After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 39.1

Pei Jiuyao slowly turned her head, her gaze cutting through Chi Yang’s silhouette.

A sharp wind rattled the window with a heavy thud. The curtain swayed, leaving a narrow slit, and from the aluminum frame snow mixed with ice crystals fluttered down in uneven bursts.

A small black-and-white kitten slipped in from somewhere, leapt onto the balcony, shook the half-melted snow from its fur, and darted off with a flick of its tail.

Drawing her gaze back inside, Pei Jiuyao saw only a pale nape disappearing beneath the heavy black quilt.

She reached out and poked Chi Yang’s shoulder. “You knew all along?”

Chi Yang turned over, pupils glimmering half-light, half-shadow in the dark.

She chuckled lowly. “You stared at Lin Leyi’s finger so intently, I thought you’d bore a hole through it.”

Pei Jiuyao asked, “Then why didn’t you ask me about it?”

“I did ask. You were the one who didn’t want to answer.”

In the lounge, after taking her suppressant injection, she had leaned against Pei Jiuyao’s chest and probed, Did you hear something in the crew?

Chi Yang gave another quiet laugh. “I’d heard some of those rumors too. They were too ridiculous to take seriously, but I was curious—how you’d go about proving them.”

Or perhaps it was that I didn’t even know whether you cared or not. To blurt out an explanation first would only make it seem like I cared too much.

“So,” Chi Yang asked suddenly, “how did you get Lin Leyi to take off the ring?”

This fox… she never said a word, only watched silently from behind, waiting to see how far Pei Jiuyao would go for her.

“I pretended to be drunk and spilled wine on her hand,” Pei Jiuyao admitted, brushing Chi Yang’s hair back with her fingers. “Then I grabbed her hand and pulled it off without thinking.”

“How violent,” Chi Yang remarked.

But the light in her eyes burned brighter.

“If I couldn’t see that tattoo, I’d have no excuse to question you.” Pei Jiuyao sighed softly. “But even if it was real, I guess I wouldn’t have much reason to question anything. That’s just… how we are.”

So inexplicable. So unspeakable.

“What if it isn’t just that?” Chi Yang suddenly asked.

Pei Jiuyao frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

After a pause, Chi Yang said, “What if I told you… our transactional arrangement is over?”

The fingers Pei Jiuyao had resting on the pillow twitched involuntarily. A strange, suffocating feeling swelled in her chest.

Over? This soon?

In a low voice she asked, “But your pheromone disorder… it isn’t cured yet, is it?”

Then, afraid Chi Yang would think she was clinging, she added quickly, “When you’re better—if you really want to end things—then… I won’t object.”

Chi Yang was silent for a long time.

Just when Pei Jiuyao thought she wouldn’t reply, Chi Yang said flatly, “Sometimes, you remind me of Chi Qing.”

With that, she rolled over, the cold white nape of her neck once again facing Pei Jiuyao.

Pei Jiuyao wanted to speak further, but seeing that Chi Yang had no intention of continuing, she swallowed the words.

________________________________________

The next morning.

Though southern snow usually melted into muddy puddles the moment it hit the ground, overnight it had managed to accumulate—a thin, powdery layer. Under the dim, sunless sky, it glimmered faintly in patches.

A single step left a watery footprint.

The surrounding buildings were mostly dark-hued, decorated with hulking mecha and beast models, making the environment even more bleak and cold.

When they arrived on set, the last scheduled pre-holiday scene had been changed at the last minute into a snowy fight sequence.

Since the natural setting lacked atmosphere, artificial snow machines filled the air with fluttering white flakes, piling into a silver-white world.

Most of the action scenes in the drama fell on Ji Leng’s character. While Chi Yang was suspended on wires, posing midair, Pei Jiuyao only needed to sit atop the roof in front of the massive mecha, waiting for the staff to maneuver it.

A battle between gods and mortals, stark and absolute.

Chi Yang practiced her swordplay for a while before the wires lifted her up onto the rooftop. She walked over to Pei Jiuyao and brushed her fingers over the mecha behind her.

“If I’d known the mecha looked this cool, I would’ve auditioned for Akamatsu instead.”

Pei Jiuyao took the sword from Chi Yang, twirling it once in her palm before flicking the blade. Cold silver light flashed against the dark tiles.

“Then I’d be playing Ji Leng?”

Chi Yang’s gaze shifted from the mecha to Pei Jiuyao’s hand gripping the sword.

She had once filmed a historical movie, riding horses, brandishing swords, flying on wires—learning all of it at the time.

Back then she was young, clinging to every opportunity, training night and day as if with her life.

She knew she looked striking when she wielded a blade.

“That move just now,” Chi Yang gestured, “how did you spin it? Teach me.”

Pei Jiuyao raised an eyebrow. “Impressive, right?”

Chi Yang tilted her chin up. “Impressive.”

“Call me jie and I’ll teach you.”

Chi Yang’s eyes darkened, and she let out a cold snort. “Forget it, then.”

She turned to leave, but Pei Jiuyao caught her wrist helplessly. “We’re on a rooftop. Where are you going?”

“I’ll teach you.” She shoved the sword back into Chi Yang’s hand, wrapped her fingers around her wrist, and guided her through a sword flourish.

A gust of wind swept past, sending their black and white robes flying backward. Behind them loomed the massive mecha. Pei Jiuyao’s arm circled Chi Yang’s waist, her other hand gripping her wrist as their sword pointed westward.

Suddenly, the clouds split open and a golden ray burst through, flooding half the world with light while the other half remained in shadow.

Click—

Both of them turned their heads. Lin Leyi was standing below, at some point having raised her camera to snap a photo.

The sun disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving the sky gray and frigid again.

Lin Leyi lifted her walkie-talkie. “You two up there, stop using company time to flirt. Get in position.”

Pei Jiuyao quickly released Chi Yang and helped straighten her robes. As she lowered her head, she caught Chi Yang’s averted gaze and the tips of her ears, flushed crimson.

Artificial snow swirled as Chi Yang stood one level below Pei Jiuyao on the rooftop, sword in hand, back straight.

She strode forward, one hand raising the blade, the other clasped behind her back, her white robes dazzling against the dim sky.

Suspended by wires, Chi Yang slashed the blade across the mecha’s arm. Her cold eyes blazed with ferocity, tinted with scarlet, proud and untouchable.

Pei Jiuyao sat silently before the mecha. With so much dependent on post-production effects, all she had to do was watch.

The crew bustling around them blurred into background noise. In this moment, only Chi Yang truly existed within the world of the story.

Between heaven and earth, she was the sole figure in pure white.

And Pei Jiuyao, seated before this spectacle, seemed separated by a veil of mist—part audience, part participant, swept into its rise and fall, dissolving into the haze.

If above the ice is an angel, and below it, a demon…

Pei Jiuyao, sometimes I think you’re the same as Chi Qing.

But what was Chi Qing, really?

Do you know what kind of person she was?

And if you did—would you still love her?

When the scene ended, both Pei Jiuyao and Chi Yang were lowered from their wires, still dazed.

Jiang Tian and Ye Ci hurried over with down coats, wrapping them up against the cold.

The final shoot before the New Year had ended perfectly. After watching the monitor playback, Lin Leyi exhaled in relief. Even her posture relaxed, her whole demeanor easing into nonchalance.

Lin Leyi stretched lazily against the cushioned chair and asked,

“Chi Yang, are you going home for the New Year?”

Instinctively, Chi Yang glanced at Pei Jiuyao before replying,

“Depends. I haven’t really gone back in years.”

“Director Lin, do you want to come spend New Year’s at my place?” Chi Yang teased with a smile.

Lin Leyi froze for a moment, then forced a casual tone.

“Why would I go to your house? I do have a home, you know.”

“But tonight’s dinner counts as an early New Year’s Eve feast with everyone, so don’t you dare back out again!”

Chi Yang laughed and agreed, tugging Pei Jiuyao along as they headed out.

There weren’t many hedonists like Lin Leyi. For most popular actors, let alone vacation, being able to even stop home briefly during the holidays was already a luxury.

Nearby, other production crews weren’t resting either. In the past few days, window grilles and Spring Festival couplets had been pasted up, and even red lanterns were already hanging.

On a whim, Chi Yang tugged Pei Jiuyao along for a stroll.

All this festive atmosphere was, in truth, just another excuse for reunion—a reminder of what “home” was supposed to mean.

For Chi Yang, the New Year was little more than a tangle of obligations and endless schemes. Everyone gathered in one house only to lay everything bare, fighting tooth and nail for advantage under the pretense of being “family.”

But for Pei Jiuyao, this was her very first New Year spent away from home.

No matter how busy she had been before, no matter the distance—thousands of miles apart—she would always rush home without rest, just to open that door and call out one word: Mom.

“Time flies so quickly,” Pei Jiuyao murmured, clasping Chi Yang’s hand and tucking it into her pocket.

Everything felt like a dream, one she could not fully wake from. Until one day, when the world suddenly burst into an overwhelming sea of red.

In that instant, even the air tasted sour. Only in the warmth of Chi Yang’s palm—in that fleeting moment of sticky sweat and shared heat—did she realize she was still alive.

Alive, but in a way that hurt more than death.

Yet Pei Jiuyao had no time to dwell on it. When a tide of nightmarish memories surged all at once, the only choice left was to keep moving forward.

Chi Yang noticed her hand growing colder and tightened her grip.

“Are you going home for the New Year?” she asked softly.

“I don’t have a home here,” Pei Jiuyao replied, eyes fixed on the bold brushstrokes of a pasted couplet.

The year draws to its close, yet across ten thousand miles, the wanderer remains unreturned. ①

Chi Yang had heard that Pei Jiuyao didn’t get along with her family, but she had always assumed it just meant she didn’t want to go back.

“Then… do you want to spend New Year with me?” Chi Yang asked.

Pei Jiuyao turned to her. “At your place?”

“I haven’t gone home for New Year in ages,” Chi Yang admitted, tilting her head up. “At most, I’d stop by for dinner on New Year’s Eve. But this year… I don’t want to. Let’s just spend it together.”

For a fleeting second, Pei Jiuyao thought—maybe they could escape together, leave everything behind.

The thought vanished before she could answer.

From a distance, someone called out: “Chi Yang!”

The two turned to see the lead actor from the neighboring crew approaching.

“Are you guys wrapping up and heading home for the holidays?” the actor asked, grabbing Chi Yang’s wrist. “Ah, I’m so jealous! We still have to slog away here through the New Year. New era, same old workhorses.”

Standing off to the side, Pei Jiuyao pulled out her phone and asked Lin Leyi to send over the photos from earlier. With a small laugh, she said,

“Workhorses don’t get paid this much.”

“True enough. Thinking about how many people have it worse than me makes me feel… not so bad. Though, that mindset’s kinda messed up, huh?”

Lin Leyi texted: 【I posted it on Weibo. Go find it yourself.】

“But Chi Yang, who’s this?” The actor glanced at Pei Jiuyao curiously. “Haven’t seen her around before.”

Chi Yang gently pried the actor’s hand from her arm.

“This is Pei Jiuyao, from Akamatsu.”

Brief and to the point. Pei Jiuyao lifted her head politely.

“Hello.”

“Wow, you’re Pei Jiuyao? I’ve only seen you on TV before— you’re ten thousand times prettier in person!”

Pei Jiuyao’s fingers were still scrolling through Weibo, but at that, she looked up and smiled faintly.

“Thank you.”