The Stand-In Alpha Goes Viral on a Dating Show - Chapter 80.1

An Ran could hardly believe Chi Wan’s refusal. Even though she had lived through two lifetimes, this was still something unbearably embarrassing to bring up.

Seeing her so aggrieved, Chi Wan naturally felt a pang of heartache. But the request An Ran made—she truly couldn’t grant it.

She was too clear on the risks. The system had said she could return to her original world, that as long as she lived, there was hope. But hope was all it was—there was no guarantee she would ever come back.

If she left An Ran with a permanent mark, and then never returned, how could An Ran endure the rest of her life?

In this world, medicine wasn’t advanced enough. Surgery to remove a long-term mark didn’t yet exist.

Knowing the consequences, she couldn’t simply act on impulse.

So, looking at An Ran, Chi Wan could only shake her head.

“I can’t do that.”

The moment her words fell, a pair of slender hands clutched at her collar. By her ear came An Ran’s voice, trembling with rage, almost through clenched teeth:

“You don’t get to refuse. This is something you owe me.”

An Ran’s eyes were red with fury. She thought Chi Wan didn’t love her—that was why she refused.

Anger surged. She didn’t need the heroine’s consent. One way or another, this had to happen.

“This will wrong you.”

Chi Wan still felt it wasn’t right. But her body was too weak; her vision blurred, and she couldn’t even summon the strength to push away.

“Do you want to die?”

Though An Ran’s tone was harsh, her chest still twisted with pain as she blurted it out.

Would she really rather die than mark her?

Was she truly that unbearable?

At that moment, lightning split the night sky. Thunder rolled right after.

It was going to rain.

An Ran stared blankly at the sky, then at Chi Wan’s increasingly pale face, and panic rose in her heart.

“Forget it, we’ll talk later. Let’s find shelter first.”

They searched hurriedly and soon found a crevice in a large rock to take cover.

Once inside, Chi Wan leaned weakly against the stone wall. The drizzle had already dampened her clothes. An Ran quickly tore off a dry piece of fabric from her own clothing and gently wiped her down.

But Chi Wan’s consciousness was hazy. Feeling An Ran’s touch, she thought she meant to force herself on her, and instinctively struggled.

“You hate me touching you that much?”

Hurt laced An Ran’s voice. Every small flinch of resistance made her expression grow more desolate. At last, Chi Wan could hardly bear it.

“An Ran… I really can’t…”

Just as she tried to speak, a delicate palm covered her lips.

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Remember—it was you who lied to me first. Think of this as repayment. Is that too much to ask?”

An Ran hugged her tightly, her voice thick with tears.

Chi Wan sighed silently. Silly girl. In the end, it’s you who suffers most.

She gently pushed at An Ran’s shoulders. Their body heat broke apart, and An Ran shivered at the sudden chill.

More than the physical cold, what struck Chi Wan was the look in An Ran’s eyes—brimming with sorrow and disbelief.

Why won’t you… why don’t you want me?

Unable to bear it, Chi Wan raised her trembling hand to cover those eyes that shook her to the core. Don’t look at me—at least not with that gaze.

Memories flickered in her mind, moments they had shared. Thinking carefully, she had given An Ran too few moments of joy. And now, as everything drew to an end, she was still making her cry. She truly wasn’t a qualified lover.

Beside her, An Ran sobbed softly, repeating over and over, as though in anguish:

“You lied to me—you have to pay me back.”

“Why won’t you agree?”

Don’t cry. Though Chi Wan couldn’t see, the dampness against her palm told her the tears kept flowing, and her heart grew frantic.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, moving her hand away. Her lips pressed against An Ran’s lashes, kissing away the endless stream of tears.

“If you agree to me, I’ll stop crying.”

An Ran’s choked words lingered.

When dawn finally broke and the first light spilled through the clouds, Chi Wan looked into An Ran’s eyes and saw obsession—madness even.

Not the innocent gaze of a delicate girl, but the desperate soul from her past life, drowning all over again.

Her chest tightened. Forget it… let me give in to her.

With that thought, the resistance in her limbs softened, her curled fingers twitching faintly.

An Ran felt it. She froze.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Chi Wan brushed aside her damp hair and tucked it behind her ear, smiling faintly.

Her face was pale, her smile fragile—but to An Ran, it was more beautiful than anything in the world.

An Ran stared blankly, dazed for a long while. Finally, shy, she turned her face aside, a blush coloring her eyes’ corners.

“Since you’ve agreed… then why don’t you…”

She couldn’t possibly take the lead herself—that would be far too embarrassing for an Omega.

“I… don’t have the strength.”

As soon as Chi Wan said it, she regretted it.

For An Ran’s joy instantly fell, her pink cheeks darkening like a clouded sky.

From delight at Chi Wan’s agreement, she crashed down into cruel reality.

Outside, the rain poured harder. And yet, no matter how despair filled her heart, An Ran wanted to look beautiful in her beloved’s eyes at this moment.

Her fingers tugged at her hair tie; it slipped into her palm. She raked her fingers through her hair, tousling it into loose, lazy waves.

Catching Chi Wan’s gaze, she curved her lips into a sultry smile.

Her fingers moved to her clothes, pulling them open. Fabric slid against skin with a rustling sound, shamelessly intimate. Straightening her back, she leaned in slowly.

Through the curtain of rain, a faint, intoxicating sweetness rose from her body—sweet but heavy, like a sacrifice burning at its brightest.

She bared herself completely, pressing closer until there was no space left between them. Chi Wan instinctively inhaled the scent at such proximity, her lips brushing now and then against smooth skin.

An Ran straddled her lap. With each movement, she felt a growing, wet warmth.

It was her longing for Chi Wan.

The pounding rain, flashes of lightning, and rolling thunder could not drown out the springtime passion within the narrow cave.

“Did the rain stop?” Chi Wan murmured, dazed, as though suddenly unable to hear it.

“Distracted?”

A sharp nip at her ear, followed by An Ran’s teasing murmur, pulled her back.

The delicate texture of lips against her ear, the numbing friction, the hot breath between teeth—all of it rippled across her senses.

What little fabric remained on their bodies tangled, pressed, and rubbed together.

“Does it feel good?”

In a daze, she thought she heard someone asking something. But at that moment, Chi Wan could barely feel anything at all—her five senses were slipping away, one by one.

Leaning closer, she saw An Ran’s lips moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she could do was guess. Chi Wan gave a faint hum in reply.

And instantly, An Ran’s face blossomed into a radiant smile. Chi Wan knew then—she had guessed right.

Their two rich scents gradually melded into one, inseparable, indistinguishable, just like their bond—two lives woven tightly together, one and the same.

Her limbs went slack, her body collapsing against An Ran’s shoulder. Her breath was faint, yet she could still catch the subtle fragrance of An Ran’s skin. As the marking was completed, she seemed to hear a sigh—soft, mingled with contentment and joy.

Even if we are forever parted, it will always remain with me, so that I’ll remember you were once here.

Throughout this most intimate moment, Chi Wan’s heart never ceased its fearful pounding. She told herself firmly: she must not die now. If she did, it would cast a crushing shadow over An Ran’s heart forever.

Besides, An Ran still held secrets. Beyond her rebirth, there was another truth—one Chi Wan had yet to hear from her own lips.

When at last An Ran had gotten what she wanted, she propped herself up, leaned to Chi Wan’s ear, and whispered:

“I am the Ming family’s true daughter. Did you know that?”

Chi Wan’s hearing was failing, but in that moment—she heard it clearly.

So that’s how it is…

Looking back, the signs had always been there. She was surprised, yes, but not entirely.

【Host, you can return now.】

The sudden voice of the system made Chi Wan’s body jolt. She froze, terrified of disturbing the woman beside her.

She waited quietly. Hearing no sound, she licked her parched lips and asked the system:

An Ran… she must be asleep now, right?

【No. She’s been watching you this whole time.】

The system blurted it out, then suddenly realized something: 【Host—your eyes!】

Chi Wan gave a bitter smile. Yes. I can’t see anymore.

For once, the system was stunned into sympathy. This love of its host’s… it was far too hard-won. Even the system itself felt the ache.

An Ran was exhausted, yet she just kept gazing at her, as though she would look on until the end of time.

Doesn’t she ever tire?

Chi Wan let out a helpless laugh. She herself was already like a broken shell. It was An Ran who had borne the weight of everything just now, and still she had not closed her eyes.

But if their roles were reversed—if the one she loved might slip away at any moment—she too would force her eyes open, desperate not to miss a single breath.

Still, her heart ached for An Ran.

Especially when the system told her that An Ran’s eyes were bloodshot, strained from sleepless vigil. Chi Wan’s chest tightened, yet she dared not stir even an inch.

For to die before the one you loved—that was too cruel.

As time dragged on, Chi Wan felt her strength ebbing away. At last she begged the system to find a way to make An Ran faint. Forcing herself upright, she pressed a kiss to An Ran’s shoulder.

It was time to leave.

She did not know what would become of her body once her soul departed. Would it vanish into nothing? Or crumble into bone, like any corpse?

If it was the latter, she could not bear for An Ran to see it. She wanted An Ran to remember her as beautiful, alive, not ruined.

She stepped outside. At the brink, before she leapt, she wished she could see this world one last time. But she was already blind.

All she had was the wind, brushing against her skin, to help her imagine the dawn.

It must be beautiful.

Her steps toward death were slow, faltering. Again and again she collapsed onto the rain-soaked earth, leaving behind the marks of her struggle, her frailty.

What she did not realize, in all her careful planning, was this: the trail of muddy footprints she left behind.

【Host, the passage back to your original world has opened.】

【You may return now.】

“Chi Wan!”

At the same moment, An Ran woke with a start, crying out. Her lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes. Looking around and finding Chi Wan gone, her heart plunged into an abyss.

Sleep was banished at once.

She scrambled to her feet, threw on her coat, and searched frantically. At last she saw the scattered footprints leading away. Her eyes lit up, and she followed—only to find them cut off abruptly at the edge of the abyss.

“Chi Wan!”

An Ran clenched her fists. Was everything you said… a lie?

What other world? You were doomed from the start, weren’t you? So you chose this way—to vanish without a trace, no body, no farewell!

How could you deceive me?

Her cries rang out in the empty air.

Her body was still warm, her skin damp with sweat, yet her heart was already ice-cold.

Chi Wan, I know what you want—for me to live well, not to do anything foolish. But I won’t do as you wish.

A sorrowful smile tugged at her lips. She stepped toward the abyss, ready to follow after her.

But suddenly, she was stopped—an invisible wall blocked her, leaving her unharmed.

Stunned, An Ran pressed her palms to the unseen barrier. Tears spilled down her cheeks as hope flickered in her chest.

Could it be true, what Chi Wan said? That she didn’t die, but returned to her original world…?

If that was so—would Chi Wan one day return to her?

Grief and joy warred within her, until her body gave out. Overcome with exhaustion, she collapsed and fainted.

________________________________________

Meanwhile, after a night of unimaginable terror, Lu Xin and the others finally escaped their pursuers.

“Damn it! We thought they were coming to save us, but they were after us too—for ransom!”

Relieved but furious, Lu Xin ranted endlessly as she looked at Mo Wei, who had come to their rescue.

“Luckily, you arrived in time, Miss Mo.”

Among their rescuers were not only Mo Wei’s people, but also reinforcements sent from their families.

“Where’s Chi Wan?” Mo Wei asked at once, searching instinctively.

“She and An Ran ran off in another direction. I just hope they made it out.”

Lu Xin pointed vaguely, but inside she felt uneasy. Perhaps An Ran would be fine—but Chi Wan, injured as she was, bleeding so much… surely she hadn’t survived.

“And Meng Lan? What’s wrong with her?”

She, too, had noticed Meng Lan’s odd state—dazed, vacant, like she’d suffered some terrible shock.

“No idea.” Chu Rou, who worked most closely with Meng Lan, tried calling her name, but Meng Lan gave no response.

“Forget it. Take her to a hospital,” Lu Xin said irritably. Yet despite her annoyance, a pang of guilt rose in her. She found herself suddenly worrying about Chi Wan.

“If only we knew where she was. We could’ve sent her and Meng Lan to the hospital together.”

As she spoke, her gaze caught something—Meng Lan’s eyes shifted. No longer lifeless, but alive again.

“Meng Lan?”

Meng Lan trembled. At last, she had broken free of control, regained herself. But there was no joy in it—her mind was consumed with only one thought: Chi Wan’s fate.

“Where is Chi Wan? Is she all right?”

That night, all the memories surged into her mind. She seemed to lose her sanity—crying one moment, laughing the next—muttering only one name over and over: Chi Wan, Chi Wan.

Lu Xin and the others found her behavior abnormal and unconsciously edged away from her.

“Say something! Where’s Chi Wan?”

“She… got separated from us.” Seeing her deranged expression, Lu Xin swallowed nervously.

“Meng Lan, what’s wrong with you?” Chu Rou frowned slightly, stepping forward with concern.

“I can’t shake the feeling something’s off with her. She used to be dull and dazed, so why suddenly…”

Lu Xin leaned closer to Su Yao and whispered. Su Yao always disliked people getting too close, and she frowned with distaste.

But she had to admit—Lu Xin wasn’t wrong.

Back when they were kidnapped, Meng Lan was like a puppet. The man ordered her to beat Chi Wan, and she had obeyed without hesitation. So why was she acting now as though drowning in regret?

Every time Meng Lan recalled the image of Chi Wan bleeding and wounded, it felt like her heart was being torn apart.

“It’s you—all of you! And me too! If not for us, how could she have ended up like that?”

Overwhelmed by unbearable pain, Meng Lan lashed out violently.

Her gaze locked onto Mingyu, filled with such viciousness it was as if she wanted to devour her alive.

“It’s all your fault! Everything is because of you, you wretched bitch!”

Mingyu was so terrified she nearly lost her mind, stumbling backward in a desperate attempt to flee.

She couldn’t understand—how could Meng Lan, who had always been the most loyal to her, suddenly hurl such venom?

It was like waking into a nightmare.

Chu Rou couldn’t restrain her, and the group was forced to scatter, shouting for her to calm down.

But Meng Lan truly seemed mad—hysterical, muttering curses under her breath, cursing even Lu Xin and the others.