I Transmigrated into a Scummy Alpha and Stole the Heroine from Her Tragic Romance - Chapter 66.2

His underground operations were like parasitic insects, feeding off one another while draining their host.

Years ago, Lu Xu’ang had sent He Manlian’s brother to handle something related to foreign forces. His role was small, and his knowledge was limited.

But he took a risk. He eavesdropped on a conversation and tried to sell the information in exchange for a large payout and a way out.

But leaving a ship of criminals is never easy. That night, He Manlian’s brother died silently and without a trace.

His death was undeniably connected to Lu Xu’ang. The truth He Manlian had longed for only came to light years after her death, when it could no longer change anything.

As the investigation deepened, another shocking detail emerged. The attack on Xu Xiaoqi had been instigated by Yu Shang, but it was Lu Zhiyao who had encouraged it.

She was, without question, a madwoman.

She had wanted to play god, observing from above as others suffered. But in the end, she lost her balance and fell from the stands herself.

Killing He Manlian had been her first murder. It was also the first time she had truly felt something for someone.

So when she saw Zhao Yuan, who bore a striking resemblance to He Manlian, even though they had no connection, she couldn’t help but project those buried emotions onto her.

She wanted to harm Zhao Yuan’s family and friends, thinking she could hide it all.

On that day, Zhao Yuan’s cold exterior seemed to melt. When their silhouettes overlapped, her gentle presence reminded Lu Zhiyao of the rare tenderness He Manlian had once shown her.

The guilt that Lu Zhiyao had buried deep for what happened to He Manlian slowly transferred to Zhao Yuan, which made her lower her guard.

Had she not made so many enemies or behaved so arrogantly, perhaps this dark secret would have remained buried, taken to the grave and never revealed.

But fate had other plans.

On the day the Lu father and daughter were taken away, Yu Peirong began preparing Qi Xiyao for her next project. Gu Jinhua was the screenwriter, and she would be on set full time.

Gu Jinhua, though young, was cheerful and energetic. Her personality was very similar to Zheng Xiuxue’s. She affectionately called both Yu Peirong and Qi Xiyao “sisters” and asked Yu Peirong if she would be joining the team again.

Yu Peirong waved her hand.

“I’ve been acting as a manager long enough. It’s time I returned to my own position. I can’t let Xiaoxue keep doing my job for me.”

Previously, she had stayed close to Qi Xiyao out of fear for her safety and the potential threat of a “villain arc.” But now, the system had vanished, and the original storyline had been completely rewritten. There was nothing left for her to worry about.

Yishui Entertainment had been left to Ye An by her mother. Yu Peirong once asked if she wanted to learn the business. If she did, Yu Peirong was willing to teach her how to manage the company personally and eventually hand it over.

But Ye An responded with a shy smile.

“My mom did expect me to take over, but honestly, I think I prefer doing something else…” She looked into Yu Peirong’s eyes and smiled warmly. “Rong, at first I was afraid of you, maybe even disliked you a little. But later I realized you’re better suited for this role than I am. I’m not as smart as you, and I’m definitely not as calm or strong.”

“I’m really grateful that you’re willing to keep running Yishui.”

Ye An admitted that she saw herself more as a musician than an entertainment executive. She wanted to work alongside Xu Xiaoqi, helping her with arrangements and exploring music together.

Xu Xiaoqi once said she was not suited to be an idol. Idols are born to shine on stage, but she had always placed too many limits on herself. Her personality wasn’t the type to fully let go in the spotlight.

Rather than performing in front of tens of thousands on a stage, she preferred the quiet of a breezy afternoon, lighting a scented candle and sitting with Ye An to work on songwriting.

Ye An was naturally talented at composing. Her dream was to one day become a producer and write music with Xu Xiaoqi, who would perform the songs.

There was something Xu Xiaoqi never openly admitted, but Ye An said it for her. Xu Xiaoqi didn’t want to be an idol. What she really wanted was to be a pure singer. She didn’t care for flashy variety shows or hectic travel schedules. She simply wanted to quietly focus on creating music.

Ye An wanted to accompany her through the rest of her life, supporting her until the day she could finally fulfill the dream she once left unfinished, releasing a new album.

Yu Peirong didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. When Ye An gently declined the offer, she simply responded with a calm “OK.”

That morning, on her way to work, Yu Peirong glanced at her phone and came across a video. It showed the Lu family’s father and daughter being arrested, recorded from up close.

Lu Xu’ang, once untouchable, was finally caught. Though the empire he built was collapsing, his pride had not completely crumbled. Two police officers walked him forward slowly. Light rain fell from the sky, and the misty moisture spread across the city, cold and damp.

Lu Zhiyao followed behind him, her back straight and her steps firm. Despite the bruises on her face, her unique aura remained undiminished.

She looked like a wolf, crouched and ready to pounce. At any moment, she might tear into her prey without hesitation. Even if the prey was her own father, Lu Zhiyao felt no fear.

Yu Peirong thought, when Lu Xu’ang found out the truth about his daughter and the woman he once loved, he must have been devastated. Especially because this truth likely came from his former in-laws. It would have been a brutal blow, stabbing holes through his pride and his heart.

But how this case would be handled from here would depend on what evidence the maternal side of Lu Zhiyao’s family could present during the appeal process.

Yu Peirong had acted swiftly and decisively when dealing with Yu Litian, as his background was relatively clean. But the Lu family was far more complex. All they could do was light the fuse. Where the fire would spread from there, and how fiercely it would burn, was no longer their concern.

The timing wasn’t right yet.

If she had come into this world alone, Yu Peirong would have chosen to protect herself, staying far away from danger and ensuring that none of it ever touched her.

She had never been the type to get involved in messy affairs. She avoided drama within the industry and kept her talents hidden.

But things were different now.

Now, she had Qi Xiyao.

Even if it was only for Qi Xiyao, she had no choice but to involve herself. Only by completely bringing down the Lu family could they eliminate the threat once and for all.

Sometimes, taking a risky path didn’t mean seeking destruction. It meant survival through bold action.

The girl group project she had planned months ago was now approaching debut. They had chosen a brand-new format for this launch growth-style livestreaming.

The idea wasn’t to raise these girls from childhood, but to stream their journey as trainees in real time, allowing the audience to experience their lives up close.

With no glamorous activities and only endless training, this format showed their most authentic selves. The camera never looked away. Since it was live, there were no audio edits, no manipulative cuts. Every girl’s personality and skill level was laid bare. Over time, it became impossible to fake anything.

Yu Peirong had once been invited as a guest mentor for a male idol show. She wasn’t especially skilled in music or dance, and her main role had been to offer commentary from an audience perspective and attract viewers. But she noticed that the editing-heavy format often drained the audience’s interest. On camera, the contestants acted like brothers, but behind the scenes, many were bitterly competing for screen time or stage parts.

That wasn’t meaningful to her.

This time, she had worked with the television network for a long time to develop a completely new approach. At first, many doubted the concept and predicted it would flop. But the longer the show aired, the more popular it became.

The reason was simple. Watching raw performances without editing gave a more satisfying and transparent experience. Viewers could clearly judge each trainee’s real abilities, making the competition feel fair and honest.

And under the scrutiny of live cameras, forced behavior or calculated charm became far less appealing than small, genuine interactions. Fans were obsessed with spotting sweet moments and hidden connections.

The night before Qi Xiyao joined her new project team was the show’s final group formation night.

Yu Peirong personally attended and placed the crown on the winner.

It was early spring, and though the rain outside was constant and dreary, the atmosphere inside the venue was electrifying. Nine girls stood on stage, some nervous, some hopeful. After the mentors finished speaking, Yu Peirong appeared on the big screen.

She wore a chiffon blouse with a long black buttoned skirt. Her style was modest and elegant, carefully chosen not to overshadow the girls on their big night.

Her makeup was soft and simple, but even so, she stood out in the crowd.

The final winner was a beautiful girl with pale blonde hair. She had not been one of the fan favorites but had climbed her way to the top with determination and raw talent.

The girl Yu Peirong had once expected to debut had already withdrawn. After Lu Zhiyao lost interest in her, she was left to fend for herself and eventually faded out.

Because the show was livestreamed and unedited, even those who didn’t remember the blonde girl at first were gradually moved by her persistence and passion. Whether they were fans or not, no one resented her for taking the center spot.

Her name was Jiang Chenyen, and she was an Alpha.

Yu Peirong placed the crown gently on Jiang Chenyen’s head. The girl bowed slightly, and her eyes sparkled with open admiration.

“Thank you, Director Yu!” she said excitedly.

It wasn’t a romantic affection, but sincere respect for a kind and capable mentor.

Yu Peirong could sense the girl’s warmth and eagerness to connect. She smiled and gave her shoulder a gentle pat.

“On a night like this, calling me Director Yu sounds a little too formal, don’t you think?”

Jiang Chenyen stammered nervously. “Then… how about Sister Rong?”

One of the girls beside her nudged her playfully and whispered teasingly, “You got it wrong. I heard that’s Sister Yao’s exclusive nickname.”

She forgot she was still wearing a headset. The whisper echoed across the stage, and several people turned to look at them. The girl raised both hands in mock innocence while Yu Peirong laughed, clearly not offended.

She asked with a smile, “Who told you that?”

The girls all answered in unison, “Sister Xiaoxue!”

Yu Peirong paused. How did she end up with such a loudspeaker on her team?

The atmosphere had been charged with tension and emotion. Some girls were about to part ways after months of training. But this lighthearted moment eased the mood and brought smiles to the stage.

After clearing her throat, Yu Peirong looked at Jiang Chenyen, then addressed the audience.

“Before launching this program, I spent a long time thinking it through. This project was completely different from anything I’d done before. During the planning stage, there were moments of doubt, disagreements, and uncertainty. But I’m glad the results proved the skeptics wrong.”

“Life is full of forks in the road. Maybe here, some of you just missed your debut spot. But in another group, another chance, you could be like Jiang Chenyen tonight, standing proudly in the center.”

“What I want to say is, no matter what happens next, whether you stay in this industry or move on to something else, never forget why you started. You came to this program to share your voice and your dreams with the world. And I started this company for the same reason to create a space where people chasing dreams can grow together and win together. That’s all I ever wanted.”

As Yu Peirong finished speaking, applause erupted from the audience, loud and long-lasting.

At the very end, she subtly raised her hand in the direction of a hidden camera.

On the lower side of her white chiffon blouse, near the hemline, there was a faint lipstick mark.

It was from the same lipstick Qi Xiyao had worn on the night the overnight rumors first began spreading.

At that time, Qi Xiyao had no access to high-end makeup or luxury endorsements. Getting even a small magazine feature was already considered a good opportunity.

But things had changed. As long as she could make a mark with this new film, more and more resources and offers would surely follow.

Qi Xiyao had been too busy with pre-production to attend the final group night in person. But when she watched the livestream and noticed Yu Peirong’s subtle gesture, she couldn’t help but smile knowingly.

That night, hashtags for the group formation event, Yu Peirong, and even the absent Qi Xiyao all trended at the top of the social media charts.

Previously, rumors had swirled around Yu Peirong and Qi Xiyao’s supposedly inappropriate relationship. The only time public sentiment had eased was during their appearance on a relationship reality show. When the Lu Zhiyao scandal broke, people started mocking Zhao Yuan and Lu Zhiyao for faking their relationship, and some suggested Yu Peirong and Qi Xiyao might also just be “playing around.”

But after Yu Peirong’s speech tonight, public opinion began to shift dramatically.

During her time managing Yishui Entertainment, her treatment of artists had been consistently fair. She didn’t particularly favor Qi Xiyao; she simply gave her the opportunities any artist deserved.

Whether or not she could seize those chances was entirely up to Qi Xiyao herself.

But no one could deny that Qi Xiyao had performed flawlessly, taking hold of every opportunity that came her way.

That day’s heat brought another trending topic with it—#QiXiyaoJoinsNewFilmProject. No promotional push was needed. Fans and casual viewers alike rode the momentum and once again pushed her name to the top.

Her last performance had been a massive success. People had been hoping to see her lead a major production, and to their surprise, that dream had come true sooner than expected.

The film would take several months to shoot. After post-production and review, it was likely to release sometime next year.

Many speculated she might make it into the coveted Spring Festival release window.

The new script featured a strong female lead building her career. The second female role was the protagonist’s younger sister, played by An Xiaotang. At first, she hadn’t planned to audition, since there had been many strong candidates—after all, scripts written by Gu Jinhua were known for their depth.

But when she heard Qi Xiyao had been cast as the lead, she decided to give it a try. To her surprise, their chemistry during auditions was a perfect match, and she got the role.

Qi Xiyao genuinely liked An Xiaotang, who was cheerful, lively, and straightforward. This would be their first time working together as sisters on screen, though they already called each other “sisters” off-screen.

This time, the one accompanying Qi Xiyao to the set was Zheng Xiuxue.

She had majored in a field related to entertainment in college and had recently passed the certification exam to become a professional manager. Originally, she had planned to gain some experience with a smaller artist, but Yu Peirong had directly entrusted Qi Xiyao to her.

The two swapped roles. Zheng Xiuxue was already close to Qi Xiyao, and Yu Peirong felt much more comfortable entrusting her girlfriend to someone she knew and trusted, rather than a stranger.

To Qi Xiyao, Zheng Xiuxue had always seemed outgoing yet measured. But on the very first day on set, she unexpectedly clashed with Gu Jinhua.

It wasn’t for the usual reasons. There was no conflict over schedules, resources, or artist protection.

It was all because of eggs at breakfast.

Each morning, the production team prepared a large pot of eggs for the cast and crew. Gu Jinhua wanted tea eggs, while Zheng Xiuxue insisted on plain boiled eggs. And somehow, this turned into a full-blown argument.

Although Zheng Xiuxue was Yu Peirong’s cousin, she never acted high and mighty. She was polite, gentle, and respectful to others.

But something about Gu Jinhua set her off. Every time they crossed paths, it was like she’d swallowed fireworks—instant combustion.

As Qi Xiyao sat getting her makeup done, she checked the time and realized the argument had lasted fifteen minutes. Speechless, she sent a message to Yu Peirong along with a short video clip of the scene.

Just the day before, Yu Peirong had praised Zheng Xiuxue for being calm and mature. Little did she know her cousin’s “stellar performance” had already been exposed.

Fuming, Zheng Xiuxue turned to walk away only to hear Gu Jinhua speak with a shaky, tearful voice.

She turned back to see the elegant Alpha with furrowed brows and shallow breaths.

“There’s no need to argue like school kids over something this small. If you hate me that much, just say it. I’ve got things going on too. I’ll come to set less if that makes you feel better.”

“You…”

Zheng Xiuxue had never really gotten into heated fights before. When she did, it was usually one-sided—she’d lash out and walk away, unapologetic and cutting straight to the point. But she didn’t actually hate Gu Jinhua.

And now, seeing her like this…

Zheng Xiuxue had always believed that when it came to opportunists, even a single word was too much. If she truly disliked someone, she would have walked away long ago without saying another word.

Now, seeing an Alpha so worked up because of her, face flushed and visibly upset, Zheng Xiuxue felt a sudden pang of guilt and discomfort. Her tone softened as she gently pulled Gu Jinhua aside to a quieter corner and spoke awkwardly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. This isn’t even my set. If you want to be here, of course you can be… Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying? You’re a grown-up! How old are you? Can you stop crying already?”

Gu Jinhua, the well-known rising screenwriter, had her face flushed crimson. Her chest rose and fell sharply with tension as she rubbed her reddened hand, which she had pinched in frustration. With a trembling voice, she muttered under her breath:

“If you kiss me on the cheek, I… I’ll stop crying…”

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