After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 41.1

This winter in Haishi was bitterly cold. After several snowfalls, Chi Yang curled up in her room, unwilling to move at all.

At noon she considered visiting Chi Qing at the hospital, but the moment her left foot stepped out of the company’s doors, the chill forced her to shrink back inside.

In the end, she decided to wait until Pei Jiuyao came by with dinner. She’d just have lunch with her then, saving the trouble.

Outside, the sky stayed heavy and dim, clouds like sheets of iron. The glazed tiles on high-rise rooftops reflected a dull, inky blue light; gray walls stretched into pale, withered branches. Cars and pedestrians hurried past in silence.

The snow had already melted into the asphalt, yet the view before her was still bleak and desolate.

Chi Yang rested her eyes on the window, lightly tapping her pen against the desk.

Should she really go see the aurora with Pei Jiuyao?

Or would it be better to spend the winter somewhere warm?

A private jet… she could borrow one from Chi Qing when the time came.

She couldn’t help scrolling through winter travel guides on her phone.

In the past, she had never been fond of travel.

As an actress, she had been to countless cities, countless places—but to her, they held only endless social obligations and work. Nothing special. No scenery worth seeking out.

But now the person beside her was different. Even meaningless little things suddenly became full of joy.

Chi Yang thought, Since she gave me sweetness, shouldn’t I take something back from her as well?

For example—

Obeying only her words. Not looking at anyone else. Saying “I like you” with sincerity. Accepting her…

It felt too fast. That last one—better cross it out for now.

________________________________________

For days, Chi Yang practically lived at the company. Even when she came home at night, she was exhausted—tapping away at her keyboard for a while before collapsing into bed. They hardly exchanged a few words.

Only then did Pei Jiuyao finally understand what Lin Leyi had once said.

Chi Yang’s heart was not in showbiz. No matter how well she acted, it meant nothing.

For people like them, family ties were a bond that could never be severed. The infighting never ceased, yet the belief that “under a fallen nest, no egg remains intact” was carved deeply into their bones.

Chi Qing remained in the hospital. Chi Leya stayed at home, gaming all day, never going out.

When Chi Yang was at the company, Pei Jiuyao was left behind, like a little pet she had forgotten at home.

Tianji no longer cared whether Pei Jiuyao lived or died. Mo Tian understood well enough—Pei Jiuyao was just a small bargaining chip. Useful, sometimes, for disgusting Chi Yang in unexpected ways. But overused, it would only backfire.

This might have been the least work Pei Jiuyao had ever had during a holiday season—or rather, no work at all.

In the past, no matter how busy she was, she still had to make time to see her family. Now that she was idle, she could no longer go back. Only a torn emptiness remained.

When she crawled out of her warm blankets, she could still hear, through the wall, Chi Leya’s frenzied gunfire in an online match.

Suddenly, she wanted to visit Chi Qing.

This woman who suffered in ways similar to her—

Though Chi Qing might never see it that way.

But at least, after Pei Jiuyao learned that neither of them truly belonged to this world, she felt a strange sense of kinship with her.

What’s more, recalling Chi Qing’s earlier warnings—about pets, and companionship—Pei Jiuyao realized with a start: she hadn’t been worried about Chi Yang at all. She had always known her true identity.

When she arrived at the hospital, Shen Xinyi wasn’t there. Chi Qing sat alone in her room, lost in thought.

When Pei Jiuyao knocked and entered, Chi Qing showed no surprise. She merely said, coolly, “Sit.”

“Chi Qing-jie, are you feeling any better?”

Outside the window stood an old tree. Pei Jiuyao usually came through the underground garage, but this time she parked outside and entered through the main gates. She saw the tree cordoned off, with a plaque describing its species, habits, and years of growth—more detailed than the birth records of the hospital’s newborns.

“The last time I came, this tree was still lush and full,” Chi Qing’s gaze slid from the window and turned toward her, “I don’t know when it happened, but overnight, it withered completely.”

Her eyes swept over Pei Jiuyao. “Why come here, instead of staying with Chi Yang?”

Pei Jiuyao picked up an apple and handed it over. “I just wanted to see you. Somehow, being near you makes me feel calmer.”

For a moment, Chi Qing seemed to merge with that ancient tree.

Life that had once flourished, now forced to reveal signs of decay.

As a teenager, she had been thrust into this world—returning home suddenly to news of her “mother’s” death, facing a family of strangers, feeding herself to tigers just to prop up such a massive enterprise.

Indeed, she had no obligation to be polite to anyone. Nor to give anyone her heart.

Chi Qing accepted the apple, bit into it, and asked, “Is it because the New Year is coming?”

When Pei Jiuyao stayed silent, she continued, “I used to be the same. As the year drew near, the heaviness was unbearable—restless emotions piling up until I couldn’t breathe.”

“But reality is far more painful than memory,” Chi Qing looked at her, and for once, allowed a faint smile. “Isn’t it?”

“Even giving up feels painful?” Pei Jiuyao asked quietly, puzzled.

Chi Qing seemed to have chosen her path long ago, and accepted the cost. Shouldn’t she feel at peace with it?

Chi Qing exhaled softly. “It looks like we have choices, but in truth, there’s only one road we can walk. Everything else—those burdens and chains—no matter how hard it is, must be cast aside.”

“Then you could simply be with her,” Pei Jiuyao blurted out, “and later… cast her aside.”

After a moment of silence, she lowered her gaze, whispering: “Why must we be trapped here?”

Chi Qing asked, “If one day you had to leave for a new world, and Chi Yang could never follow—what would you do? Do you love her? Or are you just using her? Can people truly justify using others at all costs just to survive—or is it that, to you, the people here were never real to begin with?”

“Have you considered,” she continued evenly, “that perhaps we ourselves are not real either? That our world may only be a program, a string of code—and yet, we still live as humans do.”

Her voice was calm, unhurried, carrying words as heavy as stone as if they were nothing.

Pei Jiuyao’s lashes trembled. She reached for an apple, kneading it lightly in her palm.

Chi Qing’s mind held so much more than hers.

Compared to herself—who cared only about her own thoughts—Chi Qing carried far more weight.

A stray thought came to her:

I have always hated that I am someone with too much conscience, because it leaves me without the courage to hurt others. But I am also selfish. I love myself more than anyone else. In the end, I hurt others—and failed myself too.

She had thought coming here would bring some relief.

But Chi Qing’s words only left her heavier, in more pain.

She wasn’t strong enough to bear everything her choices demanded.

Her strength was only an illusion—born of having no other options, of “must.”

Perhaps those who seemed capable of carrying the hopes of others—once cut open—were just ordinary people too.

After a long silence, Pei Jiuyao placed the apple back.

She answered softly, “I want to take her with me.”

“Even if it’s a world she cannot reach—this place was once a world I could not reach either.”

Chi Qing froze for a moment, then lowered her head and smiled.

“In the past, I would’ve said someone like you was arrogant and reckless. But recklessness, in truth, comes from courage. You’re far braver than I am.”

She looked down at the apple in her hand.

“The outcome might be good, or it might be bad. But to throw away the process for the sake of the result—it’s not worth it.”

When Pei Jiuyao stepped out of the hospital, she saw Lin Leyi standing down the corridor, leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed toward the ward. The moment Lin noticed her, she faltered, then quickly turned to leave.

“Lin—” The name slipped to Pei Jiuyao’s lips, but she swallowed it back. Instead, she called out as she followed after, “Wait.”

“Were you here to see Sister Chi Qing?”

Lin Leyi paused in her tracks. When Pei Jiuyao caught up, she gave a small smile.

“Not exactly. I had too much to drink. Came for a stomach pump.”

“How much do you drink every day?” Pei Jiuyao frowned. “Take care of yourself.”

Lin Leyi casually hooked an arm around her shoulder.

“For us artists, alcohol’s a cure-all. Can’t do without it.”

“Alcohol just numbs your brain,” Pei Jiuyao said dryly. “Turns you into an idiot.”

“That bad? My IQ’s 160, you know.” Whether drunk or sober, whenever she wasn’t swearing, Lin Leyi always looked a little dazed, every word sounding like nonsense.

“A love-obsessed genius with an IQ of 160—now that’s rare.”

Lin Leyi clapped her on the shoulder. “Right back at you.”

“Since you’re already here, why not go see President Chi?”

Lin Leyi’s smile tugged sideways. “Since I’m already here, it would be impolite to.”

She paused, then turned slightly toward her.

“If you’ve got nothing better to do, send me home. I drank too much, came by cab.”

Pei Jiuyao checked the time on her phone—still a while before she had to bring Chi Yang her meal. She sighed and nodded. “Alright.”

To her surprise, Lin Leyi’s place was only a block from Chi Qing’s.

From the street, nothing seemed unusual. But once upstairs, standing by the living room window, Pei Jiuyao realized the apartment overlooked Chi Qing’s residential complex.

A telescope sat by the window.

Curious, Pei Jiuyao walked over and bent to peer through it, only to see nothing.

“That’s for stargazing, not spying,” Lin Leyi said as she set two glasses of wine on the coffee table. She downed one, glanced at Pei Jiuyao, and added, “Oh, right. You drove. No drinking for you.”

She promptly drank the other glass as well.

“You just had your stomach pumped, and you’re drinking again?” Pei Jiuyao took the glass from her hand and replaced it with two cups of hot water.

Lin Leyi leaned back on the sofa, dissatisfied.

“Pei Jiuyao, is that how you talk to a director? Careful, or I’ll cut all your scenes.”

Pei Jiuyao ignored her, simply sliding the water closer.

On the table lay a photo album. She picked it up.

“Hey, who said you could touch that?” Lin Leyi sipped the water and shot her a glare.

Pei Jiuyao immediately set it back down.

But seeing that, Lin Leyi chuckled. “Go on then, if you want to look.”

So Pei Jiuyao sat beside her and opened the album.

Inside were photos of a group of girls in their twenties, dressed in all sorts of outfits.

“Crew photos?” she asked.

Flipping further, she found some dinner party shots. In the middle of a noisy crowd, a girl in a black suit sat with her head lowered, absorbed in her phone—completely out of place.

“She was always like that, acting superior,” Lin Leyi remarked.

Pei Jiuyao suddenly realized who she meant.

The aloof girl had to be Chi Qing. The album must have been from Lin Leyi’s university days.

The further she flipped, the more Chi Qing appeared—always closer and closer to Lin Leyi’s side.

Lin, back then, had bleached-blonde hair pinned with a pen, a row of earrings climbing her ear, a tank top showing off a string of tattoos across her chest.

Chi Qing, meanwhile, sat beside her in an austere black suit, not a single ornament on her, not even an extra expression.

One photo showed only the two of them together.

Rarely, Chi Qing made a gesture—flashing a peace sign beside Lin Leyi.

On her middle finger was a simple silver band.