After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 49.2

She had only woken up two days ago, yet her mother was already going out to class and leaving her alone at home?

She asked, “Mom, aren’t you taking me with you?”

Ming Hui visibly froze.

Hospital.

The sky was darkening. Chi Yang sat on a stool by the bed, peeling an apple.

Standing nearby, Ying Ning finished fixing Pei Jiuyao’s IV line and glanced at the butchered apple in Chi Yang’s hands before taking it over with a sigh.

“Not going home for New Year?” Ying Ning asked.

Chi Yang accepted the neatly sliced apple, then asked back, “Why aren’t you going?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Now that’s rare—you, not wanting to go home?” Chi Yang took a bite, the crisp crunch muffling her words. “What about your parents?”

“They’ve got company,” Ying Ning muttered, scuffing her toes against the floor.

“Company?” Chi Yang almost choked, thumping her chest before it sank in. She gasped, “Company!”

“If Wen Li’s home, why aren’t you?” Chi Yang shot to her feet. “With all those mercenaries still outside, you really don’t need to stay here with me.”

“It’s not that.” Ying Ning’s expression grew conflicted.

“You two fought?” Chi Yang asked cautiously.

Ying Ning fidgeted with her fingers, exhaling heavily. “It was… three days ago.”

“She insisted on dragging me to a bar. She drank too much, and then some Omega started clinging to her. And she gave that look, you know? That come on, I won’t say no look. I got mad and—”

“You ran away from home?” Chi Yang supplied.

“With full righteousness,” Ying Ning declared. “I lectured everyone in the bar about the dangers of promiscuity.”

Chi Yang: “…”

“But isn’t she a Beta? It’s not like she risks getting bitten—” Chi Yang began.

“After that, she pulled me outside and scolded me. One thing led to another, and somehow it came to, ‘Why do you care who I sleep with? Unless you like me?’”

Ying Ning bit her lip, then admitted, “And I said, ‘I do like you.’ She snapped back, ‘Didn’t you already say you liked someone else—a Beta?’”

“Then she suddenly realized, ‘Oh, wait, I am a Beta.’”

Chi Yang slumped back into her seat, suppressing laughter. “And then?”

“And then it was so awkward that I just… moved into the hospital since.” Ying Ning sighed again.

“You should just ask her what she really means.”

“She’d never like someone like me,” Ying Ning groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m not fun, and I’m an Alpha—the type she hates most.”

“What’s the point of being ‘fun’? You’re not supposed to be her pet.” Chi Yang rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you should take a page from Pei Jiuyao—if you like someone, just confess.”

“She didn’t confess—she just slept with you,” Ying Ning countered.

Both of them fell into silence, their eyes drifting to the unconscious woman on the bed.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound jolted them.

The door opened, and Wen Li walked in with a smile. “Jiuyao’s still not awake?” she asked, greeting Chi Yang along the way.

Seeing her, Ying Ning froze on the spot, toes instinctively curling back.

“Why are you here, Wen-jie?” Chi Yang deliberately nudged Ying Ning’s shin.

Wen Li raised the food container in her hand. “Someone didn’t come home for New Year’s dinner, so my aunt asked me to bring supper.”

She walked over to glance at Pei Jiuyao, then asked, “She’s alright, isn’t she?”

Chi Yang turned and looked at Pei Jiuyao deeply before answering, “She’s fine. The doctor said it might be PTSD… she just doesn’t want to wake up.”

“Don’t worry too much,” Wen Li pinched Pei Jiuyao’s cheek lightly. “She might wake up tomorrow.”

She lifted her head toward Chi Yang. “I saw something online—people are saying Jiuyao ended up like this because her company worked her to death…”

Chi Yang replied calmly, “I want her to terminate her contract with Tianji.”

“If she does manage to leave Tianji, Sister Wen, would you consider…”

Wen Li instantly understood what Chi Yang meant—she wanted her to join Chi Yang’s studio and continue managing Pei Jiuyao. To Wen Li, that was a rare opportunity. Ever since her falling-out with Mo Tian, she had been sidelined,

without any real work.

Unfortunately, she still owed Mo Tian a hefty breach-of-contract penalty. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Wen Li smiled faintly. “I’ve been at Tianji for nearly ten years.”

The implication was clear: she still wanted to stay. Chi Yang hadn’t expected much anyway. She smiled back. “Then go on and have dinner.”

“You’re not coming, Yangyang?”

“I’ve already eaten. You two go ahead.” Chi Yang gave Ying Ning a small look.

Once the two had left, Chi Yang turned back. A trace of melancholy lingered in her brows as she looked at the unconscious Pei Jiuyao on the bed. She reached out, brushed her fingertips across her cheek, then gently took her fingers and brought them to her lips for a kiss.

Her skin was still warm. And yet, every time Chi Yang sat beside her, there was this flicker of fear—that one day, this warmth would vanish.

But warmth, after all, was proof of existence.

Chi Yang rose and turned off the ward light. The room fell instantly into darkness, leaving only the scattered glow of the city outside.

She laid her ear against Pei Jiuyao’s chest, listening to the strong, steady thump of her heartbeat—solid, reassuring, grounding her.

In this fragile space, the twisted threads of possessiveness inside her finally settled, compressing into a wisp of black mist that she buried deep within her heart.

When the IV bottle was nearly empty, Chi Yang tenderly rubbed Pei Jiuyao’s hand—the one pierced by the needle—before getting up to fetch a fresh bottle of nutrients.

________________________________________

Pei Jiuyao thought her question was ridiculous—why hadn’t her mother ever taken her to an oil painting class?

But soon she realized the ridiculous part wasn’t the question, but the act itself.

If Ming Hui had ever agreed to take her, Pei Jiuyao couldn’t even imagine what that scene would look like.

Maybe Ming Hui would sit in the classroom painting, while she sat outside by the window watching, sunlight falling gently across the canvas.

Just like this moment.

What would Ming Hui be painting then?

Pei Jiuyao stared at the hazy glass surface, where faint silhouettes reflected—the outlines of buildings in the distance, and the endless sky.

Suddenly, the world turned dim, as if an invisible hand was closing around her throat.

Only when Ming Hui stepped out did the world brighten again.

“Mom, what were you painting just now?”

Maybe she painted me.

“Of course, I was painting you,” Ming Hui said with a gentle smile, reaching out to pinch her cheek.

As expected. A quiet satisfaction spread in Pei Jiuyao’s chest. She took Ming Hui’s hand as they walked down the road together.

Suddenly, Ming Hui turned back. “Yaoyao, New Year is coming. Where do you want to go play?”

New Year? Pei Jiuyao looked around—the leaves were still a lush green, clearly the tail end of summer, the beginning of autumn.

And yet… it somehow sounded reasonable.

“Somewhere warm. You hate the cold.”

“Alright.” Ming Hui’s smile was tender.

Pei Jiuyao suddenly froze. She had said those very same words to Chi Yang. But why hadn’t they gone?

Was it because she had come back?

But what had happened before she came back?

A sharp “beep, beep, beep” pierced through her head.

“Mom, do you remember the Jincong Awards? I was nominated for Best Actress. Who ended up winning that year?”

She thought—if it wasn’t her, then it must have been Min Yuan. After twenty years of obscurity, Min Yuan had suddenly exploded in popularity with a suspense film that year.

Sure enough, Ming Hui replied, “If it wasn’t you, then it must have been Min Yuan.”

But Ming Hui had never cared about the entertainment industry. Even after hearing her daughter mention colleagues countless times, she never remembered their names.

“Mom… how do you know Min Yuan? Did you watch her film?” Impossible, Pei Jiuyao thought. Ming Hui had always hated those kinds of bloody thrillers.

This time, Ming Hui fell silent. No matter how she pressed, she wouldn’t answer.

Pei Jiuyao frowned.

Strange.

This world… it felt as though…

It was running according to her imagination.

It couldn’t produce anything beyond her own knowledge—just like staring at the canvas through the glass, unable to see what Ming Hui was actually painting. Ming Hui couldn’t provide her with any answers she didn’t already know.

This wasn’t reality.

A sharp pain stabbed through her body. Pei Jiuyao collapsed, curling into herself, struggling to recall what had happened before she ended up here.

She had been kidnapped.

She had been stabbed.

The world around her dissolved into black-and-white lines. She struggled, watching Ming Hui’s figure tear apart, scattering into light and vanishing into air.

She reached out desperately, shouting “Mom!”—and her eyes flew open.

Darkness.

Pei Jiuyao blinked hard at the pitch-black ceiling, her gaze slowly regaining focus. The beeping beside her grew louder, sharper.

Her eyes trailed down to see an IV drip—and a doctor beside it, masked, holding a syringe, staring at her with an unblinking gaze.

Her lips parted, hoarse. “Who are you?”

The man’s brows knitted. His eyes darkened. Without hesitation, he plunged the syringe into the IV line.

Something was wrong.

Pei Jiuyao tore out the needle, ripped off the tubes from her face, and forced herself out of bed. Her legs buckled, and she fell hard to the ground.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him lunge forward, aiming the syringe at her neck!

With a burst of panic, she grabbed his wrist. Her voice rasped, barely audible: “Who the hell are you?”

She tried to scream for help, but no sound came out. Weak and trembling, she clung desperately to his wrist, but he was stronger. The needle edged closer to her skin.

Her fingers shook uncontrollably. In a sudden flash of instinct, she slammed herself into the bed, toppling the IV stand. The crash echoed loudly through the ward.

Footsteps rushed from outside.

The man’s eyes flickered. He yanked back the syringe and darted toward the window, leaping out in an instant.

Dream or reality—Pei Jiuyao could no longer tell.

A tall woman, nearly six feet, pushed open the door, gasping. “Miss Pei! You’re awake!”

Pei Jiuyao blinked hard.

She didn’t recognize this woman.

Her body shuddered. As the woman came closer, she shoved her back with all her strength and bolted out the door.

Several people were stationed outside. For a moment, they froze in shock, unable to react, and she stumbled past them, fleeing down the hallway.

Only when An came running out did anyone shout: “Quick! Follow her! Tell Second Miss that Pei Jiuyao is awake!”

Pei Jiuyao had no idea how long she ran. The place looked like a hospital, yet this entire floor was deserted.

Her legs grew weak. Dizziness clouded her vision. Her body ached. Finally, realizing no one was on her tail, she stopped to rest against the wall.

When she looked up again, a figure stood not far away. Something slipped from their hand, hitting the floor with a sharp clatter.

Dim light from the corridor lamps spilled between them, but both remained in shadow, their faces unreadable.

After a long pause, Pei Jiuyao’s eyelids trembled—she thought she recognized Chi Yang.

She stepped toward the light. At the same moment, Chi Yang came running toward her.

When their paths crossed under the glow, Pei Jiuyao threw her arms around her, murmuring: “Is it you?”

A faint fragrance drifted from her hair.

The empty hallway felt suddenly alive.

Then—

Whoosh!

Outside the window, a burst of pink fireworks lit up the night sky.