Her Pheromones Smell Like Sparkling Water (GL) - Chapter 2

Shang Ranzhu hurriedly followed Shen Tingjun up to the second floor, but her nearly ten-centimeter stilettos really weren’t built for this kind of workout. Shen Tingjun’s figure gradually shrunk before her until all she could see were her elegant ankles.

“Her heels are even higher than mine,” Shang Ranzhu muttered while gripping the handrail—unable to believe that Shen Tingjun can walk very fast with those stilettos. 

“She’s been in this industry for almost a decade. Chen Ming, Shang Ranzhu’s ever-blunt best friend, remarked, “She’s used to walking around in heels like that.”

Naturally, Shang Ranzhu refused to accept defeat. She threw her arm dramatically over Chen Ming’s shoulder and straightened her back. “Help me up! I can still walk!”

When they finally reached the second floor, a staff member led Shang Ranzhu into her dressing room. Inside she saw the outfit prepared for her audition hanging on the rack nearby.

She had expected something plain—a servant’s uniform. But instead, what hung there was a black-green, short-sleeved *cheongsam* patterned with fine, crackled lines. Shang Ranzhu reached out to touch the fabric. The glossy silk clung to her skin with a smooth, cool sensation.

(*A Cheongsam, also known as a qipao or mandarin gown, is a Chinese dress for women. It is often worn for Chinese Lunar New Year and comes in various styles, including slim-fit and those with lace or print details.)

“It’s so beautiful,” Chen Ming gasped, running her fingers across the fabric. Hurry up and try it on. Let me see!”

“Wait for it.” Shang Ranzhu was excited too. She took the cheongsam off the rack and went into the changing room.

She had to admit, big-budget productions really spared no expense when it came to wardrobe. Everything from the fabric to the tailoring was top quality.

She buttoned up each frog clasp one by one while admiring herself in the mirror.

Shang Ranzhu had a great figure to begin with, but in this cheongsam—with its tight waist, sculpted hips, and elegant curves—she looked like a goddess descended to earth.

As she adjusted the collar, something struck her. This outfit was clearly designed for a young noble lady. But wasn’t she here to audition as the servant?

Her eyes lit up. A sudden thought hit her—could it be that the director had realized she was better suited to play Gong Li, the noble daughter, and had assigned Shen Tingjun the role of the servant, Chun Ming?

Now that would make sense. Given her stunning face, it would be irresponsible not to showcase it on the big screen, especially in a cheongsam like this one.

Standing in front of the mirror, Shang Ranzhu imagined herself as Gong Li. A seductive smile slowly bloomed on her lips. Then she reined it in a little, shaping it into something softer, more graceful.

Perfect. Very Gong Li.

After countless calls from Chen Ming urging her to hurry, Shang Ranzhu finally pulled back the curtain and stepped out with ladylike grace. She posed in front of Chen Ming with poise. “Well? Do I look amazing or what?”

“You look absolutely stunning, Shang Shang,” Chen Ming said, circling her with stars in her eyes, clearly struggling to find the right words to praise her.

Shang Ranzhu flipped her long hair and said proudly, “Exactly. That’s why I should be playing Gong Li.”

But her confidence lasted only for five minutes.

Strolling slowly out of the room with Chen Ming, she looked up—and froze. Not far ahead, they saw another woman in a cheongsam. The dim corridor lighting cast a hazy glow over her figure, shrouding her in a mood that felt straight out of the Republican era. For a moment, Shang Ranzhu felt like she’d traveled through time.

The woman’s figure was even more graceful than her own. She wore an ash-gray cheongsam embroidered with white plum blossoms. The dress gave her an air of aloof elegance, and her hair was tied into a low bun, held in place by a short silver hairpin. Her neck was slender, and her eyes looked distant—like they were focused on something unseen.

She looked like a blossom admiring its own quiet beauty.

“She’s… breathtaking,” Chen Ming murmured.

Yeah.

Shang Ranzhu had to admit it too.

But why—why—did it have to be Shen Tingjun?

Her chest tightened again, that same familiar frustration clogging her up inside. She knew Shen Tingjun was talented, but she just couldn’t accept being outshined by her. That stubborn pride of hers turned into fuel, pushing her to walk fast so she could get to the audition room before Shen Tingjun.

The audition room was brightly lit, and Shang Ranzhu had to squint against the sudden glare. She raised a hand to rub her eyes.

At that moment, a cool breeze drifted behind her, carrying a subtle and pleasant fragrance.

“You can open your eyes now,” came a soft voice—like the wind at the start of spring, cool but tinged with warmth.

Shang Ranzhu blinked cautiously. The lighting dimmed slightly. On the far side of the room, two people sat in the audience chairs. On the left was the screenwriter Chen Qiangwei, and on the right was the director Xu Yiren. The lights were too dim to read their expressions.

On the opposite end of the room stood a makeshift set: a bed covered with white feathers, a vintage vanity table, and a full-length mirror. A folding screen, faded and antique, divided the space. The entire setup radiated a kind of sensual tension.

Shang Ranzhu turned toward the mirror and saw herself—along with the woman who had just spoken.

Shen Tingjun.

She stood with calm composure, and her hands were folded gently at her waist.

That beautiful voice had come from her?

Shang Ranzhu’s heart clenched again. Before she could say anything, Director Xu spoke up.

“Miss Shang, there’s no script for this scene. Only the setup.”

Shang Ranzhu smiled secretly in her heart. She was a young and brave girl who was not afraid of tigers. She claimed to be very smart and would definitely not lose to Shen Tingjun in this scene.

“Gong Li asks you to try on her clothes and show her. In this scene, you’ve just changed and come out of the dressing room.”

All her daydreams from earlier came crashing down.

This meant that she was not going to play Gong Li after all. She was Chun Ming—the spy posing as a maid.

Fine. Chun Ming it was. She wasn’t afraid. She’d done her research, filling pages and pages with character notes. She will show them—Director Xu, Chen Qiangwei, and even Shen Tingjun—that she was born for this role.

“Let’s begin,” Shen Tingjun said softly, not as a question, but as a statement.

“Okay.” Shang Ranzhu nodded.

At the sound of her response, Shen Tingjun stepped forward, raising a delicate arm and reaching out to Shang Ranzhu.

Wait—this is the start?

Shang Ranzhu’s heart began to pound wildly, for no reason at all.

There was something irresistible about Shen Tingjun—an invisible magnetism that drew people in and made their hearts race the moment they stood before her.

Shang Ranzhu stared blankly at Shen Tingjun’s slender, well-defined hand as it slowly reached toward her cheek. For a moment, she froze in place, unsure what to do.

Click.

The lights in the room suddenly went out.

Shen Tingjun’s hand had landed not on her cheek, but on the switch behind her.

So she was just turning off the lights.

Really, would it kill her to give a warning?

Shang Ranzhu felt a little played; her cheeks flushed hot. Watching Shen Tingjun walk out quietly, she suddenly felt the urge to reclaim control of the scene—and quickly followed her into the center of the room.

A staff member lit a dim kerosene lamp. The scene was set at night: Gong Li (Shen Tingjun) had just returned from a banquet and was feeling disillusioned. To her, the so-called upper class was nothing more than anyone who put on fancy clothes and masks. She wanted her personal maid, Chun Ming, to change into her gown, just to prove her argument about the upper class.

At first, Chun Ming resisted. But unable to go against her mistress, she eventually gave in.

Now fully dressed, Shang Ranzhu—who was portraying Chun Ming—stood nervously behind a screen, with only half of her figure visible as she peeked out timidly toward Gong Li.

“Miss,” she said, gripping the edge of her Cheongsam dress, her anxious glance capturing the character’s unease perfectly.

Shen Tingjun’s eyes lit up when she saw her, though her expression remained composed. She kept her noble posture and waved her hand lightly, calling, “Come here.”

Although Shang Ranzhu was well accustomed to wearing heels, she pretended to be unfamiliar with them and stumbled slightly as she walked over. She needed to portray the character Chun Ming perfectly—a servant who wasn’t used to such fine things.

When she finally stood in front of Shen Tingjun, she nervously composed herself.

That nervousness came from Chun Ming toward Gong Li—but also from Shang Ranzhu, who was now face-to-face with Shen Tingjun.

Shen Tingjun wasn’t the kind of beauty that dazzled at first glance. She wasn’t stunning in a way that turned heads instantly. Instead, she was quiet and distant—an almost ascetic elegance. Her every expression felt emotionless, untouched, yet shrouded in mystery. She was beautiful in a way that made you hesitate to get close.

“You look beautiful,” Shen Tingjun said softly. She reached out and gently stroked Shang Ranzhu’s hair. Her fingertips were soft and cool.

The sensation sent a jolt down Shang Ranzhu’s spine—an electric current that sparked from her scalp and spread through her body, leaving behind a strange, tingling warmth.

It was such an unfamiliar feeling that Shang Ranzhu instinctively reached up and grabbed the hand resting on her head. Her voice was soft and a little shaky as she whispered, “Miss.”

It was a reminder—both to herself and to Shen Tingjun.

Shen Tingjun could feel the shift in Shang Ranzhu’s mood. She was young, just over twenty, and clearly not yet able to fully control her pheromones. The air was now subtly sweet, a sugary scent just barely noticeable.

But Shen Tingjun didn’t stop. She had no intention of pulling back, no matter how thick the tension between them grew.

Right now, she wasn’t just Shen Tingjun. She was Gong Li, and Gong Li wouldn’t back down simply because her maid’s scent might push her into heat.

She had always been the type to endure.

With a twist of her wrist, Shen Tingjun turned the hand that Shang Ranzhu was gripping—and intertwined their fingers.

Looking straight into Shang Ranzhu’s dark eyes, she said softly, “I think I’m going to dream of you tonight.”

That—was Gong Li. A young heiress with a touch of madness and obsession in her soul.

Shang Ranzhu’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes trembled, just like Chun Ming’s would when trying to avoid Gong Li’s hidden affections. “Miss, you can’t dream of me,” she said gently.

Shen Tingjun tilted her head and looked puzzled. There was a childlike confusion in her voice. “Why not? You’re the one who told me that if you think of someone enough, they will appear in your dreams.”

“I don’t want to dream of the Second Young Master Chen. I just want to dream of you.”

The moment her words landed, Shang Ranzhu took a step back—only to trip on the edge of the bed. Her body tumbled backward with no warning, and Shen Tingjun, whose hand was still entwined with hers, was pulled down with her.

The white feathers covering the bed floated into the air. Shen Tingjun’s hands held Shang Ranzhu down, hovering above her like a cage of gentleness and restraint.

Shang Ranzhu could only hear the frantic thudding of her own heartbeat. Her fingers clenched around the bedsheets as Shen Tingjun’s cool, elegant scent surrounded her.

Their faces were close—so close that Shen Tingjun’s delicate cherry-pink lips were now just inches from hers.