The Unlucky Alpha and Her Hard-to-Please Omega - Chapter 13

Northern University, Institute of Reproductive Development.

Chief Tang had been granted a small, cramped workstation next to Zhang Zhiling’s desk. During breaks, Zhang Zhiling’s diligent students arrived in a never-ending stream. Every time a new student appeared, Zhang Zhiling would introduce her with abrupt enthusiasm: “This is Xiao Tang.”

In return, Chief Tang received polite but confused nods before being promptly ignored. One particularly innocent student even greeted her with a cheery “Hello, Senior!” after the introduction. Tang Di wondered if she really looked like just another intern trailing behind Zhang Zhiling.

Finally, as night deepened, the performance art concluded. No more starry-eyed students came to ask questions, and Zhang Zhiling finally had time to discuss Song Yi’s surgical plan. Tang Di’s endurance had not been in vain.

Tang Di had brought all of Song Yi’s results, including her middle school records. Back then, after the school had flagged an issue, Song Yi’s family had taken her to several hospitals, and all the doctors had reached the same conclusion.

As Zhang Zhiling flipped through the years of reports, comparing them to the latest results, her furrowed brow gradually relaxed.

“Her condition is better than I anticipated,” Zhang Zhiling said. “If we can control the size of the fetus, there might actually be a possibility of letting it develop to full term.”

“Really?” Tang Di was ecstatic.

Zhang Zhiling turned to her, her expression calm. “My judgment is never wrong. She won’t be any more difficult to handle than the previous case I operated on.”

Tang Di smiled instinctively.

“Are you very close with this patient?” Zhang Zhiling asked, surprised.

“Yes. An old friend,” Tang Di nodded.

“That’s good. It seems you get along well in AO circles.” Zhang Zhiling looked away, trying to keep any trace of envy out of her voice. She, too, was a Beta.

“I should remind you,” Zhang Zhiling continued, “the patient’s wishes are paramount. You cannot interfere with her decision if you recall, she wants to terminate the pregnancy.”

The smile vanished from Tang Di’s face.

“Right. She’s very busy; the timing is all wrong.” And the Alpha involved was a hit-and-run bastard.

“I originally came to you hoping you would perform the termination. It would be safer,” Tang Di muttered, lowering her eyes. She tried to shift the focus. “Speaking of which, your clinical skills are so high why do I get the feeling you haven’t received your senior title yet?”

This had puzzled Tang Di all day. Zhang Zhiling spent almost her entire time at the institute. With her specialized skills, she should be the “First Knife” of the department, so busy she’d be living at the hospital.

Zhang Zhiling let out a cold laugh, unwilling to explain the messy internal politics of her affiliated hospital. “I find focusing on academia suits me just fine.”

In contrast to public perception, hospitals were often rigid hierarchies of factions and lineages. Talent didn’t always mean a smooth path. Research, however, was different. It didn’t require networking or forcing oneself to fit into Alpha or Omega cultural backgrounds. As long as you had results, you survived provided you didn’t run into an arrogant, biased reviewer like Tang Di.

“She’s your patient, so the surgery happens at your hospital. Once I finalize the plan, you’ll arrange it. It’s inconvenient for me to handle the logistics,” Zhang Zhiling said. “After this, I’ll likely compile these two cases into a report. I hope I haven’t been blacklisted by the journal.”

Tang Di: “…”

At the same time, at the film set hotel, two people were staring each other down across a doorway.

Song Yi was covering her stomach, eyeing Shen Yu with extreme suspicion. In the span of ten seconds, Shen Yu’s image in her mind had been downgraded from a “promiscuous Alpha” to a “feudal baby-obsessed nightmare.”

“Ah, no, no! That’s not what I meant!” Shen Yu scrambled to fix her mistake. “I don’t have some weird obsession or a secret agenda for the kid. I just meant… you went to the hospital, right? I wanted to see the results… or something.”

She tried to sound like a functioning member of society. “As a direct biological relative, I’m just expressing appropriate concern.”

Song Yi narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her until Shen Yu felt a chill. Finally, after Shen Yu had exhausted every stuttered excuse, Song Yi stepped aside.

“Come in,” Song Yi relented.

This was the first time Shen Yu had ever stepped into Song Yi’s room. In any sense. Ten years ago, she’d had the chance when her parents dragged her to apologize for leaking the report, but Song Yi had slammed the door in her face. Later, Shen Yu had been jumped and beaten in an alley an act of revenge she was certain came from this “black-hearted” Omega and she’d missed her exams while lying in a hospital bed with a cast.

But since Shen Yu had broken roughly a thousand “solemn oaths” over the years, she felt zero hesitation entering the room now.

The hotel rooms were identical, but a long-term stay always meant personal touches. Song Yi had a cute pink rabbit humidifier on the nightstand. Her pillow was propped up against the headboard with a visible indentation, making it easy to imagine exactly how Song Yi had been leaning there before the knock.

Song Yi’s laptop was open on the bed. She hopped onto the mattress, sat cross-legged, and pulled up the files she’d copied from Tang Di.

“I know it’s hard to accept, and it’s understandable if you want to confirm it’s real. All the results are here. If you don’t trust me, take them to someone you do trust.”

Song Yi turned the screen toward Shen Yu.

“That’s not it. I just wanted a look.” Shen Yu sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Is it my imagination, Shen Yu thought, or is Song Yi’s bed softer than mine?

Under Song Yi’s gaze, Shen Yu forced herself to click through the reports. She didn’t actually want to read them—she didn’t even understand the terminology. But she knew Song Yi wouldn’t lie about this. She had simply been overcome by a sudden surge of protective instinct, only to find that Song Yi didn’t seem to need it at all.

Shen Yu swiped through the files until a black-and-white image appeared. It was a blurry cluster of light and shadow. From her experience acting in dramas, she knew this was an ultrasound.

“This is our child, right?” Shen Yu asked.

Her voice was softer than she expected. Saying “our child” felt like something had gently bumped against her heart. Her breathing slowed.

There was a rustle on the bed. The spot beside her dipped as Song Yi moved closer to look at the screen with her. The scent of Song Yi’s shampoo drifted into Shen Yu’s senses.

“Yes. That’s our child,” Song Yi said.

“It’s so small…” Shen Yu whispered.

“It must be very cute…” Song Yi murmured.

“Definitely,” Shen Yu nodded.

One second, two seconds…

“Okay, I admit it. I actually can’t tell where the baby is,” Shen Yu’s acting skills finally failed her.

Song Yi: “Neither can I.”

Song Yi straightened up, and the pleasant scent of shampoo vanished. The romantic atmosphere evaporated instantly. The two lead actresses of Lingering Smoke had just out-acted each other without even trying.

Song Yi closed her laptop, unwrapped the towel from her hair, and went to the bathroom to get a hairdryer. When she saw Shen Yu still sitting on the bed, she paused.

“Why are you still here?”

Shen Yu cleared her throat awkwardly. Song Yi seemed nothing like the fragile Omegas on the forums. She didn’t need her.

“So… when do you plan to have the surgery?” Shen Yu asked.

“It’s not set yet. Tang Di said she’s consulting an expert to find a plan with the least damage and shortest recovery.”

“Then… tell me before you go. I… I want to go with you.” Shen Yu didn’t want the child to be alone when it left.

Song Yi thought for a moment and agreed.

“Anything else?” Song Yi asked.

“No… nothing.” Shen Yu had run out of excuses to stay.

“Then, goodnight.” Song Yi pointed toward the door.

Thump. Shen Yu was ushered out, and the door slammed so fast it nearly clipped her heels.

Inside, Song Yi reopened the laptop. She leaned back into the indentation of her pillow, a shadow of sorrow crossing her brow. She touched the center of the blurry light on the screen and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her fingertip.

“Goodbye, baby.”

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