Why Did the Top Alpha Suddenly Stop Acting Out? - Chapter 30

Yi Qian stepped out of the bathroom, but unlike the previous night, no chilly air greeted her. The entire room was warm and cozy, not just because the heater was turned up, but also because her previously empty bed was now neatly made with a quilt and pillow.

She glanced at Ye Shuyi, who had prepared all this for her, but said nothing. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed with a towel, continuing to dry her hair.

Once her hair was half-dry, she casually tossed the towel aside and picked up the script, settling onto the bed to study it further.

Her eyes remained fixed on the script, but the pen between her fingers spun rapidly, blurring into a whirl.

Two people in one room, each absorbed in their own tasks, neither speaking a word—it was as if they were a long-married couple, content simply being in each other’s presence, finding profound happiness in the quiet.

Yet, the pen in one person’s fingers spun, paused, then spun again, while the script in her hands stayed stubbornly on the same page, as though dissatisfied with the current state of affairs.

After about ten minutes, Yi Qian let out a long sigh, her brow furrowing slightly as she muttered to herself with exaggerated seriousness, “Hmm… this doesn’t feel right.”

Her gaze flickered toward the person on the opposite bed, but seeing no reaction, she deliberately raised her voice another notch. “This is way too hard to get into…”

Still, Ye Shuyi remained unmoved.

Yi Qian: “…”

Ignoring me, huh?

With that thought, the pen in her hand spun one last sharp circle before abruptly stopping. She set it down on the nightstand, grabbed the script, and strode over to sit directly on the edge of Ye Shuyi’s bed.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, disrupting the perfect balance and finally pulling the other woman out of her own world. Ye Shuyi looked up, a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Something wrong?”

Yi Qian placed the script right on top of Ye Shuyi’s tablet, cutting straight to the point. “I can’t get into this scene. As my manager, I think it’s necessary for you to run lines with me and help me find the right emotions.”

Ye Shuyi glanced at the script’s cover before meeting her eyes. “Isn’t this movie scheduled to start filming next month? Does it have to be today?”

Yi Qian shrugged as if it were obvious. “Yes. A movie isn’t just about one scene, after all.”

Ye Shuyi lowered her gaze to the script, her frown deepening the more she read.

“I’m not an actor. I might not be much help. Maybe… you could try another approach?” she suggested tactfully.

“I’ve already thought it through,” Yi Qian replied, her light-colored eyes holding an unreadable emotion as she stared straight at her. “I think you’d be particularly good at this scenario.”

Ye Shuyi didn’t agree immediately, but she didn’t refuse either. She simply held her gaze in silence.

The room was utterly quiet, yet the unspoken tension between them spoke volumes.

After what felt like an eternity, Ye Shuyi finally averted her eyes and gave a reluctant nod, handing the script back to Yi Qian.

A faint smirk tugged at Yi Qian’s lips. “I’ve already memorized my lines. Since you have too, why don’t we simulate the actual scene?”

With that, she walked to the wardrobe and pulled out two down jackets—one white, one black. She helped Ye Shuyi into the white one before slipping into the black herself.

Out on the balcony, the two stood facing each other, just as the script described.

Yi Qian glanced around, then smiled faintly. “You know, this really does look a lot like that night.”

They had been together for three years, sharing countless nights. Though Yi Qian didn’t specify which particular night, Ye Shuyi knew she was referring to their breakup evening.

Tonight, no snow fell. The dark sky remained relatively clear, dotted with sparse stars.

A gentle night breeze stirred the ends of their hair as they stood in silence, gazing at each other. They had exchanged countless wordless looks tonight, yet it felt as if volumes had been spoken between them.

According to the script’s direction, the character Ye Shuyi was supposed to play should have been the one to break the silence and begin the scene. Yet for some reason, she remained quiet. Seeing this, Yi Qian simply stood with her in companionable stillness.

“Do I really have to do this?” After a long pause, what emerged from Ye Shuyi’s lips wasn’t her scripted line, but this hesitant question.

She didn’t want to act. Though she knew these were just lines from a script, that she was merely helping with rehearsal, that the words to follow weren’t truly hers—she still couldn’t bring herself to say them.

Yi Qian met her gaze directly and nodded. “Yes, I appreciate your help.”

Silence stretched between them…

After a while, Ye Shuyi spoke again, still avoiding the scripted dialogue: “Let’s begin. It’s getting late.”

Yi Qian nodded. “Your character starts first. Begin whenever you’re ready.”

Ye Shuyi closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself. When she opened them again, her expression had turned icy.

That look transported Yi Qian instantly back to the night three years ago when Ye Shuyi had broken up with her. Three years—not terribly long, yet not exactly short either. But she remembered with crystal clarity how Ye Shuyi had looked that day, as if she’d become a different person before and after their date.

They’d just finished spending the day together and were walking home. Seeking privacy, they’d wordlessly chosen the longer route through quiet alleyways.

As usual, they walked hand in hand at a leisurely pace, comfortable in their shared silence, the picture of domestic tranquility.

The alley stretched long and quiet, illuminated at intervals by street lamps. They moved rhythmically from darkness into light, then back into darkness again, their silhouettes flickering between shadow and illumination—much like the turbulent emotions someone had been secretly harboring.

Under one such lamp, Ye Shuyi stopped abruptly and turned to face Yi Qian, her gaze frosty, her tone detached: “Let’s break up.”

The words came without hesitation, as if long premeditated.

The smile froze on Yi Qian’s lips, panic flashing briefly in her eyes before she managed a strained smile. “Shuyi… that’s not funny at all.”

Ye Shuyi’s expression remained stern, devoid of any humor. “You know me. I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

“Then why? We’ve been perfectly happy.” The smile vanished completely from Yi Qian’s face, her pale eyes brimming with sorrow but mostly disbelief. She clenched her fists, using every ounce of willpower to remain composed, though her body trembled faintly nonetheless.

“No particular reason. I just… don’t love you anymore.” Ye Shuyi forced a casual tone.

“What kind of reason is that?” Yi Qian’s nails dug into her palms, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Ye Shuyi didn’t answer her question. Hidden in her coat pocket, her hands clenched and unclenched as she silently took a deep breath, preparing for their final farewell: “I won’t be accompanying you on the rest of your journey. Today I’m going back to my mom’s place. I’ll have someone pack my belongings another day.”

“Take… take care on your way home.”

With that, Ye Shuyi turned away from the bright streetlight. The moment she turned, tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her feet felt like they were weighed down with lead as she walked away with slow, heavy steps.

Yi Qian watched the retreating figure gradually disappear into the darkness, standing frozen in place. In that instant, her world seemed to crumble and wither away bit by bit. The process should have been silent, yet to her it felt deafeningly loud—as if all the noise in the world had gathered to clamor in her ears.

In her line of sight, Ye Shuyi stepped under another bright streetlight.

Suddenly, Yi Qian seemed to see the last remaining patch of green in her barren world. She ran forward and embraced the fading warmth, her voice trembling with a hint of plea: “Don’t leave me.”

Ye Shuyi tilted her head back slightly, struggling to keep the tears from falling as she pried open the arms holding her. She didn’t speak, didn’t look back.

On the villa terrace.

Following the script, Ye Shuyi’s character didn’t immediately break free from Yi Qian’s embrace but allowed herself to be held.

“Give me a reason that will make me give up,” Yi Qian clung tightly to the person in her arms, insisting on an explanation for the breakup. “I don’t believe people can just stop loving someone like that. Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I can change. Let’s not break up, okay?”

Ye Shuyi closed her eyes deeply, and the tears that had been pooling there overflowed instantly. Large teardrops fell to the ground, landing on the back of Yi Qian’s hand.

Feeling the warm liquid drip onto her skin, Yi Qian stiffened slightly from the heat, immediately breaking character to release Ye Shuyi and check on her. But then she heard Ye Shuyi continue with the scripted lines: “Not loving someone needs no reason, just as loving someone doesn’t.”

Yi Qian let go and turned Ye Shuyi to face her, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes with a pained expression. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. We don’t have to act anymore, it’s okay.”

She hadn’t expected the other to get so deeply immersed in the role.

Ye Shuyi looked up at her with deer-like eyes glistening with moisture, the rims slightly red, appearing utterly pitiful.

Yi Qian’s heart ached so intensely it felt like her internal organs were twisting together, hating herself for making the other act out this scene.

“Let’s go inside, it’s…” cold out here.

Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly felt arms tighten around her waist as Ye Shuyi hugged her, burying her face against Yi Qian’s neck. The slightly hurried breaths against her skin caused an itching sensation there.

As the person in her arms gradually warmed up, Yi Qian seemed to slowly realize something—why the normally decisive Ye Shuyi had said so many seemingly unnecessary things before acting out the scene.

Was it because she didn’t want to say that word to her again?

And this current embrace—could Yi Qian interpret it as Ye Shuyi having regrets too?

Then… perhaps this was a good opportunity to clarify things.

Yi Qian didn’t move, gently patting the other’s back as she asked softly: “Can you tell me now why you left me back then?”

She truly wanted to know.

The person in her arms stiffened momentarily.

“If you don’t want to answer that question,” Yi Qian offered her another option, “can you at least tell me why you came back?”

“Hello… hello… testing, testing. Everyone should be able to hear this. Just a quick announcement—tomorrow’s recording will be broadcast live, over and out!”

The broadcast echoed throughout the entire building, snapping Ye Shuyi back to reality. She quickly pulled away from Yi Qian’s embrace, looking slightly embarrassed as she said, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

Yi Qian glanced coldly at the speaker in the corner, silently adding another strike against Director Lu in her mind.

The next morning, Yi Qian and Ye Shuyi arrived in the living room one after the other. At the stairwell, staff members were still selling breakfast—the same overpriced options as before.

Director Lu had a cameraman zoom in on the breakfast stall, showcasing the variety of meals the show had prepared for the guests in an attempt to salvage his “stingy” reputation.

[Wow, the breakfast looks delicious…]

[What the hell? Ten bucks for a single fried dough stick? Might as well just rob us at this point.]

[No wonder Yi Qian was busking in the square yesterday to earn money. Seems like Director Lu isn’t just stingy—he’s a full-on vampire.]

Director Lu, reading the live comments: “……”

He immediately signaled the cameraman to focus on Yi Qian.

Sure enough, the audience’s attention quickly shifted, with the chat exploding in screams and endless praise.

After the guests finished breakfast, Director Lu turned on the living room’s LCD screen, displaying the live feed.

He gestured to the production team, and several activity options soon appeared on the screen:

1.

Haunted House Challenge.

2.

Extreme Amusement Rides.

3.

Hide-and-Seek.

Director Lu picked up his megaphone and explained, “Viewers, what you’re seeing now are the potential activities our guests might participate in next. Which one they’ll do depends entirely on you.”

“In a moment, we’ll open a voting channel. You’ll have thirty seconds to vote—just tap the screen with your lucky little fingers and choose the activity you want to see.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the voting began. The Haunted House option surged ahead at an overwhelming pace.

[Haunted House, sisters!!! Let’s go for the haunted house!]

[I wanna see the haunted house too—all that screaming would be hilarious.]

[Just look at the guests’ faces. I can already tell who’s scared, hahahaha…]

Thirty seconds later, the Haunted House Challenge won by a landslide.

Director Lu, delighted, raised his megaphone and announced, “Alright then, everyone, get ready. We’re heading out soon.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Director Lu paused and looked at Ye Shuyi, who rarely spoke up. “Hmm? Any questions?”

Ye Shuyi glanced around at the other guests before replying calmly, “So… you’re not even going to ask the guests for their opinions?”

Director Lu smirked. “Sorry, but today’s all about the audience’s choice. But don’t worry—the production team will absolutely ensure everyone’s safety and enjoyment.”

“Or… are you scared, Agent Ye?”

Ye Shuyi’s eyes flickered slightly as she gave a light shake of her head. “It’s nothing, just asking. The other activities look quite interesting too.”

Director Lu responded, “Glad you think so. There’s no rush to try the other activities later.”

“If there are no issues, then everyone should get ready to depart!”

After an hour’s drive, the production team arrived at the prearranged haunted house attraction.

The haunted house was located in a small district within Star City’s fifth ring road. The buildings here were rather old, with few residents. Due to the haunted house, the area usually attracted quite a few young visitors, but today, the production team had booked the entire place for filming, leaving the streets eerily quiet.

Perhaps because she already had an inkling of what was to come, Ye Shuyi couldn’t shake the feeling that the surroundings were unnervingly sinister.

Now, the six guests stood in a row, facing three dilapidated haunted house buildings with peeling walls and an ominous, eerie atmosphere—as if something truly malevolent might emerge at any moment.

Ye Shuyi quietly took a step back.

Noticing her movement, Yi Qian leaned slightly closer and teased, “What’s wrong? Scared?”

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