A Scummy Alpha and An Award-Winning Omega Actress Fell in Love After an Arranged Marriage - Chapter 63

Lu Xueyin made her decision in silence, following Sheng Lan’s “desire to teach” by trying out the silver-pink drum kit.

Sharing a cherished passion with someone you love is a deeply pleasant experience. When it came to music, Sheng Lan possessed the same talkative enthusiasm most people reserve for their favorite hobbies, ranging from basic guidance to various anecdotes from when she first learned the instrument. These topics were originally intended to help Lu Xueyin relax.

They were meant to dilute the heaviness of the conversation regarding Feng Zhitong and alleviate the awkward tension of staying in the same room at the family home for the first time. However, Sheng Lan quickly noticed a hint of detachment—a sense of being elsewhere—in Lu Xueyin’s cooperation.

The differentiation of the ABO second genders made them sensitive in many ways. One of the criteria for a top-tier Alpha or Omega was the sensitivity of their five senses. Beyond what machines could measure, there was a more abstract talent: the ability to capture and analyze subtle fluctuations in pheromones.

Lu Xueyin’s pheromones felt restless and unstable, suppressing a flow back into her body while irrepressibly leaking out. It felt like nervousness, yet also like a “push and pull” test toward the Alpha beside her. But as soon as Sheng Lan drew a bit closer, she could feel the “rose’s” thorns. It was a state of wanting to let go while remaining subconsciously guarded.

As this thought flashed by, Sheng Lan couldn’t help but joke to herself: I wouldn’t make a bad psychiatrist in the future.

She stood lazily by Lu Xueyin’s side, watching her flip through sheet music and seriously select a piece. Lu Xueyin’s thick, black curls were pulled into a casual bun, and the skin-toned suppressant patch on her nape showed a faint apricot hue where it was dampened by light sweat. A few stray strands of hair curled over it. Lu Xueyin was highly aware of her own beauty and never hesitated to display it. Her forehead was clear of stray hairs, revealing a flawless face that defied criticism.

The color of her lipstick had faded slightly, likely due to a lip-biting habit she wasn’t even aware of, leaving behind faint teeth marks. The bright ceiling light, devoid of any warm, romantic amber, illuminated her thin foundation until it was translucent, making the tiny red mole under her eye faintly visible.

Sheng Lan’s gaze traveled down to the graceful body wrapped in a gentle, intellectual dress. Further down, she saw a pair of pale feet that had quietly slipped out of their slippers to press against the floorboards.

She suddenly remembered when they were taking statements at home; Lu Xueyin had been dressed in formal attire, looking mature and professional, yet her toes had been idly playing with the soft fibers of the carpet afterward. This scene brought clarity to Sheng Lan’s thoughts.

Lu Xueyin was fundamentally a contradictory person. She feared the unwanted gaze of others, yet she always wore provocative clothing. She had the soft personality of a “good girl,” yet she projected a cold and distant aura. She appeared independent and decisive, but her hesitations ran deep.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Sheng Lan asked.

Lu Xueyin’s gaze paused, moving away from the sheet music. She asked back without dodging, “Is there anything you want to ask?”

This “riddle-like” way of chatting was a test of their chemistry. Sheng Lan used this internal snark to ease the unfamiliar emotions bubbling within her. For an outgoing, confident Alpha, feelings like insecurity, self-doubt, and hesitation were foreign territory. She wasn’t sure if pressing for an answer was overstepping, and she lost her ability to analyze the psychology of the situation. She only had her subjective feeling: she saw intense encouragement in Lu Xueyin’s eyes.

Is she encouraging me to ask?

Sheng Lan spoke with caution. “What do you want me to ask?”

Lu Xueyin remained seated, her head tilted slightly back, her tone unchanged. “What do you want to know?”

Sheng Lan always preferred cornering people until they had no choice but to make the selection she anticipated. She called this “fishing” and gave it a self-sacrificing name—handing over the initiative. But now, it was her turn to make the move.

A wave of uneasy emotion rolled in. Sheng Lan suspected she had “caught” it from the pheromones—infected by Lu Xueyin’s subconscious. This was perhaps the greatest test of her adaptability. She felt that everything she knew and her natural Alpha instincts were useless here.

She knew this was a turning point for both of them. Asking might lead to a bad outcome. But not asking meant the secret would remain a double-edged sword between them. Lu Xueyin would be pierced by the weight of the secret, and Sheng Lan would be pierced by her suppressed curiosity.

Sheng Lan hinted, “You know what I want to ask.”

She decided not to let Lu Xueyin play dumb anymore. She cut off the possibility of a third round of “Should I know what you want to ask?” at the root.

She blurted out, “The reason you didn’t say, or the truth behind that matter.”

The room fell silent. The soundproofing of the music room made the quiet feel absolute. In Lu Xueyin’s silence, Sheng Lan’s mind slowly steadied. It was a sense of relaxation conveyed through pheromones even before an answer was given. Sheng Lan felt that Lu Xueyin was actually thanking her for “not letting it go.”

However, the conversation didn’t unfold as Sheng Lan expected. Lu Xueyin stood up, waving the sheet music. “I can’t choose. I need a prompt.”

Sheng Lan walked over, crossing the short distance in an instant, and sat on the stool. She picked up the drumsticks, twirling them effortlessly in her hands. She looked entirely confident.

“I just had an inspiration. Let me perform something for you.”

Inspiration is easiest to trigger when emotions are high, and music is the perfect vessel for those feelings. To Sheng Lan, this was no different from a confession the ultimate romance for a musician.

Lu Xueyin stood where Sheng Lan had been. She wasn’t as relaxed, her eyes following the drumsticks like a cat watching a teaser toy. She was reserved and restrained, yet undeniably drawn in.

She had heard Sheng Lan’s songs many times, every single one. It was a secret few knew. To her, this was her personal solace. Perhaps it traced back to their meeting in Wuzhuang before she entered the industry, where Sheng Lan had shown her kindness and dignity. Since then, she had followed Sheng Lan’s career, turning it into a habit.

The drums were closer to a heartbeat than any other instrument. As the rapid, dense beats filled the room, Lu Xueyin’s thoughts wandered. Her heart rate accelerated, and a thin veil of sweat appeared on her skin. Sheng Lan was in her element, her eyes growing brighter as the impromptu performance continued.

When the last beat echoed and faded, Sheng Lan set the sticks down. In the ringing silence, she looked up at Lu Xueyin with a mix of post-performance languor and absolute seriousness:

“The performance is over. Now, can you fulfill the ‘duty of a wife’ and share half of those secrets with me?”

“When I wrote my first love song,” Sheng Lan told Lu Xueyin, “my manager at the time suggested I imagine a lover, it could be anything I liked. Using an object as a metaphor for a lover is a very common technique in lyrics, so my very first love song was written for my drum kit.”

Sheng Lan didn’t put down the drumsticks, but she stopped twirling them. She looked up at Lu Xueyin with genuine interest, noticing the light sweat on her brow, her flushed cheeks, and the newfound intensity in her green eyes.

“Today is also the first time I’ve used a melody to confess,” she added softly, “and I’m still using the drums. It’s a strange kind of fate, isn’t it?”

Lu Xueyin felt a pang of guilt because she hadn’t been listening critically to the music itself; she had been lost in the person performing it. But in this atmosphere, her distraction was easily mistaken for being moved. Sheng Lan, ever the attentive Alpha, didn’t press the issue, gracefully steering the conversation away from their earlier “riddles.”

Lu Xueyin asked if there was a recording, and Sheng Lan immediately began jotting down notes on the back of a sheet of music. “If you want to hear it again, I can play it for you,” she offered. Lu Xueyin followed her heart and opened the voice recorder on her phone, her face burning as Sheng Lan gave her a meaningful, knowing smile.

After leaving the music room, they wandered through the rest of the suite. As a successful Alpha, Sheng Lan’s room was filled with trophies and medals. Lu Xueyin noticed a sharp contrast: her academic awards—”Model Student” and “Outstanding Class Monitor”—were thin certificates from primary school, mostly hidden behind massive trophies for sports and music from her later years.

“I used to be quite arrogant when I was in a band,” Sheng Lan explained. “I thought ‘good wine needs no bush’—if the music was good, I didn’t need a trophy to prove it.”

“And now?” Lu Xueyin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sheng Lan smirked. “I might not need them, but I certainly can’t not have them.”

As Lu Xueyin smiled, she caught sight of a pink medal in a custom, museum-style glass display case. It was the “cheesy” pink quartz trophy from Trial Love Period. Sheng Lan had given it the royal treatment, with soft,溫潤 (gentle) lighting that made the crystal glow.

“I had two cases made,” Sheng Lan said, brooking no argument. “The identical one is for you. Take it with you tomorrow and have Jiang Ling find someone to set it up. Then, take a photo for me—I want to see how it looks.”

By the time they finished, it was past midnight. Sheng Lan insisted they sleep.

“Can you wear my clothes?” she asked.

Though Lu Xueyin had brought a set of her own, she looked at Sheng Lan’s back as she walked toward the wardrobe and whispered, “Okay.”

She regretted it almost instantly when Sheng Lan turned back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Underwear too?”

Any hope of an early sleep vanished when Lu Xueyin tried to head for the guest room. Sheng Lan wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, pressing her chest against Lu Xueyin’s shoulder blades. She leaned in, her lips grazing the sensitive skin behind Lu Xueyin’s ear.

“You’re like a dog,” Lu Xueyin muttered, though she didn’t pull away. The “dog” in question responded by nipping lightly at every inch of her ear.

Pheromones flooded the room, turning thick and heavy in an instant. Lu Xueyin’s hand fumbled against the wall for support. As her suppressant patch was torn away—not by hands, but by sharp, warm teeth—she managed a shaky protest: “There’s… there’s sweat on it, it’s dirty…”

“I couldn’t tell in the dark,” Sheng Lan teased later.

In the shadows of the room, all boundaries were broken. Sheng Lan led her by the hand, teaching her, fulfilling the “duty of a wife” upon Lu Xueyin’s trembling, delicate frame.

Later, lying in bed, Lu Xueyin was still flushed. She blamed it on the oversized silk nightgown she was wearing—it smelled too strongly of Sheng Lan’s tequila pheromones. She blamed it on the underwear that didn’t quite fit, a constant tactile reminder of whose clothes she was wearing.

Sheng Lan sat by her side with a tube of ointment and a fresh suppressant patch. “How was I tonight?” she asked, trying to hide her awkwardness with a bit of self-deprecating bravado. “Did I seem like a ‘Powerful Alpha’?”

Lu Xueyin thought: Who knows when you actually took that medicine?

She gave a small, silent nodm a subtle concession to the Alpha’s ego. Sheng Lan carefully applied the cooling ointment to the deep bite marks on Lu Xueyin’s neck, and even a little on her ears just for her own peace of mind.

Once the patch was secured, Sheng Lan turned off the final lamp. She draped an arm over Lu Xueyin’s waist, pulling her close.

“I’m not used to sleeping on someone’s arm,” Lu Xueyin whispered.

“Then I’ll sleep on yours,” Sheng Lan replied.

After some rustling and adjusting, Lu Xueyin eventually pushed Sheng Lan off when her arm went numb, and they switched back, drifting into sleep in the quiet dark of the pink princess room.

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