After Becoming the Live-in Scummy Alpha, I Pamper Her with Real Strength - Chapter 26

When Mo Qingran returned home, the scene that greeted her was this:

He Song was curled up fast asleep on the sofa, her knees drawn slightly in. Her cropped denim pants exposed her smooth, pale calves, tapering down to delicate ankles and petite feet.

She looked particularly docile in sleep—feet crossed, hands folded and tucked beneath her brow, curled up in the fetal position like a sleeping infant.

Mo Qingran recalled reading somewhere that sleeping like a baby often indicated a lack of security. She crouched down beside the sofa and leaned in to study the gentle frown on He Song’s sleeping face.

What was she worrying about—even in her dreams, she seemed restless.

Looking at her like this, a sudden pang of disappointment hit Mo Qingran. Ever since they entered into their agreement to marry, He Song had never once asked her for anything, nor had she ever voluntarily shared her troubles.

On the contrary, every time He Song spoke to her, she always brought up cheerful things, smiling with bright eyes devoid of shadows. Whenever Mo Qingran came home exhausted from work, just seeing He Song like that would wash all her fatigue away.

Work at the company was repetitive and dull—endless meetings and paperwork, day after day, with nothing interesting to share.

Still, there were occasional anecdotes: like the time a new assistant kept confusing two managers and spent the whole day addressing the wrong one. Or how Fang Yuan had dressed up for yet another blind date—her 23rd—and joked she hoped it wouldn’t turn into the 24th.

Mo Qingran had started making a conscious effort to observe the little things around her, even though her past self would’ve dismissed them as irrelevant, unworthy of attention.

She was keenly aware of her own flaws—boring, distant, emotionally closed-off. Outside of the social obligations in the business world, she had no friends, no social life, and lived entirely alone.

She had survived like that for years and never thought it was a problem.

But when He Song moved in, her vivid presence quietly infiltrated Mo Qingran’s world. Through her bright eyes, she began to glimpse a different kind of life—one filled with color.

The monotony was slowly painted over in vibrant hues. And for the first time, Mo Qingran found herself longing for that kaleidoscopic world.

She couldn’t resist reaching out and gently tapping the space between He Song’s brows—just a soft brush, light as a petal, like a breeze dancing on a willow branch.

Three years. She was starting to look forward to them.

With a faint smile tugging at her lips, Mo Qingran fetched a blanket from the closet and draped it over He Song.

Just as she was about to leave, her eyes landed on the medical file and test results left openly on the coffee table.

She’d been to the hospital?

Was she sick?

________________________________________

He Song was having a rather unpleasant dream.

She dreamt of her childhood in the orphanage.

She’d been the most mischievous child there—constantly climbing trees, sneaking out, never studying properly. The headmistress often sighed that she was the biggest headache in the whole orphanage.

As she got older, finding a family willing to foster her became more and more difficult.

The headmistress once placed a hand on her head, sighing. “If you keep this up, no family will want to adopt you once you’re past a certain age.”

He Song turned her face away stubbornly. “Then they don’t. I’ll be like Qingqing-jie—finish school and work to support myself… Ow!”

The headmistress poked her forehead. “It’s not the same, sweetie. Don’t let Qingqing’s words mislead you. She’s wrong—you’ll understand when you’re older.”

“A real home—with parents—means stability. Life will always have rough patches. When you reach your breaking point, what will you do?”

He Song pouted, annoyed. “So what if I do get adopted? Qingqing-jie got adopted twice and both times they sent her back. She still ended up alone. I don’t want to be adopted, only to be returned.”

At that age, she was sensitive and full of pride. She understood that being adopted and then sent back was the most devastating fate a child could endure.

It meant not being liked. It meant rejection by the outside world.

Even one rejection would be too much for her.

She remembered the night Qingqing-jie had been sent back the first time—crying in her room until dawn, her voice hoarse as she recounted how kind the new parents were, how big her room was, how many new toys she had…

“Why didn’t they want me anymore?”

There were countless reasons adoptions didn’t work out—not all of them had to do with the child—but kids didn’t understand that. All they felt was: I was rejected.

The headmistress had no words. She just sighed. “Qingqing is a good girl, but her adoptive parents had their own biological child. Plus… she’s getting older…”

Her voice faded. “Alright. It’s your choice. But if another family shows interest, please, try not to misbehave.”

Over the years, He Song often wondered: If I’d never been adopted by the He family, what kind of person would I be today?

Her adoptive parents were gentle people. They’d been married for decades but never had children of their own.

They’d thought about adoption for years, and only after careful preparation did they make the decision.

No one expected them to choose a wild, unruly girl like He Song.

Her adoptive mother, a little shy, had brought homemade cookies to share with the children. She smiled with a kind, content expression as she watched He Song, who had darted to the front of the line.

“I’ve actually been here several times,” she said. “My husband and I run a bakery. We pass by the back fence on our way home.”

“I’ve overheard her chatting with the other kids—complaining about the bean sprouts in the cafeteria, or sitting on the swings reading comics. One time, I couldn’t help it and brought her a roll from our bakery.

She refused to take it, though. Even though I could tell she really wanted it.”

Then she seemed to realize she’d said too much and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have fed a child without permission.”

“But… I really like her. Our home is a little too quiet. It’d be nice to have someone lively around.”

The headmistress had said nothing, leaving the choice to He Song.

Tiny and hesitant, she sat at the bottom of the slide, staring at the couple with their warm smiles, unsure what to do.

“I…” She looked toward the headmistress in panic.

The headmistress only asked gently, “Do you want to live with Mama He and Papa He?”

Maybe it was the memory of how sweet those cookies tasted that day, or maybe something else entirely—but He Song burst into tears and ran into Mama He’s arms.

Then the scene shifted. The skies darkened, clouds gathered, and rain poured down. She sat crouched under the eaves, soaked through, her body burning and shivering. Feverish.

That feeling—being abandoned by the world—was so helpless. So cold.

Rainwater clung to her like mildew. Her head spun. She nearly passed out.

Somewhere in the distance, a voice broke through.

“He Song! He Song!”

Mo Qingran hovered over her, face full of worry. “He Song…”

It took a while before He Song’s eyes fluttered open. Her breath was hot against Mo Qingran’s palm.

“I… what happened?”

“You have a fever,” Mo Qingran said, brows furrowed.

A fever? Why would she have a fever out of nowhere?

She instinctively touched the back of her neck—burning hot. It clicked immediately. Another reaction from the pheromone dependency.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Just give me some medicine. You should… stay away from me.”

Mo Qingran helped her sit up. But upon hearing the second half of that sentence, her expression darkened. She stepped back. “I’ll get you some water.”

He Song nodded, pulled out a bottle of medicine she’d just bought from the hospital, and swallowed a few pills.

These symptoms would only get worse. She didn’t know how long the medication could hold them off.

Three more years, she thought. How am I going to survive this?

Mo Qingran sat beside her, gently wiping her face with a damp towel. “What happened? Caught a cold?”

He Song’s eyes flicked guiltily to the medical report and file she’d left on the table. Hopefully Mo Qingran hadn’t seen them yet.

“Yeah, a cold,” she said, faking a cough. “Probably kicked off the blanket at night. Been feeling off lately, so I went to the hospital. They gave me cold meds—should be fine in a few days.”

To sell the story, she even sniffled theatrically.

“Oh, a cold?” Mo Qingran’s eyes narrowed, a chill flashing behind them as she gripped the towel a little too tightly.

“Well then. That’s good. A few days of rest and you’ll be fine. Take more medicine and you’ll recover faster.”

A sudden draft swept through the room, and He Song felt a cold shiver down her spine. But seeing Mo Qingran’s stony face, she didn’t think much of it.

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll take more meds.”

Before she could finish, Mo Qingran stood abruptly. “I have work to do. I’ll be in the study.”

She left with a hard clack of her slippers.

He Song: “…She’s mad again?”

Once the “allergen” was gone and the meds kicked in, the heat finally left her body. She lay on the sofa, regaining her strength—until her gaze fell on the very thing she should’ve hidden.

She scrambled to grab the medical file and put it away. Mo Qingran wouldn’t usually pry, but still…

Wait. Wasn’t that test result supposed to be at the bottom?

On top of the stack was the blood report—with “Doctor’s Recommendation” in bold red ink.

Medication could only suppress the symptoms temporarily. The only real solution: mark her destined Omega.

She remembered clearly—she had deliberately tucked that page at the bottom.

Then how did it end up on top?

There was no one else in the villa.

Which meant… Mo Qingran had read it.

And she—He Song—was still here pretending she just had a cold, talking about kicked blankets and runny noses…

Oh my god. Just end me now.