After Mistakenly Marking My Ex’s Older Sister, the Disabled Alpha Stood Up - Chapter 30

Jin Yunxi suddenly rose to her feet.

“Grandmother, what nonsense are you saying? Why would I be thinking about Qingmei?”

Her voice carried an icy threat.

“Or is it that Yán Corporation’s latest project is about to be delayed again? Shouldn’t Yan Qingmei, as the daughter of the Yan family, be more concerned about her family’s company? What does whether I think of her or not have to do with anything?”

“Xiao Yun!” Old Madam Yan’s gaze darkened. Her dissatisfaction with Yan Qingruo had been brewing for a long time. At first, she hadn’t understood why Yunxi had given her warnings in advance—things like ‘don’t mention Qingmei,’ or ‘don’t provoke Qingruo.’

But after seeing the two of them playing piano together, side by side, she finally understood everything.

That vixen—just like her mother.

To her, Yan Qingruo was never truly a granddaughter—she was the child Song Mei had brought with her when she married Yan Zhen.

Yan Qingmei, on the other hand, was Yan Zhen’s daughter with his ex-wife.

It was nothing more than a patchwork family of half-sisters. And yet, Qingruo really thought of herself as the eldest miss?

So what if she was prettier than Qingmei? She wasn’t Yan Zhen’s biological child, and she certainly wasn’t an S-class Omega like Qingmei.

And besides, her legitimate granddaughter, Yan Qingmei, was not lacking in looks.

“Qingruo, come here.” She beckoned her over.

Jin Yunxi’s gaze sharpened. “Grandmother.”

Old Madam Yan, watching her anxious and protective manner, felt her frustration deepen, all the more convinced that Yan Qingruo had ensnared Jin Yunxi.

She had made it clear to her son from the start that she opposed this substitute marriage.

Qingruo might look uncompetitive, even harmless, and was only a Beta—but that devastatingly beautiful face, too radiant, too enchanting… even a double-S Alpha like Yunxi might not be immune.

That was why Old Madam Yan had insisted Qingruo disguise herself as plain while working outside, and even at home dress to resemble Qingmei—so Yunxi would always be reminded who her true “white moonlight” was.

But unfortunately, before long, that so-called white moonlight had become nothing but a speck of dust, while Qingruo had turned into the cinnabar mole etched into Yunxi’s heart.

And she—an elder—couldn’t say a word against it!

That girl’s every glance was locked onto Qingruo. Ridiculous!

“Grandmother, about that project with Yan Corporation, I’ll approve it. But—” Jin Yunxi’s words were edged with menace. Old Madam Yan, helpless yet seething inside, had no choice but to relent.

If she had to blame anyone, it was that useless Qingmei. What was done was done. With a long sigh, she gave in.

“Grandmother, I have a few words to say to A-Yun.”

Qingruo asked Yunxi directly what her relationship with Qingmei truly was.

Yunxi opened her mouth. Normally, a lie once told would require countless more to cover.

But under Qingruo’s gaze, after enduring her coldness all day, Yunxi hesitated.

“There’s nothing between us. I have nothing with her.”

“Good. I believe you.” Qingruo’s fingers brushed Yunxi’s cheek. “Whatever A-Yun says today, I’ll believe.”

Outside, Old Madam Yan’s phoenix-headed cane tapped heavily against the floor, echoing.

Once the two of them were alone, her impatience could no longer be masked.

“Very well. It seems Yunxi’s heart is firmly chained to you. But, Qingruo, don’t forget—you are part of the Yan family now. The honor and disgrace of the Yan Group rest on you alone.”

Her eyes dropped pointedly to Qingruo’s belly.

“Why is there still no movement?”

Qingruo faltered. “Grandmother…”

Now, even she was betting everything on Qingruo.

“She seems to dote on you. Then why, until now, do the two of you still have no children?”

“A-Yun… she’s busy.” Qingruo clenched her fists.

“Busy with what? Don’t blame me for speaking bluntly—it’s because you’re a Beta.” Old Madam Yan’s laugh was cutting. Beta fertility rates were low.

Qingruo fell silent. She and Yunxi hadn’t even truly shared a bed. Yunxi had never reacted to her that way. How could there be children? Not to mention—she herself wasn’t ready.

The old lady pulled out a handful of medicine she had prepared, patting Qingruo’s hand with feigned kindness.

“Better to be prepared.”

With a clang, something slipped from the drawer—scattering across the floor.

A photograph.

The woman in the picture wore a gentle, tender smile.

Old Madam Yan’s chest tightened. Too late to stop it—Qingruo had already seen.

Staring at the familiar face, her head throbbed painfully.

“This is…”

Her biological mother, Song Mei.

In an instant, all the shadows and memories of the Yan household surged back.

After her father’s death, her mother had brought her into this house. Not being Yan Zhen’s child, she had lived here like a ghost—transparent, unseen.

She never understood why her mother had remarried. Her father had been a Beta, her mother an S-class Omega—their family modest but warm.

When she caught a cold, her mother stayed by her bedside, running between the kitchen and hospital, humming her to sleep. In winter mornings, she would rise early to prepare steaming porridge, watching her eat with eyes full of love.

Her mother’s face had always carried a smile. Qingruo had believed she still loved her father. But not long after his death, one day, she had resolutely brought her into the Yan family mansion.

Here, Qingruo never saw her mother show Yan Zhen a trace of real passion. Instead, she became another person—no more painting, always dutiful, always accommodating.

Yan Zhen treated her decently enough.

But Qingmei was openly hostile to her stepmother. The Yan family revolved around Qingmei like stars around the moon.

The servants too learned their cues, bullying at will.

Once, Qingruo asked a servant to fetch her a book. Not only did they drag their feet, but muttered behind her back:

“An outsider with no status, acting like she matters.”

Yan Zhen and Old Madam Yan looked straight through her, as if she was nothing but furniture—without weight, without presence.

So Qingruo buried herself in her studies. With outstanding grades, she won scholarships—her only sliver of light in that suffocating darkness. She taught herself piano, dance, painting, broadcasting—finding comfort in art’s embrace.

Yet Qingmei never let her go. Whatever she loved, Qingmei would take.

Once, Qingruo won first prize in a university art competition, bringing home a beautiful crystal trophy.

Thrilled, she set it carefully on her desk, planning to gift it to her mother. But the next day—it was gone.

Panic-stricken, she searched everywhere. Finally, in her sister’s room, she found Qingmei laughing freely. Meeting her gaze, Qingmei curved her lips with a mock-guilty smile.

“Sorry, Sister. The trophy was so pretty, I couldn’t resist touching it. But then I dropped it and broke it. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Qingruo’s eyes brimmed with tears. At last, she poured all her grievances into her mother’s arms.

“Qingruo, give way to your sister. Learn to endure.” Song Mei stroked her head, her eyes complicated.

Qingruo sobbed. Must even her mother’s love be stolen?

Over time, she realized Qingmei grew to resemble her more and more. Whatever she had, Qingmei demanded the same.

Life in the Yan household was like being caged, a lone bird in a shadowed corner. After that, she no longer understood her mother—nor did she wish to.

After graduating from university, she moved out and rarely returned.

She had always believed her mother was still alive. Only after regaining her memories did she learn she had passed away. The warmth she longed for, the questions she carried for years—shattered in an instant, leaving only desolation.

________________________________________

At a bar counter, neon lights refracted through glass, casting rainbow hues.

“Whiskey with lemon. No sugar rim.”

Fleeing the Yan household, by her third drink, Qingruo’s glass brimmed.

Then a coat—Yunxi’s coat, carrying the faint scent of cedar—draped gently over her thin shoulders.

“The floors of the Yan house… they eat people.” Qingruo laughed softly, her slender fingertips tracing teardrop streaks across her glass. “Once, Qingmei broke a porcelain vase. I was ordered to scrub the floor on my knees five times. The next day, shards were still embedded in my skin. No one cared.”

A sharp ache tightened Yunxi’s chest.

Early spring still bit with cold. The haze of wine clung to the woman, while sorrowful memories drifted through the night mist. Yan Qingruo’s eyes were tinged red, yet her tone was flat—like she was telling someone else’s story.

That bone-deep loneliness and sense of abandonment fanned her resentment toward the Yan family into a wildfire she could no longer restrain.

She felt she couldn’t bear to stay in this house for even another second. Every inch of air here was thick with filth, coldness, and disgrace. The warmth and kinship she had once longed for had long since vanished

without a trace.

At last, tears fell—landing precisely in Jin Yunxi’s palm. And with them, a memory surfaced in the haze of liquor: years ago, her mother had handed her a small box.

Inside lay a secret so staggering it had caught her completely off guard.

At the very bottom was a slip of paper, blurred by tears: Qingruo, whatever lies ahead, endure it and keep going. Be like the honeysuckle—don’t forget…

The last line had been deliberately erased.

She pressed her head, unable to recall what that secret was. Yet when her gaze brushed across Jin Yunxi’s profile as she adjusted her glasses, her chest suddenly tightened.

“What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing.”

Neon lights spilled across the massive billboard outside, where celebrity Yan Qingmei smiled in a glittering gown.

Yan Qingruo staggered, catching herself against a lamppost. Her nails dug deep into the wood. Yunxi quickly steadied her. “Your hands are ice-cold.”

“I… I just hate the Yan family.” Qingruo repeated like a mantra, as if hypnotizing herself. “I don’t hate you.”

Yunxi’s lips curved faintly. “Of course I know.” With one hand she clasped Qingruo’s wrist, while with the other she called her office assistant.

“Pull every Yan Group advertisement—every single one. Now. Immediately.” Her voice was low, sharp with command.

“Yes, Secretary-General. I’ll arrange it at once.”

Soon, workers erected ladders. One after another, the Yan Group billboards came down—including those featuring Yan Qingmei as the brand ambassador.

Across the ocean—

“Miss Yan, your endorsement contract has been terminated.”

Yan Qingmei froze in shock, her almond eyes widening, voice shrill enough to cut the air. “Impossible!”

“I’ll call Sister Yunxi!” But the phone rang unanswered. In anger, she turned to call her grandmother instead.

Jin Yunxi had thought, after all that had happened, Qingruo would never set foot in the Yan house again. Yet Qingruo softly said, “There are some of Mother’s belongings in my room. I need to get them.”

Yunxi looked at her, hesitated, then nodded.

By then, everyone in the Yan household had retired to their rooms. The mansion was silent.

Qingruo led Yunxi straight to the cramped attic bedroom. She opened a drawer. Inside, a diary wrapped in silk burned hot against her palm.

Today, Ruoruo finally spoke to Mama again. I slipped a lemon candy under her pillow.

One day, Ruoruo will understand Mama’s pains.

In the wardrobe, beneath an outdated hand-knitted sweater, lay hospital records. Even in the late stages of her illness, Song Mei had forced herself to knit two hours every day. The diary matched: I worry Ruoruo won’t like wearing it.

Dust clouded the air, but a mother’s devotion—unyielding and tender—revealed itself at last.

Qingruo coughed violently, tears spilling down. She clutched her aching head. She had actually forgotten the most important person. The mother who, in her memory, had always been alive—was long gone.

Dust stained her clothes, but her tears gleamed pure as crystal, softening Yunxi’s heart until it melted.

“Ah Yun, I’ll take a shower first.”

The warmth of the bathroom soothed her chilled heart. Through the mist, a silhouette stirred her pulse. “Ah Yun?”

The one she called moved silently behind her. A heated body pressed close, Yunxi’s bare arms encircling Qingruo. Her chin rested lightly on Qingruo’s shoulder. “Qingruo, I want to please you. I want to make you happy.”

“Tonight, however you want me to please you—I will.” Her breath scorched against Qingruo’s ear.

Qingruo shivered. Before she could speak, Yunxi’s lips were already at her neck, tracing from behind her ear down along her throat.

Her eyes fluttered shut, fingers curling tight around the rim of the tub.

Yunxi’s kisses grew hotter. Qingruo tilted her head back in surrender. Her chest ached with a damp tenderness that made her want to cry—Ah Yun was so bold tonight.

What made her want to weep even more was how the years of coldness within her seemed to dissolve beneath that fierce kiss—melted into a trembling heat that spread through her eyes, through her entire body.

The air filled with the sound of water and mingled lips, the wet, hungry cadence of passion. Her kiss trailed lower. Waves stirred violently around Qingruo’s thighs, rocking the bathwater against the porcelain rim.

The splashing spilled over, rivulets trickling down the tiled wall.

From outside came the faint voice of the old matriarch: Yan Qingmei was on the phone.

“Tell her… I’m not here. Please~” Qingruo murmured against Yunxi’s hair, lips soft, coaxing, intoxicating.

Knock, knock, knock. The door rattled under sharp knocks. Perhaps because the sounds inside hadn’t ceased, everything outside seemed all the more heightened, all the more electrifying.

“Ah… ah—”

Caught off guard, Yunxi swallowed a mouthful of intoxicating sweetness.

But the phone persisted. Qingruo, legs trembling, draped a damp towel over herself and reached for it.

“Qingruo, give Yunxi the phone. Qingmei wants her.” The old lady pressed the device into her hand.

Instead, Qingruo accepted the video call herself.

“Sister?” Qingmei hadn’t expected her.

Her eyelids twitched. A jolt. Across her sister’s collarbone and downward—old and new kiss marks, scattered and vivid, each one undeniable proof of passion.

“Little sister, what do you want with Sister Yunxi? She’s in the shower.” Qingruo’s smile brimmed with lazy allure, her eyes hazy with post-passion warmth. She looked every inch like a woman caught in the middle of indulgence.

Qingmei’s voice dropped. “I don’t believe you. Put Sister Yunxi on.”

Qingruo chuckled, turning the camera toward the fogged glass. Through the mist, Yunxi’s silhouette could be seen unbuttoning her shirt, fresh crimson marks blooming along her neck.

Crash! Porcelain shattered.

Qingruo heard something break on the other end, eerily like the memory of a crystal trophy hitting the floor.

Smiling, she hung up. Slowly, her nails eased from the crescent wounds in her palms.

Good. Very good.