Her Pheromones Smell Like Sparkling Water (GL) - Chapter 23

Shen Tingjun’s wildly racing heart began to calm down. Her unfocused eyes slowly regained clarity, but her throat felt as if it had been scorched—so raw that she couldn’t make a sound.

She could feel the warmth of Shang Ranzhu’s arms tightly wrapped around her. Bit by bit, her tense body relaxed. Awkwardly, she shifted her cheek to gently rest it against Shang Ranzhu’s shoulder and neck.

In her hair, Shen Tingjun caught a faint hint of creamy sweetness in Shang Ranzhu’s pheromones. It wasn’t strong enough to stir any primal Omega instinct, but it was just enough to bring her a kind of peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“…You found out,” Shen Tingjun rasped, her voice barely audible from the dryness in her throat. Hidden beneath her long hair, her eyes shimmered faintly with sorrow.

“I did,” Shang Ranzhu nodded. She slowly loosened her arms around Shen Tingjun, her tone both concerned and a little scolding. “Miss Shen, how could you treat your own body like this? That 16-series suppressant is incredibly dangerous.”

Shen Tingjun couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the way Shang Ranzhu looked at her so earnestly, like she could see through any lie. Her eyes flickered as she avoided her gaze. “I know my own body. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine? You passed out!” Shang Ranzhu immediately shot back.

“It’s just this once… and you happened to catch me,” Shen Tingjun murmured, trying to brush it off.

But Shang Ranzhu shook her head, exposing the truth right away. “No, it’s not. That night in the dorm, you already had a reaction, didn’t you? You were entering your heat, but I didn’t smell any pheromones from you at all.”

“…Then it’s just those two times.”

Shen Tingjun still tried to argue, but Shang Ranzhu pressed her hand down firmly, her emotions rising. “This isn’t a small problem! Twice this close together is already really dangerous, okay? That suppressant has already started causing serious side effects—and they’re getting worse. Last time, it just blocked your pheromones. This time, you passed out.”

She didn’t want to go through something like that again—didn’t want to stand outside that red-lit emergency room, pacing helplessly, wracked with guilt and regret.

If she’d only paid a little more attention… looked closely at the label on that syringe… her Shen-laoshi wouldn’t have ended up unconscious and needing emergency care.

“Miss Shen, you can’t be this selfish. If you were really gone—what about me? I’m the one who handed you that injection. That means I’m the one who killed you. I would live with that regret and pain for the rest of my life.”

Her voice trembled, and her eyes turned red despite her efforts to hold back. She felt utterly useless—for almost crying right in front of Shen Tingjun.

Then, Shen Tingjun suddenly remembered herself from eleven years ago, holding her bleeding mother, Gu Hualan, under the burning sun.

As she gazed at Shang Ranzhu, her heart twisted and ached.

She had never thought about it like this before—how her decisions could leave a mark on Shang Ranzhu too. She reached for some tissues from the bedside table and tried to offer them, but Shang Ranzhu stubbornly pushed her hand away.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled, her lashes fluttering with teardrops clinging to them. After a pause, her voice dropped, sounding heartbreakingly small: “I know… maybe I’m not that important to you.”

“…But think about Shen Nianlan, your family, your friends… even Director Xu. They—”

“That’s not true.”

Shen Tingjun suddenly gripped the tissues in her hand, cutting her off. She didn’t know why, but hearing those words from Shang Ranzhu felt like glass slicing straight through her heart.

She wanted to say, “You’re important to me.” The words hovered at the tip of her tongue—but when she looked at Shang Ranzhu, she couldn’t bring herself to say them.

Somehow, in that moment, those words felt too intimate. 

But what Shen Tingjun didn’t realize was it wasn’t the ambiguous words—it was her own guilty hesitation.

Shang Ranzhu caught the flicker of movement in her lips and held her breath in anticipation. “Then what am I to you?”

Am I someone special? Am I already someone who matters to you?

“You’re my… friend,” Shen Tingjun finally said, eyes lowering as she tried to hide her expression.

She, who was always so skilled at pretending, couldn’t fake nonchalance this time.

The light in Shang Ranzhu’s eyes dimmed just a little. She laughed bitterly at her own wishful thinking.

Of course. How could someone like Shen Tingjun put a junior she’s only known for a few months at the center of her world?

Still, she forced herself to smile, though it came out stiff and awkward. “I’m happy that you consider me a friend.”

“And since we’re friends, Miss Shen, I’m going to say this as a friend—you could’ve found an Alpha to give you a temporary mark. Just treat them like a tool. It’s not shameful.”

Shen Tingjun shook her head instantly, without even a moment’s hesitation. “The complete version of the 16-series suppressant will be available soon. I don’t want to rely on an Alpha for now. I don’t need one.”

Although her voice sounded calm, Shang Ranzhu could still sense the profound rejection underlying her words.

She hesitated, then carefully asked, “Miss Shen… Do you hate Alphas?”

Shen Tingjun was taken aback by the question. For a moment, she froze.

My little one is an Alpha, too, she thought. If I nod, she’ll definitely overthink it… and feel hurt, right?

“…It’s not that I hate Alphas,” Shen Tingjun finally said with quiet honesty. “I just hate being more of an Omega.”

She didn’t want to make Shang Ranzhu upset, so she chose to say more instead of less.

“Why?” Shang Ranzhu asked, confused.

Shen Tingjun gave a faint smile, then raised her hand and gently patted Shang Ranzhu’s head, ruffling her hair softly.
“This story is too long, kiddo. It’s time for you to go to bed. We’ve got the opening ceremony tomorrow. I’ll tell you later when we have more time.”

Her hand was warm and soft, carrying her unique scent as it brushed through Shang Ranzhu’s hair and sank deep into her heart, making it tremble.

Shen Tingjun was always this gentle, and yet somewhere deep inside, she carried a massive scar. Shang Ranzhu felt like she was just about to touch it—only for Shen Tingjun to start pushing her away.

But Shang Ranzhu refused to leave. She stared stubbornly at Shen Tingjun.

It didn’t matter whether Ms. Shen would ever love her back. It didn’t matter how hard it might be to help her heal.

She was going to do it anyway, no matter the ending.

She loved her—and that meant thinking about the future for her.

“I have time now.”

Shen Tingjun couldn’t say no to her. She pulled up a photo on her phone. In it, Gu Hualan held the hand of a ten-year-old Shen Tingjun. They were standing in a lush, colorful garden, and Gu Hualan was smiling gently.

“That’s my mother. Back then, I had just presented as an Omega and suddenly went into heat. She jumped from the second floor while trying to protect me from my uncle, who tried to take advantage of me.”

Shen Tingjun’s voice stayed calm as her long, slender fingers gently traced her mother’s face in the photo. Guilt welled up in her eyes.

Shang Ranzhu didn’t ask what happened next. Just that one sentence already shattered her heart. It was like how she had almost gotten Ms. Shen killed earlier without realizing it—and how Ms. Shen once indirectly caused her mother’s death.

It wasn’t just that she hated being an Omega—it was more like she was trying to run away from it.

Every year, every month, every heat cycle would bring her back to that moment, to that bl00d-soaked memory.

How could she ever accept herself as an Omega after that? How could she ever accept being marked by an Alpha?

Shang Ranzhu felt choked up inside. She didn’t know how to comfort Shen Tingjun. No amount of words felt like enough to soothe a scar like that.

Healing from such deep pain, especially one that is soaked in bl00d, requires everything you have. You might even have to feel that heartbreak all over again before you can move on.

“Enough, don’t feel sad for me,” Shen Tingjun, the one telling the story, ended up comforting Shang Ranzhu, the one listening.
“If the final version of the Series 16 inhibitor isn’t finished before my next heat… then maybe I can finally go see my mother.”

She said it with such ease, as if it were a decision she had already made long ago.

As soon as Shang Ranzhu heard that, she jumped up from the bed and grabbed Shen Tingjun’s arm tightly, without an ounce of hesitation.
“Shen Tingjun, I won’t let you die.”

Shen Tingjun clicked her tongue in annoyance and scolded her playfully, “It’s Ms. Shen, not Shen Tingjun.”

Then, seeing how anxious and upset Shang Ranzhu looked, she felt a strange warmth in her heart. She turned her hand over and gently held Shang Ranzhu’s, trying to comfort her.
“Don’t be so pessimistic. What if all the issues with the inhibitor get fixed?”

But Shang Ranzhu’s eyes were still full of stubborn seriousness.
“And what if they don’t?”

Shen Tingjun had no answer.

She had no answer, not because she didn’t know what to say, but because she was aware that if she said the word “die” again, Shang Ranzhu would lose control.

“Let’s make a bet, Ms. Shen,” Shang Ranzhu said. “If by your next heat, the Series 16 inhibitor still isn’t fixed—and I can find you just like I did today—you’ll let me mark you temporarily.”

“What if I say no?” Shen Tingjun asked softly.

“Then I’ll still find you—and mark you anyway,” Shang Ranzhu replied without hesitation. “I will do this even if you hate me for it.”

“I don’t care about anything else. I just want you to live.”

Shen Tingjun lowered her gaze. Her lashes cast a long shadow, and she didn’t look at the fiery girl standing before her.

“…Alright. I’ll wait for that day.”

Shen Tingjun thought to herself:
Maybe… I really won’t die after all.

*****

The next day was bright and beautiful. The sky above the ancient manor where the crew was stationed was clear and blue. The warm sunlight drove away the cold.

Shen Tingjun didn’t show up at the opening ceremony because she still hadn’t fully recovered.

Shang Ranzhu, in a vibrant purple trench coat and sleek black heels, stood on the uneven cobblestone square, her face cold and distant, eyes scanning the crowd.

The whole place buzzed with noise and chatter. Shang Ranzhu was glad that her Ms. Shen wasn’t here—someone like her who loved peace and quiet would’ve been frowning nonstop.

Just as she was mentally grumbling about the noise, Chen Ming—who always had the loudest voice—came rushing over, holding a bunch of incense sticks.
“Zhuzi! Here, here. 

Why do you need so many sticks?”

Xu Yiren was filming everything on her phone and came bouncing over too.
“Zhuzi, don’t be greedy! Three is enough!”

Shang Ranzhu took the incense from Chen Ming, picked six of the best, and stuffed the rest back into her hands. Holding three sticks in each hand, she turned toward Xu Yiren’s camera and said with full seriousness, “These are mine, and these are for Ms. Shen.”

“I want to pray for her safety too.”

Then, under Xu Yiren’s live-streaming camera, Shang Ranzhu solemnly raised the six incense sticks to her forehead, gave them a few respectful bows, and carefully placed them into the incense burner.

Xu Yiren was stunned. He stared at the stream’s comment section, which had exploded with messages like “kdl! Kdl!” and “ShenShang is real!”—he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

He gently reminded Shang Ranzhu,
“Sweetheart, I’m live-streaming right now… not filming a vlog.”