The Scummy Alpha Transmigrated into a Tragedy Novel and Went Viral! - Chapter 28

Cheng Jingling stared at the number before her in disbelief.

In the real world, it was exceedingly rare for couples to have a pheromone compatibility score above 90%. Most hovered between 60% and 80%, and 100% had simply never occurred. Even if this was just a novel world, as the stepping stone in the heroine’s path to success, having a perfect match with her felt far too unreasonable. A faint sense of unease crept into Cheng Jingling’s chest—she was sure the system was hiding something from her.

She excused herself to go to the restroom, quickly slipping out of the office. Once she confirmed that the restroom was empty, she locked herself inside a stall and summoned the system.

The system, which had been pretending to be offline, was forcibly jolted awake.

“What now?” it groaned, its lazy electronic voice sounding thoroughly unbothered.

“My pheromone compatibility with Ji Yufu is one hundred percent,” Cheng Jingling snapped. “Explain that to me.”

The system looked at her serious expression and found her reaction laughable.

“Because you’re the protagonist, of course! You’re meant to be completely compatible. The world inside a novel doesn’t have to play by the same rules as reality!”

Cheng Jingling let out an incredulous laugh. “Then answer me this. In the original version of the novel, I cheat on Ji Yufu, betray her, and end up dying miserably at her hands. But ever since I transmigrated here, I’ve been breaking my back trying to make her happy. You told me before that the plot couldn’t be changed—so why are you contradicting yourself now?”

The system froze as Cheng Jingling’s sharp eyes bore into it, her face carrying an expression that said she’d already seen through everything. Its CPU whirred frantically, trying to piece together a reasonable excuse to cover the lie. Its back-end processes were almost smoking.

“T-This, uh, well.”

For once, the system that always looked down on scummy Alphas was utterly speechless. That only convinced Cheng Jingling further—this thing was hiding something.

When she had first arrived in this strange world, unfamiliar and confused, she’d only cared about completing the mission quickly so she could go home. But as she gradually adapted to her surroundings, she began to piece things together, realizing there were holes all over the system’s explanations.

“Are you still trying to lie to me?” she said coldly. “If you want me to keep doing these missions properly, you’d better start telling me everything. Because if I can’t trust you, this mission will fail—and neither of us will come out unscathed.”

The system panicked. It wanted to hide the truth, fearing she might quit the mission altogether—but with things already at this point, it knew she wouldn’t stop pressing. After a long hesitation, it finally gave in.

“Fine. I’ll confess.”

Cheng Jingling raised a brow at its hesitant tone, half amused that for the first time, she was seeing such a human expression on a machine. She gestured for it to hurry up and spill everything.

“You’re smarter than I expected.”

Cheng Jingling: “…”

Cheng Jingling’s patience thinned.

“As for that contradiction you mentioned, actually, both versions of the plot are correct. The story you saw in your dreams—that was the original plot. But everything that’s happened since you transmigrated has generated a new storyline.”

Cheng Jingling frowned, more confused than ever. “Why was the plot altered? And why am I still playing myself? What kind of novel uses two real people as its leads?”

The system looked utterly exasperated. “Have you seriously never shipped a CP before?”

“No. What does that have to do with anything?”

“This is your fanfiction, you idiot.”

“What?” Cheng Jingling blinked, baffled. “I barely even know Ji Yufu in real life—how could there be something like that?”

The system rolled its virtual eyes, muttering under its breath that scummy Alphas really were hopeless. “Remember when you just graduated and came back to the country? You kept trying to break into the entertainment industry. During the Perfect Gala, you two were at the same event.”

As it spoke, it projected an image from the event’s group photo. Even in the crowd, Ji Yufu stood out immediately, radiant and elegant—and on the far side of the stage was Cheng Jingling herself.

“The way you looked at her,” the system said bitterly, “was practically obscene. Like some lovesick hooligan!”

Cheng Jingling’s face heated with embarrassment. “Okay, maybe that did happen.”

Another photo appeared on the system’s display—this time, a close-up of her and Ji Yufu together.

“When did I ever take a picture with her?” she protested, staring in confusion. She was sure she’d never even managed to speak to Ji Yufu that day.

“That’s not a real photo,” the system explained. “It’s a Photoshop edit made by fans. After that group photo went public, people started complaining that Ji Yufu’s beauty made everyone else look dull by comparison. Some fans thought you two looked especially good together, so they edited you into the same frame.”

Cheng Jingling examined the photo carefully—one in fiery red, the other in pure white, like a blazing rose beside a delicate lily. The combination had a strange, irresistible harmony.

“Then people started saying you two had great CP chemistry,” the system continued. “So, one particularly reckless writer—ignoring the protests of both your solo stans—wrote a fanfic about a rich heiress and a glamorous movie star. That fanfic was called Spring Passion, Dreamlike.”

Cheng Jingling: “…” CP shippers ruined my life!

“It was supposed to be a short piece, but it went viral. Everyone loved the melodrama, and the author just kept expanding it—throwing in every cliché under the sun. That’s the plot you dreamed of: Ji Yufu’s miscarriage, betrayal, and her transformation into a powerful heroine.”

“I see.” Cheng Jingling murmured.

“But then Ji Yufu’s fans found out,” the system went on. “They hated the tragic ending and called the story trash. They flamed the author so hard she practically disappeared from the internet.”

Cheng Jingling: “They were really rude!”

The system immediately chimed in, “Exactly! The original story was supposed to wrap up soon, but the author had no choice but to rewrite it—turned the whole rich-family angst plot into a powerful-female-lead sweet revenge story! To keep this world from collapsing, we had to call you in for help!”

Cheng Jingling fell silent. The system flashed a pair of fawning, starry eyes at her.

“So, if you can summon me here anytime,” she asked slowly, “does that mean you can send me back anytime, too?”

“Not exactly,” the system said awkwardly. “Did you forget what you were doing before you came here? You and your party friends were drinking and drag racing. Then—bam!—you crashed and ended up in a coma. That’s the only reason we had a chance to borrow your body!”

On the screen, scenes from the crash flickered past—her luxury sports car breaking through the guardrail, tumbling down the slope, her companions smashing into trees and barriers. They survived with minor injuries, but she was left gravely wounded. Then the footage shifted: she was lying in a hospital bed, her head wrapped in bandages, her parents by her side, their hair turning white from sleepless nights of worry.

A pang of guilt twisted through Cheng Jingling’s chest, her eyes stinging with heat.

“One last question,” she said after a pause. “Since I’m here to save this world, is there anyone else who’s crossed over like me?”

“I’m not sure,” the system admitted. “But the more transmigrators there are, the faster the plot destabilizes. It’s actually bad for world stability, so don’t worry too much!”

“That’s all? You’re not hiding anything else from me, right?”

The system shook its head frantically. “Nope! That’s everything! It’s not that I don’t want to assist you—it’s that you really do have to rely on yourself!”

“Fine,” Cheng Jingling said briskly. “Then help me complete my missions properly from now on. Let’s work well together.”

A true fighter never blames her environment. Cheng Jingling had already decided—she’d finish the task and find a way home. No need to waste time arguing with a system.

The system was taken aback by her understanding attitude and felt a twinge of guilt. “As compensation, I’ll give you a tool!”

A sleek wristwatch materialized on Cheng Jingling’s left wrist. “This device can measure Ji Yufu’s happiness level. Once it reaches 100, your mission will be complete! But if it drops to zero, you’re done for.”

Intrigued, Cheng Jingling tapped the screen. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary smartwatch. After fingerprint verification, it displayed a real-time ‘Happiness Value’—which currently read 2.

“She’s at 2!” Cheng Jingling’s face lit up. “That means my efforts weren’t in vain!”

The system forced a bitter smile. After a moment’s hesitation, it decided to tell the truth. “Actually, I said you’d die if it hit zero, right? So, um, I generously gifted her one point to start with. Otherwise, it would’ve already been zero. Not really something to celebrate.”

Cheng Jingling froze in place, dumbfounded. So, all her heroic ‘progress’ added up to 250 in her head, 2.5 in reality.

Before she could recover, the number on the screen suddenly dropped again—from 2 to 1.

“Ahhh! My precious Yufu, what happened? Don’t you dare do anything crazy!”

Panicking, Cheng Jingling sprinted down the hallway to the doctor’s office, only to find Ji Yufu and Dr. Lin talking quietly in the corridor. When both turned to look at her, Ji Yufu’s expression was grim.

Cheng Jingling screamed inwardly: Dr. Lin, what did you say to my precious Yufu?

After the consultation ended, Dr. Lin took her leave. Cheng Jingling immediately rushed up. “What did the doctor say? Is there any effective treatment?”

Ji Yufu lifted a paper bag. “Just take the medicine on time.”

Something about her calm tone didn’t sit right. Cheng Jingling didn’t believe it for a second. Pretending she’d forgotten her own prescription, she told Ji Yufu to go on ahead and returned to the office to find out the truth.

She slipped quietly to the door and knocked before entering.

Dr. Lin Jinyu looked up, surprised, still holding a thick book titled An Introduction to Pheromone Compatibility Mechanisms. “Miss Cheng? Is something the matter?”

“Dr. Lin, what did you tell Yufu just now? Can you tell me?”

Dr. Lin frowned. “That’s patient confidentiality. I can’t share her private information.”

“How am I ‘someone else’? I’m her partner!” Cheng Jingling argued earnestly. “If I knew what was going on, I could take better care of her.”

“You could just ask her directly,” Dr. Lin said, unsure what little game this couple was playing.

“She’s too shy to talk about such things,” Cheng Jingling said, improvising wildly.

Dr. Lin nodded slowly. She’d treated Ji Yufu for years and knew she was indeed shy—and Cheng Jingling was her first Alpha. Maybe it really would help if the Alpha took the initiative.

“I told her that to restore her pheromone balance, she could try a temporary marking. Clinically, it’s been proven effective for similar cases.”

Cheng Jingling finally understood why the happiness level had nosedived.

“If we don’t do a direct marking, is there another way to get pheromones?” she asked cautiously.

Dr. Lin’s expression immediately hardened as she snapped the book shut. “Miss Cheng, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I just thought—Yufu’s really shy, and we haven’t progressed that far yet. So maybe there’s a middle-ground option?”

Dr. Lin relaxed again. “If you’re not going for a direct mark, then the only alternative is to extract pheromones, purify them, and inject them—like a suppressant. But that process is extremely painful, and it’s illegal.”

“It’s fine,” Cheng Jingling said without hesitation. “Take mine. I’m not afraid of pain. I’ll do it voluntarily.”