Chapter 9: 09 Dragon King Returns!

Zhu Lexing never imagined Yan Mian would respond to her.

If she could, she wanted to say her piece and bolt, committing fully to playing dead.

But given the Original Host’s personality, once she’d shown her face, there was no way she’d play the shrinking violet afterward.

Besides, “Zhu Lexing” knew Song Yun, so courtesy demanded she at least say hello.

While Zhu Lexing weighed her options, Song Yun had already shifted her gaze away from Yan Mian and calmly poured two cups of tea.

She slid one over to Zhu Lexing.

The other landed right in front of Yan Mian.

It was a subtle way of keeping the guest around.

“Lexing can be blunt sometimes—don’t take it to heart,” Song Yun said.

“Above all else, your health comes first,” she added. “You wouldn’t want Mr. Zhu worrying indefinitely, would you?”

Where Zhu Lexing was direct and made no effort to hide her feelings, Song Yun employed a softer tactic—speaking in gentle, measured tones that quietly nudged you toward agreeing with her.

Yan Mian caught the drift: this woman was firmly in Zhu Lexing’s camp. The realization made her question Song Yun’s true intentions.

If Song Yun was genuinely looking out for her on Zhu Lin’s behalf, as claimed, why hadn’t she shown up sooner? Why pick such a suspiciously timed visit?

On the other hand, if Zhu Lexing had put her up to it, everything clicked into place.

Was Zhu Lexing really that scared she’d run to Zhu Lin and snitch?

Footsteps drew near. In her peripheral vision, Yan Mian saw Zhu Lexing settle onto the sofa diagonally across from her.

Yan Mian’s eyelashes fluttered faintly. She shoved all her thoughts aside, lowered her head, sipped her tea, and stayed silent.

Zhu Lexing sensed the awkward tension and cut Song Yun off before she could speak, issuing a direct dismissal: “It’s late, Doctor Song. Anything else you need? If not—”

“Actually, yes,” Song Yun replied softly. “Did you fill out the form I left you last time?”

Zhu Lexing: ?!

She’d slipped up.

She never dreamed Song Yun would have a legitimate excuse to linger, leaving her momentarily speechless.

Luckily, the Original Host was rebellious by nature and notoriously forgetful, so it fit perfectly. Zhu Lexing recovered quickly and tossed out, “Forgot where I put it.”

“Forgetting” was code for not having filled it at all.

Song Yun read between the lines, and in her position, she had no reason to pick a fight.

Still, her gaze lingered thoughtfully on Zhu Lexing for several seconds before she smiled. “Really?”

Zhu Lexing figured she’d dodged the bullet and started to nod when Song Yun announced cheerfully, “No worries—I brought another one today.”

“Little Yan, why don’t you fill one out too?”

Zhu Lexing: “…”

With the conversation at that point, Zhu Lexing had no choice but to watch Song Yun pull the form from her bag—

It was called a form, but the stack of pages was thick as a novel.

She placed a copy of the 《Psychological Symptoms Self-Rating Scale》 in front of Zhu Lexing. One glance down, and Zhu Lexing’s pupils dilated in shock. In that same instant, she remembered Song Yun’s true role.

In the original story, Song Yun wasn’t named Song Yun at all—she was simply “the Psychologist” from start to finish.

The Original Host knew her own temperament skewed obsessive, but her circle consisted of the offspring of dignitaries and elites. She might disdain them inwardly, but she could never lash out publicly or unload her baggage. Song Yun had been a safe outlet for casual chats and unrestrained venting.

The household servants didn’t know Song Yun’s real profession; they just called her “doctor” and kept their mouths shut. The driver was loyal to Zhu Lexing and wouldn’t breathe a word to Zhu Lin unprompted, so the secret held.

But once Yan Mian joined the Zhu Family, Zhu Lexing gained a constant, controllable target for her frustrations.

The connection with Song Yun naturally fizzled out, with no further trace of her in the story.

Her appearances were so sparse that Zhu Lexing had glossed right over them—until this moment. As the memories flooded back, the hand cradling her teacup began to tremble faintly.

Why are you rich people all so meddlesome?

The twist hit without warning.

It left Yan Mian equally unsure of Song Yun’s allegiances.

She glanced uncertainly at Zhu Lexing, only to find the girl’s expression a tangled mess. It was a reflexive look; their eyes met mid-air before they both hastily averted them.

Song Yun observed it all, then rose with a gentle smile. “Next time I visit, I hope you won’t misplace the form again, Lexing.”

At least Yan Mian’s checkup was now locked in—mission accomplished, more or less. Zhu Lexing tamped down her irritation and scoffed, “Fine, got it.”

With the exchange wrapped up, Yan Mian walked Song Yun out—or rather, took a few extra steps.

Outside the villa, the night lamps cast long shadows behind them. Before climbing into the car, Song Yun turned and pressed a business card into Yan Mian’s hand. “Call me anytime you need to.”

Yan Mian couldn’t yet classify this Beta as ally or adversary, but she needed every potential lifeline—even if it just meant relaying a message to Zhu Lin.

She required all the options she could get.

Without overthinking it, Yan Mian accepted the card. “Thank you.”

Song Yun tilted her head. “I haven’t done anything for you yet. What are you thanking me for?”

Yan Mian blinked in surprise.

Gratitude had become as automatic as breathing for her, right alongside apologies.

Song Yun glanced toward the Zhu Family villa.

Lights blazed within, bathing every room in warmth. Zhu Lexing, however, stood apart—motionless just outside the door, untouched by the glow.

Her stare was steady and piercing, fixed on them as if weighing something in judgment.

Song Yun looked away and told Yan Mian, “Feel free to skip the form yourself, but don’t fill it out for Lexing.”

Yan Mian recovered from her daze and lowered her gaze. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor Song.”

Once the car pulled away, Yan Mian lingered in place.

Zhu Lexing had eavesdropped on their full conversation through the System. Before Yan Mian turned back, she grabbed that form and retreated to her room.

Her first move upon returning was to rummage around. Spotting an identical copy, dusty but intact, she sank into thought.

As Song Yun had said, their last encounter included leaving the Original Host a detailed Psychological Test Form.

The Original Host never completed it, so that thread went cold.

But because of her sudden request today, Song Yun’s storyline had been unexpectedly reconnected.

Zhu Lexing asked the System a few more questions, only to find that it knew very little about Song Yun.

Of course. Its understanding of this world was entirely based on the original work, just like hers.

The original host hadn’t pursued that thread, so it had simply ended there.

Zhu Lexing: 【So, your knowledge of the characters is also based on the original work?】

The System didn’t respond.

Zhu Lexing was starting to think the System was utterly unreliable, but it was already bound to her, and there was no way to unbind it. She’d just have to take things one step at a time.

She stared at the form for a few seconds before deciding to slack off.

One day of coasting was one day won! Until those points were spent, no one was getting her to touch the main storyline.

Zhu Lexing flopped back onto the bed and rolled over.

She’d barely settled into the peaceful vibe when she pulled up the novel interface. She wanted to check the readers’ discussions about Song Yun for some inspiration.

That afternoon, she’d noticed that the novel’s update speed wasn’t tied to the passage of days—it depended on how many plot events she’d gone through.

Once the events lined up, the chapters updated in real time.

The new chapter posted just minutes ago detailed her entire day in full.

The school anniversary, Lin Yang, Yan Mian and Li Nian, Song Yun…

Zhu Lexing skimmed the early parts like so much filler until two familiar names jumped out at her. She scrolled back a few pages in shock and discovered that Yan Mian hadn’t refused the school anniversary arrangements after all!

The story was told primarily from “Zhu Lexing’s” perspective, with occasional glimpses into Yan Mian’s inner thoughts.

She could understand Yan Mian’s conflicted self-reflection—truly, she could—but Lin Yang had already appeared. As the vicious side character, once she entered the scene, she’d definitely make a move on Yan Mian.

By normal logic, the school anniversary was a golden opportunity for Lin Yang. With everyone watching, she could make Yan Mian embarrass herself. “Zhu Lexing,” true to character, would fly into a rage and grow even colder toward Yan Mian, perpetuating the cycle.

But as Zhu Lexing mulled it over, she realized that if Lin Yang really tried to frame Yan Mian at the school anniversary, it could actually be a great chance for her.

If she played it right, Yan Mian wouldn’t get hurt at all. There would be witnesses and evidence aplenty, Lin Yang would get slapped down hard, and they’d buy some peaceful time.

Even better, organizing the stage play meant she and Yan Mian could spend every spare moment together after classes, letting Zhu Lexing keep a close eye on her.

If they skipped it, Zhu Lexing couldn’t shadow Yan Mian around the clock. Lin Yang might catch her off guard and frame her anyway.

Weighing the options, Zhu Lexing convinced herself and chose the former.

This time, she finally drifted off in peace. When she woke, Yan Mian was gone. According to the servants, Song Yun had picked her up at seven to head to the hospital.

Still, that showed some care.

Zhu Lexing hadn’t interacted with Song Yun much, so she couldn’t tell if she was good or bad.

But black cat, white cat—the one that didn’t cause her trouble was a good cat.

Right on cue after morning self-study ended, Zhu Xing came looking for Zhu Lexing to talk. The topic was still the school anniversary.

It was clear Zhu Xing was a little intimidated by her. He treated her like a superior, second-guessing every word before he spoke—or didn’t speak.

Yan Mian had agreed, sure, but what about Zhu Lexing?

Zhu Lin had pulled strings to set this up, so the final say was hers.

Zhu Lexing shrugged. “I don’t have any strong feelings either way.”

Zhu Xing’s eyes lit up. “So… that means you’re okay with it?”

She nodded once, and he launched into an explanation of the process. Strictly speaking, she and Yan Mian were just the organizers from Class 1. There were eight classes in sophomore year, divided into four groups. Each class sent three students to help with the performances, and the organizers counted toward that, so they just needed to pick one more.

Zhu Lexing chose Song Yingying, naturally.

The reason was simple.

She was the only one Zhu Lexing knew.

Zhu Xing didn’t press for details. “Just check with Yan Mian, then.”

The first two periods that morning were set aside for rehearsals. Coming out of the office, Zhu Lexing mentioned it to Song Yingying.

The girl’s face was all innocent youthfulness. When she heard Zhu Lexing had picked her, panic flashed across her features. “Why me?”

The real reason was too rude to say aloud, so Zhu Lexing winged it. “Because you’ve got talent. Real potential.”

Song Yingying’s eyes went wide. “…………!”

It was the first time anyone had ever said something like that to her. Her heart raced, but then she looked at Zhu Lexing’s face, and the wild deer in her chest settled right down.

Remembering the absent Yan Mian, Song Yingying murmured, “Yan Mian, she—”

Yan Mian’s condition wasn’t public knowledge at school.

Zhu Lexing knew she was too proud to bring it up herself, so she just said, “She’s got something to handle. She’ll be here this afternoon.”

Song Yingying’s gaze held a flicker of distrust, but she didn’t push it.

The rehearsal space was in the dance studio.

It was bright and spotless. When Zhu Lexing pushed open the door, a crowd had already gathered inside. At the center was a tall, slender girl stretching her legs. With her flowing long hair and the graceful tilt of her head as she extended one leg, she looked just like a swan unfurling its wings.

Zhu Lexing spotted Li Nian in the crowd.

Maybe Yan Mian had given her a heads-up ahead of time. Li Nian didn’t show any hostility when she saw Zhu Lexing. She didn’t charge over demanding answers about Yan Mian, just quietly edged a bit farther to the side, as if trying to put some distance between them.

There were a few of Zhu Lexing’s “friends” among the group—members of the Little Sister Squad, by the System’s intel. Their bond wasn’t all that close, so there wasn’t much risk of her cover being blown.

Zhu Lexing greeted them warmly and sincerely. The girl who met her gentle gaze, Xu He, quickly looked away. “Qiao Qiao, Lexing’s here.”

“So?” Qiao Qiao adjusted her earbuds while stretching, sounding utterly indifferent. “Should I set off fireworks to welcome her or what? Do you have to suck up that hard?”

Zhu Lexing: !

To dare speak like that meant Qiao Qiao was on the same level as Zhu Lexing—or even higher.

Was there a character this feisty in the original story? How had she never noticed?

The System explained: 【Even people on the same level can be at odds.】

Qiao Qiao was a prime example.

She had a cool, aloof personality and despised cliques and factions above all else, while Zhu Lexing thrived on that exact kind of empty posturing. Naturally, it bred plenty of resentment toward her.

Xu He bristled at the rebuttal, her irritation clear. “Bootlickers see bootlicking in everything others say.”

Qiao Qiao gave a mocking half-smile, ready to fire back, but Zhu Lexing cut in bluntly, her interruption jarring. “I showed up late. That’s on me.”

“Qiao Qiao, long time no see.”

Zhu Lexing turned her face toward Qiao Qiao and curved her lips in a genuine smile.

It was the first time Qiao Qiao had ever heard Zhu Lexing own up to a mistake. She froze for a moment in shock.

A few seconds later, she lowered her crossed leg and let out a cold scoff. “Like a weasel paying New Year’s respects to the chicken. Who’s the one who suggested a stage play? Let’s hear about the script. We don’t have much time—don’t waste it.”

Li Nian raised her hand and launched into her ideas with enthusiasm.

With Yan Mian absent, Zhu Lexing had zero interest in the discussion. She zoned out and pulled up the comment section instead.

【Only One (-29): Lin Yang’s entrance was so masochistic… Don’t fall too hard, I’m warning you.

1L: Too bad—sadists go for normal people, masochists go for psychos.

2L: You fell for someone you never should’ve…

3L: Why does everyone tolerate the vicious supporting female so much? New fan here, and I just can’t get into Lin Yang.

4L: Because the author made the protagonist even crazier than the vicious side character (gentle). Now it’s full-on toxic yuri vibes.】

【Love You (-1): Song Yun’s a new character? Cool concept—doctor + gentle big sis. Shame she’s a Beta. If she were an Alpha, I could kinda ship the redemption arc!

1L: LOL, redemption arc? You just want the big spicy polycule mess.

2L: Redeem who? The psycho or the pitiful one?

3L: Official pairing—no breaks, no reverses. Aren’t you shippers sick of this yet?

—This comment has 566 replies. Thread collapsed—】

【R (0): Check-in.】

【What’s This? (100): TL;DR: Five eye-contact moments today. Zhu Lexing didn’t even twitch.

1L: @Zhu Lexing when’s the aggressive kiss with Yan Mian? Too much pure fluff lately—craving something twisted.

2L: @Zhu Lexing when do you confess to Yan Mian?

3L: @Zhu Lexing when do you two… Wait, aren’t you underage? Pretend I didn’t say that!】

Zhu Lexing was utterly speechless. As she pocketed her phone, she realized the Dance Studio had turned into a battlefield.

The other two classes weren’t happy with Li Nian’s proposal. They started arguing fiercely, each sticking to their guns. Li Nian had no real status or backing in this gathering of rich young ladies, so she couldn’t get a word in edgewise and had no choice but to back down.

Qiao Qiao sat off to the side, content to watch the drama unfold at first. But as tensions peaked, she suddenly spoke up. “What about you, Zhu Lexing? You’re in on this now—why stay quiet?”

Zhu Lexing: “…”

Stage plays? She’d never done anything so fancy in her previous life. But after transmigrating, she suddenly had access to all sorts of things she shouldn’t.

She racked her brain for a moment before saying, “Aren’t stage plays all about princes and princesses? We could just do one of those.”

The room fell silent the instant she finished speaking. Every eye in the Dance Studio turned to her face.

Zhu Lexing: ?

Sure, princes and princesses were cliché, but was it really that shocking?

This time, no one needed Qiao Qiao to prompt them. Someone asked outright, “What’s a prince? And a princess?”

Zhu Lexing: ?

The System chimed in: 【Civilization levels differ across worlds and stories. This one has no noble traditions. No fairy tales, either.】

Zhu Lexing never imagined her transmigration would turn her into a plagiarist peddling fairy tales.

Everyone else ripped off ancient classics or literary giants. What did it say about her, copying Andersen? <I Became a God by Remixing Fairy Tales in a Futuristic World>?

Zhu Lexing was baffled.

Zhu Lexing was floored.

But what was done was done. She could only ask, “You want to know?”

Qiao Qiao snorted coldly. “Suit yourself.”

Zhu Lexing shot back, “I never said I wouldn’t—”

It was starting to sound like a tongue twister, so she cut herself off. Rather than lecture them on fairy tales in general, she jumped straight into an example with Cinderella. “Suppose there’s this down-on-her-luck Omega girl from a fallen family. Her mother dies, her father remarries, and her stepmother and stepsisters treat her like dirt. What do you think happens to her next?”

Qiao Qiao pondered for a moment. “At nineteen, she finds out her test results got swapped. Awakens as a 3S Alpha and burns the whole family to ash with her powers.”

Zhu Lexing: “…”

The original story never ranked ABO types into tiers, but fans always came up with their own overpowered tropes. A 3S bloodline was basically the futuristic equivalent of a Mary Sue—invincible across the board.

Zhu Lexing figured Qiao Qiao had binged too many superpower revenge novels. She turned to Xu He instead.

Xu He thought it over, then ventured, “She goes into exile for years. Then the Dragon King Returns, pays back every ounce of suffering tenfold, and burns the whole family to ash.”

Zhu Lexing: “…”

This world had Dragon King Returns too?

Zhu Lexing couldn’t fathom their obsession with arson. Her head throbbed as she pinned her hopes on Song Yingying, praying for at least one normal person.

Song Yingying didn’t disappoint. She spoke slowly. “You mentioned love earlier… So the protagonist meets some perfect Omega, they hold hands, hug, start dating, and then—”

Zhu Lexing blinked. Under her gaze, Song Yingying flushed a little and continued softly, “—she borrows their power and burns the whole family to ash.”