Top-Tier Omega: Chasing Alpha to the Crematorium – Chapter 54
by Little PandaGetting on Top
Song Qingpei opened the door and was met with Ming Yu’s face, taut with barely contained anger.
Before the other woman could speak, she shut the door and struck first. “Let’s go.”
“What?” Ming Yu froze, clearly blindsided by a remark that came out of nowhere.
“Admiral, haven’t you figured it out yet?”
A half-smile played on Song Qingpei’s lips as she reached out and wrapped an arm around Ming Yu’s waist, guiding her toward the bedroom.
Damn that cat costume!
Ming Yu caught on and glared at her, flustered and indignant. “Song Qingpei, don’t try this with me. Something’s wrong with you. You’re definitely hiding something…”
The rest of her words were swallowed entirely.
One hand cupping the back of her head, Song Qingpei kissed her, their lips and tongues tangling.
Ming Yu went rigid.
It had been a long time since a sober Song Qingpei had kissed her this fiercely.
In an instant, something seemed to detonate in her skull—as if her very soul was being drawn out of her.
The kiss left her completely dazed. Even as their lips moved together, their bodies were still in motion, the two of them stumbling and tugging at each other. A hazy thought drifted through her mind: this is terribly improper.
By the time she came to her senses, Song Qingpei had already released her, guiding her weakened body to a doorway. The door swung open, and Ming Yu marveled—their bedrooms were nearly ten meters apart. How had Song Qingpei pulled her here so quickly?
Song Qingpei stepped inside first, shot her a look laden with meaning, and turned toward the cabinet across from the bed.
Ming Yu snapped out of her daze and lunged to stop her. “Don’t open—”
Too late. Song Qingpei had already pulled open the cabinet, then reached up with one hand to bring down the box Ming Yu had stashed on a high shelf. She set it on the floor with exaggerated lightness and shot Ming Yu a deliberate glance before bending down with a smile to open it.
Damn it—how could she have forgotten to dispose of those things!
Ming Yu flushed crimson and threw herself at Song Qingpei, grabbing her hands to stop her.
Song Qingpei didn’t fight back hard—just smiled and asked, “Admiral, want to do the honors yourself?”
“In your dreams!” Ming Yu’s face burned as she glared.
Seeing that she’d successfully derailed the conversation, Song Qingpei pressed on. “You agreed last night.”
“When did I agree to that?”
“At the shop, when you begged me to come home. Wasn’t that agreement?”
She hadn’t expected Song Qingpei to be this shameless1 even when sober.
Ming Yu choked on her words, then snapped angrily, “Those were your words, not mine. I never agreed.”
The two of them bickered like children, neither willing to let it go.
Ming Yu glared at her, flushed and indignant. “Song Qingpei, when did you become so shameless?”
Even as she said it, a memory surfaced unbidden—the Song Qingpei she used to know had been exactly like this. Especially when it came to that sort of thing, constantly exploiting her amnesiac innocence in endless creative ways to tease her.
Did this mean she was slowly becoming willing to accept her again?
The thought sent a thrill through Ming Yu. She looked at Song Qingpei, unable to suppress her anticipation. “You…” The question she’d meant to ask changed key entirely when she saw Song Qingpei reaching for the box again. “Stop!”
For a moment, she felt the futility of casting amorous glances at a blind woman.
In an instant, every delicate twist and turn of Ming Yu’s inner thoughts evaporated, replaced by pure indignation. She knocked Song Qingpei’s hand away and slammed the box shut with a click, then tried to shove her back.
Song Qingpei caught her hand and gave a gentle tug, pulling her straight into her arms.
Before Ming Yu could react, Song Qingpei had hooked a piece of cutout lingerie from the box and dangled it from one finger, smiling as she pressed it into Ming Yu’s hands. “This one’s nice. Go try it on.”
That rare, teasing tone flooded Ming Yu’s face with heat. “Song Qingpei, you…”
“Good girl.” Song Qingpei made a shushing gesture. “Go change. I’ll wait.”
Before Ming Yu could refuse, Song Qingpei was already lifting her to her feet, half-carrying her and steering her toward the bathroom.
Ming Yu’s face burned, caught between shame and anger, but her brain had stopped processing. Only fevered imaginings of what would come next raced through her mind—what would Song Qingpei do to her?
A sober Song Qingpei had never seemed this eager.
Wasn’t this exactly what she’d been working toward all along? What was there to be prudish about now?
The Admiral gave herself a running pep talk, over and over, until finally, jaw clenched, she stripped off her clothes, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled on the lingerie that was barely more than a few scraps of fabric.
Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror. She swallowed her shame and walked out.
When she emerged, even though Song Qingpei had braced herself, her breath still caught. She stared, unblinking, for a long moment—her gaze fixed like a predator locking onto its prey.
Ming Yu squirmed under the scrutiny and glared, her eyes half-lidded and liquid. “Wh—what are you looking at!”
Song Qingpei smiled. “The Admiral looks so ravishing. How could I not take a good look?”
“You’re really…” Ming Yu had never been good at cursing. She struggled for a long while before managing only, “Shameless!”
Song Qingpei couldn’t even be bothered to respond to such a painless accusation.
She walked directly toward Ming Yu. They were nearly the same height, yet in this moment, Ming Yu felt an overwhelming pressure bearing down on her. She instinctively wanted to retreat, but the pride rooted in her bones forced her to hold her ground.
What was there to be nervous about? It wasn’t as if Song Qingpei could eat her alive.
Ming Yu stood straight and lifted her chin, glaring back.
Song Qingpei was amused by her defiance. She leaned in with a smile, her dark eyes blazing bright as a galaxy of stars. Ming Yu stared, hopelessly captivated, for a breath too long.
The next second, Song Qingpei swept her up and pinned her to the bed.
Refusing to be so passive yet again, Ming Yu abandoned all pretense of dignity. She shoved back against her and lifted her chin. “I want to be on top.”
The request caught Song Qingpei off guard.
She had clearly sensed Ming Yu’s instinctive resistance to being marked before. Even when she humbled herself to please Song Qingpei, a deep-seated shame bled through her. That was one of the reasons she had held back from fully marking her.
But now, Ming Yu seemed to be slowly accepting it—even beginning to explore the pleasure in it.
Song Qingpei was more than happy to oblige. She wrapped her arms around Ming Yu’s waist and guided her to straddle her lap.
Ming Yu instinctively resisted for a moment, then stilled. Steeling herself against the shame, she closed her eyes, leaned down, cupped Song Qingpei’s face, and kissed her.
At first she was hesitant—until she heard a stifled groan. She opened her eyes and stole a glance at Song Qingpei: her dark eyes half-lidded, her expression taut with barely restrained desire.
The sight heartened her enormously. Her shame ebbed away, replaced by competitive fire.
She refused to be the only one left flustered every time. It was Song Qingpei’s turn to be tormented.
Once she began, her movements grew bolder with each passing moment.
She kissed Song Qingpei’s lips, her neck, her collarbone—trailing down to the gland, nibbling gently, just as Song Qingpei had so often done to torment her.
“That’s enough…”
Song Qingpei’s voice was hoarse as she suddenly gripped Ming Yu’s waist and flipped her over, pinning her beneath.
Ming Yu protested. “What are you doing? I wasn’t—”
No chance to finish. Song Qingpei held her down and bit into her gland—no warning, no preamble—like a storm breaking.
In an instant, Alpha pheromones of an intensity she had never experienced before engulfed Ming Yu.
Her entire body trembled. She wanted to shake, to scream—
But it was as if a hand had clamped around her throat. Not a single sound escaped. She could only drown in wave after wave of searing pleasure, each cresting higher than the last, until she nearly blacked out.
“Enough… enough…”
Song Qingpei seemed not to hear her pleas. Desperate, Ming Yu bit down hard on her neck—but even that didn’t slow the tremors. The relentless pheromones kept surging into her, pushing her toward the edge of consciousness.
“Stop… ngh, no…”
Ming Yu’s plea died in her throat, swallowed by the overwhelming sensation.
Her last thought before she slipped under was: Song Qingpei is trying to kill me in bed…
Song Qingpei caught her breath. The room was thick with Alpha pheromones—so dense it felt unfamiliar. As far as she could recall, her pheromones had never been this intense, not even when Ming Yu had amnesia.
A stinging pain radiated from her neck. She reached up to touch it—her fingertips came away smeared with blood. She must have really pushed Ming Yu to the edge.
Song Qingpei shook her head with a rueful smile. She had started out with the intention of keeping Ming Yu too distracted to ask questions—but somewhere along the way, she had genuinely lost control.
Seeing Ming Yu so overwhelmed, driven to the brink of begging for mercy… it had gone to her head.
She mentally kicked herself, then looked down at Ming Yu with quiet guilt. She lay with her eyes half-closed, her hair in disarray, a sheen of sweat on her temples, cheeks still flushed, a faint crease between her brows.
She was probably cursing her in her dreams.
She leaned over and pulled the blanket up over Ming Yu, dressed, and slipped out.
Outside, the night breeze was cool against her skin, chasing away the lingering warmth.
She touched the throbbing bite mark on her neck. Ming Yu had truly been pushed to her limit—the bite was vicious. It would take days to fade.
She walked quickly toward the meeting point. From a distance, she could already see Wu Lan standing beneath a streetlamp, her figure tall and straight.
Wu Lan seemed to have sensed her approach. She turned, a faint smile on her face.
“Miss Song, very punctual.”
Song Qingpei nodded and stepped up beside her. “Director Wu, sorry to keep you waiting.”
Wu Lan’s gaze lingered on her neck for a heartbeat, and her smile deepened. “Admiral Ming doesn’t know you’re here?”
Song Qingpei instinctively touched her neck and looked away, embarrassed. “She… has already gone to sleep.”
Wu Lan gave a soft laugh. “It seems the Admiral isn’t so easy to fool.”
Song Qingpei’s face grew warm. She thanked the darkness for hiding her flush.
She had no desire to linger on the topic and cut straight to the chase. “All right, it’s getting late. Let’s go.”
Wu Lan didn’t press further. She nodded and headed for the hover car parked by the roadside.
Song Qingpei followed. She knew tonight’s actions might drag her deeper into the vortex—but to uncover the truth about her origins, she was willing to take the risk.
They got in. Wu Lan started the engine, and the hover car glided silently into the night.
The cabin was quiet, only the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating both their profiles.
The night was pitch-black, the stars sparse.
The hover car soon reached its destination—one of Blue Sea’s secret warehouses. Song Qingpei stepped out and looked up at the building cloaked in darkness, a knot of tension forming in her chest.
The area around the warehouse was dead silent, save for the rustle of wind through the trees.
Song Qingpei entered the password. The heavy metal doors slid open, revealing the massive mech within.
The ‘Yuyue’ mech stood silent in the center of the warehouse, its black hull gleaming with a cold, steely luster.
Song Qingpei pointed. “That’s the Yuyue.”
“Thank you.” Wu Lan spoke softly, her gaze shifting to Song Qingpei with something complicated behind it. “Miss Song, I promised Admiral Ming I’d keep you safe. You can leave now. I’ll handle the rest.”
A flash of anticipation crossed Wu Lan’s eyes. She strode briskly into the warehouse.
Song Qingpei stood at the entrance, a vague unease gnawing at her. She hesitated, wondering whether she should just leave.
Something told her it wouldn’t be that simple.
Wu Lan approached the mech and looked up at its head—where the AI brain’s core was housed.
She produced a small data chip from her coat and slotted it into the interface port on the mech’s side. Her fingers flew across the virtual keyboard as she attempted to crack the defense system.
Suddenly, the mech’s eyes blazed with searing red light. A tremendous surge of energy erupted from within.
Caught off guard, Wu Lan was thrown back several steps by the backlash.
The energy scorched her arm. Blood dripped from her fingertips onto the floor.
“Damn it!” Wu Lan retreated rapidly, trying to steady herself.
But the mech’s defense system had been fully activated. Alarms wailed through the warehouse, the piercing sound setting teeth on edge.
In that moment, three dark shapes burst from the shadows.
Three masked figures wielding laser guns moved on Wu Lan in eerie silence—swift and cold, clearly well-trained.
Wu Lan reacted instantly. She ducked behind the mech as a laser bolt grazed her shoulder and struck the metal hull in a shower of sparks.
Her eyes turned icy. She drew an energy pistol from her waist and returned fire. Laser beams crisscrossed in the air. The battle erupted in an instant.
Wu Lan used the mech’s enormous frame as cover, dodging attacks with fluid precision. But the enemy was coordinated—the three split up to flank her, trying to force her into a corner.
Bang!
A direct hit—Wu Lan’s energy pistol struck one of them in the shoulder.
The figure grunted and stumbled back but quickly steadied and pressed forward again.
Wu Lan’s breathing grew ragged. Her arm was seared by laser fire, blood soaking her sleeve. She had to find a breakthrough soon, or they would wear her down.
Then, rapid footsteps echoed from outside the warehouse.
Song Qingpei had heard the alarms and the crack of laser fire. She couldn’t stop herself—she rushed inside to find Wu Lan under siege by three masked attackers.
“Director Wu!” Song Qingpei cried out.
She started forward—just as a laser bolt screamed toward Wu Lan’s head.
Wu Lan ducked in the nick of time. The beam struck the mech’s hull with a deafening explosion.
“Stay back!”
She shouted and hurled a smoke grenade toward Song Qingpei’s position. Smoke billowed instantly, blanketing the attackers’ line of sight.
Song Qingpei coughed in the acrid fog, but her reflexes kicked in. Under the cover of smoke, she scrambled toward the hover car keys in the corner of the warehouse.
She snatched them up and shouted, “Director Wu, follow me!”
Hearing her voice, Wu Lan burst from the smoke and sprinted toward Song Qingpei.
The three masked figures seemed unprepared for Song Qingpei’s sudden appearance. Their attacks slowed—as if afraid of hitting her.
Seizing the opening, Song Qingpei started the hover car. Wu Lan leaped aboard, and the vehicle shot out of the warehouse.
Song Qingpei wrenched the hover car into a sharp aerial turn, trying to shake their pursuers.
But the three attackers had no intention of letting them go. Laser bolts streaked in from behind.
Wu Lan’s face grew paler by the second. Her arm was burned, blood trailing down her sleeve. She gritted her teeth, refusing to make a sound, gripping the seat to mask her pain.
“Just hold on a little longer!” Song Qingpei clenched her jaw.
The hover car carved an arc through the air and finally shook off the pursuit.
But just as they thought they were safe, a laser bolt screamed in from the side. It shattered the windshield and bore down on Song Qingpei’s chest.
“Look out!”
Wu Lan lunged—throwing her body in front of the lethal shot.
“Director Wu!” Song Qingpei screamed.
Wu Lan slumped heavily against the seat, blood welling from her chest.
“Don’t worry about me… keep driving…”
Her voice was faint, but her hand clamped tight on Song Qingpei’s arm—a silent command not to stop.
Song Qingpei knew this was no time for grief. She clenched her jaw and sent the hover car hurtling through the sky until every pursuer had fallen away.
When the vehicle finally came to a halt in a safe location, Wu Lan had lost consciousness.
Song Qingpei fought down the panic rising in her chest and examined the wound. The laser had punched clean through Wu Lan’s right chest. Her upper body was drenched in blood—a terrifying sight.
Hands trembling, she dialed emergency services. “Director Wu, you have to hold on…”
The hospital corridor reeked of disinfectant, making Song Qingpei’s head swim.
Her eyes were locked on the glaring red light above the Emergency Room. Time seemed to stretch into infinity—each second a dull blade, sawing at her heart.
The thought that Wu Lan had taken that shot for her left Song Qingpei reeling with shock and dread.
If Wu Lan died because of her, she knew she would never have peace for the rest of her life.
“Qingpei!”
Ming Yu’s voice rang out behind her, shattering her thoughts.
Before Song Qingpei could turn, she was enveloped in a warm embrace. The familiar scent washed over her—tinged with panic and trembling.
She could feel Ming Yu’s arms shaking. The grip was fierce enough to crush her into bone and blood.
“Are you hurt? Are you all right?” Ming Yu’s voice cracked with a fear Song Qingpei had never heard before.
She released Song Qingpei and cupped her face, searching it desperately, her eyes raw with terror.
Song Qingpei shook her head. “I’m fine. But Director Wu… she saved me…”
Before she could finish, Ming Yu pulled her back in, holding her even tighter than before.
“No more risks.” Ming Yu’s voice was muffled, unsteady. “I don’t care about mechs or Murong Ruixue—you are not getting involved in any of it again.”
Song Qingpei opened her mouth, but before she could speak, rapid footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
“Wu Lan? Where’s Wu Lan?”
Zhan Nansheng practically sprinted toward them. Her uniform was disheveled, her hair loose—nothing like her usual arrogant bearing.
Her eyes swept the corridor and landed on Song Qingpei.
“What the hell happened?” Zhan Nansheng grabbed Song Qingpei by the shoulders, her voice harsh. “Why is Wu Lan hurt? What were you two doing?”
“Lieutenant General Zhan, calm yourself.” Ming Yu stepped between them, her tone a warning. “This is a hospital.”
“Calm down?” A manic light flickered in Zhan Nansheng’s eyes. “Wu Lan is lying in there, life or death unknown, and it’s her fault. How am I supposed to calm down?”
Her voice echoed down the corridor. Several nurses turned to stare.
Ming Yu’s expression hardened. She stepped forward, facing Zhan Nansheng head-on.
“I said, this is a hospital.” Ming Yu’s voice was low but carried an iron authority. “If you keep this up, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Zhan Nansheng’s fists clenched tight, knuckles creaking. Her gaze cut past Ming Yu, boring into Song Qingpei. “Tell me. What happened?”
Song Qingpei was about to explain when the Emergency Room door swung open.
“The patient is out of danger.” The doctor pulled down her mask, exhaustion carved into her face. “But she lost a great deal of blood. She’ll need to be monitored.”
Zhan Nansheng surged forward. “Can I see her?”
“Not yet. The patient needs rest.” The doctor shook her head. “Once she’s moved to the Intensive Care Unit, you can see her through the glass.”
Zhan Nansheng swayed. She leaned against the wall, barely holding herself upright.
Song Qingpei exhaled with relief. She didn’t know the full nature of Wu Lan and Zhan Nansheng’s relationship, but seeing the woman so undone told her it ran deep. She offered a few words of comfort.
“Lieutenant General Zhan, the doctor said Director Wu will be fine. Don’t worry too much.”
At the sound of her voice, Zhan Nansheng shot her a vicious glare. “Song Qingpei, what were you and Wu Lan doing out in the middle of the night? How did she end up like this?”
Unsure whether she could share the details, Song Qingpei said awkwardly, “Lieutenant General Zhan, this… perhaps you should wait until Director Wu wakes up and ask her yourself. It’s not really my place to say.”
“Hiding something shameful?” Zhan Nansheng’s voice dripped with scorn.
Song Qingpei, seeing her emotional state, chose not to prod the wound. She said nothing.
The silence only fueled Zhan Nansheng’s fury. “Fine. Keep your mouth shut. But I’m telling you—if Wu Lan pulls through, we’re good. If anything happens to her, you and I are not done.”
Ming Yu, who had been watching quietly, finally intervened. “Lieutenant General Zhan, enough. Director Wu likely made her own choice here. Let’s wait until she wakes up before assigning blame.”
At that, Zhan Nansheng said no more.
She walked to the glass door, eyes fixed unblinking on the figure lying within—her face taut with anguish.
Ming Yu turned to Song Qingpei and took her hand. “Since Wu Lan is going to be fine, let’s go home. Give her some peace.”
Song Qingpei nodded, casting one last look at Zhan Nansheng.
She had never seen her like this—the woman who always seemed to stand above everyone else, now reduced to something small and helpless. She couldn’t help but wonder: were they lovers?
The two walked out of the hospital as dawn crept across the sky.
Ming Yu seemed to have moved past her initial panic. She released Song Qingpei’s hand and walked ahead in silence.
Song Qingpei thought, This is bad. She must be angry.
She quickened her pace to catch up, but Ming Yu didn’t even glance at her, making straight for the hover car.
Inside, Ming Yu sat in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Her knuckles had gone white from the force.
The air in the car was suffocating. Song Qingpei opened her mouth several times to explain, but each time, the icy angle of Ming Yu’s profile stopped the words in her throat.
For the first time, she understood the particular weight of guilt without justification.
By the time the car rolled into Shanshui Manor, the horizon had flushed pale.
Ming Yu’s expression grew colder with every passing minute, a layer of frost settling over her features. She ignored Song Qingpei entirely as she got out and headed inside. Song Qingpei sighed inwardly and followed.
In the dining room, Songsong was sitting at the table, eating breakfast.
She looked up, eyes wide with surprise. “Mama, Mommy, you’re up so early today! You’re not sleepyheads anymore!”
Song Qingpei managed a strained smile. “That’s right. Mama and Mommy had important things to do today. Be good, Songsong—finish your breakfast, and let Butler Su take you to kindergarten.”
Songsong nodded obediently and went back to her porridge.
Ming Yu walked straight to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, not once looking in Song Qingpei’s direction.
A knot pulled tight in Song Qingpei’s chest. She wanted to explain, but with Songsong present, she couldn’t say anything. She silently rehearsed what she would say, planning to talk to Ming Yu properly once their daughter had left.
A meal that should have taken minutes felt endless.
When Ming Yu drained her glass and headed for the door without eating, Song Qingpei scrambled after her and caught her wrist. “Wait—Ming Yu, let’s talk.”
Ming Yu stopped but didn’t turn around. Her voice was ice. “What’s there to talk about?”
Song Qingpei took a breath and turned to Butler Su. “Please take Songsong to kindergarten. Ming Yu and I need to handle something.”
Butler Su nodded and took Songsong’s hand, leading her out.
Through the fading distance, Songsong’s voice drifted back: “Grandma Su, are Mama and Mommy fighting again? Why do they always fight? They’re like little children…”
The living room was empty now, the air seemed to freeze between them.
“Ming Yu, I’m sorry.” Song Qingpei’s voice was low. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”
Ming Yu finally turned. Her eyes burned with suppressed fury. “Song Qingpei, do you have any idea how terrified I was when I woke up and couldn’t reach you? I called you endlessly—messages, calls—I thought something had happened to you!”
“I know. It’s my fault.” Guilt saturated every word. “I just… I was afraid you’d stop me.”
“So you kept it from me like I was some thief?” Ming Yu looked at her, wounded. “Song Qingpei, is there anything I can do that will make you trust me again?”
“No, that’s not it!” Song Qingpei shook her head urgently. “I just… I just…” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t deny the truth—knowing Ming Yu as she did, she was certain Ming Yu would have put a stop to it.
Ming Yu pressed closer. “Not what? Say it!”
Song Qingpei fell silent for a beat. When she spoke, her voice was muted. “If I’d told you the truth, would you have let me go?”
“Of course not.” Ming Yu didn’t hesitate. “If you needed something done, you could have told me. I had a hundred ways to help you achieve your goal—why did you have to go and risk your own life?”
“…”
Song Qingpei had no rebuttal. She’d thought nothing would go wrong. Of course it had. She spoke honestly: “Because I knew you’d say no. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“So you used that to distract me?” Ming Yu’s voice jumped, her eyes flooding with humiliation. “Last night—you did all of that just to keep me from asking questions. Isn’t that right?”
Song Qingpei opened her mouth, but no explanation came.
Last night had been intentional—she couldn’t deny that. But it hadn’t been only to dodge Ming Yu’s questions. She’d planned to talk things through properly once this was all over. She hadn’t expected everything to go sideways in the middle.
Ming Yu read her silence as confirmation.
A vast, crushing despair swept over her. Only last night, she had fooled herself into thinking Song Qingpei was finally opening up to her—that the woman had been so bold, so willing…
She had made a fool of herself.
She shoved Song Qingpei’s hand away, her voice shaking with anger. “Song Qingpei, you’re always like this. Every time something happens, you choose to carry it alone. You never trust me.”
“I’m sorry…” Song Qingpei said, uncharacteristically subdued. “I promise—next time, I won’t.”
Ming Yu gave a cold laugh. “Haha~. There won’t be a next time.”
What did that mean?
Song Qingpei stared at her, bewildered, assuming Ming Yu was going to restrict her freedom again.
Instead, Ming Yu shot her a fierce glare—but the words that came out carried the tone of a negotiation. “After what you’ve done, I’m putting you under twenty-four-hour surveillance. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
Song Qingpei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did she even have the right to object?
0 Comments