Top-Tier Omega: Chasing Alpha to the Crematorium – Chapter 56
by Little PandaComplete Mark
“Qingpei, you’re wonderful… truly wonderful.”
“Whatever happened in the past, it wasn’t your fault.”
Ming Yu wrapped her arms around Song Qingpei in return, offering clumsy comfort.
“Thank you, Ming Yu.” Song Qingpei’s voice was muffled against her, warm breath fanning across her ear. “You’re not mad anymore, right? I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Mm.” Without a moment’s hesitation.
Song Qingpei, who had been buried in Ming Yu’s embrace all this time, finally raised her head to look at her.
“It’s getting late. Let’s go back and rest.”
Before Ming Yu could recover from the earlier swell of emotion, Song Qingpei was already lifting her by the waist to her feet—as though she hadn’t been the poor, fragile thing moments ago.
It dawned on her then. She had been played by Song Qingpei’s sympathy ploy1.
Song Qingpei had an arm around her and was steering her toward the stairs. Ming Yu stopped at the doorway and glared. “Did you say all that on purpose to make me go soft?”
Song Qingpei met her gaze without flinching. “I was genuinely upset. But when you said you weren’t angry anymore, it stopped hurting.”
She said it with such earnestness that it edged into flirtation.
Ming Yu, rarely on the receiving end of such veiled sweet talk, faltered for a moment.
Her gaze drifted; she looked away with studied nonchalance. “Fine. I’m the bigger person here. I don’t hold grudges like you do.”
Song Qingpei heard the quiet dig at old grievances and simply pretended she hadn’t, pulling her along toward the bedroom.
When Ming Yu realized which room she was being led to, she remembered the things she still hadn’t put away. Panic flared. She stepped in front of Song Qingpei, blocking her path. “Why are you going to my room?”
“To sleep.”
Song Qingpei had genuinely meant nothing more—she just thought Ming Yu’s bed was more comfortable than her own. But seeing the nervous look on Ming Yu’s face, she caught on and added, “I wouldn’t mind a little exercise before bed, either.”
The memory of last night’s teasing came rushing back. The anger Ming Yu had just managed to suppress flared hot again, tangled with embarrassment. “I’ll pass. God knows how you’d scheme against me this time.”
Song Qingpei, knowing she was in the wrong, wisely let it drop, the mischievous glint fading from her eyes.
“Want to sleep in my room, then?” she asked, the picture of sincerity.
Ming Yu gave a soft scoff, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, may I sleep in your room? Do I need to call you Jiejie first?”
Song Qingpei couldn’t help pressing a hand to her forehead. Every demand she’d once made of Ming Yu was boomeranging right back at her. She finally understood what it meant to be spoiled by someone’s indulgence.
She sighed. “It would be my honor to have the Admiral sleep in my room.”
Ming Yu didn’t move. The corner of her mouth curved up, barely, and she watched Song Qingpei without blinking, her thoughts impossible to read.
Song Qingpei felt a prickle of unease under that gaze. “It really is getting late,” she urged, keeping her voice even. “Let’s just go to bed.”
“Call me Jiejie.”
Ming Yu spoke suddenly. Her chin tilted up, watching Song Qingpei with the self-satisfied air of a smug cat.
Song Qingpei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Of course. The moment Ming Yu had an opening, she’d make her pay.
Taking her silence for embarrassment, Ming Yu pressed harder, reveling in it. “What are you standing there for? Say it.”
But the Admiral had clearly forgotten one crucial difference between them.
Song Qingpei’s skin was far thicker.
She leaned in close, her voice going deliberately, cloyingly sweet: “Jiejie~”
“Good Jiejie~”
“I’m really so sleepy. Please just go to bed~”
By the time Song Qingpei finished, Ming Yu’s face had cycled through an impressive palette of dark shades2.
Her lips parted and closed several times before she finally forced out, “You’re really… getting more and more shameless3.”
“You’re older than me. Calling you Jiejie isn’t a hardship.”
Song Qingpei looked utterly unbothered. She yawned. “It really is late. Let’s go to sleep. I’m genuinely tired.”
Ming Yu was tired too. She hesitated, then turned with visible reluctance and headed for Song Qingpei’s room.
They stepped inside.
Ming Yu raised her hands to undo the buttons of her military uniform, planning to shower before bed.
But the next moment, warm fingers slipped past from behind, traveling upward to close over hers, guiding them lightly across a button. The heat of those fingertips seeped through the fabric to Ming Yu’s skin, making her shiver.
Song Qingpei’s chin came to rest on her shoulder, her voice a low murmur at her ear. “Admiral. Let me help.”
Ming Yu raised a hand to stop her, but Song Qingpei gently caught her wrist and drew it down to rest against her chest.
“Ming Yu…”
Song Qingpei’s lips hovered at the shell of her ear, sending a shiver racing down her spine.
Ming Yu’s body went taut. Her heartbeat quickened without permission. She tried to push Song Qingpei away, but her arms seemed to have lost all their strength, and she could only let her draw closer.
“I don’t have any ulterior motive this time. I just… like you.”
The words were barely a murmur against Ming Yu’s ear, soft as a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples spreading outward through her chest.
The Admiral’s resistance melted.
“You—”
Song Qingpei didn’t give her the chance to finish. She dipped her head and captured Ming Yu’s lips—gentle, lingering.
Their breathing quickened. As tongues tangled, Ming Yu, undone by those three words, wrapped her arms around Song Qingpei’s neck of her own accord and deepened the kiss.
Feeling her response, Song Qingpei pulled her closer until their bodies pressed flush together.
Her hand slid downward and undid the first button of Ming Yu’s uniform.
Ming Yu didn’t stop her. She even tilted her head back to make it easier, her voice carrying a thread of haughty defiance: “This time… you follow my lead. No sudden resistance.”
Song Qingpei gave a wry, helpless smile and nodded. “Alright. I’ll follow your lead.”
Ming Yu pushed Song Qingpei onto the bed and bent to claim her lips. The kiss carried a tangle of emotions—grievance, helplessness, longing—as though she meant to devour every last shred of Song Qingpei’s composure.
Song Qingpei’s hand traced lightly up Ming Yu’s spine, drawing a visible shudder.
“Don’t move…”
Ming Yu caught her hand, but she couldn’t mask the tremor in her voice.
Song Qingpei gave a quiet, accommodating laugh and let Ming Yu do as she pleased.
Ming Yu’s lips drifted downward, grazing Song Qingpei’s neck, growing bolder, until Song Qingpei’s body began to tighten involuntarily.
“Ming Yu…”
Her voice was thick with restraint, as though she were holding herself back by a thread.
Finally, she could bear it no longer. Her pheromones slipped free of her control, and the heavy musk of Alpha flooded the room.
Ming Yu’s breath caught. Her body went soft against her will.
“You… said you wouldn’t…”
But the next moment, drawn out by Song Qingpei’s pheromones, her own began to seep through—thin threads at first, then a surging flood, as if intent on swallowing her whole.
“How is this…”
Disbelief laced Ming Yu’s voice. Her heat period wasn’t due yet.
Before she could gather her wits, Song Qingpei’s eyes had gone red. She pressed Ming Yu down beneath her with the urgency of someone who had lost all restraint. Their bodies sealed together, pheromones tangling, as though their very souls were merging into one.
Ming Yu trembled and shuddered through sensations she had never experienced before, her consciousness beginning to drift…
“Ngh… Ah!”
Finally… Song Qingpei couldn’t hold back any longer. She completely marked her.
Afterward, Ming Yu lay limp on the bed, cheeks flushed scarlet, gasping for breath.
Her body still trembled faintly, as though the aftershocks of that overwhelming pleasure still echoed through her. Her mind was utterly blank.
Song Qingpei reached out as naturally as breathing and curled an arm around her waist, steadying her while they both caught their breath.
Ming Yu shoved at her in irritation. “I’m covered in sweat. I need a shower…”
“Together, then.”
Song Qingpei smiled and gathered her into her arms, carrying her into the bathroom.
Warm water cascaded over them both. By the time they finished, Ming Yu barely made contact with the mattress before her eyes began to droop.
But the question burning in her chest kept the last threads of consciousness alight. She buried her face in Song Qingpei’s embrace, her voice hoarse and trembling. “Qingpei… Does this mean we’ve made up?”
Song Qingpei’s voice was lazily content. “What do you think?”
Dissatisfied with the evasion, Ming Yu kicked her, eyes reddening as she pressed, “Tell me straight. Are we—”
“I love you.”
The words drifting into her ear stole every sound from Ming Yu’s throat.
Love. She said she loved her.
The Admiral’s lips twitched, fighting desperately against a grin. She composed herself and pulled back the leg she’d kicked with, burying her face in Song Qingpei’s chest once more. Her mouth curved up—slowly, wider and wider…
When Ming Yu woke the next morning, every muscle in her body ached.
The sensation of a Complete Mark was nothing like the temporary marks before. The pleasure had been far more intense—as if fragments of last night still lingered under her skin.
She pressed her fingers lightly to her temple and turned her head. Song Qingpei was already awake, watching her quietly with a smile in her eyes.
“Awake?” Song Qingpei asked softly.
Ming Yu nodded, her voice still carrying the huskiness of sleep. “Mm. We should get up. Song Song will be waking soon.”
“Let’s go wake her together.”
They rose, tidied themselves briefly, and walked together to Song Song’s room.
They pushed open the door to find Song Song curled up on the bed, sleeping soundly.
Ming Yu went to the bedside and gently patted her daughter’s cheek. “Song Song, time to get up.”
Song Song blinked awake, hazy and confused. When she saw both of them standing over her bed, her eyes flew wide. “Mama? Mommy? You’re… both here to wake me up?”
Song Qingpei reached out and ruffled her hair. “That’s right. We came together. Are you happy?”
“Happy! Did Mama and Mommy make up?”
Ming Yu and Song Qingpei exchanged a look, then smiled and nodded. “Mm. We made up.”
“Yay!” Song Song sat bolt upright, face alight with curiosity. “How did Mommy win Mama over? Did you kiss and make up?”
Song Qingpei laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Kissed and made up.”
Ming Yu shot her a glare. “What are you telling a child?”
But Song Song only beamed wider, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “I said Mommy was easy to win over!”
“You little rascal. Up you get—time for breakfast.”
Song Song scrambled out of bed, dressed herself in record time, and bounced along after them out of the room.
At the breakfast table, the three of them sat together, the air warm and easy.
Between bites, Song Song kept stealing glances at her parents.
Mama looked gentler than usual today, and Mommy hadn’t stopped smiling. Their eyes kept meeting across the table, as if they had a thousand things to say without words.
“Mama, Mommy—you won’t fight anymore, right?”
They answered in unison. “We won’t.”
Song Song bounced in her seat. “The best!”
After breakfast, Ming Yu and Song Qingpei walked Song Song to school together.
At the kindergarten gate, Song Song lingered, reluctant to let go of their hands. “Mama, Mommy—will you both come pick me up this afternoon?”
“We will. We’ll both come.”
Reassured, Song Song bounded happily through the gates.
“Qingpei, should I drop you at the company first?” Ming Yu offered.
Song Qingpei considered, then shook her head. “You’re busy with the military academy. Don’t worry about me—I can get there myself.”
Ming Yu didn’t insist. Instead, she said, “By the way—tomorrow is Old Marshal Song’s seventieth birthday. Take the day off and come with me.”
They may have reconciled, but Song Qingpei was still surprised that Ming Yu wanted to bring her to such a high-profile event. Their stations in life were vastly different—the gap between them spoke for itself.
She couldn’t help confirming. “Are you sure you want to bring me?”
Ming Yu’s expression tightened, and her voice lost some of its conviction. “Are you still angry about the cruel things I said back then?”
To say she didn’t care at all would be a lie. But she had chosen to let it go—that much was true.
Song Qingpei fell silent for a moment, weighing her words. If they were truly starting over, she didn’t want Ming Yu second-guessing everything.
But her silence only made Ming Yu more anxious. She gripped Song Qingpei’s hand, helpless and halting. “We agreed not to bring up the past anymore. I really will change…”
“Don’t be so nervous.” Song Qingpei sighed. “I’ve decided to let it go. I’m not angry with you.”
Ming Yu exhaled, then frowned in confusion. “Then why didn’t you say anything just now?”
Song Qingpei smiled and explained, “I just think the gap between us is obvious to everyone. You’re in the middle of establishing the military academy—there’s no need to stir up trouble right now, and certainly no need to bring me along just to prove a point—”
She didn’t get to finish. Ming Yu cut in eagerly, “Qingpei, I know you’re looking out for me. But there’s nothing about you that should be hidden. If I’m bringing you, no one will dare say a word.”
In that moment, the Admiral radiated enough presence to fill a room three times over.
Song Qingpei had never been one to seek out hardship for its own sake. She accepted it without further protest. “Alright. I’ll take the day off tomorrow and go with you.”
Ming Yu smiled, satisfied. “Good. I’ll finish up early and pick you up for a fitting.”
The memory of the ordeal before the Ming family banquet made Song Qingpei’s head throb.
“Does it really have to be this formal?”
The Admiral looked perfectly serious. “It does. I’ll have someone contact Elena in advance.”
“Fine. Handle it however you see fit.”
On matters of formalwear, Song Qingpei knew she had no real say. She opted for quiet acceptance.
With that settled, Ming Yu boarded her hover car and headed for Military Headquarters, while Song Qingpei made her way to Blue Sea.
Inside the Military Headquarters Building, Ming Yu’s stride was brisk. She took the executive elevator straight to the twenty-eighth floor.
The moment the doors opened, she spotted Song Xihan pacing the corridor.
She walked over. “Xihan, what are you doing here?”
Song Xihan whirled at the sound, face creased with misery. “Ming Yu, Admiral Ming, ancestor—how did I offend you? Why would you do this to me?”
The sheer drama of it caught Ming Yu off guard. “What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened? Those things you had Xiaorou send to my office—” Song Xihan ground her teeth. “Now I’m famous. Properly famous.”
Ming Yu had actually forgotten about the whole thing. Hearing it now, she laughed. “I seem to recall warning you. You kept pushing. Consider this a gentle reminder.”
“You’re ruthless.” Song Xihan looked ready to weep. “Do you have any idea how humiliating those things were? I can’t even imagine what the Secretarial Office thinks of me.”
Ming Yu raised an eyebrow. “I thought you prided yourself on having thick skin. And this little thing is too much?”
“However thick my skin is, it can’t survive you. Besides, we’ve been friends for years—how could you bear to—”
“Enough. Did you have actual business?” Ming Yu cut off the complaints without mercy.
Faced with such cold-blooded indifference, Song Xihan glared at her in outrage. “Ming Yu, you have no heart.”
Her reaction made it abundantly clear that nothing was genuinely wrong. Ming Yu couldn’t be bothered and simply walked past her toward her office.
Unwilling to be ignored, Song Xihan chased after her and followed her inside.
Ming Yu sat down behind her desk and looked at her. “Song Xihan, do you actually have something to say or not?”
Song Xihan furiously pulled an invitation from her pocket and slapped it onto the desk. “Here. Tomorrow is my grandmother’s seventieth birthday. This is the invitation.”
Ming Yu picked it up. “I’ll be there on time.”
Song Xihan wanted to complain further, but Ming Yu showed her the door without ceremony.
“If you have nothing else, go. I have a mountain of work.”
Song Xihan fumed. “Ming Yu, you’re more heartless by the day. I was blind to ever call you a friend. We’re through.”
Ming Yu didn’t even look up, flipping through the documents in her hand.
“Fine, I’m going!” Song Xihan stormed toward the door. Before leaving, she turned and shot Ming Yu one last glare, muttering, “Cold-blooded and heartless.”
Once Song Xihan was gone, Ming Yu exhaled and settled into her work.
She barely rested all day. It was eight in the evening by the time she finished everything on her desk.
She messaged Song Qingpei ahead of time, then went to pick her up.
Ming Yu left the Military Headquarters Building, drove her hover car, and soon arrived at Blue Sea. Song Qingpei was already waiting downstairs and came quickly toward her when she saw the car.
“Have you been waiting long?” Ming Yu asked.
Song Qingpei shook her head. “No. I just came out.”
“Let’s go, then. Elena’s already waiting for us.”
They drove to Fanjing Custom Styling Studio4, arriving about thirty minutes later.
Elena was already waiting at the entrance. She came forward with a warm smile. “Admiral Ming, Miss Song—long time no see!”
Song Qingpei smiled. “Thank you for the trouble, Elena.”
Elena waved it off. “No trouble at all. It’s an honor to serve you both. What styles did you have in mind for your formal gowns?”
Ming Yu turned to Song Qingpei. “Qingpei, any thoughts?”
Song Qingpei shrugged. She just wanted to get through this with minimal fuss. “I don’t have any special requests. Something simple—nothing too elaborate. But as for the Admiral here, help her pick well.”
Elena smiled and nodded. “Understood. Let me select a few options for each of you to try on.”
She chose a deep blue tailored formal gown for Song Qingpei first—clean-lined and spare, with no excess ornamentation, perfectly cut to accentuate her sharp, capable air.
Song Qingpei stepped out in it, studied herself, and nodded. “This is nice. Very comfortable.”
“I knew you’d like this style,” Elena said, looking rather pleased with herself.
Then she turned her attention to Ming Yu, lifting a red long dress from the rack. The skirt was light and flowing, delicate embroidery tracing the waistline.
“Try this one, Ming Yu. I think it will suit you.”
Ming Yu took the gown and disappeared into the fitting room. Song Qingpei followed her in.
A moment later, Ming Yu stood before the mirror in the red dress. The scarlet fabric set off her pale skin like porcelain; the embroidery at her waist added an allure that made her look like a flame-touched rose in full bloom.
Song Qingpei’s gaze was fervent. “This really suits you,” she said with genuine admiration.
Ming Yu raised her eyes to Song Qingpei, finding fault on purpose. “Only ‘suits’? Nothing more poetic than that?”
Song Qingpei laughed softly. She stepped closer, reaching up to adjust the fabric at Ming Yu’s shoulder, her fingertips grazing her collarbone like an afterthought. “What does the Admiral want to hear? ‘So beautiful I can’t look away,’ or ‘I want to hide you so no one else gets to see’?”
A flush crept up Ming Yu’s neck. She shot Song Qingpei a look, feigning composure. “Are you flirting with me?”
Song Qingpei leaned in until her lips nearly brushed Ming Yu’s ear, warm breath ghosting over her skin. “What if I am?”
Ming Yu refused to be outdone. She turned to face Song Qingpei. “Then I suppose I should return the favor, shouldn’t I?”
Song Qingpei gave a low chuckle. “Oh? And how do you plan to do that?”
Ming Yu pretended to think. Then she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper: “For example… I could compliment you too.”
“Compliment me on what?”
Ming Yu’s gaze swept over Song Qingpei, slow and deliberate, drawing out the words: “I could say… the way you look in that gown makes me want to—”
Before she could finish, Song Qingpei’s hand was at her waist, pulling her close. “Want to what?”
Ming Yu’s eyes tilted up at the corners. She lifted her chin and met Song Qingpei’s gaze head-on. “Want to… take it off you myself.”
Song Qingpei gave a low laugh. “We can try that at home.”
They were close enough to feel each other’s breath. Ming Yu was about to fire back and reclaim the upper hand when a knock sounded at the fitting room door.
Elena’s voice came from outside. “Do you two need any help?”
Ming Yu smoothed her skirt and answered with studied calm. “No, thank you.”
They stepped out and confirmed their selections. After another round of accessorizing, their complete looks were finalized.
Elena surveyed her handiwork and beamed. “Wonderful! You two are a stunning pair.”
Thoroughly exhausted, Song Qingpei and Ming Yu exchanged a look. Neither had the energy for another word. They finalized the gowns and styling with brisk efficiency, thinking only of getting home and into bed.
Leaving Fanjing Custom Styling Studio, they climbed into the hover car side by side and spoke in unison:
“Home. Sleep.”
Just sleep.
Footnotes
- Kǔròujì (苦肉计), literally 'the stratagem of inflicting harm on oneself,' is one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems. It refers to pretending to suffer in order to gain an opponent's sympathy and lower their guard.
- Wǔcǎi bānlán de hēi (五彩斑斓的黑), literally 'colorful black,' is a Chinese internet meme originating from an absurd client request. It describes something paradoxically contradictory—here, Ming Yu's face cycling through many shades of dark emotion.
- Bù yào liǎn (不要脸) literally means 'not wanting face.' In Chinese culture, 'face' represents dignity and social standing. Calling someone shameless implies they act without any sense of propriety.
- Fànjìng Dìngzhì Zàoxíng Shì (梵境定制造型室). 'Fanjing' references a Buddhist concept of a pure realm; the studio name suggests an elevated, bespoke approach to styling.
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