The Aloof Film Queen Gets Entangled by a Sweet Little Omega - Chapter 6

Do Older Sisters Lie?

After military training ended, the various campus clubs began their recruitment season. Shi Rui had barely sat down to catch her breath back at the dormitory before her roommates dragged her back downstairs to check out the clubs.

Sandwiched between Ming Qing and Rong An, Shi Rui’s lethargic expression vanished the moment they stepped out of the dorm. She lifted her head and glanced around.

The spot where Luo Xiao had been standing moments ago was now empty. Shi Rui’s ears couldn’t help but droop in disappointment.

Noticing this, Ming Qing teased her on purpose, “Who are you looking for? Want me to help you find them?”

“No one, no one!” Shi Rui denied quickly, straightening her back with a serious face. “I’m just tired. Really tired.”

Ming Qing didn’t believe her for a second, letting out a hum that clearly translated to: I see right through you.

Rong An, on the other hand, believed her completely. Coaxing the “little bunny,” she said, “We’ll just take a quick look and head back.”

Shi Rui nodded and replied obediently, “It’s okay, I can hold on.”

S University had many clubs, and the upperclassmen were working hard to recruit. He Qianqian was immediately entranced by the swimming club the moment they entered the area, leaving Shi Rui and the other two to keep browsing.

In the end, they didn’t actually choose anything. Instead, they returned to the dorm clutching a massive pile of flyers.

“Let’s sleep early. Today was exhausting. We can check out more clubs tomorrow,” Rong An said with a yawn as she climbed into bed after washing up. Ming Qing was busy gaming, Shi Rui was in the bathroom, and He Qianqian was lounging on her waterbed watching TV.

The dormitory was peaceful and cozy—utterly comfortable.

After finishing her nighttime routine, Shi Rui got into bed. As she pulled up her covers, she checked the time on her phone and noticed a message from an hour ago.

For some reason, her heart skipped a beat, hoping it was who she thought it was.

She opened the phone, and sure enough, it was a message from Luo Xiao asking if she had made it back to the dorm.

Shi Rui thought for a moment before typing two words: [I’m back]

To her surprise, a reply popped up instantly.

Luo Xiao: [Get some rest early.]

Shi Rui chose to ignore that instruction. She rolled around on her bed happily, her eyes curving into crescent moons as she tapped away at her keyboard:

Shi Rui: [Sister, I just went downstairs to look at the clubs! There are so many interesting ones, it’s making my head spin. My roommate joined the swimming club, but I didn’t join anything yet. There are too many to choose from, and I don’t really know what I like.]

Luo Xiao: [No rush. Take your time.]

The reply was still brief, but Shi Rui stared at the line of text with a silly grin. She was so giddy she began tossing and turning. Finally, she propped her legs up against the cool wall and messaged her while upside down.

Shi Rui: [Sister, did you join any clubs when you were in university? What did you join? Was it fun? Do you have any recommendations?]

Luo Xiao looked at the message with a gentle expression, a smile lingering on her lips. She replied quite earnestly:

Luo Xiao: [There were no clubs when I was in school.]

How could there be no clubs?

Shi Rui was about to ask why, but she stopped halfway through typing as it suddenly clicked. Her “Sister” was a Blue Dragon. According to online records, she had lived for hundreds of years—perhaps even thousands.

Realizing this, Shi Rui recalled their very first chat and how formal the messages were. She couldn’t help but cover her mouth and giggle. No wonder she seemed a bit old-fashioned back then. She sent a follow-up:

Shi Rui: [Then, how old is Sister this year?]

Luo Xiao’s finger hovered over the screen. She hesitated, looking up at her assistant, Qi Ran, who was sitting across from her. She couldn’t help but ask, “Do young girls nowadays care much about… ‘generation gaps’?”

“Generation gaps? What gaps?” Qi Ran was focused on her game, only half-listening. She replied casually, “Of course they care! Why else would people talk about it so much? It’s a huge deal to them.”

Upon hearing this, Luo Xiao’s cold, elegant face seemed to frost over. Her eyes dimmed with a hint of loneliness. After a moment of thought, she replied with a bit of a guilty conscience:

Luo Xiao: [If converted to human years, I am about eighteen.]

Shi Rui: [Wow, what a coincidence! I’m eighteen too!]

Shi Rui flipped over and rested her legs on her pillow, continuing to type:

Shi Rui: [When is your birthday, Sister?]

She wanted to see who was older.

Seeing that question, Luo Xiao’s expression instantly soured. Her face grew tense, and she gripped her phone, hesitating to reply.

After a thousand years, she had almost forgotten when her birthday even was.

Seeing that she hadn’t replied, Shi Rui sent another message:

Shi Rui: [Sister, I’m so silly. Your information is online! I’ll just go search for it.]

Luo Xiao’s heart jumped. She wanted to stop her, but the “little bunny’s” internet speed was too fast.

The campus Wi-Fi at S University was like a rocket—whoosh!

In the blink of an eye, Shi Rui had pulled up all of Luo Xiao’s public data. After staring at the screen, her face suddenly flushed red. She typed back shyly:

Shi Rui: [Sister, so you’re actually almost a thousand years old.]

The online information wasn’t entirely accurate; it could only track back to when Luo Xiao first appeared in the public eye, unaware that she had stayed home for over a millennium before 그.

Seeing that line of text, Luo Xiao’s heart thundered. Her memories slowly drifted back to a time long, long ago.

“Sister, you’re almost a thousand years old!”

Those words later became her inescapable nightmare.

Shi Rui remained blissfully unaware of the minor existential crisis she had caused. Her thumbs continued to tap away at the screen.

Shi Rui: [Sister, does that mean you’ve met people from ancient times?]

Luo Xiao let out a long, slow breath to steady her emotions. A smile played on her lips as she stared at her phone, thinking: More than just met them—there is an ancient person holding a smartphone and chatting with you right now.

Shi Rui: [Sister, what was the ancient world like? Was it fun?]

Shi Rui: [No wonder you’re so good at acting in historical dramas! You’re just playing yourself.]

The little bunny babbled on for a long time before suddenly pausing. Then, as if struck by a realization, she sent a message full of shock:

Shi Rui: [Sister, you actually know how to use a smartphone!]

Luo Xiao sighed helplessly, chuckling as she replied:

Luo Xiao: [Yes. I can use a computer, too.]

She was teasing her on purpose, and the little bunny was kind enough to give her a “reaction.”

Shi Rui’s ears perked up instantly. With a flushed face, she praised her sister for being “amazing.” She giggled to herself while hugging her phone and began another round of message-bombing until she finally grew sleepy and said goodnight.

Luo Xiao watched the screen quietly. The messages came in like a rapid-fire barrage, leaving her almost no room to interject, yet the feeling brought her an immense sense of peace.

She imagined if the little bunny were actually chirping in her ear; she would surely feel even more at ease.

Seeing her boss getting ready for bed, Qi Ran stood up, phone in hand. “Are you heading to sleep? I’ll head out too then. Filming starts in a couple of days, so you need to fix your sleep schedule.”

Luo Xiao suffered from chronic insomnia. Before joining a new production, she usually made a conscious effort to regulate her routine, trying to squeeze in a bit more sleep each day. Given the intensity of her work, she genuinely feared she might drop dead from exhaustion on set one day.

But tonight, Luo Xiao refused the help of her medication. Instead, she kept looking at her phone, lingering fondly on the latest messages at the bottom before scrolling back to the very top to read them all again, one by one.

Shi Rui’s messages were like a natural sleep aid; they effortlessly made her yawn.

“I’m going to my room to sleep.”

Qi Ran watched her go, completely stunned. She didn’t even notice she had lost her game. She just stared blankly at Luo Xiao’s retreating back and muttered, “Going to sleep… just like that?”

Without even a single pill?

The next day, the four roommates slept until noon. They washed up slowly, had lunch, and by the time they finished doing their makeup, it was already evening.

Excitedly, they headed out for another stroll. Their lifestyle was currently mirroring that of the owl students in the neighboring department—practically turning day into night.

Rong An had joined a cooking club. Apparently, they had hired a professional chef to teach them, and the club members would go out occasionally to eat and study how others prepared dishes. Rong An called this “field research.”

Ming Qing had collected another stack of flyers, but she still hadn’t made a choice. She sighed, complaining that the fault lay in her being too “well-rounded” and “excellent”—she couldn’t bear to give up any of them, but alas, she couldn’t be in two places at once.

Shi Rui wasn’t listening to Ming Qing’s rambling because she had caught a sweet scent in the air.

She craned her neck and twitched her nose to follow the smell, saying excitedly, “Roasted sweet potatoes! There’s someone selling roasted sweet potatoes nearby! Let’s go buy some!”

The group didn’t waste a second. They took off immediately, with Rong An leading the charge.

Unfortunately, they were too late. The vendor had been chased away by urban management officers. They couldn’t even catch a whiff of the tricycle’s exhaust, let alone a potato. They had to return to the dorm empty-handed.

The first thing Shi Rui did upon entering her room was reach for her phone to message her sister. However, she found two more Alphas—who had somehow gotten her contact info—trying to add her.

She ignored them, choosing to be blissfully blind, and messaged Luo Xiao instead:

Shi Rui: [Sister, Sister! We went to look at the clubs again. Rong Rong joined the cooking club, but Qing Qing and I still haven’t joined anything.]

Shi Rui: [Oh, by the way, Qing Qing is a huge fan of yours! She made a lot of fan edits. I love them all, let me show you.]

Shi Rui forwarded a “CP video” featuring a Regent and a Puppet Emperor. She messaged gleefully:

Shi Rui: [Sister is so handsome.]

On the other side, inside a production van, Luo Xiao glanced at the video. Her brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

Not good. Not as good as the little bunny.

However, she didn’t say that out loud. She simply skipped over that message as if she hadn’t seen it.

Shi Rui sent so many messages that she didn’t even notice if one or two were skipped. One moment she was talking about Ming Qing being a fan, and the next she was grumbling into her phone about how she wanted roasted sweet potatoes but the old man ran away too fast for them to catch up.

She was very scatterbrained.

After chatting for a while, Luo Xiao had to go to work. Shi Rui felt a bit bored, so after wandering around the room, she rolled up her sleeves and decided to give her space a deep clean.

Once finished, she remembered she had hung her quilt outside to air out after waking up at noon. She washed her hands and hurried out to bring it back.

When she returned to the dorm, Ming Qing was doing something on her tablet. Seeing her, she asked curiously, “Bunny, did Sister message you today?”

Holding her large quilt, Shi Rui nodded vigorously. From Ming Qing’s perspective, all she could see were two upright rabbit ears bobbing up and down. It was incredibly cute.

Fearing her nod wasn’t enough, Shi Rui immediately added, “We contact each other every day! We talk a lot!”

She conveniently ignored the fact that she was the one sending a basketful of messages every day. She firmly believed that being proactive was the only way to start a story.

If she moved a little closer to her sister every day, one day she would finally occupy a small corner in her sister’s heart.

Amused by her cuteness, Ming Qing laughed and called her a “silly bunny,” but then cautioned her: “It’s fine to chat, but don’t get scammed.”

Even though Ming Qing was a fan of Luo Xiao, she cared more about her friend. She instinctively reminded the little bunny so that she wouldn’t be tricked by an Alpha due to her innocence.

“Mhm, mhm!” The silly bunny nodded, turning around to diligently make her bed in her “nest.”

The quilt, having soaked up the sun all day, had become fluffy and soft. After taking a shower, Shi Rui dove straight in. She wriggled around until she was nestled deep in the soft covers, murmuring softly to herself, “Would Sister really lie to people?”

She rolled over, burying herself in the blankets. Facing the wall, her face turned red as she whispered, “Sister wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

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