After Mistakenly Marking My Ex’s Older Sister, the Disabled Alpha Stood Up - Chapter 69.1

The next morning.

Jin Yunxi’s fingertips brushed against something soft and smooth. She snapped her eyes open. The woman in her arms lay curled up like a lazy kitten, clinging tightly to her. Her slightly wavy hair tickled against Yunxi’s collarbone as she nestled even closer.

Her sleeping face was quiet and serene, lashes long and dense, casting delicate shadows on her skin. At the corner of her lips lingered a faint, tender smile.

And yet, between those picturesque brows, there was a faint crease, as though even in dreams she still carried some hidden grievance.

When Yunxi shifted ever so slightly, the woman instantly clenched at her clothes with her fingertips—like someone drowning, clutching the last floating plank. She burrowed even deeper into Yunxi’s embrace, her murmuring voice full of hurt:

“Ah Yun… let’s never separate again. Don’t you want to sleep with me anymore?”

Yunxi’s brows arched in surprise. She distinctly remembered that last night, she and Yan Qingruo had slept under separate quilts. How did they end up wrapped tightly under the same one now?

Qingruo’s unusual clinginess unsettled Yunxi in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Just then, a rustling sound came from the foot of the bed. Yunxi turned to see their little one, wrapped in two layers of blankets like a sticky rice dumpling, rolling around on the carpet. A chubby pale foot poked out from the bundle.

Yan Xining.

Yunxi was speechless. This little rascal had actually dragged away her quilt in the middle of the night, then rolled onto the floor to sleep.

With a soft click, the bedside switch turned, and sunlight instantly flooded the room.

The child whimpered, shielding her eyes with pudgy hands. “Mommy’s a meanie!”

Yunxi bent down, scooping her up. She kneaded the girl’s chubby cheeks, feigning severity. “And who taught you to steal quilts?”

“Wuuu, Mommy, it’s too bright!” Xining wriggled, trying to escape the sunlight.

Yunxi carried her to the edge of the bed, sat her down, and pinched her little face. “Why did you take my quilt and sleep on the floor?”

Sensing her mother’s displeasure, the little one immediately wrapped her arms around Yunxi’s neck, coaxing in her milky voice:

“Mother, Ningning was cold, so of course I needed more quilts. But wouldn’t it be better if you and Mommy just shared one bed? Sleeping cuddled together is warmer!”

Yunxi’s brows knit, her eyes lowering, expression unreadable. Xining’s lips began to tremble, her eyes brimming as if she’d cry any second.

A languid voice broke in:

“Are you really willing to scold our daughter?”

At some point, Yan Qingruo had awakened. As she rose, her lips brushed lightly over Yunxi’s earlobe, her fingertips ghosting along the tie of Yunxi’s sleepwear. Her gaze held both affection and a trace of reproach.

“Ah Yun… do you really not want to sleep with me?”
She had already begun calling herself “Mother” before their daughter, yet Yunxi still refused to acknowledge her as her wife—let alone call her so.

Her eyes shimmered with quiet grievance, as though something fragile was on the verge of breaking.

Just then, the little dumpling poked her head between them, eyes sparkling as they darted back and forth. She giggled, “Mommy and Mother are cuddling, hehe—so shy!”

Yunxi turned her head away, awkward.

“Mother’s ears are red!” Xining clapped her hands in delight, pointing at Yunxi’s burning earlobes with her pudgy finger as though she’d discovered a new world. “They look just like strawberry jelly!”

Watching Yunxi and their daughter’s playful exchange, Qingruo’s fingers tightened on the quilt. Her nails left faint marks as her gaze lingered on their overlapping shadows. When she turned away, she couldn’t hide her sudden, inexplicable emptiness.

Noticing, Xining tilted her head and asked softly, “Mommy, are you unhappy?”

Qingruo pressed her lips together. Why could Ah Yun so readily acknowledge the child, but not her? Did this mean Yunxi no longer loved her the way she once did?

Ah Yun still couldn’t let go—still cared about the hatred and grudges of the past.

It was then that Yunxi received news of an urgent situation at the company.

“Jie, how have you been lately?” On the other end of the line, her younger sister Jin Yunhan sounded uncharacteristically sincere. Ever since she mistakenly believed Yunxi had died, Yunhan had completely reflected on herself. Now that Yunxi had returned, she had all but turned over a new leaf, hanging on Yunxi’s every word.

“If there’s anything at Jin Corporation I can do, just tell me. As for Father, don’t worry.”

These days, Jin Hua posed little threat. During Yunxi’s absence, he had created endless trouble for the company, and most of the mess had been cleaned up by Yan Qingruo and Su Yuening.

In the murky waters of the corporation, it was now clear to all who was a true leader and who was dragging them down. Yunhan had come to realize that relying on Jin Hua any longer would only doom the company.

“There are a few things,” Yunxi replied, arranging to meet Yunhan in the garden outside Jin Residence.

To be invited that close to her sister’s home—even if not inside—made Yunhan overjoyed.

After all, ever since she had foolishly taken part in kidnapping Yan Qingruo, she had never known how to make amends. No matter how diligently she now worked, it never felt enough.

________________________________________
Inside the house, Qingruo’s gaze lingered on the phone vibrating atop the counter. The screen lit up, and the words Queen Lin Ruxi stabbed at her eyes like fire.

Xining squirmed in her lap, her little hand brushing against Qingruo’s icy fingers. “Mommy, your hand’s so cold.”

When the phone buzzed yet again, the child blinked curiously. “Mommy, Mother has so many messages. Should we give it to her?”

Qingruo bit her lip, torn. Just as she hesitated, the child reached for the phone. Her pale fingers brushed unintentionally over Qingruo’s fingertip, and the screen suddenly lit up with a cold glow.

Beep— The phone unlocked.

The child’s eyes widened. “Wuwuwu, Mommy, Ningning didn’t mean to!”

“It’s alright, Ningning.” Qingruo hugged her quickly, soothing her. Her heart warmed faintly at the familiar fingerprint unlock still in place—yet the moment she saw the unread message, a bitter sting rose in her throat.

【Yunxi, don’t forget the promise you made to me. —Lin Ruxi】

The queen had dropped all formal titles, her tone intimate and ambiguous.

Qingruo’s fingers trembled as she scrolled through the history. Most of Yunxi’s responses were perfunctory, if not absent. But the latest reply—the one sitting at the very top—stole the breath from her lungs.

It was dated just before she had fallen ill and been hospitalized. A reply from Yunxi… one that read as a promise.

Her vision went black.

“Mommy, Mommy! What’s wrong?”

Xining burst into sobs, her cries scattering the birds outside the window.

The cold glow of the screen reflected in Qingruo’s reddened eyes. That single message from Lin Ruxi cut into her heart like a blade—her Ah Yun had agreed… to have a child with another woman.

Her chest felt as though it had fallen into an ice cellar—tight, suffocating, unbearably cold. Just before her emotions could collapse like a dam, she forced herself to stay composed, and called Song Mei to take the child away.

When Song Mei arrived and saw Qingruo’s vacant eyes, her daughter’s spiritless state, her heart jolted.

“She still won’t forgive you?!”

Ever since learning Yunxi was never the enemy, Song Mei had carried nothing but guilt, ashamed to face her daughter. Now, seeing her so hollow, she assumed Yunxi had been cruel.

“No…” Qingruo forced a smile, one uglier than tears.

“I’ll go speak to her!” Song Mei’s brows pinched tight, her face filled with both pain and remorse.

“Mother, please don’t.” Qingruo’s voice was weak, almost lifeless.

“She can’t treat you like this.” Song Mei had already made up her mind. At worst, she would fall to her knees before Yunxi and beg forgiveness. She could not stand by while her daughter suffered so.

Inside the room.

Though she tried to hold her back straight, Song Mei’s body seemed to fold with guilt before Yunxi. She had aged. Years of hatred had consumed her, driving her to marry Yan Zhen for revenge, dragging her daughter into the same whirlpool of vengeance.

Now, at fifty, she turned around and realized: from the very start, she had mistaken the target of her hatred.

And the “enemy” she had resented had become the only one her daughter loved.

She was the greatest obstacle to her daughter’s happiness. She had been wrong too many times.

Her withered fingers twisted nervously at her sleeve. She had sinned, but her daughter had not. Qingruo must not pay the price.

“Jin Yunxi, you can’t treat Ruoruo this way,” Song Mei said hoarsely. “My daughter has always been proud. Yet because of you, she’s humbled herself again and again.”

Yunxi lowered her eyes, lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Her fingers absently rubbed along the edge of the tea table.

“She never understood feelings, always kept people at arm’s length, always bottled things up,” Song Mei continued. “If you hate me, I’ll kneel and apologize. If you want, cut off my legs as penance. But don’t do this to Ruoruo.”

“She loves you. Even when she mistook you for her enemy, she still chose love over hatred. Why can’t you forgive her, just once? I beg you…”

Suddenly, she dropped to her knees. Her joints struck the floor with a dull thud.

“I know you resent me—back then, I accused you of murder. I was blinded by rage. Punish me however you want. But Ruoruo… she’s innocent. She’s always been filial. Everything she did, she did because I told her to.”

“There’s no need.” Yunxi’s reply was cold. She moved to help her up, but the moment her fingertips brushed Song Mei’s elbow, the woman flinched away as if scalded.

“What are you doing?” Yunxi frowned.

Song Mei bowed her head lower, knocking it against the floor once, twice, again and again. Each dull sound echoing heavily in the silence.

She was past fifty now, her hair already streaked with white. Years of hatred had worn her down; shadows lingered between her brows, her breath heavy with bitterness.

“It’s all my fault. It has nothing to do with Ruoruo.”

Song Mei lifted her face, fine lines at the corners of her eyes glistening with tears. “She’s my only daughter. During those years you two were apart, I would walk past her room and hear her talking in her sleep—always the same words: ‘Ah Yun, I’m sorry.’”

She clutched the edge of Jin Yunxi’s sleeve, pleading softly, “She’s been hurting for so long. Please… don’t make her suffer anymore.”

Yunxi’s fingers curled into a fist beneath her sleeve. She crouched down to meet Song Mei’s eyes, her voice light as a feather settling on snow. “You’re mistaken.”

“What?”

“I hurt more than she does.”

A faint laugh slipped from Yunxi’s throat, thin and fragile as a sigh carried away by the wind. She lowered her gaze to her hand, where her fingertips still held the warmth of Yan Qingruo’s desperate grip.

“You say she humbled herself to the dust… but I’m the dust clinging to her hem.”

Her voice trembled, heavy with fear. “I live in constant dread—afraid that if I bare my heart to her again, it will be shattered once more, deceived by love that only seemed real on the surface. The deeper she shows her love, the more restless I become. I fear that one day, out of filial duty to you, she’ll once again turn a blade on this defenseless heart of mine.”

“No, not this time,” Song Mei choked out through tears. “If it’s me you can’t stand, I’ll leave.”

Even if it meant leaving little Xining behind—that was the last bit of warmth in her twilight years.

Yunxi sighed, gazing at the woman’s temples streaked with frost. If my mother was still alive, would she look just as worn and old?

Her mind flickered back to the sight of Qingruo in feverish sleep, clutching desperately at her sleeve…

Outside, the wind lifted the potted flowers on the sill, scattering the unsaid words into fragments. The petals swirled, only to drift back into the pot with the next gust.

From upstairs came the muffled sounds of Yunxi and Song Mei speaking, punctuated by the scrape of furniture.

Qingruo’s heart grew colder and colder.

Could years of hatred really be undone with just one quarrel, a single apology?

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, staring at the scenery outside, but all the colors of the world seemed drained away.

Power is the strongest aphrodisiac. Absolute power is an addiction. Perhaps Ah Yun had long since given her heart to the Queen, and only her stubborn clinging forced Yunxi into a false compliance.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and downed it in one bitter gulp.

Her trembling fingers could barely hold the glass. It slipped from her hand with a sharp crash, shattering at her feet.

On the broken couple’s wineglass, the cloud insignia split apart, fragments scattering like Yunxi herself being torn from her side.

A jolt of panic shot through Qingruo’s chest. It was an omen—surely her love with Yunxi, too, was beyond repair, shattered like the glass.

She sank to the floor, dazed, reaching to gather the shards. She didn’t care that the jagged edges sliced her fingers. Blood welled up, mingling with the spilled wine.

Still, stubbornly, she tried to piece them together, as if restoring the glass could somehow mend what was broken between them.

Meanwhile, Yunxi’s private phone kept ringing insistently, but Qingruo, lost in her grief, never noticed.

At last, the calls stopped. The person on the other end had grown weary of waiting.

“Jin Yunxi, this was your last chance to accept my promise. A pity you chose to ignore it.”

In the palace, Lin Ruxi’s eyes were dark as midnight.

Countless unanswered texts, repeated calls met with silence—her patience was gone.

Beside her, little A knelt, massaging her shoulders with practiced obedience. “Your Majesty… what will you do?”

Ever since learning that Ruxi had chosen Yunxi only for the sake of producing an heir, little A had found some relief. There was no need for jealousy anymore.

Ruxi’s lips curved into a cold smile. “If she won’t come willingly, I’ll have her dragged here.”

Little A froze. “Would she really agree to that?”

A glint of ruthless resolve flickered in Ruxi’s eyes. Her smile deepened. “Little A, have you forgotten our first time?”

…

The muffled noises upstairs pressed down like a dull blade. Between her mother and her lover, both were tearing Qingruo’s heart apart.

Suddenly, silence fell. Qingruo’s hand trembled around the shard of glass, her lips turning pale.

“Ruoruo?” Song Mei’s panicked cry rang out with hurried footsteps. She found her daughter staring blankly out the window, glass embedded in her palm, oblivious to the blood dripping down.

When Yunxi stepped out of the room, she saw it too—the drop of blood tracing through Qingruo’s fingers, falling onto the broken shard etched with the character Yun.

Yet Qingruo still tried to piece together the fragments of the shattered “cloud.”

“Once it’s broken, it can’t be whole again… Just like Ah Yun. I’ll never find her again.” Her voice was hollow, as though it came from another world.

Yunxi’s breath caught. “Yan Qingruo—I’m right here! What are you doing?” She rushed forward, seizing Qingruo’s hand, panic welling up in her chest like never before.

Qingruo’s vacant gaze drifted over her face without focus.

“You’re not her.” Suddenly she began to struggle fiercely, yet still clung to Yunxi’s sleeve, her fingertips digging into the fabric. “Ah Yun… she hates me now. She’ll never forgive me.”

If even in sleep she insisted on separate beds, how could she ever hold her like this?

“My Ah Yun… she’s gone with another woman. I hate it—I hate her being touched by someone else.”

“Daughter!” Song Mei pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, heavy with guilt, regret, and fear.

Yunxi forced herself to stay steady, carefully bandaging the gashes on Qingruo’s hand.

But the moment she tied the last strip of gauze, Qingruo twisted away again, desperate to chase after the phantom Ah Yun in her mind.

Yunxi’s eyes burned red. She crushed Qingruo into her arms, her chin pressing into the crown of her head. Her voice shook with gentleness. “Yan Qingruo. Look at me.”

She yanked open her collar, baring the skin of her collarbone—marked with the traces of Qingruo’s countless bites. She tore off the suppression patch, pulled Qingruo’s hand to the nape of her neck, guiding it over her glands.

“Here. Only you have touched this. Only you have kissed it. Stop doubting, please?”

Qingruo’s gaze finally focused, staring at Yunxi’s urgent face, her eyes hazy with confusion.

Her nails dug deep into Yunxi’s back, but Yunxi only held her tighter, refusing to let go.

Hot, trembling breaths grazed her ear, steeped in anguish. “If you dare let your mind wander again…”

I’ll—