After Becoming a Scummy Alpha, I Refuse to Get Divorced - Chapter 11

A cold and fever can turn even the strongest Alpha into a soft, helpless Omega.

In all her years dominating the Alpha world, Zhu Qingran had never been this weak.

She clutched a small blanket, lips dry, throat burning, eyes dull, forehead scorching, limbs chilled to the bone—yet her entire heart was filled with nothing but the little beauty in front of her.

When the body is sick, the heart grows weary too.

Watching her little sweetheart hover around her eighteen hours a day, Zhu Qingran’s temper simmered hotter and hotter.

Winter was approaching; whether static electricity had arrived, she didn’t know.

She only knew that every gesture, every movement of her little wife shocked her heart so hard it twitched.

“Wife, you should go to the study to prep for work. I’m scared I’ll infect you.”

Zhu Qingran spoke with a stuffy nose, her voice muffled and thick with a soft, milky sweetness.

Normally, when Zhu Qingran spoke, it was crisp and decisive—clean strikes, no lingering edges.

To outsiders, that confidence and clarity were her charm.

To Du Shiyu, it had always signified emotional detachment—never putting in more feeling than necessary.

But now, Zhu Qingran sounded tender and weak, her pale, sickly complexion filled with an unexpectedly endearing helplessness.

Du Shiyu was sure she was being fooled by Zhu Qingran’s appearance.

She had never been someone who judged a person’s nature by their looks.

But ever since she picked up a soaked, dripping-wet Zhu Qingran yesterday, she had been firmly caught in her palm.

Zhu Qingran had been waiting for a bus at the station but didn’t even know how to use an electronic transit card, leaving her stuck unable to board.

If Du Shiyu hadn’t gone out after work to buy a new work bag, the two of them would never have crossed paths.

Yet judging from the way Zhu Qingran, drenched like a drowned chicken, still managed to smile and joke about it, perhaps it really was fate.

“How wonderful. Getting rained on and then picked up by my little wife—maybe I should come out wandering more often.”

At that moment, after hearing her say that, Du Shiyu reached out to feel Zhu Qingran’s forehead.

Back then, Zhu Qingran had no fever and no trace of alcohol on her.

But she really was like a silly little drunk.

“If I’d known you were going to stand in the rain hitchhiking buses, I’d rather not have taken that road,” Du Shiyu retorted without mercy.

She wasn’t crushing the president’s little burst of joy; she simply felt Zhu Qingran had been too reckless lately, too careless with herself.

Even if they were going to divorce, Zhu Qingran didn’t need to put on a show like this.

On the way home, Zhu Qingran kept laughing as if completely drunk, holding Du Shiyu’s hand the entire time.

With her smile, even rainy weather didn’t seem so hateful anymore.

Du Shiyu normally despised humidity, yet somehow Zhu Qingran forced her to reconsider her dislikes.

Once home, the president finally broke into a full fever—and grew far quieter than before.

She didn’t cry, didn’t fuss, didn’t laugh, didn’t call out. She simply lay there silently.

Except—every time Du Shiyu tried to leave the bedroom or even step out of her line of sight, she would call out, “Wife.”

Her voice grew more feverish, hoarse and dry.

At first, she begged Du Shiyu to stay. Now she was the one telling her to go to the study.

Du Shiyu looked at the woman on the bed, didn’t argue, gathered her things, and prepared to leave.

But the moment she really stepped away, Zhu Qingran—forehead covered with a cooling patch—sat up again.

In the past, when overworked by her boss, Zhu Qingran had often wished she’d fall sick enough to take leave.

But now that she truly was sick, every limb ached as if it didn’t belong to her body.

“Wife.”

She was the one who told her little sweetheart to go work in the study, and now she couldn’t bear to let her go.

Sick Zhu Qingran was like a suddenly clingy kitten—give her a single smile and she would snuggle into your palm without hesitation.

“I’m just going to make my lesson plans. Pretend I’m just working overtime,” Du Shiyu said helplessly. Her tone refused to turn cold.

She couldn’t bring herself to be heartless toward someone bedridden.

“Wife.”

Zhu Qingran kept calling her, dragging her back to the bedside, right to her side.

“What’s wrong? Is the fever worse? Does your throat hurt? You still won’t go to the hospital—maybe we should call the family doctor for an IV—”

Before she could finish, Zhu Qingran lifted her slightly hot, dry hand and pressed it to Du Shiyu’s lips.

A moment later, President Zhu lightly kissed her own fingertips.

“All done. A goodbye kiss for work. My wife works so hard. I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Satisfied, Zhu Qingran nestled back into her blankets, tugging the quilt higher.

All she wanted was a going-to-work kiss.

Lying there, she felt she had tasted the sweetness of love and wanted more.

The person kissed stood dazed, and even after sitting in the study for a long time, she couldn’t write a single word.

Winter was nearly here, but somewhere inside her, tender spring buds had begun to sprout.

Du Shiyu was woken later by Zhu Qingran’s phone ringing.

Last night, when she brought the drenched Zhu Qingran home, she had made her strip off her soaked clothes right at the entryway.

Zhu Qingran’s phone had been left on the coffee table, tossed aside by Du Shiyu.

Beside it was Du Shiyu’s earrings, necklace, and bracelet.

The phone hadn’t rung all night, as quiet as its owner.

But now it suddenly rang loudly and even with Zhu Qingran’s custom private ringtone.

“Little Zhu, Little Zhu, the Grand Empress Dowager is calling for you! Little Zhu, hurry!”

When the shrill cry of a palace eunuch echoed from the evening interstellar channel, Du Shiyu quickly walked to the coffee table and picked up her phone.

She glanced toward the bedroom—Zhu Qingran was asleep.

Otherwise, fearless-as-the-heavens President Zhu would’ve shot upright on the spot and knelt to pay respects to the Grand Empress Dowager.

Du Shiyu hesitated for a moment. She was just about to answer the call when it abruptly hung up.

Holding her phone, she returned to her work.

In the bedroom, little Zhu wasn’t sleeping peacefully either.

She had drifted off hugging her wife and steeped in sweetness, but instead dreamt that her little sweetheart packed a garbage bag and ran away in the middle of the night.

Her wife ran; she chased.

She chased; her wife ran even faster.

Then the sky opened up. Rain poured harder than that day Yi Ping went home to beg for money.

Zhu Qingran slipped and fell straight into a pile of trash.

She pleaded with the recycling auntie to pull her out, insisting she had money.

The auntie only scoffed and barked, “Zhu Qingran, you little piece of trash! You can’t even keep your wife—no one’s recycling you!”

“Shiyu!”

Zhu Qingran jolted awake, the bed a complete disaster.

The blanket and pillows were on the floor, and the cooling patch on her forehead had disappeared.

Her wife wasn’t in the bedroom, but she could faintly hear her voice beyond the ajar door.

Zhu Qingran dragged herself to the doorway—and saw her little sweetheart on the phone.

“Someone will eventually get used to her personality. You don’t need to be so pessimistic.”

Du Shiyu’s tone was half-comforting, half matter-of-fact.

What was wrong with her personality?

Yes, she had been a little terrible before, but she was working hard to change!

Was her wife planning to sneak off while she slept?

So, she really was about to become a discarded little piece of trash?

And “don’t be so pessimistic”.

A wife-abandoned, trying-her-best-to-improve little pitiful thing—how tragic.

Zhu Qingran didn’t even know when she stepped outside.

But she knew exactly when her pinky toe smashed into the sofa leg—because the pain made tears shoot straight out of her eyes.

She had already cried in her dream; now she couldn’t hold anything back.

Holy shit, that hurt like hell!

Du Shiyu turned at the noise and saw her tyrant-CEO wife standing there with tears streaming down her face, trying desperately not to make a sound.

Zhu Qingran wanted to make a sound. Her throat hurt. Her toe hurt!

In that moment, for the first time, Du Shiyu saw Zhu Qingran cry.

Silent. Not performed. Not staged.

Du Shiyu suddenly couldn’t tell what was real and what was theatrics anymore.

In her impression, Zhu Qingran never showed weakness, and tears were something she didn’t show anyone.

Maybe this was another one of her CEO tricks.

But Du Shiyu was human too. Even if the person crying in front of her was a stranger, the sight would shake her—let alone the person who shared her pillow.

Du Shiyu’s eyes tightened softly. She asked with real concern, “A Ran, why are you crying?”

Extra Skit
One day, President Zhu Qingran is invited to give a lecture at a university:

“My Miserable and Self-Inflicted Journey of Winning My Wife Back.”

Host: “We’ve heard your love story is full of tears and struggle—very touching!”

Zhu Qingran: “Of course! You have to understand, when it comes to my wife, I—”

Du Shiyu: “Mm. Thought you were so exhausted you needed kidney supplements until your nose bled. Also: cried in your sleep, terrified yourself awake, knelt down singing ‘Please Don’t Divorce Me.’ And—”

Zhu Qingran: “Wife, maybe let’s not bring up those overly passionate memories.”

Du Shiyu: “Mm. The past is gone. Besides, President Zhu now updates her will for me every day. Like when she gets overheated and her gums bleed—immediately thinks she won’t live till tomorrow. Or when she sleeps too much over the holidays and wakes up with a headache—also decides she’s dying soon…”

Zhu Qingran: “Right. Lecture’s over. Goodbye, everyone.”

Host: “President Zhu, we haven’t even started recording yet. We were just—”

In the blink of an eye, President Zhu has grabbed her little sweetheart and run off. She corners her against the teaching building’s wall.

Zhu Qingran: “Wife, I ran too fast just now. The blood didn’t reach my brain. I’m dizzy… I don’t feel well. Before I tragically pass away, maybe give me a loving little kiss, I—”

Du Shiyu: “No.”