I Heard I Was the Scumbag Alpha of a Top-Tier Celebrity (GL) - Chapter 8

Gu Xin shoved the identification report into her bag and hailed a car.

Gu Xin was not idle during the drive from the residential complex entrance to the airport.

Every word on the identification report was etched into her mind. Gu Xin closed her eyes and pulled up the “recording” of the night she was searching for phone clues. The film stopped at a strange text message.

March 28th, an unknown number sent a message: [Money has been transferred].

The scene flipped, and the bank transaction records also stopped on the night of March 28th, where a transfer of one hundred and fifty thousand from the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China slowly appeared.

What did she trade with someone to get a profit of one hundred and fifty thousand? Nothing that “Gu Xin” possessed could yield such a profit with no capital.

And who around “Gu Xin” held that value? Yan Shuangshuang.

Gu Xin thought, What channel would she use to contact a paparazzo for an exposé, where the workload was so great I hadn’t even had time to look through it all?

Only Weibo.

That account, filled with junk information, had already consumed most of her energy just filtering the follow list. She had only glanced at the top layer of DMs and hadn’t looked further, a mistake that caused her to miss crucial information.

Gu Xin clenched her fist, resting her head against the window frame. Her temples throbbed painfully. The driver in the rearview mirror saw her bad complexion and couldn’t help but ask: “Miss, what time is your flight?”

Gu Xin forced herself to be coherent: “Seven o’clock. Master, can you speed up? It’s urgent.”

“Alright.” The driver immediately accelerated. “Seven o’clock is plenty of time, don’t worry too much. But where are you flying to so late?”

“The Capital.”

“The Capital is good. My daughter is there too. She just went to the capital with her husband the day before yesterday to see a doctor for their child.”

Gu Xin followed the conversation: “What’s the illness? Is it serious?”

“It concerns pheromones, so it is serious, and yet it’s not. My granddaughter is an Omega, only fourteen. Last week, a Beta boy in her class brought his family’s powerful inhibitor to play with, accidentally opened a bottle, and as a result, many kids in the class prematurely entered their differentiation period.” The driver was clearly a master storyteller and recounted the whole story without needing any prompts or questions from the listener.

“Ah, can it be treated?”

“They send them to the big hospital to test their hormones, of course.” The driver deftly turned the steering wheel. “First, they test the hormones, then prescribe medicine based on the situation to see if they can regulate it. If they can’t, they can only rely on fate.”

“No special medicine?”

“Of course not.” The driver pouted. “Humans are still complicated. Many kids have problems during the differentiation period. Things like incomplete gland development, pheromone deficiency, hormonal imbalance—there are too many, a huge pile. The hospitals are all kept alive by the differentiation period. Luckily, our child’s problem isn’t serious. I heard they just need to take some O-hormone medicine to supplement.”

“That’s not bad.” Gu Xin’s tightly furrowed brow finally relaxed. She suddenly thought of something and asked hesitantly, “So once the differentiation period begins, will the hospital issue an identification report to children who differentiated early or late?”

“No, you have to wait until the differentiation period is over. If the hormone levels are unstable, how can they accurately measure your gender?” The driver joked, “You must have had a very smooth differentiation period, not having any worries at all. The differentiation period is tough. For some, it’s a day or two; for others, it’s several months of torture.”

Gu Xin mumbled an acknowledgment. She looked out at the rapidly passing scenery, thinking: Yan Shuangshuang’s last job was during the Chinese New Year. From late January to late March, a two-month differentiation period?

Where was she during those two months?

The driver was true to his word and drove quickly. In less than an hour, she arrived at the airport. By the time she passed security and reached the waiting area, there were still fifty minutes until the plane took off.

Gu Xin’s phone screen dimmed and brightened, brightened and dimmed. Finally, she sent a WeChat message to Yan Shuangshuang: [Something came up. Going to the Capital. Will be back Monday.]

Then, snap, she took a picture of the ticket and sent it along.

However, by the time she boarded and the flight attendant asked her to put her phone on airplane mode, Yan Shuangshuang still hadn’t replied.

*

11:30 PM, the Capital.

Environmental problems in the Capital had become increasingly severe in recent years, and smog in spring was perfectly normal. Late at night, Gu Xin couldn’t see the stars even if she wanted to.

Gu Xin booked a small hotel next to a university, just around the corner from the institute. The taxi driver from the airport sped all the way, dropping Gu Xin off at the hotel entrance and quickly driving away, as if afraid of catching something, leaving Gu Xin standing there blankly, utterly confused.

This confusion was finally answered when Gu Xin stepped into the hotel named “Waiting for Love.”

As soon as Gu Xin entered, she wished she had no sense of smell, because the smell of inhibitors inside was too mixed and overpowering, like a crude hospital liberally spraying a lethal amount of disinfectant. Anyone entering this hotel would want to pass out.

If it weren’t so late and a Saturday—a day associated with ambiguity—Gu Xin would have immediately booked a new place to stay.

The front desk, accustomed to Gu Xin’s weary expression, remained unfazed. After she registered, she held her hands up and said, “Better inhibitors need to be purchased separately.”

“I’m alone.”

This time, the front desk’s expression finally showed a hint of surprise. She scanned Gu Xin up and down and mumbled, “How strange.”

After quickly preparing her room card, the front desk led her upstairs: “If you feel unwell, please use an inhibitor as soon as possible. Otherwise, the hotel will not only ban you but also report you to the police for indiscriminately releasing pheromones in a public space. We can’t control how long you’ll be detained then.”

Gu Xin was somewhat shocked: “Don’t you host couples here?”

The front desk pointed to a slogan in the stairwell—Pheromone-Free Zone. A prohibition sign was posted underneath.

It was a bit of dark humor for a hotel to post that.

However, Gu Xin was too tired to ponder the strangeness. After arriving at the room, she took a quick shower. Her eyelids were drooping when she came out, but with something on her mind, she couldn’t really sleep.

She repeatedly pulled up Yan Shuangshuang’s WeChat, already able to recite the name, profile picture, and signature. The message she had sent hours ago still had no response.

Waiting for an answer was truly agonizing.

As Gu Xin stared, her eyes slowly closed. Sleep came gently yet fiercely, so much so that Gu Xin forgot she was a person who had nightmares.

Just half an hour after she fell asleep, at 12:22 AM, the screen lit up.

[Why are you going to the Capital?]

*

Gu Xin clearly knew this was a dream.

Everything was hazy. In the dream, Gu Xin felt like she was playing a first-person RPG game—lucid yet immersed, with her emotions rising and falling with the events.

Her first feeling was pain. She had never experienced such agonizing pain. Being pierced by a thousand arrows was not enough to describe it. In the depths of the pain, Gu Xin thought, It turns out a person can truly be tearless and woundless, yet hurt so much that they cannot speak.

Her dry eyes stared at the ceiling, and in her blurry vision, a face that was equally haggard yet beautiful suddenly appeared.

Yan Shuangshuang’s mouth opened and closed, as if she were saying something, but Gu Xin couldn’t hear. She lay on the bed like a corpse, completely unresponsive to the outside world. All those bizarre things in her mind were bombarding her, detonating every last bit of her sanity. Whatever Yan Shuangshuang said to her, she was indifferent and uncaring. She was like a broken puppet, caring about no one.

This attitude provoked Yan Shuangshuang’s anger.

Slap, a numb, sharp pain struck her face.

Gu Xin belatedly realized she had been hit.

The person who hit her knelt beside her, sobbing loudly with her face covered. Crystal tears fell in a stream, attracting Gu Xin’s remaining attention.

Her rusty brain barely began to turn.

Who is this?

So unfamiliar.

Does she know her?

What is this falling? It’s so beautiful. Why doesn’t she remember?

So tired, so tired.

A soft, hoarse voice sounded in her ear, filled with endless temptation. It said, If you’re tired, sleep. If you sleep, the pain will go away.

Gu Xin was tempted. The clamor in her mind gradually quieted. She slowly closed her eyes, her hands resting peacefully on her lower abdomen, as dignified as if she were entering a coffin.

The crying in her ear grew louder, but her consciousness descended uncontrollably, carrying the crying away with it. Every cell was immersed in a dreamlike peace.

Before losing consciousness, Gu Xin thought.

—I wish it was her who died.

*

Gu Xin woke up with a start!

She gasped for air, cold sweat slicking her forehead like a waterfall, her palms clammy.

The night wind howled outside, rattling the windows, but Gu Xin felt her world was utterly silent.

Was she dead? Or alive?

Was she still in the dream?

If this was reality, why was she suffocating from pain, just like in the dream?

If this was a dream, how could she wake up?

The cool air hit her face, making Gu Xin shiver. She hugged the quilt with a vacant stare, her body alternately exploding as if on fire and frigid as a glacier. In this torment, she was dazed and adrift.

Gu Xin slowly thought, Where am I?

Am I home?

Her hearing slowly returned. The sound of traffic outside, mixed with faint voices, gently worked together to dissolve her nightmare. Gu Xin’s hot, foggy mind was finally granted a sliver of clarity.

She was in the Capital, on the path to finding her past.

Gu Xin trembled as she opened her contact list and, with muscle memory, dialed a number. A cold female voice answered from the other end—Sorry, the number you dialed is not in service.

Clatter, her phone dropped onto the quilt. Gu Xin froze in place, as if devoid of feeling.

It turned out that they were no longer here.

Mom, Mother, Brother.

They were dead.