After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 27.1

Chi Yang showed up, saying she was visiting MidSummer, the drama where she would be filming as the second female lead. She brought dinner for the whole crew.

No one knew she was this close with the female lead, Sheng Xia—not even Sheng Xia herself.

The moment she learned Chi Yang was here for her, Sheng Xia looked utterly stunned and flattered, tripping over “Senior” and “Teacher” with every word.

Even though filming wrapped past midnight, the crew gave Chi Yang face and booked a nearby restaurant for a late-night meal.

Since Chi Yang and Pei Jiuyao’s relationship wasn’t public yet, and Chi Yang didn’t appear to have any intention of acting close to her, Jiuyao took her own nanny van and followed the group to the restaurant.

On the ride over, Jiuyao turned to Wen Li. “Did Chi Yang get discharged from the hospital?”

Wen Li shook her head, her expression hard to describe. “It’s complicated.”

“Then why did she show up here?” Pei Jiuyaos asked.

Wen Li shrugged. “I asked. Ying Ning wouldn’t tell me.”

“She wouldn’t even tell you?” Jiuyao suddenly realized she’d said too much and pressed her lips together.

But Wen Li was sharp as ever and caught the slip immediately. “So you know about my relationship with Ying Ning.”

After a pause, she added, “We’re not that close anyway. And when it comes to a patient’s medical info, she wouldn’t tell me.”

“I just thought she didn’t look well. When she first walked in, her eyes looked like she wanted to devour you.” Wen Li even did a little mock-scary gesture, then leaned back into her seat with a lazy smile.

Once they arrived at the private dining room, Chi Yang naturally sat with the director and Sheng Xia, chatting like she’d known Director Zheng for ages.

Jiuyao picked a seat that was neither too close nor too far and overheard Chi Yang say, “I’m still recovering, so I’ll toast with water instead of wine.”

As she raised her glass, Jiuyao caught a glimpse of the bandage wrapped around Chi Yang’s palm—and her heart skipped a beat.

“Senior Chi Yang, is your hand injured?” she asked, keeping her face calm.

Chi Yang’s hand paused slightly, but her tone remained indifferent. “Mm.”

Mm? What kind of answer was that?

Was she avoiding her that hard?

Chi Yang easily held her own, clinking glasses and bantering with Director Zheng and the others. Meanwhile, Jiuyao quietly ate her meal alone, occasionally catching snippets of gossip from a few younger actors.

“I heard Pei Jiuyao and Chi Yang never got along.”

“When she asked, ‘Did you hurt your hand?’ just now—it reeked of provocation. Classic S-Class Alpha energy.”

“But Chi Yang probably doesn’t care about her, right? She couldn’t even be bothered to reply.”

“She just blew up on a variety show and already landed major film deals—definitely headed for A-list. We’re not in the same league.”

“Though I’m not so sure,” one of them said, suspiciously loud as if speaking for Jiuyao’s benefit. “She just got famous and now there’s gossip? Doesn’t she care about her fans?”

“Tsk. And there might be some truth to it. Why else would she be in our production? Maybe…”

Gossip at the dinner table was routine—especially with a group of actors who barely knew each other. Cliques and alliances were inevitable.

The younger actors shared a laugh before trotting off to toast Chi Yang.

Jiuyao let their words wash over her, not taking them to heart.

Moments later, she saw Chi Yang rise and ask where the restroom was.

Just as someone came over to toast her, Jiuyao apologized, downed her drink, and swiftly slipped out.

She caught the door just as Chi Yang was about to close it behind her, slipping inside and locking it in one fluid motion.

Chi Yang glanced at her but said nothing. She turned on the tap, avoiding the bandaged hand as she rinsed her fingertips, then casually dried them and leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror.

Jiuyao walked over and gently lifted the hand wrapped in gauze. Lowering her gaze, she asked, “How did this happen?”

Chi Yang looked at her, then slowly pulled her hand back. “Just a small cut. I’ll tell you later.”

Then she asked, “Are you tired lately?”

Her face was pale as paper. Even with a touch of lipstick, she had the hollow, worn-out look of someone deep in illness. Her voice was quiet, almost drained of energy.

She looked fragile—hauntingly so—like a blade standing upright in the dark. It made Jiuyao’s heart ache.

She couldn’t help raising a hand to ruffle Chi Yang’s hair. “I’m okay. Just filming.”

Chi Yang didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned ever so slightly into Jiuyao’s palm.

“Then why didn’t you answer my calls? I called you several times.”

Jiuyao instinctively reached for her pocket, only to realize she hadn’t brought her phone.

Chi Yang didn’t wait for a reply, answering herself: “You didn’t bring it. Director Zheng doesn’t allow phones on set. I figured.”

“Then why…”

“I figured you would call me back once filming wrapped.”

She looked up, light catching the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

Her nostrils flared slightly; the muscle at her jaw tensed.

“I’m not better yet.”

Afraid Jiuyao might not understand, Chi Yang added softly, “I’m still sick.”

For the first time in days, she admitted it aloud.

Her expression was calm, like she’d prepared for this—like she’d finally lowered her guard, broken through her own defenses, and exposed herself completely before Pei Jiuyao.

Jiuyao’s heart tightened. She used her calloused fingertip to gently pinch Chi Yang’s cheek.

“Didn’t Ying Ning say you just need to get through it?”

Chi Yang nodded faintly, the corners of her lips curving into the ghost of a smile.

“I think I understand you now,” she said, looking directly at Jiuyao.

Jiuyao was confused.

“You once said you didn’t know how much of your feelings for me were because of pheromones. That you weren’t sure if it was real. I think I finally get it.”

“Everyone keeps telling me I’m only like this because I’m sick. That once I’m better, I’ll realize how ridiculous I’ve been.”

Jiuyao wanted to hear more—she could sense Chi Yang hadn’t finished. There had to be more.

But that was where Chi Yang stopped. Her fingers curled into Jiuyao’s shirt, and the gauze, now bloodstained, left a mark on Jiuyao’s clean white T-shirt.

She looked like she was falling apart—a pile of brittle bones stitched together with thread, stumbling forward with an ill-fitted heart inside a hollow chest. Every breath she took seemed toxic.

Jiuyao slowly raised her arms and pulled Chi Yang into an embrace.

Her thin shoulders were little more than skin and bone.

Chi Yang didn’t let go of her shirt. The other hand hung limp by her side, but her head instinctively rested against Jiuyao’s neck, breathing out softly.

Her hair tickled Jiuyao’s cheek.

One hand pressed against Chi Yang’s back. The other rested on the back of her head, gently caressing her.

Jiuyao couldn’t help but think—technically, this was their first hug.

She had finally held Chi Yang, albeit under imperfect circumstances, in an atmosphere thick with strange tension.

It was fleeting.

Chi Yang gently pushed her away, her face composed. “Let’s go back. They’ve probably been waiting a while.”

Jiuyao tried to wipe the blood from her shirt with a damp napkin, but it didn’t help much. She followed Chi Yang back into the private room.

One of the young actresses glanced at Jiuyao’s shirt and whispered to the person beside her, “They were gone so long… you think they got into a fight?”

Then, seeing the bloodstain, she added, “Wow, so violent. That’s Senior Chi, you know! Pei Jiuyao’s always been like this…”

It sounded like idle gossip, but her voice wasn’t low. Both Chi Yang and Jiuyao heard it as they walked by.

“Sweetheart,” Jiuyao turned back with a smile. “Being this gossipy in the industry? Not a great look.”

The young actress blanched and turned to Chi Yang. “Senior Chi…”

“Jiuyao’s right,” Chi Yang said coldly as she sat down beside Director Zheng. “In our line of work, it’s better not to run your mouth.”

The young actress lowered her head and took a drink to hide her face.

She’d originally tried to use gossip to make herself visible to Chi Yang. After all, this dinner invitation was only possible thanks to Sheng Xia. At her level, just getting a word in with Chi Yang was nearly impossible.

Chi Yang was known for having a good temper—but Pei Jiuyao was the one exception. Everyone assumed Chi Yang must hate her.

With the blood on Jiuyao’s shirt and the gauze on Chi Yang’s hand, it seemed like clear proof: Jiuyao had hurt Chi Yang, then arrogantly returned like nothing happened.

Why wouldn’t Chi Yang be offended?

Later that night, the young actress made a point of cornering Chi Yang privately to apologize.

True to her reputation, Chi Yang was easy to talk to. She brushed the girl’s hand off her sleeve but replied politely, “If you want to stand out, work on your acting. I’ll let it go this time, but don’t say stuff like that again.”

Then the actress saw Chi Yang turn the corner—climb into the same car as Pei Jiuyao.

________________________________________

Back at the hotel, Chi Yang unlocked her phone and placed it in front of Jiuyao.

Only then did Jiuyao realize what “gossip” the young actress had been referring to.

Photos of her and Sheng Xia’s shoot for V·E Magazine had leaked, with a trending hashtag: #SuspectedEngagement. It was blowing up online.

The rumors would be debunked as soon as V·E’s official account posted the magazine spread. It was clearly a misunderstanding.

But someone had deliberately bought trending spots for the tag, making sure Chi Yang would see it.

Whoever did this knew she was sick—knew she wasn’t in the right state of mind to process gossip like this rationally.

They also knew Jiuyao was filming in Director Zheng’s crew and likely unreachable by phone.

It was obvious who was behind it: Mo Tian.

Chi Yang had warned herself a hundred times that the picture meant nothing. It was just work—just a shoot. Jiuyao and Sheng Xia were only colleagues.

But still, panic nearly drowned her.

She had no choice but to admit, in that moment, that she was sick.

But what good was that?

She couldn’t even find her medication.

So she endured, avoided, suppressed.

Until she couldn’t anymore.

Until she snapped—forcing Chi Qing to bring her to Jiuyao, even if it meant shattering a glass and slicing open her own hand.

She wasn’t calm at all—completely unlike her usual self.

Unless she was sick, Chi Yang couldn’t think of another reason for her behavior—or maybe even the illness was just an excuse.

When she saw Pei Jiuyao acting in a scene with Sheng Xia on set, Chi Yang remained agitated until she noticed that the two had no interaction after filming. In fact, Sheng Xia even came over to thank her personally.

Only then did Chi Yang’s heart begin to settle.

“It was just for work—an internal shoot for a magazine a few days ago,” Pei Jiuyao said, not even feeling the need to explain.

Because Chi Yang would never confront her over something so trivial.

But judging by Chi Yang’s expression, that clearly wasn’t the case.

“I know,” Chi Yang said, withdrawing her phone. Her gaze flickered slightly, and she bit her lip unconsciously.

Then, as if she’d finally heard the confirmation she needed, she quietly let out a breath.

Even though she already knew it was just for work, she still had to come and hear it from Pei Jiuyao herself. Only then could she feel at ease.