Not a Scummy Alpha, But a Sweet Puppy (Transmigration Into A Novel) - Chapter 16

Jiang Zhenmian woke up early, her body clock trained by years of early rising. She couldn’t sleep in even if she tried.

After washing up, she stepped out of her room, only to find Gu Zhibai already awake.

Jiang Zhenmian had planned to surprise Gu Zhibai with a homemade breakfast, eager to show off her culinary skills. But when she went downstairs, she found Gu Zhibai already on the sofa, deep in a work call.

The kitchen was clanging with activity as the housekeeper prepared breakfast.

Was this appropriate? Jiang Zhenmian thought. I’m the one who woke up last.

She tiptoed to the sofa and sat down. Gu Zhibai smiled at her, finished discussing project details, and hung up. Turning to Jiang Zhenmian, she asked, “Good morning. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Amazing! The bed was so soft and quiet, I fell asleep almost immediately,” Jiang Zhenmian replied, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Why are you up so early, Sister?”

“I have some urgent work to handle today. It’s a sudden situation. I’m sorry I can’t spend time with you,” Gu Zhibai said apologetically.

Jiang Zhenmian felt a pang of disappointment, but she understood. Gu Zhibai was a busy CEO, and the fact that she had taken an entire afternoon off yesterday was already a testament to their close relationship.

I need to be an understanding little puppy, Jiang Zhenmian thought. I can’t be unreasonable and keep her from working.

Jiang Zhenmian thought this in her heart, but her face wore a dejected expression, her disappointment and reluctance palpable. She stopped smiling, looking like a frost-bitten eggplant. In a muffled tone, she said, “It’s okay, Sister. Your work is more important. I’ll just head back to school after breakfast.”

The System chimed in again, “I know, Host. You’re using the ‘bitter flesh’ strategy.”

Jiang Zhenmian nearly lost control of her facial muscles. In her mind, she snapped, “Oh, so you’re the only one with keen insight, huh? Did you switch from studying psychology to reading The Art of War lately?”
Gu Zhibai had initially felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t lying; she hadn’t made up an excuse to distance herself from Jiang Zhenmian. There truly was an urgent situation. But after hearing the System’s blunt assessment, all that remained was amusement.

Jiang Zhenmian’s disappointment was genuine, but so was her attempt to exploit the situation for sympathy.

Gu Zhibai didn’t find her little scheme annoying; in fact, she found it rather endearing. Smiling warmly, she said, “I was wrong. How about I owe you a favor? Anything you want?”

The sorrow on Jiang Zhenmian’s face vanished faster than thin snow melting under the scorching sun, as if she feared Gu Zhibai might retract her offer. She quickly replied, “You said it!”

“But I can’t think of anything right now. I’ll tell you when I do. Sister, you can’t take it back then!”

“Do I look like someone who breaks their word?” Gu Zhibai chuckled, shaking her head.

After breakfast, Jiang Zhenmian didn’t linger. She took the subway back to campus.

She carefully packed the clothes Gu Zhibai had given her into a bag, planning to store them in her closet as treasured keepsakes.

No sooner had she returned than a new message popped up on her phone. It was Gu Zhiyao’s elite assistant, asking how things were progressing between her and Gu Zhibai.

Jiang Zhenmian brushed him off with a few vague replies. The assistant then urged her to speed things up, insisting she “seal the deal” within a month.

Jiang Zhenmian couldn’t help but laugh. A month? she thought. I’m not a witch who can cast love spells! Besides, she was supposed to be a proper undercover spy, planning to expose Gu Zhiyao’s despicable schemes later on. Why would she obediently follow his orders?

She dodged the assistant’s demands, saying she’d try her best, but couldn’t guarantee success.

After all, who could predict matters of the heart?

Senior year was a crucial time for internships. As she returned to her dorm, she ran into two roommates heading out for job interviews.

After exchanging greetings, Jiang Zhenmian changed into her pajamas and flopped back onto her bed.

Was there anything more comfortable in the world than a bed? Absolutely not!
If I can lie down, I’ll never sit. If I can sit, I’ll never stand. That was Jiang Zhenmian’s life motto.

Everything had been perfect. Jiang Zhenmian had already planned her afternoon: grinding video games. But then disaster struck. A message pinged in the class group chat, an @everyone announcement. She checked it and saw that the elective courses were opening.

Credits!

Jiang Zhenmian shot upright and checked her credit count. It was shockingly low. How is that even possible? Shouldn’t I have enough by third year?

Is this really happening?

The original owner of this body was such a mess, leaving me to clean up her messes everywhere.

Fuming, Jiang Zhenmian flopped back down, mentally cursing the original owner eight hundred times. When the course registration system opened, she resigned herself to choosing Music Appreciation, which met during Wednesday evening study hall.

The Gu Corporation was a thirty-minute commute from campus. There was no way she could make it back for class after work. Jiang Zhenmian explained the situation to Manager Zhang, who was understanding and allowed her to leave an hour early on Wednesdays.

Most of the class involved listening to music of all genres and styles. Jiang Zhenmian treated it as background noise for her chats with Gu Zhibai, sharing a green fisherman’s hat she’d just seen on Taobao. It had two antennae and a wavy brim, making it adorably cute.

“It looks like a green octopus!” Jiang Zhenmian said. “Sister, do you think it would look good on me?”

Jiang Zhenmian looked young and fresh, and wearing vibrant colors only made her seem even more lively. Thanks to her influence, Gu Zhibai had also started using her phone while eating, not for any particular reason, but simply to reply to Jiang Zhenmian’s messages.

Gu Zhibai imagined it. “It’ll definitely look good. You could pair it with five-pocket shorts in a similar color and a white T-shirt. It’s totally your style.”

A shirt, T-shirt, and shorts—Jiang Zhenmian’s “battle god” three-piece set, and her absolute favorite.

After slacking off through an entire class, did the god of fate really think she’d get off so easily? Of course not. The elective course teacher assigned homework: each student had to record a video of themselves singing their favorite song and upload it online for individual evaluation.
A bolt from the blue!

Jiang Zhenmian: “This is going to kill me! I’m tone-deaf!”

The heavens have eyes. A stunning beauty like her was bound to have a flaw: she couldn’t carry a tune.

And it wasn’t just a little off-key. Her voice danced wildly across the musical staff. At previous company karaoke nights, she’d refused to sing a single song, dodging every invitation.

She never imagined her elective course would stab her in the back like this.

Jiang Zhenmian whined to Gu Zhibai, tears welling up. “What am I going to do, Sis? The assignment is to record a singing video, and I’m completely tone-deaf! Can’t we find someone to dub it in post-production…?”

She might be a social butterfly, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed embarrassing herself!

“Are you really that off-key?” Gu Zhibai asked. “Sing a line for me to hear.”

Jiang Zhenmian’s face stiffened. “I suspect you’re trying to trick me, Sister,” she stammered, “and it’s the kind where you’re not even hiding it.”

A new voice message popped up. Jiang Zhenmian tapped play and heard Gu Zhibai’s voice, laced with amusement, whisper close to her ear: “Just one line, okay? Let me hear it.”

Jiang Zhenmian listened twice more, then rubbed her ear, hesitating for a long moment. After mentally preparing herself, she ducked into a quiet corner.

“Just one line, okay? Ahem… The clock in the time-traveling scene starts moving in reverse~”

Gu Zhibai tapped play, curious, and fell into a long silence.

How to put it? Jiang Zhenmian’s voice was pleasant enough, but she had… her own interpretation of the melody. She seemed determined not to follow the original tune.

It was like a screaming chicken trapped in a washing machine, trying to sing.

Perhaps her silence stretched too long, because the voice on the other end of the phone erupted in indignant accusation: “Sister, do you think it’s awful too?! Ugh, you’re definitely laughing at me!”

Gu Zhibai couldn’t bring herself to lie and say it was good, especially since anyone with ears could tell it was a complete fabrication. She couldn’t deny she’d laughed; it was simply impossible to suppress.

She took a sip of water, barely managing to stifle her laughter, and said in as steady and serious a voice as she could muster, “Well, it was a little off-key, but not terribly unpleasant. It had a unique charm, quite endearing.”

Jiang Zhenmian: I believe your lies like I believe in ghosts.

Nursing her wounded pride, she trudged back to bed, declaring with fiery indignation, “I’m not speaking to you for ten minutes, Sister!”

“System, could you sing my homework assignment?” Jiang Zhenmian lay tossing and turning, stubbornly seeking external assistance.

“I can try. Dreamy, hazy, the dream you gave me… Done. Does the Host find it satisfactory?” The System, ever earnest, had never sung before. Hearing Jiang Zhenmian’s request, it grew almost enthusiastic and, without waiting for her to stop it, launched into a full song in one breath.

Jiang Zhenmian’s expression was complex. “Thank you. My phone’s fully charged now.”

So that’s what autotune sounds like. Today, she’d finally heard the real deal.

The System was eager to try, but Jiang Zhenmian firmly refused, deciding to handle it herself.

Seizing the opportunity when her dorm was empty, she propped up her phone, took a deep breath, and shakily tapped the record button.

It doesn’t matter if I lose face, she chanted silently. If I don’t care about face, I can’t be embarrassed. I don’t care about face, I don’t care about face…

“Reverse Clock” was a widely popular song by Jay Chou, known for its high difficulty and tendency to go off-key. Yet its covers remained consistently popular.

Until today, a dark horse emerged, trending on a certain pink app with the simple title: “Music Appreciation Class Assignment.”

Clicking on the video, the initial comments praised the “cool sister,” calling her a “dream girl” and declaring, “I’m in love!”

The short-haired creator faced the light, her expression utterly calm and emotionless. As the intro ended, she finally began to sing. The moment she uttered the first line, the screen erupted with question marks and “WTF?!” comments. “Don’t sing, you’re one of us!” the comments flooded, followed by waves of laughter. Within two days, the video had amassed over 700,000 views.

One comment read: “Now I understand why the creator’s face is expressionless. Her real identity is an assassin specializing in sonic attacks. Her signature work is ‘The Death Clock.'”

If I listen to it a thousand times, I’m definitely going to transmigrate this time, mark my words.

Two days later, Jiang Zhenmian even had her own Kichiku videos. She, who had always prided herself on her looks, wore a mask for the first time ever. How humiliating!

The most absurd thing was that some self-media outlets even asked her to sign contracts, claiming they saw great potential in her future development.

Seriously, how ridiculous is that?

The worst part was that when she went to work, her colleagues had all seen the video and surrounded her, laughing.

Jiang Zhenmian: Help! Tonight, I’m a true social phobe.

Support Not a Scummy Alpha, But a Sweet Puppy (Transmigration Into A Novel)