After Mistakenly Marking My Ex’s Older Sister, the Disabled Alpha Stood Up - Chapter 29

Some people, the moment they draw near, unsettle your whole being—like sudden indigestion, twisting your stomach into knots.

Every approach drags you into unease, loss, and doubt.

Until her confession crested like a ridge of light—suddenly, you found yourself stepping into a radiant spring day.

From that moment on, the frozen monsoon melted into a sky full of drifting cherry blossoms.

—— Jin Yunxi. A New Spring

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Jin Yunxi pressed her temples, her hangover throbbing like countless fine needles pricking her nerves.

She stretched her stiff legs under the quilt—surprisingly, the movement felt smooth and natural.

Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilating in shock. By instinct, her hand reached toward the bedside, but the familiar warmth and fragrance were gone. Only the cold emptiness of the sheets remained.

Yan Qingruo was nowhere to be found.

Her fingertips brushed against a chilled enamel coffee cup, its rim still bearing a faint, dried rose-colored lip print.

The smart housekeeper’s voice echoed in the empty dining room—

[Message from Miss Yan: Breakfast is ready. If President Jin needs it, you may come down to eat.]

President Jin? Jin Yunxi froze. Yan Qingruo had always liked calling her that—before the memory loss.

She hurried to the wardrobe. The silk robe she had torn from the woman last night was gone. In its place hung a neat row of freshly pressed suits.

No trace of Yan Qingruo’s clothes.

Her eyelid twitched. Did she pack up and leave?

Then her gaze caught on a misty-blue cashmere coat at the far right. Only then did she breathe again.

But the memories from last night came flooding back—chaotic yet restrained, crashing over her like a tide.

She remembered every detail far too clearly. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she pushed on her glasses. That was really me? In front of Yan Qingruo, she always seemed to lose control.

Her phone grew warm in her palm from being clutched too tightly.

[I don’t need a wheelchair anymore.] She typed, then deleted, then re-added the period at the end.

She stared at the three dots pulsing in the chat box—“The other party is typing”—only to have it vanish into a single, distant reply:

“Congratulations, President Jin.”

Yan Qingruo was angry?

Downstairs, the breakfast laid out on the table was neatly arranged, but the steam had long since dissipated. The food was stone cold.

In the medical room, the mirror reflected her tight jawline.

Yaqi examined her legs and her eyes lit up. “Healing fast. You still need a cane, but no more wheelchair. Just don’t mess around with those pills again.”

Those pills could grant her temporary normalcy, but the side effects were severe.

Yaqi’s gaze sparkled with mischief. “So—did you and Yan Qingruo…?”

On the monitor, her heartbeat spiked into erratic lines. Jin Yunxi immediately denied it. “No.”

Her lowered lashes betrayed a guilty conscience. Was it because she stopped herself last night? Is that why Qingruo is angry?

Yaqi smirked slyly. “Oh? Blushing now?”

Jin Yunxi stayed silent. Deep inside her chest, a withered butterfly beat its wings, straining against a cage.

But the net of truth only sneered—emerging from the cocoon meant death.

Yaqi lifted her stethoscope. “Your heartbeat’s unstable today. Less late nights, less overthinking. Careful of arrhythmia.”

________________________________________

At lunch in the office, the familiar knock never came.

The sweet-and-sour ribs the assistant delivered tasted bitterly salty.

Absentmindedly, Jin Yunxi tapped the rim of her porcelain bowl with a silver spoon. The sound reminded her of the night before—when Yan Qingruo straddled her lap, her delicate hands brushing against the suppressant patch at her nape, whispering with soft disappointment:

“Ah Yun, are you made of wood?”

Her damp lips had stolen away the alcohol on hers, the playful complaint mixing with the taste of grapes. Droplets had slipped down, staining the wheelchair’s armrest with a trace of heat.

“President Jin?” Jin Fan carefully offered a folder. “About that invitation from the TV station—should I confirm we’re declining?”

Jin Yunxi’s gaze lingered on the gold-stamped emblem of Yalan Television. She pressed her throbbing temple. “Prepare the car.”

________________________________________

The soft tap of her cane echoed through the studio corridor.

Through the glass, she spotted Yan Qingruo adjusting a guest’s microphone. The woman’s eyes were calm, careless even—breathtakingly bright, enough to steal one’s breath.

Then she saw her. The red polish on Yan Qingruo’s nails as they brushed against the collar of a female Alpha guest.

A sudden ripple stirred. Yan Qingruo glanced up, as if sensing something, toward the blinds of the control room. They swayed faintly—yet no one was there.

Back at her desk, Jin Yunxi sat motionless. She accidentally triggered the house system, and music filled the silence—an old duet playing on the radio.

Someone had dedicated the song to her beloved. She wanted to spend springtime together. But her lover’s steps lingered in winter, unwilling to move forward.

The melody flowed—

“Gazing at this radiant spring, just like the warmth we once shared…”

The snow in Yatran had already melted. So it was spring now, already?

Jin Yunxi sipped her coffee, only to taste bitterness beneath the warmth. Her spring seemed to be slipping farther away.

Then—

A sharp ding. The silence shattered.

A message from Grandmother Yan:

“Xiao Yun, will you come to the Yan family dinner this weekend?”

Jin Yunxi frowned slightly. The “family dinner” was likely just a pretext. Ever since she had revealed that Yan Qingruo was her true wife, the notion of a stand-in bride was no longer possible.

And she wasn’t wrong. The Yan family—especially Yan Zhen, Yan Qingruo’s father—had never let go of the idea. They longed to twist events back to the track they had once imagined.

Yan Zhen had counted on Yan Qingmei eventually coming back, so he could reunite her with Jin Yunxi. But now that fantasy had completely collapsed. His dream was dust.

Jin Yunxi exhaled slowly. Staring at the darkened phone screen, a faint spark flickered in her chest.

[Qingruo, your father wants us to return to the Yan household this weekend.]

The green bubble of her message lit up with a “Read” receipt, but it was like a stone sinking into the depths of a lake—no ripple, no reply.

After a long while, her phone buzzed. A single word appeared—“Okay.” Followed by a period. Simple, cold, dismissive.

Jin Yunxi drew in a deep breath, but the air clogged in her chest, unable to rise or fall.

She thought back to the day they returned to the Yan household together, when the click of high heels echoed in the emptiness. “Do me a favor, President Jin—play your part well in this act.”

At the time, she had only given a cool nod. “Naturally.”

But now, as she stood beside Yan Qingruo at another public appearance, she noticed the woman’s chiffon scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, hiding the crimson bite marks trailing down past her collarbone.

“President Jin is so free today—coming all this way just to fetch me?”

The words stuck in Jin Yunxi’s throat. She swallowed down what she wanted to say: Why are you calling me ‘President Jin’ again?

Some people, when pushed away, mask their loss with indifference. Jin Yunxi was exactly that sort.

That faint detachment in her demeanor, when reflected in Yan Qingruo’s eyes, only darkened the woman’s gaze.

The Yan family’s crystal chandelier dazzled with blinding brilliance.

For the third time, Jin Yunxi declined the glass of wine Yan Zhen pressed on her, and the dishes the old matriarch served across the table. Instead, she gently pressed her palm to the small of Yan Qingruo’s back.

“Qingruo is allergic to seafood.”

The Yan family… didn’t even know that?

Yan Qingruo lowered her gaze to her plate, where mushrooms had been piled into a small mountain. Even her memories of this home were fading.

The edge of Jin Yunxi’s prayer beads brushed the lazy Susan as she quietly rotated the mushrooms toward her own side.

“I heard from Qingmei that you like fish,” Yan Zhen said with exaggerated warmth. His chopsticks pierced the belly of a fish, splattering broth across the table.

Qingmei? She knew Ah Yun liked fish? Yan Qingruo frowned, stunned, a dull ache rising in her head.

The pale-blue silk of her qipao nearly caught the spill.

Jin Yunxi swiftly lifted the table napkin, shielding her. “Careful.”

“I’ve had enough,” Yan Qingruo said lightly to the Yan family.

“How can that be? Eat a little more.” The old matriarch smiled with kindly authority. “Xiao Yun, try the almond pudding. Qingruo, you too.”

Only then did their eyes, as if belatedly remembering, flick toward Yan Qingruo—like she was no more than an appendage.

In ancient times, a wife’s worth rose only through her husband’s rank. In this family, Yan Qingruo was no different—her status tied only to being married to Jin Yunxi.

Jin Yunxi lowered her spoon, untouched. “Qingruo can’t stand the taste of almond.”

Faces around the table stiffened. A heavy silence fell.

“I’m done,” Yan Qingruo said, rising gracefully. “Father, Grandmother, please continue.”

Once the eldest daughter left, Yan Zhen finally spoke, his tone carrying thinly veiled discontent.

“President Jin, when you announced your relationship with Qingruo—wasn’t that a bit hasty? Our family hadn’t even had time to properly discuss—”

Jin Yunxi remained unhurried. She set down her chopsticks with deliberate calm and met his gaze.

“Father-in-law, I am very satisfied with this marriage,” Jin Yunxi declared.

The words dropped into the dining room like a stone into water. Silence followed. Yan family members exchanged glances. Yan Zhen’s complexion flickered red, then pale.

It was the first time she had called him Father-in-law. The title alone—coming from the Empire’s Jin Yunxi—made him straighten with pride.

But the honor went not to his younger daughter, Qingmei. Looking at Jin Yunxi’s demeanor, the matter was settled. Qingmei had no chance at all. Yan Zhen’s face twisted; he shot up, ready to lash out—only to be stopped by the matriarch’s sharp rebuke.

Her eyes cut at him, then flicked a warning: don’t be rash.

The Yan family’s scheming was transparent enough. Even if Jin Yunxi didn’t grasp all the details, she had seen plenty to understand their hypocrisy—and the low place Qingruo held in their home.

At this moment, however, her only concern was Qingruo. And in the Yan household, Qingruo seemed more distant from her than ever.

By dusk, piano notes drifted through the garden like a soft breeze.

Jin Yunxi’s breath caught. Their very first meeting—she remembered now—had been the sight of Yan Qingruo at the piano, dressed in white, ethereal, breathtaking.

Why hadn’t she noticed her then? At that time, her eyes had only followed Qingmei.

Her lips pressed tight. That memory felt like another lifetime.

Now again, Yan Qingruo was at the piano. What had once been an ordinary first meeting now stirred something delicate, unsettling, and new in her heart.

“Springtime”…? The tune made her recall the radio dedication: that anonymous woman who had requested a song for her beloved.

She longed to step forward—but stopped herself, clutching her cane. Qingruo probably wouldn’t want to see her now.

But then her eyes fell on the sheet music. Beside it, scribbled in the margin, were notes and a line she recognized—“For the one I love, meeting her was like stepping into spring.” The exact words the radio host had read aloud.

So… it had been Qingruo who dedicated that song? Not Shu Xiyue? Jin Yunxi’s heart resisted that possibility, refused to let it be anyone else.

As Qingruo played, another pair of pale, slender hands joined hers—four hands on the keys.

“Do you remember? Many springs ago… but back then, I wasn’t happy at all—until I met a sweet little princess.”

Jin Yunxi played while softly singing, nimble enough to change the lyrics on the fly.

Each line fell into Qingruo’s ears like a direct reply to the words she’d once sent through that song.

Her hands trembled. She turned, and saw only tenderness in Jin Yunxi’s eyes.

After so many rejections—Yunxi’s restraint as an Alpha both in bed and beyond—every shard of disappointment and hurt that had weighed on Qingruo’s heart melted in that gaze like snow in the spring sun.

Her eyes stung with sudden warmth. She could no longer bear to treat Jin Yunxi with coldness.

Each measure of indifference she gave her only hurt her own heart tenfold.

“Was that song… dedicated to me?”

“President Jin, what do you think?” Qingruo stopped playing, turning to her with a look heavy with unspoken feeling. Her voice trembled with quiet reproach. “Nemesis…”

“I loved it.” Jin Yunxi’s eyes gleamed. “And don’t call me President Jin again.”

“Blockhead…” Qingruo murmured, her words tinged with a night’s worth of loneliness and complaint.

Jin Yunxi immediately dropped to a crouch, cupping Qingruo’s hands against her cheeks.

“Do you really hate a blockhead that much? Nemesis… I’ve been missing that woman who requested the song. Could you really bear to ignore her?”

Qingruo bit her lip. Her eyes shimmered faintly, but she said nothing.

Yan Qingruo, thank you… for leading me out of years of frozen winter, into the grandeur of spring.

A thousand words pressed against Jin Yunxi’s chest. Her lips quivered with restraint. After a day of being held at a distance, her last reserves of self-control were long gone. She raised Qingruo’s hand, meaning to kiss the tip of her finger.

But the sharp tap of the old matriarch’s cane cracked through the air behind them.

“Xiao Yun, Qingmei left a message earlier. She asked if you… still think of her?”

The warmth on Jin Yunxi’s cheek vanished as Qingruo’s hand slipped abruptly away. From beneath her dark lashes, Qingruo’s gaze turned cold.