As Yan Mian brushed past Qiao Qiao, Zhu Lexing was still seething over how the verbal tirade she’d just unleashed hadn’t been vicious enough.
She had just lowered her head to add another line when she noticed that the thread owner—the one who had been picking on Yan Mian—had already deleted the comment.
Zhu Lexing remembered her ID and was about to let loose with a few more curses when Qiao Qiao spoke up. “Have you seen the hot search? That TV crew that was filming at No. 1 High School issued an apology. They’ve officially announced that they’ve terminated their contract with Shi Song.”
Zhu Lexing’s fingers kept flying as she recalled the explosive gossip she’d glimpsed on the hot search earlier.
The crew’s drama was called 《Bygone Youth》, little more than a shoestring production driven by the producer’s passion. Roles went to anyone who could pay, and the supporting character Shi Song had been cast in didn’t specify a primary gender in the script.
Any Omega actor would do.
Qiao Qiao asked, “Shi Ruofeng or Yan Mian?”
Only then did Zhu Lexing’s fingers pause.
Qiao Qiao analyzed, “Shi Song’s just cannon fodder. If he blows up, he blows up. The real question is, who do you want to groom using him?”
“The way you say that, it sounds like I’ve been plotting this all along,” Zhu Lexing shot back casually. “Cut the speculation and get to the point. Got any resources to hook me up with?”
Qiao Qiao couldn’t quite fathom what was going through Zhu Lexing’s mind, but the other girl’s bluntness gave her a strange thrill of being needed. She replied quite naturally, “Zhu Lexing, I’ve noticed you’re getting less and less polite lately.”
Zhu Lexing replied gravely, “For the sake of future happiness, every sacrifice now is necessary and worthwhile! He’s just a blood bag. If he explodes, so be it.”
Yan Mian was great, so they were great!
By this point, the netizen she’d been trading barbs with finally noticed her inbox getting bombarded and blocked her.
Zhu Lexing tsked. “Can’t handle the heat.”
Qiao Qiao glanced over and roughly pieced together what had happened from the scathing words on screen. As they slung their bags over their shoulders and headed out together, she suddenly asked, “Are you really that eager for Yan Mian to leave you behind?”
Zhu Lexing found the question baffling. “Why would you even think that?”
“Then why give her resources?” Qiao Qiao asked, genuinely puzzled. “What’s the point if she blows up? How does that benefit you?”
In Qiao Qiao’s eyes, their relationship—if not lovers, then at least one-sided—was obvious enough if you paid attention. Zhu Lexing’s fondness for Yan Mian might not scream from the rooftops, but it was there for anyone who bothered to look.
If she liked her so much, why push Yan Mian away? Keeping her close by might not make Yan Mian happy in the long run, but at least they’d be together for a good while.
Qiao Qiao wasn’t close to Yan Mian and rarely interacted with her.
If not for the inexplicable ties binding Xu He and Zhu Lexing to her, she probably wouldn’t have given Yan Mian a second thought.
Zhu Lexing had to admit Qiao Qiao’s logic made sense.
But it had nothing to do with her actual intentions.
Things had reached this point. If Yan Mian wasn’t entering showbiz, the only one who could absorb all that traffic was Shi Ruofeng.
Yan Mian needed someone to help her along, and while Shi Ruofeng might have a cool personality, she was the “grateful” type. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be so close to Li Nian just because she’d been looked after for a few days.
But there was no need to spell all that out for Qiao Qiao.
Zhu Lexing said offhandedly, “Do you need a reason to do things? What’s the reason for running the relay with Xu He? What’s the reason for helping Shi Ruofeng today?”
Qiao Qiao thought for a moment. “I like her. You?”
Zhu Lexing began, “So, no reason. You’re just—”
Zhu Lexing fell abruptly silent.
Her expression turned blank as she turned to stare at Qiao Qiao. The other girl seemed utterly at ease, no hint of deception.
Zhu Lexing couldn’t help thinking life was getting more interesting by the day.
The setting sun melted into gold.
It bathed the room in a hazy amber glow, like a scene from faded celluloid film.
A fleeting smile crossed Qiao Qiao’s face. Though it lasted only seconds, Zhu Lexing caught it. She said flatly, “Is that joke supposed to be funny?”
Qiao Qiao shrugged. “If you say it’s a joke, then it’s a joke. How do you know I don’t like Xu He?”
“You can’t admit you like Yan Mian, so you assume no one else can either?”
Zhu Lexing: ?
The statement was so loaded with issues that she pondered for a few seconds before responding. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t… I’m not denying anything. I just don’t like her. Is that so hard to get?”
“Besides, what do you mean ‘no one else can’? Does not liking someone make you incapable? How many ‘incapable’ people would that make in the world?”
Qiao Qiao brushed it off. “Ah, yeah, sure.”
When it came to shamelessness, Qiao Qiao had reached a state of perfect harmony.
Even now, Zhu Lexing had only picked up the barest scraps of her technique and knew she was outmatched. She simply gave up.
She grabbed her bag and stood to leave, but Qiao Qiao trailed after her like nothing had happened. They’d walked a short distance when Qiao Qiao suddenly asked, “So, what do you think… the odds are of me confessing successfully to her? Zero percent? I’m not that lacking in charm, am I?”
Zhu Lexing halted on the stairs.
Without that last bit, she might have offered some advice, but as it was, she was brutally honest. “Your greatest charm is your way with words.”
In short, aside from that, she had none.
Qiao Qiao looked highly unconvinced, but Zhu Lexing had no time for one-on-one pep talks.
On the way home, Zhu Lexing kept half an eye on public opinion and deliberately pulled up Star Net again to check the hot search.
Three seconds later, deep regret washed over her. For the first time, she truly understood the meaning of “ignorance is bliss.”
The hot search had changed quite a bit in the past twenty minutes. The Lin Family Siblings’ arrest had shot to number one—a rock-solid criminal case that had netizens universally condemning them as scum.
But starting from fifth place, it had somehow shifted—no one knew when—from other entertainment buzz to—
My Limp and Boneless Alpha Girlfriend#
Yan Mian Zhu Lexing#
Zhu Lexing: “………………”
After tapping on it, Zhu Lexing methodically traced the matter back to its origins.
In the end, it was all the stage play’s fault.
Once the netizens’ curiosity was hooked, everyone brought out their top-tier gossip-hunting skills. The stage play’s cast members were doxxed one by one—names, social accounts, the works—and Zhu Lexing’s alt account, which followed Qiao Qiao back, naturally didn’t escape notice.
In just over ten minutes, her follower count had jumped by several hundred, and her inbox was overflowing.
The fanfiction had surfaced around the same time.
Ordinary users were first stunned that such a ship even existed. Then the hype accounts swooped in to fan the flames, and the comment section’s top-voted reply was now: 【They’ll get married right after graduation, right?】
Zhu Lexing decided the world would look a lot better after it ended.
By the time she reached the Zhu Family home, Zhu Lexing—thanks to the System—could already hear Yan Mian’s voice from several meters away.
She was in the living room, on a video call with someone.
On the other end of the line was Jiang Yue. She had clearly spotted the hot search right away and reached out to Yan Mian. Her intentions were plain as day.
“This is a good opportunity,” Jiang Yue said. “Don’t you want to avoid relying on Uncle Zhu? I asked around for you—this reporter’s got massive reach. He’s a little sharp-tongued and cutting, sure, but anyone who’s been on his show shoots to fame…”
Across the screen, her emotions were laid even more bare under the camera’s glare.
An Omega undergoing forced differentiation from an accident was humiliating enough on its own. Jiang Yue had sidestepped the topic before, but now she wanted Yan Mian to leverage it for publicity?
Yan Mian thought back to the goodwill she’d just received.
Even total strangers online were willing to defend her, to put themselves in her shoes and pity her.
Staring at that familiar yet alien face on the screen, listening to those overdramatic words, Yan Mian curved her lips and suddenly smiled. “Is this really a good opportunity?”
Her voice was faint, almost ghostly; even she could hardly make it out herself.
Jiang Yue froze for a moment.
This was the first time Yan Mian had worn such a detached expression during one of their video calls. She looked like she was smiling, but raw impatience was etched across her face.
“Little Mian.” Jiang Yue sounded hurt. “I’m only thinking of what’s best for you.”
“If that’s all you had to say, I’ll hang up now. I’ve still got things to take care of.”
“What could you possibly have to do?” Anxiety crept into Jiang Yue’s tone. “Do you really want to go on living like this forever?”
Yan Mian felt exhausted.
She countered calmly, “Is this what I want… or what you want?”
“…”
The door opened.
Yan Mian turned instinctively. Zhu Lexing hung her bag up without a second thought and asked, “What are you two talking about now?”
She had overheard the whole exchange, of course, but the polite facade had to be upheld. These days, Zhu Lexing no longer bought into Jiang Yue’s image as some tenderhearted mother who could be swayed by love.
The one bright spot was Yan Mian’s consistent, steadfast refusals—which gave Zhu Lexing the opening she needed to step in.
At the sight of Zhu Lexing, Jiang Yue faltered and clammed up. The call cut off abruptly. Rather than head upstairs, Zhu Lexing poured a glass of warm water and set it casually within reach.
Yan Mian didn’t touch it. Her gaze darkened for a split second before lifting back to Zhu Lexing’s face.
Zhu Lexing cut straight to Zhu Xing’s proposal, watching Yan Mian closely while keeping her tone offhand. “What do you think? If you go on, you’ll be showing your face to the world. All the old dirt from before will get dragged up—you won’t be able to stay out of it.”
“She was going on about that same thing from last time, right?” Zhu Lexing weighed her words. “So, what’s your take?”
A flat-out no would end it for good.
In Zhu Lexing’s book, public exposure was a binary: zero times or endless.
She figured Yan Mian would pick the path she had in mind.
Firm and unyielding, just like she’d been with Jiang Yue.
But after holding her gaze for a few seconds, Yan Mian surprised her. “What do you think?”
Zhu Lexing: “…”
Such a familiar question.
Their back-and-forth felt like a game of catch, lobbing the ball to each other. After a beat of surprise, Zhu Lexing replied, “I don’t have an opinion either way.”
That was the honest truth. Original story or real life, all she wanted was for Yan Mian to be happy.
Yan Mian went quiet for several seconds. Then: “If I can, I’ll do it.”
The response hit out of nowhere, dead serious.
Zhu Lexing’s brows knit together on reflex. Once she confirmed there was no hint of a joke in Yan Mian’s voice, bafflement set in. “But you hate that kind of thing.”
“…I never said that.” Yan Mian paused, eyes dropping. “It’s just the best option I have. If it isn’t me, it’ll be someone else. So why not me?”
Zhu Lexing hadn’t seen this steel in her before.
Even now, she wouldn’t claim to truly know Yan Mian. All she could manage was, “…Okay. Got it.”
The sunset hung serene, spilling a hush of twilight into the room. Yan Mian fell silent once more, same as always. Seeing her like that tugged at Zhu Lexing’s heart.
She parted her lips, meaning to bring up how the film crew still needed an Omega. But after a few seconds of quiet, the words that tumbled out were utterly random:
