After Becoming a Scummy Alpha, I Met the Reborn Omega - Chapter 57

Lin Changsheng picked up the file in front of him. The lab was currently in desperate need of talent and had been recruiting continuously, though very few applicants ever met his standards. However, the profile before him caught his attention.

Lin Wan, 28 years old. She initially majored in forensic science but later switched to pharmacology and earned her PhD by the age of 28. While this was hardly impressive compared to Lin Changsheng’s own achievements, Mo Corporation was currently in dire need of pharmacology experts. More surprisingly, Lin Wan had turned down an opportunity to study abroad and had instead applied to join Mo Corp on her own initiative.

This piqued Lin Changsheng’s curiosity, and he personally contacted her for an interview.

On the day of the interview, Lin Changsheng and Zhou Yiyi conducted it together. Lin Wan wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, obscuring any emotion in her eyes. Her delicate features and pale complexion were accentuated by her white coat, giving her a clean, almost pure appearance. When asked professional questions, her answers were orderly and well-reasoned. However, her tone was calm and detached, showing no visible passion for the field.

And yet… Lin Changsheng couldn’t shake a lingering doubt. If she wasn’t passionate about the profession, why would she give up such favorable prospects abroad to come to Mo Corp, where the work was tough and the rewards meager?

“I heard you originally studied forensic science. Why the change? Moving from forensics to pharmacology is quite a leap,” Lin Changsheng asked—his first question during the interview.

His voice seemed to finally stir Lin Wan’s attention. For the first time, a faint smile appeared on her otherwise emotionless face. She looked directly at him.

“Because you’re in pharmacology. Although you’re proficient in many fields, pharmacology is where you are most skilled—and most renowned.”

Her answer surprised Lin Changsheng. Was she implying she came specifically because of him?

Sensing his skepticism, Lin Wan added, “I deeply admire the contributions you’ve made to the people, Chief. I want to be part of your efforts.”

Despite the seemingly heartfelt words, her expression remained calm, almost indifferent. Frankly, Lin Changsheng didn’t fully believe her. Perhaps it was the lack of enthusiasm in her tone—everything she said felt like a pale explanation.

“Mo Corp can’t offer you a particularly good salary,” he warned.

In truth, Mo Corp’s compensation was decent, just not competitive compared to others. According to internal reports provided by Hua Miaomiao, she had been trying to poach talent from Mo Zhaoyan by always offering a bit more than whatever salary Mo Zhaoyan proposed. Hua Miaomiao had money to burn, and Mo Zhaoyan couldn’t be bothered to compete.

“As long as I can work by the Chief’s side, I’m satisfied. Faith matters more than anything.”

Lin Changsheng had heard plenty of flattery over the years. But Lin Wan… she didn’t sound like someone flattering him, nor did she seem like a fanatic.

Still, she was undeniably a valuable asset, and Lin Changsheng eventually set aside his doubts and approved her employment. Out of caution, though, he only assigned her to oversee the Changsheng Flower project and did not allow her to participate in any core experiments.

Lin Wan, however, made no mistakes. After a period of observation, it became clear that she was extremely kind and easy to get along with. At first, everyone assumed she would be difficult, but over time, as they approached her with questions, she always answered patiently and even went out of her way to help others. She eventually became close friends with Wen Lier.

Since they worked in the same department, it was only natural they became familiar quickly. Especially since Wen Lier was a devoted fan of Lin Changsheng—and Lin Wan appeared to be one too. However, Lin Changsheng never believed that faith she spoke of was directed at him.

The two often had meals together, and during one of those meals, their conversation drifted to hobbies.

“Lin-jie, what do you enjoy doing in your free time?” Wen Lier asked.

“Me? I like reading novels,” Lin Wan replied.

Wen Lier blinked in surprise. “Really? I didn’t expect someone your age to still enjoy novels.”

Lin Wan simply smiled and said nothing.

“What kind of novels do you read? I’d love to check them out.”

“Confessions of a Serial Killer,” Lin Wan answered.

“Huh? That’s what you’re into?”

“It’s just a personal interest.”

Curious, Wen Lier searched the book online. It turned out to be relatively obscure, with only a small niche readership. She hadn’t expected Lin Wan to enjoy something like that.

The novel was a collection of final monologues from serial killers before their executions, vividly portraying one gruesome crime scene after another. The detail was so graphic, so disturbingly realistic, that it felt almost like the author had lived through it.

Wen Lier had barely started reading when she was startled by what she saw. At that moment, Lin Changsheng came by to retrieve something. Seeing her staring tensely at the computer screen, he called out to her, “What are you looking at?”

His sudden voice gave Wen Lier a real fright. “Ah!”

Her scream left Lin Changsheng confused. “Why are you so jumpy?”

When Wen Lier saw it was Lin Changsheng, she finally let out a breath of relief. “Oh, Chief… You scared me half to death.”

“What were you looking at that’s so frightening?”

Wen Lier took a sip from her water cup. “It’s that novel Lin-jie recommended. I didn’t expect it to be that scary.”

“Lin Wan?” Lin Changsheng couldn’t shake the memory of her unreadable eyes—there was something about her that always felt… off.

He glanced at the computer screen. The novel had been updated over many years, yet it never gained much readership. Despite this, the author kept posting new chapters. Each story was spaced out by long gaps, as if the content wasn’t fiction at all, but based on something real—something the writer had truly seen.

Lin Changsheng scrolled to the bottom and saw the most recent update.

This new story was about someone who called themselves a righteous enforcer.

His heart skipped a beat. It immediately made him think of Chen Lin. Driven by unease, he kept reading.

The woman, codenamed C, had once been a police officer. Her life had always been tied to justice, and her core belief was to catch criminals. But over time, she came to believe that evil could not be punished by the law. So she decided to become justice herself—to punish evil directly.

She had once felt lost, her faith shattered, until she found a true belief—a divine being in whom she placed total trust and to whom she offered everything. Under this god’s guidance, she vowed to fulfill true justice.

A god?

Lin Changsheng remembered that in the very first story he read, there had also been mention of a god—an entity that made these serial killers believe their actions were righteous. To them, this god was faith incarnate… yet it led them straight to hell.

Lin Changsheng scoffed at the idea of such a “god.” If this deity truly existed to save people, why were all its acts so monstrous and inhumane?

Why were those who deserved to die still living carefree, indulgent lives—while the victims carried wounds that would never heal in a lifetime?

They were guilty. They all deserved to die.

The words read like something Chen Lin herself would have said, and they pierced Lin Changsheng like a knife. If only he had noticed sooner—noticed Chen Lin’s changes and kept her away from Su Jing—maybe Su Jing wouldn’t have died.

Bring them in. Force them to admit their crimes. Make them apologize to their victims. With a single kick, she could break their ribs so they’d never be able to cry for help again. Blood would flood their lungs. Pain would engulf their bodies as they watched their lives fade away. That… that was the punishment they deserved.

God was right.

Lin Changsheng didn’t need to keep reading—he already knew who this story was about.

Chen Lin.

Someone had recorded Chen Lin’s story—not only hers, but also the stories of the serial killers created by Su Jing—turning each one into stylized, artful narratives.

Even more disturbingly, the author referred to Su Jing as a god. How utterly insane.

At one point, Lin Changsheng had suspected Su Jing herself might be behind it all, directing and scripting her own mythology. But Su Jing was in prison. How could she possibly be updating a novel?

This felt more like the work of a fanatic, someone obsessed with Su Jing, who viewed her as a deity and created this novel in her honor.

As Lin Changsheng read on, he noticed something off about the ending of the latest story. Chen Lin was supposed to have committed suicide—yet the novel described the “righteous enforcer” being slain by a demon, her life of justice brought to a brutal end.

And that demon was a clear metaphor for Lin Changsheng.

Chen Lin’s suicide had been covered up by the police; only he and Su Jing knew the truth. If Su Jing had written the novel, this wouldn’t have been the ending—unless she truly believed that he had caused Chen Lin’s death. Then maybe, just maybe, it made sense.

Lin Changsheng needed to find out when the novel had started. He checked the earliest entry: it had been posted ten years ago.

Unlike the other stories, the first chapter wasn’t told from the perspective of a serial killer. Instead, it was written from the point of view of a child who was rejected by God.

The child had suffered long-term abuse at the hands of her parents. Even after growing up, her life remained cloaked in inferiority and shame. Then one day, God appeared and saved her.

But when she tried to become one of His believers, the god told her she was unworthy.

Unworthy? What did that mean? Did she have to kill in order to be accepted?

Yet the child was too timid. Even as she raised a knife against those who had hurt her, her hands trembled. She couldn’t bring herself to strike. In the end, it was the god who acted. From the god’s eyes, the child saw disappointment—disappointment not in the world, but in her.

Don’t go…

Next time I’ll do it. Please… don’t leave.

But the god never appeared again.

All the subsequent chapters were written as first-person accounts from various serial killers. Though the details were vivid and disturbingly precise, Lin Changsheng believed they were mostly fabricated. The author was imagining themselves at the scene, fantasizing about being part of these acts. It was fiction—albeit dangerous fiction.

This author, unable to become one of Su Jing’s serial killers, regretted it deeply. They longed to become one of their god’s creations, one of her “artworks”—and could only live out that fantasy through these stories.

Clearly, this was a deranged fan of Su Jing.

And Lin Wan… liked this novel?

That gave Lin Changsheng enough reason to start investigating her background.

But based on the content, even if Lin Wan really was that obsessive fan, she didn’t seem to have acted out in any extreme way. After all, so many years had passed. She was just fantasizing—imagining what it would be like to be a serial killer. But she never had the courage to actually kill.

Still, Lin Changsheng shut the website and made up his mind: he needed someone to run a full check on Lin Wan.

Unbeknownst to him, the moment the computer screen went dark, the novel updated again.

This time, the update was just a single line:

“The demon has blocked the god’s return. If I kill the demon, will the god look at me again?”

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