After Transmigrating as a Scum Alpha, Both the Heroine and I Fell Hard (Transmigration) - Chapter 5

Ruan Tang didn’t answer. Like a deflated balloon, she seemed to lose all her energy, her fingernails digging hard into the back of her other hand.

Song Chenxi stepped forward, blocking Ruan Tang’s path. “Can I… see your hand?”

Ruan Tang: “…” Yes.

She never had a choice. She listened to whatever her Master said; she did whatever her Master required. To her, the Alpha’s temporary gentleness wasn’t a sign of a newfound conscience, but a precursor to even greater violence. Without a word, she submissively handed her hand to Song Chenxi.

Ruan Tang’s palms were thin, her fingers long and slender. Thin skin stretched over angular bones, and blue veins pulsed beneath the surface. She was far too soft, far too fragile—looking as though she would break at a touch or shatter under the slightest pressure.

Song Chenxi frowned slightly. An Omega like this had absolutely no power to resist when faced with an Alpha’s brutality. As she lightly rubbed the back of the Omega’s hand, she coaxed her softly, “Ruan Tang, be good. Don’t scratch. You’ll break the skin if you keep going. I truly… don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

With that, Song Chenxi let go of her hand. Ruan Tang looked up cautiously, but the moment their eyes met, she immediately looked away.

Song Chenxi grabbed her phone and charger and headed for the door. She looked back every few steps, saying with a smile, “You sleep here tonight. I’ll sleep outside.”

Ruan Tang followed her tremulously, stopping about a meter away. She asked guardedly, “It’s so late… where are you going?”

Song Chenxi pointed downstairs. “The sofa in the living room is huge. It looks very comfortable.”

“That… um, that won’t do!” Ruan Tang’s voice rose slightly, her breathing a bit ragged. Her face turned bright red as she spoke, as if she were holding back a huge amount of effort.

Help!

She’s too cute!

“Ahem…” Strange memories from the original host surfaced in Song Chenxi’s mind. She cleared her throat and waved her hand at Ruan Tang. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

With that, Song Chenxi left and quickly went downstairs. The smile vanished from her face. To Ruan Tang, she was the source of the greatest harm. Perhaps by staying away, the girl could finally relax a bit.

The sofa was indeed large, the leather soft and delicate—clearly the work of a master craftsman. She arranged the cushions and flopped down. At first, it was quite comfortable, her body enveloped by the soft material.

However, perhaps because she hadn’t adapted to this new body or environment, Song Chenxi couldn’t fall asleep. She eventually sat up, leaning back to rest with her eyes closed. From her vantage point, she could see the entrance to the basement.

There was a camera mounted on the white maple door, and a picture frame was stuck to it. Inside the frame wasn’t a photo, but a message written in bold red marker: “BE QUIET!”

The original host hadn’t provided a bedroom for Ruan Tang; she had imprisoned her in the basement like a pet, calling it “her room” only in name. The camera was to monitor Ruan Tang to prevent escape; the warning was for Ruan Tang to see, to stop her from calling for help.

“Crap!”

Song Chenxi’s face darkened. She walked to the door, ripped down the frame, and threw it in the trash. Then, she stood on a chair, pulled down the camera, and tossed it in the trash as well.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Song Chenxi finally managed to close her eyes.

Perhaps because of the unfamiliar bed, Song Chenxi’s sleep was filled with dreams. She dreamed of her childhood, being punished by her mother for poor grades and forced to sleep in the hallway or on the balcony. The sofa was the best she could hope for—at least it was soft.

Yes, it was quite soft.

In her daze, Song Chenxi felt as if she were entangled in thousands of threads, and as if feathers were repeatedly tickling the tip of her nose. The sensation was bizarre. She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. Suddenly, she heard someone calling her name. The voice was hazy, sweet, and incredibly beautiful.

Song Chenxi finally managed to open her eyes.

Ruan Tang was lying beside her, wearing only a very thin camisole. In the pale moonlight, her face looked drained of life—pale and weak. Strands of the Omega’s hair were draped across Song Chenxi’s face; she finally realized what those “threads” had been.

She rubbed her hands together, brushed back her own hair, and sat up, putting distance between herself and Ruan Tang like a stranger. She looked at the night sky outside, then at Ruan Tang, and asked with feigned composure, “What… what are you doing?”

It was silent. Ruan Tang kept her head low, only looking up after a long moment. “Today is the… last day of your susceptibility period. You… you haven’t yet…”

Oh!

I see.

Alphas in their susceptibility period need an Omega’s comfort. In the original book, whenever the host hit this period, the poor Omega became a human “relief tool.” Although she was mistreated regularly, the susceptibility period was always more frenzied.

While Song Chenxi understood the ABO world-building, this was her first time transmigrating, and she wasn’t “professionally trained” in these operations. She had seen the sex education manuals in the hospital corridor; an Alpha could survive the period with suppressants or oral medication, but the process was agonizingly painful and had physical side effects.

Song Chenxi didn’t care about that. She only knew she couldn’t let Ruan Tang be hurt again. She wanted to protect her. She wanted to be good to her.

“I’m sorry, Ruan Tang. I appreciate the thought, but I already had a strong suppressant injection at the hospital. I’m fine now. Dr. Pei said you shouldn’t trigger ‘mating heat’ for the time being—it would be too much for your body to handle.”

Hearing this, Ruan Tang buried her head into her arms. Her beautiful long legs were dazzlingly white, her jade-like toes curling tightly.

“Ruan Tang?” Seeing her silence, Song Chenxi worried she might cry again and leaned in to check.

Ruan Tang’s ears were slightly red, the color vivid against her snow-white skin. Song Chenxi suddenly realized that in this world, discussing “mating heat” with an adult Omega was basically the same as heavy flirting.

She shut up immediately. “No, no, I just meant… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Song Chenxi spoke incoherently, a light pink flush creeping up her own neck. She backed away a few steps and sat on a two-seater sofa two meters away. “Go back upstairs and rest. Tomorrow I’ll find someone to get a room ready for you.”

Ruan Tang remained where she was, eyes downcast, refusing to stand up. Song Chenxi puzzled over this for a few seconds. Ruan Tang’s fear of the original host surpassed instinct; it wouldn’t be fixed overnight.

She couldn’t exactly announce that she wasn’t the original Song Chenxi and that she had transmigrated from 2035—she’d be locked up as a lunatic. Even though she was once a doctor, she knew PTSD well. It was a product of severe physical and mental damage; healing wouldn’t happen in a day. Forcing a patient to accept a “new identity” too quickly could backfire.

Time is the best medicine; haste makes waste.

“Ruan Tang, be good. Go to sleep first. We’ll talk about everything else tomorrow, okay?” As she spoke, Song Chenxi reached out and gently patted the top of Ruan Tang’s head.

This stalling tactic worked. Ruan Tang climbed up, eyes glancing up cautiously. Seeing the gentle smile on the other’s face, she dropped her head again. “Are we… not continuing this time either?”

“No,” Song Chenxi nodded repeatedly, not knowing what else to say.

Perhaps because it was the last day of the period, or because her own will was strong, Song Chenxi didn’t lose control.

Maybe it was curiosity about this new world, but Song Chenxi woke up very early. She blinked at the unfamiliar living room. After confirming the Omega wasn’t up yet, she let out a relaxed sigh and stared at the crystal chandelier.

Song Chenxi didn’t usually exercise, but since she was up early with nothing to do, she decided to go for a morning run and grab some breakfast. This was a wealthy neighborhood, filled with beautiful villas. As she stepped out, she saw an old man from the neighboring villa walking his bird.

She nodded politely with a smile. “Good morning, sir!”

The old man froze, then immediately turned his back on her.

Song Chenxi: “…” The original host’s reputation is truly impressive.

After running for a while, she found a breakfast stall. It was small, but the line was long. She had a “discovery” mentality—a line usually meant good food. She stood at the end of the queue, a slight sweat making her skin look clear and bright.

Passersby who were initially drawn to her model-like figure flinched when they saw her face.

“Oh, isn’t that the second Song miss?”

“No way, you must be mistaken! Why would someone like her buy breakfast at a street stall?”

“Oh, right.”

People in this area mostly knew each other. Even if not close, they had an impression. Song Chenxi smiled awkwardly at the strangers, hands tucked in her tracksuit pockets. Her expression was more relaxed than it had ever been.

“What would you like, guest?”

Song Chenxi looked at the array of pastries, her eyes lighting up. A second later, she froze—she had forgotten to ask what Ruan Tang liked to eat. She bought a few items that looked delicate, thinking she would ask about Ruan Tang’s tastes when she got back.

“Boss, give me one more savory tofu pudding. Extra cilantro, no green onions!”