The Unlucky Alpha and Her Hard-to-Please Omega - Chapter 8

The late summer evening breeze carried a hint of chill, casting long, wavering shadows on the pavement. Song Yi dragged her exhausted body toward the hotel, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of trailing footsteps echoing behind her.

“Shen Yu, what kind of trouble are you brewing now?” Song Yi sighed, turning around.

“Ah, cough… actually, it’s me.” Director Wu Han emerged from the shadow of a streetlight, rubbing his nose sheepishly.

“Director?” Song Yi was surprised. “I thought you went to see your friend off?”

“Oh, him? I just had to get him out of the studio.”

Wu Han toyed with his fingers before habitually pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, the cherry-red tip pulsing in the dark. He looked at Song Yi, then, as if suddenly remembering something, asked, “Do you mind?”

Song Yi shook her head. “I’m not that fragile of an Omega.”

Wu Han took one fierce drag, then gritted his teeth and threw the nearly full cigarette to the ground, crushing the light out with his shoe.

“I’m quitting. Nasty things anyway,” he muttered to himself.

“Did you have something you wanted to say to me, Director? You can be direct.”

“I do have a few things,” Wu Han gave a dry laugh, getting straight to the point. “I’m not very well-versed in industry gossip, and I might have lacked a comprehensive perspective when I cast you and Teacher Shen. I spoke with the PR team, and it seems you and Shen Yu have some… long-standing grievances?”

“Would you mind telling me about it?” he asked.

Long-standing grievances. Song Yi chewed on those words. They didn’t feel quite right.

“You’re overstating it, Director. There’s no direct conflict of interest between Shen Yu and me, much less a feud,” Song Yi said with a thin smile.

“I see you getting along with the rest of the cast, and I’ve never heard of you having issues with former co-stars. Your reputation in the industry has always been that of someone gentle and easy to work with.” Wu Han paused. “So, the problem lies with Shen Yu, doesn’t it?”

Was Shen Yu a bad person? Song Yi didn’t necessarily think so.

Though they seemed like fire and water clashing the moment they met—as she grew older, the things that once felt like the end of the world barely mattered anymore. Yet, Wu Han’s words forced her to remember the origin of their friction: a painful afternoon from her youth. Strangely, the memory hadn’t faded; instead, details she hadn’t noticed back then felt vivid and sharp.

They had been standing in the school corridor, the wind howling through the wide-open windows. The sports jacket draped over Shen Yu’s shoulders had puffed out like bird wings. In the distance, the cicadas hummed. Both of their faces had been masked with adolescent arrogance.

“What’s that in your hand?” the young Shen Yu had asked.

Then, that piece of paper had traveled from Song Yi’s hand to Shen Yu’s. With an exaggerated smirk, Shen Yu had passed it around to her cronies, kicked open a classroom door, and marched to the podium to read the contents aloud to the entire class.

Song Yi clenched her fists. Even through the filter of time, Shen Yu was still incredibly punchable.

“Yes. The problem is Shen Yu,” she told Wu Han.

A look of “I knew it” crossed Wu Han’s face.

“Is there any possibility… of forgiving her?” he asked cautiously.

“Don’t think I’m overstepping. It’s just that you and Teacher Shen are the soul of this film. The script calls for a very intimate relationship between your characters. I don’t want any hidden discord between my leads affecting the story.”

“I’m not doubting your professionalism, but the script includes intimate scenes. When the time comes, I’ll clear the set to make it as comfortable as possible, but at the end of the day, the one facing her is you…”

“Let’s put it this way: even if Teacher Shen’s personality is trash, she’s at least good-looking. Even if she’s wronged you, that face is innocent. If you try to look at her with an open, appreciative mind, maybe you’ll feel a bit better?” Wu Han suggested.

“I’ll try my best,” Song Yi replied.

“I’ll adjust the shooting schedule to give you two time to break the ice. We’ll save the bed scenes for last. Don’t let it weigh on you.”

Song Yi gave a bitter smile. The director was doing the exact opposite he was adding to her mental burden.

“Oh, one more thing. You look a bit drained. I heard you were unwell at dinner today. Make sure you get some rest; balance work and health,” Wu Han added, peering at her face in the dim light.

Wu Han felt a bit guilty about his “appreciate her beauty” nonsense. He wanted to resolve their conflict, but asking the victim to just forgive was a jerk move. However, with the tight schedule, he didn’t have time to be a mediator; he could only ask Song Yi to bear with it.

“Director, speaking of which, I have been feeling a bit off lately,” Song Yi took the chance to make her request.

“I suspect I’m allergic to Shen Yu. I’d like to go to the hospital for a check-up.”

Wu Han waved a hand. “Go, immediately!”

The Next Day, Sacred Heart Hospital, Department of Neurosurgery.

The blue light of the computer screen reflected off Tang Di’s glasses. She opened her inbox and randomly clicked on a peer-review invitation from a medical journal.

Suddenly, the office door pushed open. A tall woman wearing sunglasses walked in. Tang Di squinted to look up while the intern at the desk next to her jumped to his feet.

Song Yi took off her sunglasses and tilted her head. “Chief Tang.”

Tang Di took off her glasses and massaged her brow. “Song Yi? What are you doing here? This is Neurosurgery—don’t tell me you’re a patient.”

“Of course not,” Song Yi sat down across from her. “I’m filming nearby. I haven’t been feeling well, so I wanted a check-up.”

“Check-up center, first floor, turn left.” Tang Di clicked on a thesis she needed to review, frowning at the title.

“I’m busy. I was hoping for the ‘VIP lane.’” Song Yi winked.

Tang Di and Song Yi had been classmates for years. In school, Tang Di had been the most unremarkable Beta, naturally unaffected by the restless pheromones of youth. Many had considered her just a tagalong following Shen Yu. But they were adults now; the Beta who used to bury her face in thick textbooks had become a sought-after specialist, and her circle of “old friends” had suddenly expanded.

To most of them, Chief Tang’s attitude was: Who are you again?

Strangely, despite being firmly in Shen Yu’s camp, her relationship with Song Yi wasn’t bad. Perhaps it was her “healer’s heart,” but she always held an extra measure of sympathy for Song Yi’s secrets.

“What are your symptoms?” Tang Di looked up, instinctively falling into a diagnostic routine.

“My sleep quality has been terrible. I have bouts of dizziness and nausea. I have no appetite, no energy, and my emotions are all over the place.”

“Any specific triggers for the vomiting?” Tang Di asked, while the intern’s fingers clattered away at the medical record.

“Yes. Shen Yu,” Song Yi answered.

The intern’s hands froze on the keyboard. Tang Di sighed. “She doesn’t count.”

“Then nothing else,” Song Yi said honestly.

Tang Di sighed again. “What did she do to you this time?”

“We’re on the same set. We see each other constantly. Is it possible I’m just allergic to her?”

Tang Di pursed her lips and looked at Song Yi with genuine sincerity. “This is the Neurology department, not Psychiatry.”

“Preliminary thought is gastroenteritis. A blood panel should cover it. But since you aren’t short on cash, I’ll order a cranial MRI to rule out any intracranial lesions. Xiao Chen, print the forms. Patient name: Zhang San,” Tang Di instructed.

The intern looked up in disbelief, but after a sharp glare from Tang Di, he shrank back like a quail and continued printing.

Once Song Yi left with the forms, Tang Di explained to the intern, “That’s Song Yi. Do you think she’d make it out the door if her fans in the lab saw her real name on a vial?”

The intern swallowed hard, hesitated, and then asked softly, “Dr. Tang… I wanted to ask… the patient is an Omega of childbearing age, and the symptoms are very similar to morning sickness. Why aren’t we testing for hCG?”

“Do you think I missed a diagnosis?” Tang Di asked.

“No, no!” The intern shook his head frantically. “I just thought that according to standard protocol, we should consider pregnancy. I wanted to know why we’re looking for a one-in-a-million brain lesion but not considering…”

The intern’s voice trailed off. She regretted speaking up. Her supervisor seemed very close to the star; children don’t appear out of thin air. If Dr. Tang knew the private details, she could indeed rule out pregnancy.

“Your question is valid,” Tang Di said.

“In a clinical setting, even if a patient adamantly denies sexual history, if you believe you need to rule out pregnancy, you perform the test regardless of the patient’s feelings.”

“However,” Tang Di looked at the closed door and lowered her voice, “her situation is unique.”

Time rewound ten years to a sweltering summer. Song Yi was fifteen; they were all fifteen.

During puberty, reproductive organs mature. Some develop fast, some slow. In school, students were constantly discovering their pheromones, and the primal attraction between Alphas and Omegas began to ripple through the student body.

Tang Di, a Beta, watched it all with a cold eye.

That summer, the school organized physical exams for students whose pheromone development was delayed. Song Yi walked into that room unaware of her fate. But when she walked back to school clutching her report, devastated, the rumors had already outrun her.

Shen Yu had blocked Song Yi’s path. Using her early-developed physical advantage, she had snatched the report away. The rumor was confirmed. Shen Yu had announced it to the entire class with cruel excitement:

Song Yi is a defective Omega. She’ll never have pheromones in her life.

“So, pregnancy can be ruled out. Having children is an impossibility for her. Mentioning it is nothing but a localized trauma,” Tang Di explained.

“Oh no,” the intern panicked. “What do I do, Dr. Tang? My hands were too fast… I already included the pregnancy test on her lab slips.”

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