A Short-Lived Cannon Fodder Alpha Just Wants to Be a Salted Fish - Chapter 3

As soon as the friend request was accepted, the status at the top of the screen displayed: The other party is typing…

Wen Yuan waited for a while, but no message appeared. Bored, she began scrolling through Chu Yihan’s profile.

Chu Yihan’s profile picture was solid black—a stark contrast to her “clean-as-white-paper” aura. It felt strange. Her nickname was equally odd: 125. What the hell was that? It didn’t look like a weight measurement; Chu Yihan looked very thin. It couldn’t be her height either…

Wen Yuan was amused by her own nonsensical thoughts. Maybe it’s her lowest exam score, used as a reminder to push herself?

How strict (and terrifyingly disciplined). Wen Yuan clicked her tongue and entered Chu Yihan’s Moments. It was completely empty.

She suddenly recalled Shi Ran’s description of her: “No worldly desires.”

Returning to the chat, the “typing” status was still there. Originally uninterested, Wen Yuan’s curiosity was now piqued. She really wanted to see what kind of long essay Chu Yihan was composing for her.

During the wait, Wen Yuan decided to set a nickname for her. She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand while typing with the other, muttering to herself, “Looks so sweet, yet bites so hard.”

With a hint of petty revenge, Wen Yuan added a “little dog” emoji after the name “Chu Yihan.”

Just as she finished, Chu Yihan’s message finally arrived. It was only three words: “I am sorry.”

Perhaps because Chu Yihan had spent so much time typing it, Wen Yuan could sense the genuine guilt behind that simple apology, even without an explanation.

CenturyEggPorridge: “It’s fine. I know it was because the heat was too much to handle. I understand.”

Chu Yihan: “Is your differentiation over? Are you adjusting well?”

CenturyEggPorridge: “Finished. Not quite adjusted yet, but overall I feel okay. Thanks for asking.”

Wen Yuan glanced at the “typing…” status again. This time, her curiosity was gone, so she opened a game to pass the time.

When the game ended, she saw Chu Yihan’s message: [I am at least half responsible for this. I will take responsibility and compensate you.]

Stunned by the phrasing, Wen Yuan replied: “No need for compensation. I should thank you for the suppressor and for taking me to the infirmary.”

She paused, then asked the question lingering in her mind: “Actually, where did that extra suppressor come from? I thought you used the one we got at the store?”

While waiting for a reply, Wen Yuan looked up whether Omega suppressants worked on newly differentiated Alphas. The internet was a mess of contradictions: some said Alphas’ hormones were too high for them to work, while others claimed they had a 10% effect on any Alpha.

Basically useless, Wen Yuan thought, closing the browser.

Chu Yihan replied three minutes later: “I just went to take a shower. Taking you to the infirmary was what I should have done. The suppressor belonged to someone else.”

Why did she feel the need to explain she was showering? Wen Yuan felt it was odd but couldn’t put her finger on why. She ran a hand through her hair and decided not to dwell on the suppressor. “Okay,” she sent back.

When Han Yu entered the room, she saw Chu Yihan staring at her phone, her shoulders relaxing as if letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did something happen?” Han Yu handed her a glass. “Drink your milk.”

Chu Yihan put her phone down and took the glass without answering.

Han Yu didn’t press her. “Your Uncle Duan and I have to go to Shanghai tomorrow. Yan-yan isn’t coming home, so take care of yourself.”

Chu Yihan drank the milk and gave an expressionless “Mm.”

“Go visit your grandfather at the hospital when you have time,” Han Yu added. “He says he misses you.”

“I’ll go Saturday.”

Han Yu’s brow didn’t un-furrow. An accident four years ago had taken Chu Yihan’s father. At the time, Han Yu couldn’t look at her daughter without thinking of her husband, so she traveled frequently, leaving Chu Yihan with her grandparents. It wasn’t until two years later that she realized how selfish she’d been—making a teenager lose both a father and a mother’s affection at the same time.

Chu Yihan was brilliant and sensible; she never complained and even supported Han Yu’s remarriage. But the more “worry-free” she was, the more guilty Han Yu felt.

“Sleep early,” Han Yu said, taking the empty glass. She turned back at the door. “Remember to keep your suppressors and patches ready.”

Chu Yihan’s long eyelashes fluttered. “Mm.”

After her mother left, Chu Yihan looked at the closed door and sighed—a soft, lonely sound in the empty room.

Perhaps because of the differentiation and the sudden flood of memories, Wen Yuan tossed and turned that night.

The next morning, she had to be yelled at three times by her mother before she crawled out of bed for online classes. Ever since she’d developed feelings for Jiang Huaiyu, she’d neglected her studies. Now, the online lessons sounded like gibberish.

By the afternoon, she was so drowsy she started dozing off during the second period. Her father, a total “daughter slave,” saw her napping in front of the computer and didn’t have the heart to wake her. He even lied to her mother over the phone: “She’s studying very hard!”

Wen Yuan slept until the end of the day. When she woke up, the screen was filled with assignments.

Just as she was wondering if her “special condition” exempt her from homework, her teacher sent a voice note: “Wen Yuan, once you’re done, upload photos of your homework to the portal. The subject teachers will grade them.”

Wen Yuan was stunned. Usually, no one cared if she did her homework. Now, she was the center of attention. How ridiculous…

Chinese and English were manageable, but the math problems were way beyond her. After staring at the paper for half an hour, she messaged Shi Ran.

FragrantPorkRose: [Image]

FragrantPorkRose: “I don’t know how to do 15, 17, or 18 either.”

Wen Yuan didn’t want to type while copying answers, so she started a voice call. “Did you ask Wang Sanjin?”

“He said he doesn’t know,” Shi Ran grumbled. “But when I checked answers with Zhang Lili, she said Wang Xin gave her the answer to 17 and told her specifically not to tell me.”

Wen Yuan clicked her tongue. “How petty.”

“That’s why he’s a perennial runner-up,” Shi Ran added.

Wen Yuan had an idea. “Don’t you have the ‘Number One’ on your list?”

“You mean the Little Academic God? I want to ask,” Shi Ran sighed, “but I’m scared.”

“You’re an Alpha and you’re scared to ask an Omega a question?”

“Honestly,” Shi Ran explained, “from the two lines we exchanged online, her aura is like an Alpha’s. Very cold.”

Wen Yuan laughed. She couldn’t associate Chu Yihan’s “sweet girl” face with the word “cold.” “I’ll try.”

Wen Yuan switched to Chu Yihan’s chat. Coincidentally, a message arrived: “How are you today?”

Wen Yuan took the chance to reply: “Okay, except for these math problems. [Stressed]”

Only after sending it did she realize Chu Yihan’s greeting was from 40 minutes ago. She checked the time: 23:16.

It’s so late. Is she asleep?

After five minutes of silence, Wen Yuan was about to tell Shi Ran she’d have to suffer alone, but a message popped up.

Chu Yihan: “I’ll teach you.”

Wen Yuan froze for a second before snapping a photo of the problems and sending them. Chu Yihan replied almost instantly: “Wait a moment.”

Ten minutes later, a photo arrived. The handwriting on the scratch paper was elegant. It wasn’t the final answers, but the formulas and logic needed for problems 15 and 17. Wen Yuan followed the hints, solved them, and sent them back: “Correct?”

Chu Yihan: “Correct.”

Wen Yuan forwarded the answers to Shi Ran. Then, another message came from Chu Yihan:

[The last problem is complicated. Is it convenient to do a voice call?]

Wen Yuan proved it was very convenient by calling immediately. The phone rang seven or eight times before Chu Yihan picked up.

“Hello?” Wen Yuan tested.

There was a silence for about thirty seconds. Then, “Hello, Wen Yuan.”

Because it was late, Chu Yihan’s voice was low. The sweet, breathy way she said Wen Yuan’s name was incredibly pleasant to the ear. Wen Yuan’s throat tightened; she suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Fortunately, Chu Yihan went straight to the point. She explained the problem in detail—much clearer than their math teacher’s jumping logic. Wen Yuan calculated it confidently.

The result was wildly wrong.

“The third step is wrong. You substitute X, not Y.” Chu Yihan pointed out the mistake and patiently walked her through it again.

Wen Yuan’s ears burned. She kept her head down, writing furiously. Even though Chu Yihan wasn’t mocking her, Wen Yuan felt a deep sense of shame. She just wanted the call to end.

But Shi Ran was still blowing up her messages.

FragrantPorkRose: “Don’t hang up! Ask her if we can consult her for future problems too!”

Pushed into a corner, Wen Yuan braced herself and asked. There was no response.

Does she think I’m too stupid to teach? Wen Yuan muttered under her breath, “And you said you’d take responsibility for me…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard the sound of a glass being placed on a table. Then, Chu Yihan’s voice, carrying a hint of a smile, flowed through the earbuds:

“I will take responsibility for you.”