The Reborn Scummy A and the Sickly O Got Together - Chapter 8

Luo Mingyue had always known she wasn’t particularly clever or quick-witted. Given a second chance at life, she kept reminding herself:

It’s okay to wallow in sorrow for a while, but she must never drown in the tragedies of the past forever.

Otherwise, what was the point of her rebirth?

If she continued to wallow in self-pity, lost in bygone sorrows, one day she would only end up being “killed” again by her own despair and grief.

Not long after Aunt Chen left the room, she hugged her knees like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, taking deep breaths for a long while before finally lifting her head and jumping off the bed.

The summer solstice brought stifling heat. Because of her high fever, she had turned off the air conditioning in her room. Now, beads of sweat dotted her forehead. She turned the air conditioner to 28 degrees Celsius and passed by the full-length mirror. Luo Mingyue stared at the young alpha girl reflected in it.

She felt both unfamiliar and familiar.

This was herself from eight years ago tall, slender, with hair cascading past her hips.

All because her grandmother had said, “Even though you’re an alpha, a girl should keep her hair long, it’s prettier that way.”

So, ever since elementary school, she had never cut her hair again. In the mirror, her disheveled locks framed a face drained of color. She forced a smile, staring at the stiff, youthful expression in the reflection.

Slowly, Luo Mingyue let the smile fade.

With eerie sharpness, she critiqued herself as if judging another person: That smile is truly hideous.

After her mother returned to the Lu family when Luo Mingyue was two, their lives never regained the glory befitting the Third Miss of the Lu family.

Before eloping, the Third Miss of the Lu family had been a celebrated socialite in the capital, with a bright future and a slew of high-quality alphas vying for her hand, her suitors could form a line stretching from the Lu residence to the World Trade shopping center.

But the Third Miss who returned with a child in tow could only be matched with divorced alphas who also had children. Eventually, even betas from decent families became rare, high-quality prospects.

In the end, even the betas looked down on the Third Miss for being a burden.

Every time the Third Miss suffered humiliation during a blind date, she would return home and take it out on Luo Mingyue. The poised and refined lady seen in public would unleash a torrent of curses and rage.

Even though her target was just a five- or six-year-old child.

Among all the tirades, the one Luo Mingyue heard most often was: “What are you crying for? What right do you have to cry? I’m the one who should be crying! Luo Mingyue, don’t let me see your tears. No matter how sad you are inside, you will smile for me!”

Terrified, Luo Mingyue’s most profound memories of crying and smiling stemmed from those childhood years.

It left a horrifying shadow in her heart, making her fear shedding tears.

And it conditioned her to instinctively put on an ingratiating smile no matter what happened.

Because the “lesson” she learned from her mother was that crying was forbidden, it would only invite harsher abuse.

She had to maintain a smile flattering, gentle, or harmless. In any case, Luo Mingyue had no right to cry. From then on, she became a puppet living behind a mask of smiles.

No wonder, in her past life, some whispered behind her back that she was the epitome of a scumbag alpha. Others thought her excessive kindness was nothing but weakness.

Some people also held the opinion: “Luo Mingyue wears that gentle smile for everyone. Countless omegas have been bewitched by it, mistaking it for deep affection, believing they alone occupy her gaze. In truth, she’s nothing but a playboy who flits through blossoms without a single petal clinging to her. If I had omega siblings, my first warning would be to steer clear of Luo Mingyue.”

Memories surfaced. The girl in the mirror stood expressionless. After a long stillness, she walked to the desk, retrieved scissors, and returned before the full-length mirror. Within seconds, inky black locks tumbled at her feet.

Lu Jia sensed something had shifted without her knowledge, Luo Mingyue’s attitude toward her.

Having lived under others’ roofs for eighteen years, she’d developed acute sensitivity. This made her adept at reading moods and playing the ingratiating role.

The flip side was jealousy and suspicion. Lu Jia dreamed of the day wealth and status would let her become a true young mistress carefree, innocent, like those hothouse flowers too delicate for harsh weather.

Though she scorned these pampered blooms who mistook their sheltered world for reality, believing all around them kind, part of her envied their purity. With enough money, she too could afford such artless goodness.

Knocking with feigned concern, she called, “Sister Mingyue, are you feeling better? I’m so worried, let me see you.” Receiving no answer, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Instead of finding Luo Mingyue unconscious in bed as expected, she saw her before the mirror, seemingly oblivious to the intrusion. Lu Jia’s gaze fell on the scissors in her hand, the final strands of hair surrendering to their bite with a soft “snip.”

Covering her mouth, Lu Jia took in the towering pile of raven locks at the barefoot girl’s feet. Those tresses had been campus legend. When Luo Mingyue turned, her icy glance sent Lu Jia retreating. The paranoid girl suddenly wondered if those scissors had nearly been turned on her certainly not for any friendly purpose.

Had Luo Mingyue possessed mind-reading skills, she’d have acknowledged Lu Jia’s uncanny intuition.

Countless self-admonishments against pointless grief proved futile. Yet facing Lu Jia now, she felt no sorrow, only overwhelming hatred, a deluge threatening to drown her. For one dark moment, she yearned for this girl to know the desolation of lying unclaimed in a morgue, waiting for kin who’d never come.

Life stretched before her like an endless night, sunlight seemingly fated never to breach her darkness.

Born the same year but six months earlier, Lu Jia’s presence in the Lu household had once made Luo Mingyue feel less alone. She’d seen this timid omega, always trailing behind, clinging to her, softly calling her “sister”, as another version of herself.

So she hoped that in this lifetime, Lu Jia could possess the familial love and freedom that Luo Mingyue never had. The year she graduated high school at eighteen, she personally went to the temple to pray for a protective charm, sewing the words “Eternal Peace and Joy” inside.

Luo Mingyue, with her uneven shoulder-length hair sticking out, asked in a voice so soft it was almost eerie, “Are you still carrying the protective charm I gave you?”

Lu Jia tensed instinctively, swallowing hard before nodding with an exceptionally obedient smile. “Sister Mingyue, I’ve always kept it with me.”

“Give it to me.” Luo Mingyue extended her hand.

Her tone brooked no argument, cold and devoid of emotion.

As Lu Jia removed the protective charm hanging from the red string around her neck and was about to place it in the girl’s palm, an unfamiliar emotion surged within her.

She felt as though she was about to lose something.

Something she had always taken for granted, something that should rightfully be hers, was slipping away forever.

Her fingers curled slightly, recoiling in panic, but Luo Mingyue was quicker. She snatched the charm and, right before Lu Jia’s eyes, cut it apart with scissors. The gilded letter tucked inside was likewise shredded, scattering to the ground.

Only then, staring at the fragments, did Lu Jia realize there had been more to it. Luo Mingyue had practiced calligraphy since childhood her grandmother had insisted on it to calm her mind.

She was made to practice for hours daily, reflecting on her faults.

Thus, even at just eighteen, Luo Mingyue had already mastered exceptional brushwork.

Lu Jia took a fearful step back, genuinely worried that this unhinged version of Luo Mingyue might harm her.

Yet she couldn’t help asking, “What did you write inside the charm?”

Luo Mingyue stepped on the pieces, as if crushing something she loathed, her smile tinged with grim satisfaction.

Then she lifted her gaze to meet Lu Jia’s directly, her beautiful face belying the eerie softness of her voice. “I wrote nothing at all.”

Lu Jia refused to believe it. She wanted to piece the fragments together, but with Luo Mingyue’s foot still pressing down, she could only clutch her chest in distress. “Sister Mingyue, have I done something wrong? Are you angry with me? Tell me, and I’ll make it right.”

Luo Mingyue simply said, “Lu Jia, I have a question for you.”

Biting her lower lip, Lu Jia’s eyes brimmed with sorrow. “Go ahead, sister.”

Though she called it a question, Luo Mingyue’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact. “Does it bring you joy to despise me so much?”

Lu Jia felt as though she were trapped in a waking dream, staring at Luo Mingyue in disbelief. “Why would you say that?”

Then she staggered back, Luo Mingyue’s words striking her like a fatal blow.

The delicate, pitiable omega, frail and lovely, shook her head in anguish, tears glistening. “No matter what anyone has told you,  you shouldn’t think of me that way.”

Her voice broke into heartrending sobs by the end, enough to make anyone question whether they’d been misled by malicious rumors.

Even Luo Mingyue was taken aback, watching coldly as a thought crossed her mind: No wonder I was completely fooled by Lu Jia in my past life.

With acting skills this extraordinary, it was truly a loss for audiences everywhere that Lu Jia hadn’t pursued a career in entertainment.

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