Not a Scummy Alpha, But a Sweet Puppy (Transmigration Into A Novel) - Chapter 1

The summer sun felt hotter than a high-temperature sauna. Jiang Zhenmian, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, walked on the sidewalk hot enough to fry an egg, feeling little different from a slab of pork belly sizzling on a grill.

The only sliver of shade beneath the bus stop sign had long been claimed. She adjusted her cap, its short brim barely offering any protection against the UV rays.

But more than the oppressive heat, it was the novel she’d just finished reading that truly set her blood boiling.

Jiang Zhenmian was fiercely independent and self-aware. She despised many things, but “love-brain” mentality topped the list.

In her eyes, abandoning one’s dignity and reason for love, circling around someone like a lowly, subservient animal, was utterly incomprehensible.

Shouldn’t loving oneself come before loving another?

And if that “someone” made their girlfriend wag her tail and beg like a dog, they couldn’t possibly be a good person. What was there to admire about such a person?

She typically read novels with no romantic subplot or stories featuring strong, career-driven female leads, rarely touching romance genres. But one day, a friend recommended this novel, claiming a supporting character shared her exact name.

According to the universally acknowledged law of transmigrators, encountering a novel with the same name as yours demands a thorough and meticulous reading.

So she read it. By the end, she wanted to gouge her eyes out.

After sending the novel’s title, her friend had spammed a long string of “hahahaha.” At first, she hadn’t understood, but now it all made sense.

What kind of absurd garbage is this?!

Jiang Zhenmian’s fingers flew across her phone screen, nearly poking a hole through the glass as she furiously ranted: “What kind of brain-dead novel did you share with me? I won’t even comment on the classic domineering CEO x innocent damsel trope. Everyone knows how that goes. But that female supporting character… is she even human?”

“Does the author hate women? Three female characters, and one is a clueless idiot with the IQ of a goldfish, a clumsy buffoon who can’t even carry a glass of water without tripping. Another is a love-obsessed lunatic who throws away her family, her company, and eventually her life for some guy. What’s the point? Is she attracted to his drunken brawls and abusive behavior? I bet she’s just got a concussion. And the last one? A total scumbag, the ultimate embodiment of every male and female scumbag stereotype, a perfect representation of a ‘player.’ She doesn’t do a single human thing. She’s just a walking, talking dumpster fire. It’s so ridiculous. It’s hilarious.”

“That so-called ‘domineering CEO’ is a complete moron. He’s jealous of his own sister’s success, convinced she stole his rightful place as head of the Gu Corporation. She saved the company through her own merits and expanded it to new heights, while he just sits around spouting ‘domineering CEO’ clichés.”

“Wake up! The Qing Dynasty is long gone, and your family has no throne to inherit. You’re constantly scheming against others, yet you never bother to look in the mirror and see what a pathetic excuse for a man you are. All you do is race cars and dote on your ‘pure white lotus’ girlfriend. How can someone with such a pea-sized brain become a ‘domineering CEO’? At least you’ve mastered the ‘smirking with sinister charm’ part.”

“Author, are you okay? If you want the male lead to be powerful and influential, why not make him earn it through his own merits? Why kill off a perfectly good character just to hand him the spoils? Is he still stuck in his beggar origins from his past life, desperately clinging to handouts?”

Jiang Zhenmian’s brow furrowed so deeply it could crush a fly. Her eyes burned with a fury that made it seem like World War III was erupting on her phone screen.

After a furious burst of typing, she finally vented some of her frustration. How could reading a novel make her feel so suffocated? Jiang Zhenmian scrolled through a certain website, deciding to reread XX later to cleanse her eyes and mind, allowing her superior intellect to reclaim its rightful dominance. She needed to purge her brain of the domineering CEO’s nonsensical pronouncements: “I forbid it! I refuse to allow it! Woman, your petty tricks have been exposed!”

Help me, spare her!

Why isn’t the car here yet? Jiang Zhenmian checked the time. Her stomach was already protesting. She opened her food delivery app, wondering what to order when she got home. As she scrolled through the restaurant list, a sudden chorus of screams and sharp car horns pierced the air. She looked up in shock to see an out-of-control truck barreling toward her, sending a girl in a yellow dress and a boy with a skateboard flying. Then it was her turn.

Fuck! The instant she was thrown into the air, Jiang Zhenmian’s first thought was pain, followed by a desperate plea: Please don’t let me get disfigured! All this good looks would be wasted.
She crashed into a thicket of bushes, every inch of her body throbbing. As her mind swam in a daze, she vaguely remembered: Thank goodness I bought insurance.

An orphan, Jiang Zhenmian had managed to make a decent living after several years of work. By saving diligently, she had almost enough for a down payment on a small one-bedroom apartment.

Today was supposed to be the day she went to view the property.

Instead, disaster struck. Her brand-new phone was probably smashed to pieces.

Her vision blurred, stars danced before her eyes, and the screams of passersby faded into the distance, muffled as if through layers of cotton. As the excruciating pain of broken bones surged through her, Jiang Zhenmian lost consciousness.

The incessant buzzing, like a swarm of persistent mosquitoes, burrowed into Jiang Zhenmian’s mind. She felt as if she were on a rocking ship, swaying back and forth, tossed by the waves. She forced her eyelids open, and the darkness receded like retreating water, replaced by a blinding ray of sunlight that streamed through the parted curtains, striking her face directly.

Squinting against the glare, Jiang Zhenmian felt her head throb violently. A fair-skinned girl was looking up at her. “Still sleeping? Aren’t you going to class?”

The question left Jiang Zhenmian completely dazed. She sat up, the thin blanket sliding off her shoulders to reveal her short-sleeved pajamas underneath. “What class?”

The girl gave her a speechless look. “Old Mrs. Jiang’s Art History. It starts at one o’clock, and it’s already twelve forty. You’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

Jiang Zhenmian stared at her, and the girl stared back. Beyond the curtains lay the familiar yet unfamiliar sight of a university dormitory room.

A sudden realization struck her: Could I have actually transmigrated?

Her mind was a jumbled mess, completely disoriented about her current situation. Suppressing her chaotic speculations, Jiang Zhenmian immediately said, “Just let me get dressed. I’ll be right out. We can go together.”

She had no idea where the classroom was.
Her clothes were laid out at the head of the bed. Jiang Zhenmian slipped into a pair of shorts, rummaged through the pockets, and found a set of keys. She put the keys back, grabbed her phone, and clambered down the ladder, pulling on her shoes. Her gaze swept across the desk, picking out her art history textbook from the pile of textbooks. She grabbed a pen and glanced at herself in the mirror.

She looks just like me.

Jiang Zhenmian calmly set the mirror down and smoothed her sleep-tousled hair. The whole process took less than three minutes.

“Let’s go,” she said.

The two girls walked out of the dorm room, one behind the other. Jiang Zhenmian, hoping to strike up a conversation, remarked, “Thanks for waking me up. I would have definitely overslept otherwise.”

The other girl waved dismissively. “No need to thank me. You’re treating me to spicy noodles later.”

After that, neither of them spoke again. The other girl showed no interest in continuing the conversation.

It seems our relationship is just average—neither good nor bad roommates, not really friends.

Jiang Zhenmian pulled out her phone and opened the class schedule app. She found her name, Jiang Zhenmian, along with her school and class information. Though she didn’t want to admit it, it was exactly as she’d expected: the original owner of this body was also named Jiang Zhenmian, a fourth-year student at the Art Academy.

A familiar identity, just like the scumbags she used to complain about.

In early autumn, the weather hadn’t yet turned cool. Students on campus, both male and female, dressed lightly and brightly, their youthful energy palpable. The air buzzed with lively chatter, everyone radiating vitality. Jiang Zhenmian, a mentally unstable middle-aged office worker, felt utterly out of place among them.

She took a deep breath, exhaling shakily, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

If I had to transmigrate, why this identity of all things?

The original owner’s family situation was a complete mess: a petty, exclusionary stepmother; an alcoholic, abusive father; and a condescending, mama’s-boy younger brother. Even the original owner herself had severed ties with this toxic family, practically disowning them. She’d put herself through university, refusing a single penny from them.

Jiang Zhenmian glanced at her wallet, which held barely four thousand yuan in savings. She genuinely missed her bank card. After half a lifetime of hard work, she was about to own her own home, and now she had to start all over again.

The lecture hall was vast, and Jiang Zhenmian took a seat near the back, clutching her textbook. She wasn’t an art student, and she had no intention of paying close attention to the lecture. Her priority was to quickly gather information about herself.

After roll call, she placed her phone beside her open textbook and immediately opened WeChat. Her recent messages were a mixed bag—classmates, teachers, and a message from her “Dad” buried at the bottom, dated two months ago. The message read, “You’re truly useless,” and the original owner hadn’t replied.

The latest few red notification dots caught her eye. The contact names were meticulously formatted: “Nanbao-3.07-163,” “Lizi-6.12-160,” “Yuanzi-5.22-166.”

What classic player-level contact names, Jiang Zhenmian thought.

She opened the Notes app, and as expected, each person had a detailed entry. From names, heights, and weights to personalities, preferences, and dislikes, everything was meticulously listed. Jiang Zhenmian clicked her tongue in amazement.

You really are something, you dead-ass player. Fishing for attention comes as naturally to you as breathing.

Though she didn’t consider herself a saint, Jiang Zhenmian’s moral compass was at least straight. She had nothing in common with this trash who juggled multiple relationships. Opening each chat window, she prepared to break up with them one by one.

As soon as she typed the word “breakup,” a series of electronic beeps suddenly echoed in her mind.

Jiang Zhenmian froze. A moment later, a synthesized, robotic voice announced, “Hello, Host. I am the Happy New Life Activation System, abbreviated as the New Start System. I’m delighted to be bound to you. In the days ahead, we will enjoy a blissful, radiant, and beautiful life together.”

I knew it! she thought. If I’ve transmigrated, a system can’t be far behind.

Jiang Zhenmian chuckled. “Come on, tell me more. How exactly does this ‘new start’ work?”

The System explained in a rigid, mechanical tone, “We’ve detected a profound lack of understanding between you and the original host. To foster a harmonious society built on empathy and tolerance, you will embody the original host, follow her predetermined life path, enjoy a life of luxury, have a beautiful wife, and live out her entire life.”

Jiang Zhenmian: Huh?

She forced a strained smile. “Are you okay? If you’re bored, why not try some Liuliumei plums?”

“Who would want to be such a scumbag?!”

“The original host not only had a devoted partner who loved her wholeheartedly but also faced no financial constraints. She could do whatever she pleased. Isn’t that the kind of life everyone envies?” the System countered.

“Don’t just say half of it,” Jiang Zhenmian said, twirling her pen and chuckling softly. “Why don’t you mention her moral depravity, her twisted values, her warped thinking, and how she’s a textbook social parasite?”

“You want me to play that kind of person? You’d have better luck dreaming.”

Having failed to entice her with rewards, the System resorted to threats. “You’re already dead. The Main God granted you a second chance at life. If you refuse to follow the original plot, I’ll have no choice but to erase you.”

Jiang Zhenmian didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Waving a sword over a grave—are you trying to scare ghosts? Humans have principles. Those without them are just beasts.”

“Go ahead and erase me. Let’s see if I’m afraid.”
Stung by her defiance, the System fell silent. Jiang Zhenmian ignored it, half-listening through the rest of the class. She had no interest in checking her phone anymore.

What’s the point of looking at it when I’m about to be erased?

When the bell rang, she followed the crowd out of the classroom, instinctively finding the restroom. Just as she finished her business, the System reappeared. “Since you refuse to cooperate, I’ll have to impose a punishment. I hope you understand that resisting the Main God is futile.”

The moment the System finished speaking, a sharp, piercing pain exploded from Jiang Zhenmian’s heart. Having endured the agony of broken bones and displaced organs before, she now experienced a torment both utterly different and eerily similar—a sensation akin to the brink of death.

Physiological tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes, while cold sweat instantly soaked through her thin clothes, clinging stickily to her back. Her eardrums felt as if they had endured a thousand explosions, the deafening roar pouring unreservedly into her mind through the ruptured membranes, adding another layer of agony to her torment.

In those brief seconds, she felt as if she had died and been resurrected a hundred times.

As this was merely a punishment and a warning, the System’s assault on her body lasted only a short while. Ceasing its torment, it threatened her again: “If you continue to ignore my warnings, next time it won’t be this brief.”

Jiang Zhenmian slumped weakly against the wooden planks, drenched in sweat as if she had just been dragged from an icy hole in the ground. Her teeth clenched tightly, she gasped for breath for a long moment before finally recovering enough to spit out through gritted teeth: “Damn it! Do you even know how filthy the toilet is? What if I’d fallen? Would you wash my clothes for me?”

She brushed her sweat-soaked hair back, exhaling sharply. “Threatening me, huh? As if anyone gives a damn about this miserable life.”

Jiang Zhenmian dragged her weak legs out of the stall, ignoring the curious glances from the other girls. She twisted open the faucet, cupped cool water in her hands, and splashed it on her face. Then she pulled out her phone and searched for the nearest park with a lake.

Only after she boarded the subway did the System ask, puzzled, “What are you going to do?”

Jiang Zhenmian, laughing hysterically at a funny video, replied casually in her mind, “Going to jump in the lake.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong? Is your connection acting up? Can’t even hear properly?”

She rolled her eyes inwardly and went back to scrolling through videos.

The System wasn’t having trouble hearing; it was utterly baffled. This person’s reaction was completely different from what the operating manual had described.

Weren’t humans supposed to love getting something for nothing, enjoying the fruits of others’ labor? They were all selfish, caring only about their own comfort and completely indifferent to others’ feelings. Why would this person refuse such a golden opportunity?

The System was a newly manufactured Newborn System, believing that following the operating manual would guarantee a cooperative host. What it failed to understand was that Jiang Zhenmian wasn’t a pushover.

Forcing her to violate her own nature and wantonly harm an innocent woman was simply impossible. Besides, what kind of system was this? Punishing disobedience with beatings and rewarding compliance with paltry treats? Did it think she was a dog to be trained?

If so, it had picked the wrong person.

Jiang Zhenmian strolled leisurely through the park, while the System panicked.

Was she threatening it, or did she really intend to go through with this?

The System’s earlier threats of annihilation had been mere bluffs. If Jiang Zhenmian refused to cooperate, it wouldn’t obtain any energy and would perish here as well.

As dusk gradually deepened, the System grew restless. “Host, I don’t understand why you’re refusing. What harm could it possibly do to you?”
Jiang Zhenmian replied slowly, “You’re just an electronic entity, devoid of humanity. You wouldn’t understand.”

The System: …Why are you attacking me again? Don’t think I don’t know that calling me inhuman is an insult.

As the park’s closing time approached, everyone had left. Jiang Zhenmian evaded the security guard’s search and, using her phone’s light, slowly walked to the lakeside.

Watching the water gradually rise past her calves, the System grew desperate. “I apologize for my previous actions. If you agree to follow the main plot points, I’ll agree to relax the restrictions appropriately.”

This would reduce the energy it obtained, but it was still better than ending up with nothing at all!

Jiang Zhenmian stopped, the water reaching her waist. “How will you loosen the restrictions?”

The System, desperate, blurted out, “You don’t need to follow every plot point step by step. Just hit a few key moments.”

“Which key moments?” Jiang Zhenmian asked.

The System fell silent.

“Speak up! Is your speaker broken?”

The System ventured, “There are a few crucial plot points. One is when Gu Zhiyao asks you to get close to Gu Zhibai. Another is when you make a move on Gu Zhibai while drunk.”

Oblivious to Jiang Zhenmian’s gradually chilling gaze, it continued, “The final one is when you go to the bar—that’s the last plot point. Of course, I’ll ensure you survive the car accident.”

After hearing it out, Jiang Zhenmian muttered emotionlessly, “I actually thought you might have a constructive idea.”

With that, she plunged into the water.

The icy water surged over her face, and as the oxygen in her lungs dwindled, the suffocating sensation intensified. Yet even then, her mind wandered: Counting the previous time, this makes my third visit to the underworld.

What normal person dies three times?
The System continued its relentless barrage of pleas and warnings, showering her with both sweet talk and threats. But Jiang Zhenmian remained impervious, refusing to heed a single word.

“Happy New Year!” Jiang Zhenmian flashed an internationally recognized friendly gesture.

Unable to swim, she instinctively thrashed as death approached, her arms churning the lake’s surface into frothy splashes—like the final, desperate traces of a life fading from the world.

If you plan to force me, corrupt my mind, and turn me into a soulless beast, you’d be better off relying on fantasy. I may lack many things, but self-respect is not one of them.

The sensation of drowning was far from pleasant. Just before losing consciousness completely, Jiang Zhenmian couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. I should have chosen a less painful way to die.

The System’s internal turmoil could have drowned the Pacific Ocean. Why?

It couldn’t comprehend. How could these so-called principles be more important than her own life? What she was being asked to do wasn’t some heinous crime against humanity or betrayal of her nation—just harming a complete stranger.

In exchange, she could have had wealth and freedom within reach.

It didn’t understand, but there was no time to figure it out. With its host’s death, the System would be severed from the bound soul, its fragile core exposed to the World Consciousness. Soon, it would dissolve into a tiny spark of electricity and vanish completely.

The System refused to accept this outcome. As death approached, it couldn’t face it with equanimity.

It had little energy left, but enough to pull a dying person back from the brink.

Consciousness returned. The fluid in Jiang Zhenmian’s lungs was drawn back into the lake by an invisible hand. She lay on the shore, her clothes and hair still dry, all pain vanished.

She was better than ever.
The park was dark, devoid of streetlights. Without light pollution, the chaotic nebulae stretched across the sky, so clear they seemed within reach. Jiang Zhenmian stared expressionlessly at the cold, lonely moon, motionless.

The System’s faint electronic voice echoed in her ear: “You’ve won.”

Jiang Zhenmian: “Oh.”

The System continued: “I hope we can reach a consensus, a compromise. I won’t force you to complete plot points, granting you almost complete freedom. In return, I ask that you occasionally act the part and recite some of the original owner’s classic lines.”

Before Jiang Zhenmian could reply, it hastily added: “Of course, the context is entirely up to you. Just say them aloud.”

“Fine,” Jiang Zhenmian said, patting her rear as she stood up.

“You agreed?” the System asked, bewildered.

Jiang Zhenmian shrugged, glancing around as she searched for a side path to exit the park. “Why wouldn’t I agree?”

The System couldn’t grasp the logic behind this sudden change of heart. Just moments ago, she had been as resolute as a martyr facing execution, as stubborn as a roadside stone. Now, she had abruptly changed her tune, pushing the System’s core processing to its limits. In truth, the System had been operating on a “desperate measures” approach, trying anything in the hope of a breakthrough. It never expected her to agree—it had even prepared its own “last will and testament,” fearing ridicule.

But now, the situation had taken an unexpected turn, like emerging from a dark tunnel into a sunlit clearing.

The System watched silently as the human acted as if nothing had happened, calmly navigating the winding path through the bushes to exit the park through a side gate. She then proceeded to search for a nearby hotel, intending to stay the night.

What is this?

The System’s mechanical brain, thick as mud, struggled to comprehend the situation. Just then, Jiang Zhenmian spoke up: “Can you transfer the original owner’s memories to me? Do you have that function?”

Since it couldn’t force her, building a good relationship had become the System’s top priority.

In this game of wills, the one who feared death the least had ultimately gained the upper hand.

It said hesitantly, “I can teleport, but my current energy is insufficient to sustain the operation.”

Jiang Zhenmian strolled lightly down the street, chewing over its words. “Energy… So, your insistence on me playing the original owner is also for this… energy?”

“Yes,” it replied. “We have a mutually beneficial relationship. You gain a new life, and I gain energy. It’s a win-win.”

“What if I absolutely refuse?” Jiang Zhenmian asked.

“I no longer have enough energy to revive you again,” the System warned, its tone sharp. “This is the absolute minimum I can concede.”

Having accurately assessed through their previous exchanges that Jiang Zhenmian was more likely to respond to persuasion than coercion, it continued, “I’m just a newborn system, merely trying to survive by gathering energy. I have no intention of making things difficult for you. I hope you can understand my desire to exist.”

“Don’t I count as a sentient being?” Jiang Zhenmian countered.

As she crossed the street with the green light, a brief silence followed. Then she pursed her lips and asked, “Tell me, how can I quickly recharge your energy?”

This was the signal of her agreement.

The System’s core pulsed with electrical signals of pure joy, finally exhaling a deep sigh of relief. It knew it had finally reached an understanding with this slippery host.

“Your personality shares some similarities with the original host, so role-playing shouldn’t be too difficult,” the cheerful electronic voice flowed. “You’ve received a message on your phone from this body’s biological father. Please reply and say, ‘Are you out of your mind?'”

This seemed simple enough.
Jiang Zhenmian pulled out her phone, opened WeChat. People of the original host’s character deeply resented their families, and someone like her, who couldn’t tolerate even a grain of sand in her eye, would likely feel even worse.

The message was short, only two lines: Your brother wants a new phone. Transfer 2,000 yuan to me.

Jiang Zhenmian: ???

“Are you out of your mind? Or have you drunk so much you’ve lost your bearings? Even in dreams, there should be some basic logic, right?

“Two thousand yuan just because you opened your mouth? Do you think I’m your family’s ATM? Let me tell you, no way.”

“If you can get a single penny from me, I’ll kneel down, kowtow twice, and call you ‘Dad.'”

Two voice messages arrived quickly in response: “You little brat! How dare you talk to me like that? You act like I’m asking for the moon when I just want a little money. I’m your father!”

“Didn’t you start earning your own money? What’s wrong with giving some to your younger brother? A sister should support her own brother. When you run into trouble later, who will have your back? Your family, that’s who. Hurry up and transfer the money.”

Jiang Zhenmian, genuinely puzzled, said, “System, listen. Does that sound like a mosquito buzzing?”

The System: Pfft. Suddenly feeling a strange sense of satisfaction watching someone else get roasted.

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