After the Scummy Alpha Marked the Crazy Beautiful Heroine - Chapter 60

The next day, the group set out to visit the ruins of an ancient city.

Su Yin, under the pretense of “taking care of everyone,” carried an enormous backpack stuffed with all sorts of useless odds and ends.

By the time they headed back, she was clearly exhausted. Out of courtesy and the principle of mutual support, Pei Jiuyao helped carry the bag for part of the way. Su Yin followed beside her, walking just fine—until she suddenly “twisted her ankle.”

Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at Pei Jiuyao, lips trembling, voice pitched with a sob:

“Jiuyao-jie, could you help me walk for a bit?”

It was hard to tell if she was truly hurt or just putting on a show.

“Jiuyao’s already carrying your bag. Let Yinghan help you,” Fang Qimeng cut in, clearly unimpressed.

She was over fifty years old and had never once needed anyone’s help to walk. Yet this twenty-something girl insisted on lugging useless junk, ignored advice, dumped her pack on someone else after a few steps, and now wanted to be supported like an invalid.

Looking for trouble, plain and simple.

Su Yin’s eyes reddened in an instant. Clutching at Pei Jiuyao’s sleeve, she murmured, “Can’t we let Yinghan-jie carry the bag instead?”

“It’s fine, I’ll carry it,” Pei Jiuyao refused to shift her burden onto anyone else.

Even Ding Yinghan came over, finding it hard to watch.

It was one thing to hype up a CP, but Su Yin was relentless—needing to be fed, to have her things carried, now even demanding to be held up while walking.

But there was no helping it. Six people together meant group dynamics, and with a variety show being filmed, no matter who made a scene, as host she would have to smooth it over.

So Ding Yinghan took the pack off Pei Jiuyao’s shoulders. Facing the camera, she couldn’t say much, so she simply patted Jiuyao’s shoulder and said, “Just focus on looking after her.”

Pei Jiuyao thanked her, then quietly supported Su Yin all the way down from the ruins.

After dinner, the group drove back to the guesthouse. Naturally, Su Yin slipped into the same car as Pei Jiuyao.

“Jiuyao-jie, am I dragging everyone down?” Su Yin clung to her sleeve, eyes wide, seizing every chance to feed the CP hype.

You don’t know if you’re dragging people down? Pei Jiuyao thought.

But she kept her temper in check, gently pushing Su Yin’s hand away. “No.”

“Good,” Su Yin beamed, utterly unfazed, immediately leaning back against her. “I thought the jiejies were angry.”

“They wouldn’t be. Omegas are naturally a little weaker,” Jiuyao said—though among the four Omegas in the group, only this one was being troublesome.

Su Yin either missed the subtext or ignored it. Teary-eyed and smiling sweetly, she said, “Good thing you’re here to take care of me. I really don’t want to be a burden.”

“Jiuyao-jie, could you rub my ankle? It really hurts.” She pouted coyly.

So much for not being a burden. Su Yin was exhausting.

Before Jiuyao could decide how to refuse, the car pulled to a stop. She exhaled in relief.

“We’re here. Go put some heat on it,” she said, stepping out quickly.

She thought that was the end of it, but Su Yin clung to the car door and called out sweetly, “Jiuyao-jie, so many stairs! Carry me up?”

“Stop making trouble for Jiuyao,” Fang Qimeng snapped. “She’s been tired all day. Just let her support you up the stairs.”

Su Yin jutted her lip. “My Jiuyao’s waist is strong, her arms have strength. She won’t get tired.”

Then, with a sly smile, she added, “Even if it wasn’t just a day—even if it was all night—she still wouldn’t be tired.”

The air froze.

Even Jiuyao felt awkward. If that line made it into the final cut, wouldn’t it sound like they were implying something indecent?

Jing Yi, oblivious to the subtext, tugged Fang Qimeng’s arm and said gently, “Don’t bother them.”

With everyone waiting downstairs, Jiuyao went over, pulled Su Yin’s arm around her shoulders, and whispered, “Enough. Let’s go up.”

Satisfied that Jiuyao was finally cooperating, Su Yin behaved herself and leaned against her up the stairs.

But when they pushed the door open, a figure stood at the entryway.

Someone behind them blinked in surprise and called out: “Chi Yang?”

Pei Jiuyao’s hand trembled against Su Yin’s arm. Lowering her lashes, she guided Su Yin inside and settled her on the sofa.

At the entryway, Chi Yang was greeting the others. Ding Yinghan, already aware she would be joining, introduced her:

“This is our special guest for the season—Grand Slam Best Actress, Miss Chi Yang.”

“Yangyang, it’s been ages! Ever since you left the industry, we haven’t seen you. Who’d have thought we’d meet on a variety show?” Jing Yi’s eyes grew misty as she embraced her. “Come in, come in!”

Jiuyao glanced back, just in time to see Chi Yang lift the thing in her hand, smile faintly at the others, and say, “I’ll come in later.”

The others understood and went off to settle themselves.

Su Yin, her CP-stirring task done for the day, no longer clung to Jiuyao. But when she noticed Jiuyao heading toward the entryway, she followed.

As the daughter of Xingchong’s vice president, she had long heard rumors about Jiuyao and Chi Yang. Though never confirmed by either party, she knew better than most how Jiuyao had gotten into Xingchong.

Su Yin didn’t care what their relationship was. What she couldn’t allow was this retired, unexpected guest derailing her own “heat-chasing” plans.

When she saw Chi Yang put a cigarette to her lips, she relaxed and walked away—footage like that would never make it into the final cut.

The cigarette stayed unlit. Jiuyao knew the gesture—Chi Yang didn’t want to appear on camera.

“Why are you here?” Jiuyao asked. Even hearing the words “special guest,” she couldn’t make sense of it. “To talk business?”

By “business,” she meant sponsorships.

Chi Yang lifted her lashes, cigarette still between her teeth. “I am here for work. Just not the kind you think.”

“You’re here to record the show?”

Chi Yang removed the cigarette, pinching it between her fingers, voice soft: “I didn’t mean to intrude. I signed a contract with Director Chen earlier.”

Jiuyao frowned slightly. “What contract?”

Chi Yang answered without hesitation:

“Back when we were on the music show, Director Chen threatened me with that nonsense about me ‘keeping’ you. She forced me to agree to be a permanent guest on her next variety program.”

“And you agreed?”

“What else could I do? I couldn’t let her stab you in the back.”

Chi Yang hadn’t expected a few words to soften Jiuyao’s heart—or to earn gratitude.

But the fact that Jiuyao stayed unmoved still left her unsettled.

Leaning lazily against the doorway, she tilted her head, lips curved faintly, eyes fixed on Jiuyao. She looked weary, yet her gaze burned.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but Jiuyao felt that if they weren’t standing at the threshold, under cameras and surrounded by people, Chi Yang would already have pulled her into a kiss.

Every time she looked into those light brown eyes, she thought of lines like “In the lake of your eyes, my poor heart drowns and dissolves” and “In every soft corner, there waits the fever of a kiss.”

Chi Yang’s very presence was a dazzling, unsettling romance. Not the rose of a lover, but the fragility of beauty dancing on the edge of ruin—her own Jeanette Winterson, her one and only strawberry.

Jiuyao chose to step away from that turbulent sea.

But Chi Yang caught her hand. “Yaoyao, why were you holding Su Yin just now?”

The question was simple on the surface—answerable with “She sprained her ankle.” But both of them knew that wasn’t really what she was asking.

“She sprained her ankle,” Jiuyao still replied.

“Yet out of everyone, she clung only to you.” The waves rolled closer, sticky and irresistible.

Jiuyao pulled her hand back. “And in what capacity is Miss Chi questioning me?”

She turned to leave, stepping back into the camera’s range—only to be yanked against the doorframe.

Frowning, she demanded, “Chi Yang, what are you doing?”

“I have no capacity,” Chi Yang whispered, strangely aggrieved—cold, quiet, almost pitiable. “Because you won’t give me one.”

“And Bai Zhi?” Her eyes reddened. “How could she let you hype CPs with someone else? I can’t even bear the thought of it.”

Her demeanor had shifted. She was still the same person, but where she had once acted unconsciously coquettish, now she wielded it openly.

It caught Jiuyao off guard—felt almost like a performance.

If Chi Yang thought this was the kind of Omega she liked, she was mistaken.

“Be normal,” Jiuyao said, pushing her upright.

Lowering her head, Chi Yang arched a brow, murmuring, “I’m trying to please you.”

“Then do it normally.”

“I am normal.” She took a step closer, restrained her frustration, and leaned in. “I won’t question who you care for or how you treat others. I’ll only do what I should.”

“And what’s that?” Jiuyao asked.

“To please you. To make you happy. To wait until you come back to me of your own will.” Her voice carried fierce conviction. “I won’t cage you. You’re free.”

Something about it rang false, as if she was coaxing a child.

Yet faced with those steady eyes, it sounded almost reasonable.

Jiuyao patted her head lightly. “That’s best.”

That evening, all six women ate together—except Chi Yang. She went alone to the kitchen, then deliberately called Jiuyao over in front of the cameras, saying she had made too much and needed help finishing it.

When Jiuyao came, there were exactly two bowls of noodles on the table—topped with tomato and egg, with a few greens stirred in.

Clearly prepared for two. Chi Yang waited for some kind of praise, but Jiuyao simply sat down and ate in silence, never looking up.

The soft glow faded. Disappointment pressed at Chi Yang’s chest.

She wanted to ask if her noodles tasted better than Su Yin’s—but knew Jiuyao would never answer under the cameras. She might even think her meddlesome.

So Chi Yang merely stole a glance, quiet and longing.

Her Pei Jiuyao.

She was her moon before her eyes, the person lodged deep in her heart—her gravity, her unreachable star.

She was a handful of melting snow in winter, the curled edges of an old photograph scorched by fire.

Chi Yang didn’t even dare to touch her, afraid that one careless move would cost her everything, that she would never again be able to set foot in Pei Jiuyao’s world.

And yet, she couldn’t help herself—blocking her at the door, pressing her against the wall, tearing down all her defenses, kissing her with reckless force.

So she hovered between the two extremes: hesitation and pursuit, possession and surrender.

This is my puppy, Chi Yang thought as she watched Pei Jiuyao quietly eat her noodles.
But no matter how many times she repeated my puppy in her head, it never thrilled her as much as the thought of being Pei Jiuyao’s loyal dog instead.

Ever since meeting Pei Jiuyao, all the obsession Chi Yang had been hoarding since she was eight shattered like a cosmic explosion. And when she lost her, that same obsession came crashing back, drowning her without mercy.

Pei Jiuyao herself had never changed. No matter how many people claimed she had evolved from a pretty vase into a true actress, no matter how many directors praised her as their muse.

Only Chi Yang knew that Pei Jiuyao had always been Pei Jiuyao, from the very first day she met her.

This muse of theirs had only ever gasped on her bed—estrous, eyes reddened. They had seen in each other what could never be shown to the world: not just bare skin, but naked hearts. One woman’s obsession and possessiveness; the other’s fragile sense of self. Secrets impossible to dissect and present to the public, yet perfectly clear to the two of them.

If she had known it would be like this, perhaps she should never have tried to play the part of a “normal” person, never let Pei Jiuyao misunderstand.

Just then, while Chi Yang was staring at her with raw, unguarded eyes, Su Yin slid into the seat beside them, shattering her thoughts.

“Jiuyao-jie, are you hungry?” Su Yin leaned on the table with one hand, blinking her large eyes at Pei Jiuyao.

Chi Yang bristled at the interruption, but Su Yin ignored her displeasure completely.

Su Yin knew exactly how much damage Chi Yang’s sudden intrusion had done to her own connection with Pei Jiuyao.

After all, a top-tier starlet paired with a Grand Slam-winning actress was far more marketable than being seen with a nobody like her.

Now was the time to wedge herself in between them.

And maybe—not only win over Pei Jiuyao, but also curry favor with the Grand Slam queen herself, now Minghe’s acting CEO. That would be a delightful bonus.

Besides, Su Yin had heard that Chi Yang was an Alpha too. If she could make Chi Yang her wife, then who cared about some flimsy little dream of “making it” in showbiz?

Pei Jiuyao glanced at Su Yin. She had to admit, this Omega was very pretty—the sweet, cutesy type who knew how to act spoiled and play to the audience. If she didn’t stir up trouble, she might have been a real crowd favorite.

But unfortunately, Pei Jiuyao lowered her head and continued eating.

Su Yin nudged her arm. “Jiuyao, does it taste good?”

“It’s fine.” Pei Jiuyao didn’t look up.

At those two words—it’s fine—Chi Yang lifted her head and shot Su Yin a cold glance.

Su Yin didn’t notice. Instead, she turned to Chi Yang with a smile: “Jie, I made tomato and scrambled eggs yesterday too. Jiuyao ate a whole plate! Looks like we’re really in sync, even in cooking. Next time, you should try my cooking.”

“I’m afraid you’ll poison me,” Chi Yang replied, her voice icy. “And I don’t have a younger sister. Don’t call me that.”

Su Yin froze for a moment. She prided herself on reading people well, and instantly understood: Chi Yang was untouchable.

This woman hated her—so maybe the rumors were true.

Still, it looked like Chi Yang was the only one who had feelings for Pei Jiuyao.

She muttered under her breath, an old cow after young grass, then turned back to Pei Jiuyao, feigning tears. “Jiuyao-jie, is my cooking really that bad?”

“It’s fine. Pretty good, actually,” Pei Jiuyao set down her chopsticks. “Not deadly.”

Su Yin shot Chi Yang a triumphant look. “I knew it.”

Chi Yang’s eyes flashed like blades of ice. Worried she might explode on camera, Pei Jiuyao lightly brushed her calf with the tip of her shoe under the table.

The sudden touch drained the fight right out of Chi Yang. She lowered her gaze and quietly finished her noodles.

Pei Jiuyao turned to Su Yin. “Go rest early. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Satisfied, Su Yin bounced upstairs.

Pei Jiuyao scanned the table and was about to rise when Chi Yang reached out, taking her bowl. “I’ll wash.”

“Then I’ll shower.” Pei Jiuyao didn’t argue. But as she passed, Chi Yang caught her hand.

“Why did you touch me just now?”

Her foxlike eyes narrowed into a round, innocent imitation of Su Yin’s, complete with a slow, exaggerated blink.

The cool, distant mask had vanished, replaced with a childlike warmth.

She had clearly kicked her under the table, yet insisted she had merely touched her.

“I didn’t want you doing something stupid on camera,” Pei Jiuyao said evenly. “Shows like this love conflict. If you two fought, they’d definitely air it.”

“Fight? I don’t need to. I have plenty of ways to make her behave.” Chi Yang gave a soft, scornful laugh. “Green tea bitch.”

Then she hesitated, suddenly unsure if she’d gone too far. She peeked up through her lashes, watching Pei Jiuyao’s reaction. When she saw no anger, she pressed her grip tighter.

Pei Jiuyao sighed helplessly. “Why waste energy on a kid?”

Chi Yang blinked, stunned. “You think I’m old?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m going to shower,” Pei Jiuyao said at last, glancing down at the hand holding hers.

A thousand questions crowded Chi Yang’s throat—about Su Yin, about herself, about them. Did Pei Jiuyao prefer that kind of spoiled, coquettish Omega?

If she learned how to act spoiled too, would Pei Jiuyao like her more?

But in the end, she obediently let go, lowering her eyes at the table.

Because the more she said, the more mistakes she made. Because Pei Jiuyao hated her possessiveness.

Whenever she was outside Pei Jiuyao’s gaze, her expression turned wintry and remote, like a blade standing upright. Her skin was so pale it nearly blended into the walls, devoid of color—except for her lips, soft and crimson.

Her curls framed her face, softening her, making her seem young and almost childlike.

She was mature—mature enough to survive battlefields, even a bullet. She was always mature.

But never in front of Pei Jiuyao. To her, she exposed the softest, most vulnerable part of her belly. Even if Pei Jiuyao sliced it open, she would accept it, so long as she could stay by her side.

It made people ache to protect her.

The truth was, she didn’t need to act spoiled, or mimic Su Yin.

Her very existence was enough to make her lovable.

But Pei Jiuyao knew that wasn’t enough. Chi Yang’s temperament had to be tempered, or else—if she didn’t hurt Pei Jiuyao—one day, she would surely hurt herself.

If she couldn’t escape her nightmares, there could be no new beginning. Pei Jiuyao refused to go through that cycle again.

When she emerged from the shower, Chi Yang had already cleaned up the kitchen and was sitting on the sofa.

Pei Jiuyao glanced at her, then went to dry her hair.

The bathroom door was ajar. From the sofa, Chi Yang could see her back.

She wore nothing but a black silk slip. The lines of her body were sleek, her hips full, her calves toned.

At the sight of that body beneath the thin fabric, Chi Yang’s mouth went dry. She gulped water to moisten her throat.

She was an Omega who had always been passive in bed. The only time she had taken the lead was after medicating herself into an Alpha, just to bite Pei Jiuyao once.

For the first time, she felt a burning urge to ravage this woman.

That curve of her ass—surely it would feel incredible to hold.

Chi Yang bit her finger, reclined against the sofa.

Droplets slipped from Pei Jiuyao’s damp hair, trailing down her neck, disappearing beneath her slip, reappearing along her legs before falling to the floor.

Heat surged uncontrollably through Chi Yang.

Her pheromone disorder might have been cured, and the inhibitors did dampen her drives—but her hunger for Pei Jiuyao had never lessened.

She just had to suppress it.

Because Pei Jiuyao didn’t like it. So Chi Yang was still learning how to be the kind of person Pei Jiuyao could love.

Thinking of this, she drifted into a restless sleep. Dreams tangled her, pulling her backward and forward through time. Maybe a year ago, maybe a year ahead.

Pei Jiuyao was there beside her, clad in that thin slip. Her long fingers tugged at the strap, baring the swell of her breast.

She traced Chi Yang’s lips, slid inside to hook her tongue, and whispered:

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Chi Yang lunged forward eagerly—only to be pushed back.

Pei Jiuyao smiled. “Don’t rush. Where do you want to kiss me?”

Everywhere, Chi Yang thought. I want to devour you whole.

But before she could speak, that smile bewitched her soul—and then Pei Jiuyao vanished.

Gone.

Panic seized Chi Yang. Was she gone forever?

Her calm mask shattered, her face twisted in the mirror before her. She barely recognized herself—wild, desperate, deranged.

Struggling, roaring, breaking apart.
Her cold exterior was only a shell. The mirror showed the fractured truth inside.

And then—someone called her name.

Pei Jiuyao stood over her, watching her brows knit in troubled sleep, and gently tapped her shoulder. “Chi Yang. Wake up. Go back to bed.”

Chi Yang’s eyes flew open. Pei Jiuyao’s blurred face wavered before her.

The world tilted. She felt like a leaf tossed by waves, rolling and sinking, her body limp as if dissolving into the sofa beneath her—like a tiny boat swallowed by the sea.

Then suddenly, she saw Pei Jiuyao clearly, heard her voice:

“Go sleep in the bedroom.”

The same gentle tone as always.

Chi Yang inhaled sharply, oxygen flooding her chest.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, lips trembling as though forming words.

For a moment, she thought she was back in that villa a year ago—when they slept in each other’s arms, when they made love like lunatics.

The instant Pei Jiuyao saw her tears spill, her fingers twitched but didn’t move.

Then Chi Yang’s lips quivered, shaping the softest whisper:

“Baby.”