After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 33.1

After arriving at the dinner venue, Pei Jiuyao pushed the door open and walked in, spotting Sheng Xia seated inside.

Sheng Xia lit up upon seeing her and waved her over.

Pei Jiuyao smiled faintly and was about to head over when a figure suddenly darted out and blocked her path.

“Still clinging to that habit of flirting with Omegas, I see. Some things never change,” Qiao Lu sneered, standing in front of her.

Pei Jiuyao turned to her with a resigned look, meeting her gaze head-on. Her voice was icy:

“Qiao Lu, why are you always pestering me? Don’t tell me you have a crush on me?”

Qiao Lu gave her a look of pure disbelief. “Are you out of your mind?”

Pei Jiuyao found her face fascinating in a way—

Terrible acting skills, yet somehow capable of making an endless array of weird, exaggerated expressions.

She’d make a great meme template.

“Hey, Pei Jiuyao, where’s your sugar mommy? Didn’t she come?”

“Mo Tian—”

Pei Jiuyao almost reflexively followed her lead, but then caught the flicker of surprise in Sheng Xia’s eyes from the side.

…

Clearly, Qiao Lu had managed to rattle her brain a bit.

“Qiao Lu, I’m warning you—watch your mouth. Mo Tian is not my sugar mommy. I have absolutely nothing to do with her.”

Pei Jiuyao reached out to push Qiao Lu aside, but Qiao Lu grabbed her wrist.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Pei Jiuyao’s eyes. She forcefully shook off Qiao Lu’s fingers, her jet-black pupils locking onto her with an unyielding glare.

Qiao Lu was about the same height as Pei Jiuyao. Both were top-tier Alphas, and her presence was no less oppressive.

As she leaned in, a pungent scent wafted from her bright pink suit—

Like some mutant version of floral insect repellent.

Pei Jiuyao covered her face with both hands, visibly repulsed.

Qiao Lu, oblivious as ever, leaned close to her ear and murmured:

“I went through so much trouble to get you in here. At an event this big, your sugar mommy’s not even showing up?”

Pei Jiuyao didn’t understand why Qiao Lu kept harping on this “sugar mommy” thing.

Unless…

“Wait, do you have a crush on Mo Tian?” She let out a mocking little laugh. “There’s really nothing between us.”

Qiao Lu suddenly broke into a mysterious grin, her eyes lighting up. She leaned past Pei Jiuyao and called out in a syrupy voice, “Director Lin!”

Lin Leyi didn’t so much as glance at her and went straight to her seat.

Pei Jiuyao pursed her lips in exasperation.

What was wrong with this woman?

Completely incomprehensible.

She decided not to waste her breath and took the seat next to Sheng Xia, pouring herself a cup of hot water to warm her hands.

Sheng Xia lowered her voice. “You and—”

“Qiao Lu,” Pei Jiuyao sighed, leaning back in her chair. “She’s got a grudge.”

But really, Qiao Lu’s hostility was directed at the original Pei Jiuyao. The current one wasn’t particularly bothered.

As long as she didn’t cross the line, Pei Jiuyao was fine with turning a blind eye.

After all, why pick a fight with a showy peacock?

They weren’t even the same species.

Sheng Xia blinked. “No, I meant you and Mo—”

“Nothing whatsoever.”

Pei Jiuyao straightened, her expression righteous. “Sheng Xia, you’re such a pure and harmless little Omega. You can’t go around gossiping like those Alphas.”

Sheng Xia looked innocent. “I’m not, I just heard—”

“Heard what? No, you only heard ‘sugar mommy’ and ‘Mo Tian’ in the same sentence, and jumped to the wrong conclusion. You can’t just spread things like that.”

“Oh…” Sheng Xia still looked a bit dazed.

Pei Jiuyao smiled warmly and patted her shoulder. “Clear your thoughts.”

Sheng Xia nodded, still confused.

Pei Jiuyao let out a long breath.

This was the female second lead—the protagonist’s right hand—who spent every day glued to Chi Yang.

If she let a bit of gossip slip…

“Hey, Chi Yang, I heard Mo Tian is Pei Jiuyao’s sugar mommy~”

Coming from Qiao Lu, that was fine—they were enemies anyway.

But if it came from Sheng Xia’s mouth…

She didn’t even want to imagine it.

Even if she was innocent now, Chi Yang might suspect she had been kept by Mo Tian in the past.

Her little life would be over. Again.

When Lin Leyi entered, her sharp gaze swept over the room.

Her eyes lingered on Pei Jiuyao for a beat. “Jiuyao, sit next to me,” she said coolly.

Pei Jiuyao looked up, smiled at Sheng Xia, and moved to take the seat by Lin Leyi. “Director Lin.”

“Do you smoke?” Lin Leyi extended a finger, pulling a slender cigarette from the case and handing it over.

Pei Jiuyao had promised Chi Yang she’d quit.

But Chi Yang wasn’t here today.

She tilted her head slightly and accepted it.

Building a good rapport with the director was important—after all, she wasn’t the same Pei Jiuyao as before.

Click—

When the smoke curled upward, she kept it low in her right hand, away from the crowd, never lifting it again.

A thin wisp of white smoke escaped her red lips, drifting upward.

She heard Lin Leyi say, “At first, I didn’t even want you to audition.”

“But I was curious to see what the person she likes is really like.”

She must mean Chi Yang, Pei Jiuyao thought.

“And what do you think of me now, Director Lin?”

Lin Leyi looked rather satisfied.

“You’re not quite what the rumors said. Honestly, I was surprised when I saw you act.”

Lin Leyi cast her a sidelong glance and added, “If your character matches your acting skills, you’d make a very good lover.”

“Director Lin, are you saying I’m acting right now?”

Everyone knew Pei Jiuyao was just a pretty face.

In my ten-plus years as a director, I’d never seen an actor suddenly “get it” halfway through an audition.

It was absurd—borderline impossible.

“Unless… you’re not actually Pei Jiuyao,” Lin Leyi suddenly said.

Pei’s fingers paused mid-tap. She flicked the ash into the glass tray and smiled.

“If I’m not Pei Jiuyao, then who else could I be?”

“Maybe… you’re someone from a parallel world.”

That actually took the smile off Pei’s face.

“Director Lin, no wonder you shoot sci-fi films. Your imagination really is something.”

As they spoke, Qiao Lu strolled over and leaned half against the table, glass in hand to toast Lin Leyi.

At that moment, Pei found this gaudy “peacock” a bit more tolerable—finally, an escape from this topic.

She was just about to take the chance to leave—

—when Qiao Lu pressed her back down into her seat.
“Director Lin, what’s so good about Pei Jiuyao? Is it just because you like Alphas?”

Lin Leyi’s brow creased ever so slightly. She didn’t answer.

“Isn’t her acting famously awful? And didn’t she just get hit with a scandal about her personal life? Bringing someone like that into your film—aren’t you afraid she’ll drag the whole production through the mud?”

“I only care about the work,” Lin replied flatly. “If the performance is good, that’s all that matters.”

“But bad character isn’t okay either. As an investor, I can’t just sit and watch this film crash before it even premieres, can I?”

Lin Leyi cleared her throat suddenly.

“Qiao Lu, do you know why Pei Jiuyao got in through her audition, while you had to buy your way into a role?”

Her tone was razor-sharp.

The table had been buzzing with separate conversations, but now all eyes turned toward the three of them.

The moment Qiao heard the phrase “buy your way in,” her expression froze.

“If you spent that time working on your acting instead, you might actually land roles on your own. If it wasn’t for my long friendship with your mother, let alone paying for it— even if you bought the whole project outright, you still wouldn’t get this role.”

Qiao forced a smile. “Director Lin, that’s a little—”

“Just the truth,” Lin said, extinguishing her cigarette with a face that brooked no argument.

When Lin Leyi scolded people, she carried a kind of icy, lethal grace. Her voice never hurried, never slowed—yet it made your skin prickle.

If her pitch rose even slightly, Pei Jiuyao felt her own hackles lift.

That kind of coldness—she had only ever seen it in one person before: Chi Qing.

And compared to that, her own manager Wen Li really was the picture of warmth and kindness.

It only made Pei more determined to poach Wen Li away.

She thought Qiao Lu would retreat after such a public “defeat.”

But Pei had clearly underestimated the thickness of her skin.

Qiao recovered almost instantly, pulled out the chair beside Pei, and sat down with a syrupy smile.

“Director Lin is right. I’ll make sure to work on my acting with Jiuyao.”

The way she dragged out “Jiuyao” was so saccharine it made Pei’s stomach turn.

She was just about to find some excuse to shoo her away when Lin Leyi spoke up.

“That seat’s taken.” Lin Leyi said.

“Huh? Taken? But everyone’s already here.” Qiao Lu asked.

“I have a friend who hasn’t arrived yet,” Lin said, glancing at her phone as she stood. “I’ll go meet her. Qiao Lu, go back to your seat.”

A top-tier celebrity, reduced to this—Qiao had never swallowed such humiliation in her life.

And to think she’d paid to be here.

But it was Lin Leyi. In this industry, there was a saying: if Director Lin bothers to scold you, at least you’re relevant enough to be worth scolding.

The more she thought about it, the more she decided to take it as a compliment.

Still, she shot Pei a glare before slinking back to her place.

Pei stubbed out her cigarette and overheard someone beside Qiao murmur comfortingly, “That’s just how Director Lin is—she scolds everyone. Don’t take it to heart.”

“Hmph. You don’t get it. Director Lin only bothers to correct me because she sees my potential. Other people would kill for the chance to be scolded by her.”

Pei couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

Truly, a master of self-delusion—there was almost an innocent stupidity to it.

Thinking of Lin’s “friend,” Pei instinctively vacated the seat, moving to one nearby.

She had barely sat down when Lin returned, leading in someone dressed head-to-toe in black—hat pulled low, mask on, long coat trailing.

Pei’s hand, holding her chopsticks, gave a sudden tremor. The chopsticks slipped onto the table.

The figure could’ve simply had a similar build—

—but that coat… Pei remembered owning one just like it.

The newcomer removed her mask slowly, offering a polite, faint smile.

“Sorry I’m late.”

From beneath the brim, a pair of light brown eyes flicked over Pei without pausing.

In public, Chi Yang was always cool, composed—

—so composed, in fact, that it threw Pei’s own composure into stark relief.

And she couldn’t help thinking: she had always believed herself mature, strong.

But she was only twenty-three. Her manager had sheltered her well; she’d barely set foot into the messiness of the real world.

Maybe her “maturity” had just been a role—one she’d perfected in too many art films.

Since meeting Chi Yang, everything had shifted.

She caught herself being childish, clingy, insecure.

She could play the adult with anyone—

—but with Chi Yang, sometimes she wanted to be a child.

It was nothing like their first meeting.

Back then, despite the chaos of pheromone influence, she had still been able to say things like, “I think I’m the older one,” or “I’ll protect you,” or “You can rely on me.”

Now, even without pheromones clouding her mind, she found that being protected—relying on someone else—wasn’t so bad after all.

The curse of being in love, maybe.