After Becoming the Live-in Scummy Alpha, I Pamper Her with Real Strength - Chapter 39

Mo Qingran and Ji Jingyan had more or less finalized the project by the time He Song stepped into the office.

Fang Yuan sat beside Mo Qingran, diligently tapping away at the contract, while Ji Jingyan looked like he had just eaten something bitter. “Let’s go with what we’ve discussed,” he said with a resigned expression.

Then he stood up and left with a heavy heart, completely forgetting to even greet He Song as they brushed past each other at the door.

Blinking in confusion, He Song turned to Fang Yuan. “What happened to him?”

Pushing up the glasses she only wore while working, Fang Yuan glanced at the unruffled Mo Qingran with a knowing smile. “Negotiation didn’t go his way—he lost to President Mo by a mile.”

“But weren’t we asking President Ji for help?” He Song asked, puzzled.

Mo Qingran smirked, exuding effortless confidence. “There’s no such thing as ‘help’ in business. Ji Jingyan is in it for the profits—if he doesn’t see an upside, he won’t agree to anything.”

“I’ve already fed him more than enough meat.”

He Song thought to herself: Alright then, as long as you’re happy.

Mo Qingran turned and reminded Fang Yuan, “That’s about it. Send me the contract draft once it’s done.”

Then she looked at He Song, noting the sweat beading on her forehead. “And now… you look like you’ve got a lot to say to me?”

He Song nodded, lips pressed together. There was a lot—about Bai Wei, about Jiang Weiran, about transmigrating into this novel…

At the top floor of Shengming Group was a sky garden. Mo Qingran lay beneath a cascading trellis of wisteria, eyes closed, soaking in the quiet.

As if suddenly remembering something, she opened her eyes. “I heard that you and Bai Wei had your ‘defining moment’ under a wisteria arbor.”

He Song sighed, rubbing her temple. “Did Bai Wei tell you that?”

Mo Qingran rolled onto her side, resting her head on her arm. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast dappled shadows on her cheek, slightly flushed. Her soft lips parted slightly. “She texted me one night and told me herself.”

“She really has too much free time,” He Song muttered with a sigh. “I just don’t get what she’s trying to achieve.”

“Do you remember Li Delin from the shareholders’ meeting?”

He Song nodded. That old man had aligned himself with Mo Yun’s faction and held considerable sway on the board. But what did that have to do with Bai Wei?

Mo Qingran studied He Song’s expression with great interest, not missing a single flicker of emotion. “Bai Wei is Li Delin’s adopted daughter. She met his second son while studying in France, and they even dated for a while. After their amicable breakup, she suddenly became part of the Li family.”

He Song: …That’s wild. From girlfriend to little sister? Keep it in the family much?

“So you’re saying Bai Wei approached me because Li Delin told her to?”

Mo Qingran didn’t deny it. “That’s likely the gist of it. You may not carry the Mo name, but you hold 6% of the company’s shares. That’s more than enough to make people restless.”

“Bai Wei might not have known the full picture, but if it was Li Delin’s request, she had no choice but to comply—get close to you, make you fall for her, and get you to obey. I’d bet Li Delin was also the one who found out about your tattoo and passed that info to her.”

“A long-lost first love suddenly returns to rekindle a flame? A perfect tragic romance.”

He Song didn’t expect Mo Qingran to still have the energy to tease. She waved her hand dismissively. A white moonlight like Bai Wei was too much trouble for her to handle.

“I don’t like her, and I don’t want to be tangled up with her any longer. That recording—your timing was perfect. Everyone finally saw Bai Wei’s true colors. I think the showrunners are currently debating whether to kick her off the show.”

“I thought you might say I was being too heartless to your beloved ‘first love.’”

But He Song could sense something was off. Mo Qingran’s calm expression as she gazed into the sky didn’t feel like usual. If she didn’t ask now, the emotional distance between them might only grow deeper.

“Qingran, why have you been so distant with me lately? Did something happen?”

The garden was filled with the heady scent of blossoms. The sounds of cicadas droned in the background, and the breeze carried the mingled aroma of wisteria and mint into the clear blue sky.

Mo Qingran leaned into He Song’s gentle touch, and after a long pause, finally said softly, “I had a nightmare… He Song. It’s not the first time. Sometimes I genuinely feel like what I dream is more real than this.”

“Do you know how awful the ‘you’ in my dreams treats me? I honestly can’t tell if the current you is real or just an act.”

Her gentle tone struck He Song like a blow to the chest.

“A dream…” Could it be the plot from the original novel? She wasn’t the only one dreaming it—Mo Qingran too?

“And He Song, why did you change your name? The past you shared with me… was that Jiang Weiran’s past, or yours?”

Mo Qingran seemed to realize how absurd her own question sounded and gave a faint, distracted smile. But the inconsistencies in He Song’s stories were becoming too hard to ignore—Jiang Weiran and He Song were clearly not the same person.

Before their contract marriage, Mo Qingran had already investigated Jiang Weiran thoroughly—every endorsement, every co-star. But the filming experiences He Song had mentioned didn’t match any of the records.

“When… when did you figure it out?” He Song stood up, restless, pacing as a deep frustration welled up. Things were spiraling far beyond what she’d expected.

She had imagined Bai Wei might notice something was off, given how close she’d been with the original Jiang Weiran.

But the one who figured it out first… was the person she thought least likely to: Mo Qingran.

She had been careless—too focused on cheering Mo Qingran up during their chats, forgetting that the memories she shared had never belonged to Jiang Weiran, but to He Song.

“What, are you thinking of what kind of excuse to feed me now?”

He Song sighed and sat beside her again. “No. I was just thinking how to explain it properly. It’s going to sound bizarre, but… I’m actually not from this world.”

Mo Qingran blinked. “What do you mean, not from this world?”

“Well… that day in the hotel, I woke up and realized I’d become Jiang Weiran. I have her memories, but I’m not her. I’m He Song.”

“In my world, I was an actress. So the experiences I shared weren’t fake—they were mine, He Song’s. I guess it’s kind of like spirit possession…” She looked anxiously at Mo Qingran, terrified of seeing fear or disgust in those calm, icy eyes.

She had no idea where the original Jiang Weiran had gone. But the one here now was He Song—and only He Song.

“Will you… go back? To your original world?” Mo Qingran’s voice was barely a whisper, as if afraid her words might shatter something fragile.

He Song couldn’t help but pull her into a tight embrace. At this distance, she could feel both their heartbeats, steady and overlapping.

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to stay. I want to stay with you, Mo Qingran. I like you.”

Mo Qingran’s eyes widened, then curved into a soft smile as she hugged back. “He Song, I like you too.”

He Song was so stunned by the confession, she started stammering. “You—you really mean it? You can’t take it back now!”

Mo Qingran pouted and bit her shoulder lightly. “If I didn’t like you, why would I let you mark me? If I didn’t like you, why would I transfer all my Mo family shares to you? If I didn’t like you, why would I go to all that trouble with your annoying white moonlight?”

“He Song, your EQ really needs work. I’ve never met anyone so oblivious when it comes to feelings. Were you this bad with your girlfriend in your original world?”He Song gently pinched her soft cheek. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even have a girlfriend in that world. If we’re talking about first loves and white moonlights—you are mine.”

“Smooth talker,” Mo Qingran huffed. “Not like I can prove any of that.”

Feeling wronged, He Song lowered her head and nuzzled the crook of Mo Qingran’s neck, lightly biting and kissing until she felt the subtle tremble in the woman’s body. “But I’m telling the truth.”

When He Song first started acting, some directors and screenwriters tried to coerce her. She was pretty, had no connections, no resources—an easy target.

In a chaotic industry like entertainment, shortcuts often presented themselves as the only path forward. People whispered, gossiped, made cruel insinuations. But He Song never judged, never responded—just let it wash over her. Everyone made their own choices.

She didn’t throw everything away in pursuit of fame. She acted because she genuinely loved it. With no financial pressure, she could afford to live simply.

Pursuing acting wasn’t a necessity—it was her dream. She could’ve lived just as well with a regular nine-to-five job.

Luckily, she was one of the rare few who got lucky. Talent matters, but in this field, luck is often decisive. So many work hard for decades and never get their break.

But He Song made it—at just the right age.

She was well-liked in the industry. Male actors, female guests, seniors and juniors in her agency—countless people had tried to pursue her.

But she turned every one of them down, without hesitation.

Her reason was always the same: “No spark.” “Don’t want to date.” “Let’s just be friends.”

She once heard someone say, “When you’re in love, everything the other person does feels irresistibly cute. You can’t help but want to watch them.”

For thirty years, He Song had never once felt that.

She thought she’d spend her life with just her cat.

Until she transmigrated—and met Mo Qingran.

Maybe the heavens took pity on her loneliness and sent her here. Two souls, equally lonely and unyielding, finally found love in one another.