After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 30.1

After completing the scar verification, Chi Yang threw the evidence to her studio to handle and drove home with Pei Jiuyao.

Pei Jiuyao thought Chi Yang wasn’t feeling well.

But once they got home, Chi Yang tossed a stack of neatly bound documents into her arms.

Pei Jiuyao flipped through them casually. “What’s this?”

“A few scripts. I had Ye Ci look for them.”

Pei Jiuyao sat on the sofa and picked one up to read.

“I personally selected those from a whole pile yesterday.”

Chi Yang curled up on a small sofa nearby, lazily resting on the armrest. Her slightly wavy hair was tousled across her shoulders.

Her pale brown eyes caught the light, reflecting a faint golden hue.

Like stardust falling into the sea.

So beautiful, it almost didn’t feel human.

Pei Jiuyao averted her gaze slightly and teased, “I haven’t even signed with Chi Yang Studio, and the sponsor’s already handing me resources?”

Chi Yang picked up the pink bunny and tucked it under her as a cushion, sneering, “You’re already in a full-blown mess with Mo Tian—still not planning to terminate the contract? By the time you earn enough to pay the penalty, you’ll probably already be blacklisted.”

“So the sponsor is kindly helping me earn my termination fee faster?”

“But… will Mo Tian really let me go?” Pei Jiuyao asked, clutching the script, visibly worried.

Chi Yang sat up and rubbed her bandaged palm through her hair.

“She has plenty of ways to target the Chi family. You’re just collateral.”

“Ouch. Collateral damage, huh? That hurts.” Pei Jiuyao leaned her head on the sofa, tapping the script with her fingertips.

“I thought I was at least somewhat useful.”

She ended the sentence with a teasing glance in Chi Yang’s direction.

Chi Yang immediately thought of certain unspeakable things. Her ears turned a little red.

“Hmph. Maybe just a little.”

She tilted her head, resting it on the armrest.

Chi Yang had a sensory disorder—it wasn’t just during her heat that she became sensitive.

This month, she’d helped Pei Jiuyao through her susceptibility phase with multiple temporary markings. Because of that, after being injected with a suppressant, she had to endure everything alone.

She hadn’t told anyone she hadn’t fully recovered.

She didn’t want to stay in the hospital for long.

Director Lin Leyi had been pushing back filming, and any further delay would be troublesome.

Living with Pei Jiuyao eased some of her mental agitation, but… it also triggered other types of discomfort.

Like:

Overthinking.

“To distract you,” Chi Yang changed the topic, “look at the script at the bottom.”

Pei Jiuyao pulled the one from the bottom of the stack and glanced at the title.

“Shan Hai?” she asked, surprised, flipping it open quickly.

“I thought Shan Hai’s cast was already finalized? It’s about to start shooting—how’s there still a role available?”

Chi Yang explained, “The actress originally cast as ‘Chisong’ suddenly got pregnant. That role involves a lot of underwater and aerial scenes in the winter. She couldn’t keep filming, so the role opened up.”

But Pei Jiuyao was more shocked by something else.

“So… Omegas can actually get pregnant?”

What if she had a child with Chi Yang—how could she ever return to her original world?!

Chi Yang frowned slightly, puzzled. “Did you hit your head?”

Pei Jiuyao blinked awkwardly. “Ah… maybe…”

She blurted it out without realizing how dumb it sounded for an Alpha to ask that question.

But Chi Yang only gave her a short laugh and then turned serious, remembering that this person might be a Beta from a parallel universe. She patiently explained, “Of course Omegas can get pregnant, but it requires a complete mark and at least six months of continuous medication.”

“I’ve heard even Alphas can, under special circumstances—but it requires a partner with an incredibly strong pheromone profile…”

As she said that, Chi Yang suddenly remembered—Pei Jiuyao was a triple-S Alpha. It wasn’t impossible that she could make an Alpha pregnant.

Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Who knows—maybe you…”

Pei Jiuyao caught on immediately and cut her off. “I only want you.”

Chi Yang froze, stunned for a few seconds before stammering, “I—I was just joking… how boring.”

Her ears were now completely red.

What was with this person? Why was she so direct? It was unbearable.

Pei Jiuyao bit her lip.

Why did sweet-talking just slip out of her mouth so naturally?

So reckless.

“But you mentioned medication…”

“Mm,” Chi Yang picked up the conversation again, “which means that Omega definitely wanted to get pregnant. And then still accepted a role from Director Lin Leyi? It pissed her off. This kind of thing is a big no-no in the industry.”

“But still, the role in Shan Hai… it’s unlikely they’ll give it to me,” Pei Jiuyao said, flipping through the script.

Chisong had a significant role, second only to the female lead, Shen Nong’s master.

Through Chi Yang, she’d heard about Lin Leyi’s legendary achievements.

Supposedly, Lin won a top international sci-fi animation award with a student short film in her freshman year. After graduating, she transitioned to directing sci-fi blockbusters—sweeping major film festivals without ever losing once.

She was hailed as a once-in-a-millennium genius.

Naturally, any script she directed was top-tier.

She’d even once claimed no actor yet was worthy of being in her frame.

That kind of wild arrogance would’ve gotten anyone else mocked to death.

But Lin Leyi? Everything she said had fans singing praises.

When casting Shan Hai, Lin said in an interview that Chi Yang was the closest she’d ever found to the ideal main character.

If even Chi Yang was only “close,” Pei Jiuyao didn’t dare imagine how she’d be judged.

“It’s fine. I’ll practice with you,” Chi Yang said softly.

Pei Jiuyao looked up. “Practice? With me?”

“Well, if you really do get into Shan Hai…”

Pei Jiuyao’s lips curved. “Then we’ll get to see each other every day?”

“Hmph. I’m just worried you won’t be able to make it during your susceptibility phase.”

“You just need my pheromones, right?” Pei Jiuyao blinked, smiling. “I understand.”

Chi Yang sobered. “When I visited your set last time, I noticed you actually have a strong emotional depth. If someone can lead you into the scene, you act pretty well.”

Pei Jiuyao knew her current level. She thought Chi Yang was just humoring her.

Just using a little personal bias to get her into the same crew.

Pure self-interest.

Still, a script this good—of course she wanted to fight for it.

If not for Chi Yang, someone at her level would never even see something like this.

Even auditions for roles like these were usually invitation-only—for actors the director already liked.

Pei Jiuyao wouldn’t even make the long list.

But if she could gain enough favor beforehand… she had at least a 90% chance.

“So… how exactly are you going to help me practice?”

Chi Yang sat down and took the script. “Let’s go through every major climax scene.”

Pei Jiuyao instinctively reached out to hook a stray lock of Chi Yang’s hair around her finger and asked softly, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll embarrass you in the cast? Xiao Chi, this is all personal bias, isn’t it?”

Chi Yang frowned slightly, clearly displeased at being called out. “If you get chosen, it’ll mean Lin Leyi saw something in you.”

“I only handed you the script and gave you a shot at the audition. That’s considered favoritism?”

Then she looked up and added, “Besides, if you do get the part, I can help you rehearse.”

Her pupils sparkled with mischief as she stared intently at Pei Jiuyao.

Reclining casually on the sofa, she looked so inviting, it was impossible not to want to curl her up and hold her in one’s arms.

At that moment, Pei Jiuyao could’ve given her anything she asked for.

Especially if it meant acting opposite her…

Pei Jiuyao really wanted to try it.

She let out a soft laugh. “So, which scene are we doing?”

Chi Yang flipped to the latter half of the script—a confrontation scene between Jiang Wang and Chisong, one of the story’s emotional climaxes.

Chisong was written as the divine consciousness of an ancient god, who had taken on a physical form. She picked up a child from the roadside, raised her, and taught her things no human had ever known.

To Chisong, raising the child was a divine act of grace.

But as Jiang Wang grew up, she came to realize that the so-called “gift from the gods” was nothing more than a lie—an incursion from a higher dimension.

Chisong, from a human perspective, was the fifth unknown calamity—a foreign force bent on destruction and assimilation.

She—or rather, It—was a superior, incomprehensible being. Raising a human child had been nothing more than an intriguing biological experiment.

But Jiang Wang had a human heart.

Raised by a god yet inherently human, she became a third party in the war between both sides. Again and again, she dissected her own emotions, only to be tempted and confused by Chisong.

It was both a higher being’s calculated manipulation and Jiang Wang’s painful psychic unraveling.

By the time Chi Yang slipped into character, Pei Jiuyao was still reading the script.

When she finally looked up, she saw Chi Yang’s gaze already immersed in another world.

Her expression was layered and nuanced—beginning with bewilderment and confusion, then shifting into inner turmoil, and finally dissolving into a kind of loss, drifting farther and farther from her original self, standing on the edge of a blade against humanity.

It was like being drawn into a golden vortex—Pei Jiuyao couldn’t tear her eyes away.

This was the first time she had seen Chi Yang act—in their home, on the sofa, in the golden hour of dusk, as the last of the blue light softly spread across the room.

Frost clung to the windows, etched by the early winter sun into patterns that looked like shattered rose petals.

There had been many firsts between her and Chi Yang.

They were each other’s many firsts.

The setting was plain, the kind that shouldn’t leave any mark—but the words “first time” were more than enough to intoxicate.

Pei Jiuyao wanted to cling to it madly, to fall in without resistance, to sink without end.

She saw a faint shimmer of mist gathering in Chi Yang’s light brown eyes.

Suddenly, she had the urge to kiss away the forming tear, to take it into her mouth.

“Our relationship is nothing more than a transaction. An illusion,” Chi Yang said slowly.

Her voice was choked with a crushing, repressed sorrow. She looked frail, thin, hollowed out by loneliness.

Pei Jiuyao’s heart skipped. Her gaze was drawn in deeper, unable to pull away.

Just a transaction?

She was right.

To Chi Yang, Pei Jiuyao was the antidote to her pheromone disorder. To Pei Jiuyao, Chi Yang was her only means of returning to her original world.

Both of them—entangled in half-truths and blurred motives—had used each other.

And then feelings got involved. Feelings that complicated everything, that made their calculations impossible to untangle, dragging them both into the abyss.

Love is a voiceless thing, struggling at the cliff’s edge—grasping at a life-saving straw that turns out to be a thorned vine.

Chi Yang tugged lightly at Pei Jiuyao’s sleeve. “What’s wrong? Say your line.”

Pei Jiuyao’s lashes fluttered; her eyes were damp.

“Oh, the line… I…”

So it was just a line.

But her thoughts were a mess.

She had been utterly drawn into Chi Yang’s eyes. The vast grief swimming in them had shaken her deeply.

In that moment, Pei Jiuyao saw their eventual confrontation—when they would inevitably part.

“What’s wrong? You suddenly look…” Chi Yang began, snapping out of character.

Pei Jiuyao closed the script and stood up. “Sorry, I wasn’t in the right mindset just now.”