu Xueyin felt slightly called out. Sheng Lan continued to share screenshots of funny comments, and even the ones Lu Xueyin found ordinary became hilarious through Sheng Lan’s witty commentary.

Before long, they both received calls from their managers.

Sheng Lan handled hers easily. She managed her own Weibo and had already discussed the “slow-boil” strategy with Liang Jiao—waiting for the public to get used to the relationship before a full reveal. She explained it was just a routine post to maintain heat, and the PR department just needed to guide the narrative.

Lu Xueyin’s call lasted much longer. Jiang Ling believed she was being irrational, likely swept up in “post-collaboration high” emotions that could lead to harmful choices.

“Don’t forget you were hospitalized on your wedding night,” Jiang Ling warned. While she had a better opinion of Sheng Lan now, she remained cautious. “At the very least, you need to cool off right after the project ends.”

Lu Xueyin couldn’t explain the emotional shift; anything she said would be dismissed by Jiang Ling as being “head over heels.” She could only gently promise to be careful, adding, “Besides, I’m not living with Sheng Lan.”

But then, Lu Xueyin felt a pang of guilt and whispered, “Sheng Lan just invited me home for dinner… I might stay the night.”

Jiang Ling was speechless. After a moment, she sighed, “I need to reach an agreement with Liang Jiao. Coming out would be worse for Sheng Lan. It’s fine if you’re unreliable, as long as Sheng Lan keeps a clear head.”

“Do you think I’ve lost my intelligence?” Lu Xueyin asked after a pause. “You have thirty percent of your logic left,” Jiang Ling replied coldly. “Trust me, that’s an accurate estimate.”

By noon the next day, Lu Xueyin replied to Sheng Lan, saying they could only have dinner the following evening due to a film promotion event. As compensation, she offered to take Sheng Lan to a movie once it was released.

Sheng Lan was busy too, preparing for her new album. She happily shared her real-time location: “Monsoon Music Studio.”

Lu Xueyin searched the name and saw the description: “Specializes in light, sweet, romance-style music.” She understood the hidden meaning behind the share. Sheng Lan had once said she was an “inspiration-based” creator, and Lu Xueyin told her she was looking forward to the new songs.

“It’s an album,” Sheng Lan corrected sternly. An album, after all, could hold much more sweetness than a single song.

Lu Xueyin recalled how Jiang Ling had once bought two hundred movie tickets to support her. Copying the “homework,” she told Sheng Lan she would buy two hundred albums.

Sheng Lan was touched, but when she asked what she’d do with them, Lu Xueyin didn’t give a romantic answer about keeping them close. Instead, she said, “I’ll hold a giveaway for the fans.” She felt giving them to people who truly liked Sheng Lan was more meaningful.

Sheng Lan laughed, promising she would practice her handwriting so she could provide beautiful signatures for the giveaway.

During her session at the studio, the theme centered on “elements of love.” Even though Lu Xueyin wasn’t mentioned by name, Sheng Lan felt like every sentence was about her as if she were sitting right there, listening.

By the time she left, it was dark. Sheng Lan sent Lu Xueyin a slightly eerie message: Thanks for the company this afternoon. [Cat Heart Emoji]

In the car, Sheng Lan asked Liang Jiao, “Can you set up a meeting with some people from the film industry? Or maybe a charity gala?”

Liang Jiao checked her schedule and mentioned a charity gala this Sunday. Sheng Lan wanted to invite those eight “White Lotus” candidates. She wanted to confirm for herself if her foolish Alpha friend, Yu Cheng, was messing with someone dangerous.

She had thought about asking Lu Xueyin to help invite them, but Lu Xueyin was too honest; inviting eight people would mean she’d owe eight favors, which was too much of a loss. Sheng Lan decided to handle it herself.

After Liang Jiao got off at the office, the young assistant, Xiao Tao, finally found a chance to speak up. She smiled at Sheng Lan sheepishly.

“Sister Lan, could you help me get an autograph?”

Working in the entertainment industry means you have frequent contact with stars of all levels, but getting an autograph or a photo is actually much harder than people imagine.

Liang Jiao maintained a strict “quota system” for such requests to prevent staff from becoming obsessive fans, leaking privacy, or harboring hidden agendas. This was the first time Xiao Tao had asked Sheng Lan to help get an autograph, and she managed to make Sheng Lan nearly “choke” with the very first sentence.

“You want Teacher Lu’s?” Sheng Lan raised an eyebrow.

Xiao Tao blushed, her eyes darting around. “Um… she has a new movie coming out, her co-star is Xie You… I have two quotas left… You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Sheng Lan gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Why don’t I get you a personalized photo with a dedication while I’m at it?”

Xiao Tao, clearly having a lapse in judgment, actually nodded in delight. “Can you? Thank you, Sister Lan!”

Sheng Lan: “…” This assistant is hopeless. I should throw her away.

Tonight’s assignment was a simple magazine inner-page shoot. It was the kind of professional “favor” job that didn’t require much emotion; Sheng Lan just had to be a “focused statue,” changing poses according to the photographer’s instructions.

After finishing, she wanted to grab late-night snacks with Lu Xueyin. Learning she was busy, Sheng Lan headed to the parking lot with Xiao Tao.

Xiao Tao, following the “information gathering” habits taught by Liang Jiao, shared a piece of gossip: the female Alpha co-star for Lu Xueyin’s next movie was an “outsider” the director had invited back from abroad. Rumor had it she was a “resource hire” (bringing her own funding), and her acting skills were a mystery. Xiao Tao hadn’t even managed to find out her name. Sheng Lan made a mental note to ask Lu Xueyin about it later.

The next evening, Sheng Lan and Lu Xueyin met at a shopping mall near Sheng Lan’s home.

Lu Xueyin had changed into a quiet, fresh pea-green floral dress and sprayed on perfume to cover the “work scents” of the day. She hopped into Sheng Lan’s car for the final leg of the journey.

Sheng Lan’s household consisted of two mothers—an AO couple—and an older sister, Sheng Chu, who was currently abroad. Today, Lu Xueyin would be meeting both “Moms.”

Lu Xueyin was visibly nervous, twisting a lock of her black hair around her finger. “I only brought two small gifts,” she whispered.

“You’re being too polite,” Sheng Lan teased.

Lu Xueyin shook her head stubbornly. “If you went to see my mother, you’d have to prepare gifts too.”

She showed her choices: a bottle of a rare, blended pheromone perfume with a subtle, high-end ambiguity, and a red-brown watch strap that was actually a hidden suppressant bracelet—perfect for maintaining appearances in professional settings.

“I’m starting to feel the pressure,” Sheng Lan admitted.

Lu Xueyin gave a sincere “critical hit” response: “My mom said you must be a great cook from watching the stream. I praised your skills to her. Next time you make some light dishes, let’s go see her together.”

Sheng Lan agreed with a smile. She then recalled Xiao Tao’s gossip and asked casually, “I heard there’s a resource-hire Alpha in your next film?”

Lu Xueyin nodded. “Director Li showed me her audition video. She has a very spiritual performance a bit raw, but it fits her character perfectly.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

Lu Xueyin replied offhandedly, “Her name is Mu Qing.”

Sheng Lan, who had been walking forward casually, suddenly froze in her tracks as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

Mu Qing?

The “Destined Alpha” for Lu Xueyin in the original book?

Why was she appearing so early, and in this way?

Sheng Lan frowned, her mind racing through the timeline. In the original story, the “Scum Alpha” and Lu Xueyin divorced after a year. Based on Lu Xueyin’s projected filming and promotion schedule, it would be the perfect time for Mu Qing to emerge as the “hero” just as Lu Xueyin reached her breaking point with the Scum Alpha’s atrocities.

Sheng Lan took a sharp breath.

No. I need to visit the set more often. I absolutely cannot let this “Destiny” steal my wife.

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