The Unlucky Alpha and Her Hard-to-Please Omega - Chapter 10

Three hours later, in Tang Di’s office, Song Yi sat before a mountain of complex paperwork. She couldn’t understand a single page of the technical jargon, yet every sheet of paper screamed the same truth: there was a child inside her.

In the preceding three hours, Tang Di had wordlessly ushered her through an exhaustive battery of tests, the names of which Song Yi couldn’t even recall. Now, the results lay scattered across the desk. Tang Di pressed a cup of hot water into her hands; Song Yi knew this was the silent cue for her to make a choice.

A decision: to keep the child, or not.

She wasn’t like a typical Omega who lived to raise an Alpha’s children. She possessed a career that most Alphas could only dream of. She was currently in the middle of an intense filming schedule, where even finding a single day to visit the hospital required her to beg the director for sympathy. Beyond her current project, Clouds and Smoke, lay The Woman General a role she had coveted for years.

When ambition and dreams were weighed against a child on the scales of life, the choice seemed obvious. Ten years ago, Song Yi had realized that motherhood was not a prerequisite for her fulfillment. She had spent a decade being a cold, detached Omega; she hadn’t needed a child then, and she certainly couldn’t afford to have one now.

“I’ll get an abortion.”

The words drifted out with a sigh, dissipating the white steam rising from the cup in her hands.

Tang Di had mentioned the child was only about six weeks along. Song Yi knew the exact count: 48 days. It couldn’t even be called a child yet; it was just an embryo, a cluster of cells, a piece of flesh born from an irresponsible accident.

The ultrasound technician had pointed to the screen earlier gestational sac, fetal bud, heartbeat but it meant nothing to her. Song Yi had seen nothing but a dark, blurry mass. To her, that wasn’t a child. Compared to the chance of starring in The Woman General, it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

“I’m getting rid of it,” Song Yi repeated, as if to convince herself.

“Are you sure?” Tang Di sat across from her in her white lab coat, her posture rigid.

Tang Di remembered the Song Yi of ten years ago. Back when Shen Yu still didn’t understand what those test results meant for a submissive, sheltered Omega, Song Yi’s eyes had been shimmering with tears.

“Very well. Your wishes come first,” Tang Di said, her lips curling into a brief, tight smile.

She pulled out another stack of test results ones that hadn’t been shown to Song Yi initially. Song Yi looked at her, confused.

“Since you reached adulthood, your body miraculously began a second phase of development. Unfortunately, your current level of development isn’t sufficient to carry a child. The creation of this embryo is a miracle, but as of now, we have no guarantee we can bring that miracle into the world,” Tang Di explained.

“So… the child… wouldn’t have survived anyway?” Song Yi struggled to grasp the implication.

Tang Di nodded.

Choosing to give up a child was one thing; being told she couldn’t have one was entirely another. Song Yi began to cough uncontrollably. For a moment, she felt transported back to that sudden, sweltering summer ten years ago. The malicious whispers, the nauseating looks of pity—all the emotions she thought she had buried deep within resurfaced in an instant.

“Are you all right?” Tang Di patted Song Yi’s back. Song Yi curled into herself, trembling like a pained shrimp. She waved a hand weakly, indicating she was fine.

“If the child can’t even be born, why did you let me choose in the first place?” Song Yi arched her back and looked up at Tang Di, her sharp eyes brimming with involuntary tears.

“I didn’t want technical limitations to influence your judgment. If you wanted this child, I would have done everything in my power to help you. I know an expert who researches the post-adulthood re-development of Omega reproductive organs. I could have invited her here; perhaps there would have been a way…”

“Forget it,” Song Yi interrupted. “Forget it. I don’t need a child.”

Tang Di watched her in silence for a long time before finally whispering a soft, “Okay.”

“Your pregnancy is currently at the threshold where a medical abortion is still an option. However, given your unique condition, I don’t recommend medication. I’ll have my colleagues in Obstetrics arrange an elective surgery for you. You can go schedule the time in a moment,” Tang Di said, shifting back into her professional doctor persona.

“Alright. Thank you for your help. Let’s do the surgery as soon as possible,” Song Yi said, clutching the cup of water. Her fingertips remained as white as if they possessed no warmth at all.

Tang Di began typing rapidly, forwarding Song Yi’s results to the OB-GYN department. She explained the situation in detail, and soon, a call came back from the head of the department.

“This case is extremely difficult,” the department head said over the phone. “The organs are underdeveloped. From the scans, the adhesions between the reproductive chamber and surrounding tissues are severe. I suspect the blood supply is also heavily reliant on compensatory circulation.”

As Tang Di listened, her expression grew increasingly grim.

“You mean we can’t do it here?” Tang Di asked.

“To be honest, her malformation isn’t congenital. Based on your description and our analysis, her organ development has been progressing in a slow, hidden manner. None of us have ever seen a case like this. It’s likely no one else in this city can do it either.”

Tang Di lowered her eyes. “I understand.”

In the world of modern surgery, a standard set of procedures and nursing protocols usually exists. Doctors simply pick the best “template” for the patient’s condition. While rare cases outside of textbooks do occur, the incidence is incredibly low medically known as rare diseases. A doctor who dares to take on a rare case either gains instant fame or ends up carrying the burden of a lost life. Most would rather hold up their hands and say they can’t do it, pushing the patient to another hospital to avoid the risk.

Tang Di was a doctor; she understood the unspoken consensus of the industry. Song Yi was a celebrity; if anything happened to her under Tang Di’s watch, the consequences would be catastrophic. Who would risk their career and Song Yi’s life on a gamble?

“You can’t do it?” Song Yi asked. “Not necessarily,” Tang Di replied.

In front of Song Yi, she opened her email and retrieved a paper she had previously thrown into the trash. Adult-onset secondary Omega development really did exist. This paper wasn’t nonsense. So, what was the reason the authors had delved into the genetic level to explore this mechanism?

Before Song Yi, there had been another Omega like her in the world.

Tang Di pored over every single word. She was certain the answer was in there. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. In an obscure corner of the discussion section, the author mentioned that their team had successfully performed a C-section on an Omega with adult-onset developmental malformations!

It was a live birth. Mother and child were both safe!

Tang Di nearly jumped for joy. If they could perform a full-term C-section, then by inviting that expert over, Song Yi’s problem could be solved—and solved safely!

“It can be done?” Song Yi asked. “It can! I’ll contact an outside expert for a consultation. You go home for now, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back,” Tang Di said.

Song Yi nodded, her eyes flickering with an unidentifiable emotion a mix of relief and sorrow. In a few short hours, she had discovered she could get pregnant, learned her child couldn’t be born, heard she couldn’t have an abortion, and now, found out someone could finally operate on her.

It was good. This way, she could terminate the pregnancy and be free once more.

Song Yi stood up and turned toward the door. She looked even more frail than most Omegas. As she opened the office door, the wind from the hallway whistled in, instantly billowing out her oversized clothes.

Tang Di noticed that Song Yi instinctively raised a hand to shield her lower abdomen.

“Song Yi,” Tang Di suddenly called out. It was a purely emotional impulse; the moment she spoke, she realized she had no right to ask Song Yi to change her mind. She had nothing to say, but Song Yi had already turned back.

“The Alpha… she…” Tang Di asked cautiously.

Song Yi closed her eyes and shook her head, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter.

“Alright. Take care of yourself,” Tang Di sighed.

That heartless bastard, Tang Di thought, mentally branding the unknown Alpha as a scoundrel.

After Song Yi left, Tang Di logged back into the peer-review system. Seeing her previous flippant and arrogant review marked as “Delivered,” she felt a massive headache coming on.

She wrote a letter to the journal editor:

“I apologize for submitting an immature review. Upon closer inspection, this paper is undeniably innovative and represents an astounding amount of work. The team has performed remarkable, groundbreaking research. I apologize for my previous views and wish to retract my earlier review.”

“Furthermore, I hope the journal might grant an exception within the double-blind framework. I would like to obtain the corresponding author’s contact information before publication. Our hospital has admitted a patient whose condition overlaps with the hypotheses mentioned in the paper. I hope to discuss a treatment plan with the authors.”

“I apologize once more to the journal and the authors. I hope the editor-in-chief, out of humanitarian spirit, will grant this request.”

Tang Di’s letter was humble and earnest; she knew she was asking for a lot. She hoped the editor would overlook her “self-slap” in the face and provide the author’s email. This was legitimate academic exchange; there was no reason to build artificial barriers in the world of science.

Unless…

Two hours later, Tang Di received a reply. It contained the contact information she wanted, along with a brief note:

“We regret to inform you that the review cannot be retracted, as it has already been uploaded and viewed by the authors. However, we will re-evaluate the paper’s acceptance based on your updated perspective.”

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