Her Pheromones Smell Like Sparkling Water (GL) - Chapter 29

Faced with Shen Tingjun’s invitation as Gong Li, neither the actress Shang Ranzhu nor the character Chun Ming could bring herself to refuse. She reached out with her roughly made-up hand, placing it gently into Shen Tingjun’s, who had extended her own as an invitation to dance.

It wasn’t the first time they’d held hands, and yet, Ranzhu’s heart still raced.

Shen Tingjun held her hand, giving her palm a small twist, then slipped her slender fingers in between Ranzhu’s, gently interlocking them.

Her other arm rose slowly, reaching toward Ranzhu’s waist—only to meet Ranzhu’s hand coming the same way.

They had both intended to lead.

The moment Ranzhu’s hand touched the back of Shen Tingjun’s, she instinctively drew back slightly. But then she remembered—she was playing a servant. She should yield.

But when she looked into Shen Tingjun’s eyes and saw that gentle, almost watery warmth in her gaze…

She suddenly felt that even if Chun Ming were an Alpha, when faced with such a beauty, she too would want to take the lead—just this once.

Why care about “overstepping”? The invisible line between her and Gong Li had long since disappeared, though neither of them knew exactly when.

Ranzhu’s hand slid in decisively, getting there first—wrapping firmly around Shen Tingjun’s slender waist.

The silk of her cheongsam was smooth and cool, and Ranzhu’s fingers lightly grazed one spot, feeling the embroidery’s texture and the subtle warmth of Shen Tingjun beneath the dress.

The silver needle dropped onto the vinyl record, and the gramophone began playing a soft old tune.

Shen Tingjun didn’t resist Ranzhu’s move. Instead, she simply rested her hand gently on Ranzhu’s shoulder.

Under the moonlight, the two stood facing one another. In that cold, dim room, they were each other’s only source of warmth.

At some point, Ranzhu had drifted from Shen Tingjun’s eyes to her translucent, tender lips.

A hazy, intimate atmosphere hung over them. Ranzhu’s eyes burned with an intensity that felt like a wildfire.

And Shen Tingjun was no different.

At the remote monitoring screen, Director Xu Yiren leaned in, watching with anticipation.

This scene was far more beautiful than what he’d imagined when reading the script. Both women seemed to be waiting for the other to act, wrapped in the vague, budding tension between them.

But Chen Qiangwei—watching from the side—couldn’t hold back anymore. One of the women on that screen was the one she loved.

How could she bear to let something that wasn’t in the script happen right before her eyes?

She stood up at once. Xu Yiren quickly reached out to stop her, whispering sharply, “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“You should’ve yelled ‘cut’ already,” Chen Qiangwei replied, clearly upset.

“This is a moment of artistic beauty—don’t you think it deserves to be captured?” Xu Yiren asked in return.

“But this isn’t in the script,” she countered. “It’s too fast. They’re supposed to show restraint!”

Xu Yiren paused. Admittedly, the emotional progression between Gong Li and Chun Ming was accelerating faster than planned.

But looking at Shen Tingjun on screen, he felt she still had control.

“Don’t rush. Just keep watching.”

On screen, Ranzhu and Shen Tingjun slowed their dance. Step by step, they gazed at each other through the gentle rhythm of the music.

A breeze drifted in from the window. Although Shen Tingjun had always masked her scent, Shang Ranzhu still detected it—that faint but intoxicating trace of her pheromones. It tugged at something inside her, urging her to lean in… to kiss Shen Tingjun.

But the wind sobered Shen Tingjun slightly.

She was well aware that this woman in front of her had stirred something deep within. She craved her touch, her warmth, and even her scent.

But this was a film set, not some private space.

She couldn’t let herself go. Not here. Not now.

She wasn’t Shen Tingjun at this moment—she was Gong Li.

“I’m tired,” she said softly, gently releasing Shang Ranzhu’s hand. Her voice held a hint of distance.

Ranzhu was stunned for a second. She looked into Shen Tingjun’s eyes—those eyes that moments ago still burned—only to find that the fire had gone out and was replaced with a deliberate, cold indifference.

“Miss,” Ranzhu said unwillingly, her arm still wrapped around Shen Tingjun’s waist.

“I really am tired,” Shen Tingjun replied, reaching for Ranzhu’s hand and, with firm but gentle force, unwrapping it from her waist. She stepped past Ranzhu and headed for the bed.

Xu Yiren, feeling the scene had lost some of its natural rhythm at the end, raised his hand and called out, “Cut!”

He walked over to the two of them, commenting, “That last part felt a little rushed, don’t you think?”

“It wasn’t in the script anyway,” Shen Tingjun said calmly while flipping through the script. “It was improvised—relying on chemistry is already impressive.”

Ranzhu, on the other hand, seemed like she still wanted to go again. “I think the improvisation was pretty good.”

Xu Yiren nodded in agreement, then reminded them, “But don’t stray too far from the script. Shang Ranzhu, did you almost go off just now?”

Only then, as if awakening from a dream, did Shang Ranzhu’s eyes widen, realizing that she had almost stepped over a line in front of everyone. “I’m sorry, Miss Shen.”

“You acted very well,” Shen Tingjun said evenly. “Just remember—sometimes, you need to control yourself.”

That line wasn’t just for Shang Ranzhu—it was for herself too.

The subsequent takes adhered strictly to the script. Shen Tingjun and Shang Ranzhu executed each scene professionally. The entire night shoot progressed smoothly.

From 6 p.m. to 1 a.m., the full moon slowly shifted its place in the sky.

The world after midnight was too quiet. Everyone packed up silently, too exhausted—and too respectful of the stillness—to make a sound.

Only Shang Ranzhu was still looking around as she cleaned up.

After the final take wrapped up, Shen Tingjun disappeared from the set. There was no sign of her in the dressing room either. Shang Ranzhu asked around, but everyone said they hadn’t seen her.

Not far off, Chen Qiangwei was making her way through the crowd holding a glass cup—Ranzhu spotted her immediately.

She was the most likely person to know where Shen Tingjun had gone.

“Hey, leaving already, Screenwriter Chen?” Ranzhu took the initiative to greet her.

“Mm.” Chen Qiangwei was still annoyed by Ranzhu’s earlier improvised “overstep” toward Shen Tingjun and gave a curt nod in response.

Ranzhu didn’t bother with small talk. She asked directly, “Have you seen Miss Shen?”

“She left early. Didn’t she tell you?” Chen Qiangwei replied, a little smug. After all, she had said goodbye to Shen Tingjun herself before she left.

“Well, I guess you’ve been too busy with your trending search to notice anything else,” she added with a hint of snark.

Shang Ranzhu had no interest in bickering. She thought to herself, If I told her that it was Andy who helped clean up my mess today, wouldn’t she be mad enough to pop like a balloon?

“Thanks for the concern, Screenwriter Chen. It’s getting late—I’ll head out first.”

With that, Ranzhu called over her assistant and headed toward her nanny van.

As soon as the door opened, Chen Ming was already inside waiting. Ranzhu was surprised. “Why are you here? Haven’t you been busy all night? You should be resting.”

“I got everything wrapped up. Andy told me I could head out early,” Chen Ming said as she handed Ranzhu a bottle of water, just as she liked it.

“Did everything go well?” Ranzhu asked while hydrating.

“More or less.” Chen Ming collapsed tiredly into the seat with a sigh, her voice filled with self-reproach. “Zhuzi, I realized today just how unqualified I am as your manager. I saw how Andy handled everything—he’s got such skill. Honestly, at moments I almost mistook him for an Alpha. If you had someone like her managing you, you’d be way more famous by now.”

Her face visibly dropped. Ranzhu had never once blamed her, but seeing her like this still made her heart ache. “Hey, don’t say that.”

“These past two years… we didn’t plan for any of this. Who knew I’d blow up just from one film? You and I—we’re not trained pros. It was all unexpected. You’ve already done really well.”

“But I’ve been too complacent. Following Andy today made me realize there were so many things I failed to handle properly. Especially that situation with Miss Shen—if I’d been more like him, maybe you wouldn’t have had to deal with all the fallout.”

The more Chen Ming spoke, the more guilty she looked, like she wanted to crawl into a corner and hide.

“That’s all in the past. Why bring it up again? If we’re playing that game, I should regret being disrespectful to Miss Shen too. But look where we are now—things are going pretty well between us, aren’t they?” Ranzhu comforted.

At the mention of Shen Tingjun, something suddenly came to Chen Ming’s mind. “Oh right—there’s something I think I should tell you about what Andy and I found out.”

“What is it?”

“Andy traced Yaohua Media’s parent company. But when she saw the name, her face immediately darkened.” Chen Ming paused as she tried to recall. “The company was only established last year. It’s called… Chenlai Entertainment.”

“I looked it up. The boss of Chenlai is Shen Qin. It’s affiliated with Xingchen Entertainment—Miss Shen’s family’s company. Looks like they’re relatives.”

“Shen Qin?” Ranzhu repeated the name slowly—it rang ominous bells in her head. She took the tablet from Chen Ming and started searching.

On Baidu, she found the detailed profile. Flashy titles and job positions didn’t interest her. What caught her eye was this line: Shen Qin, second son of Shen Qijia, head of the Shen Group.

It was like she’d found a loose thread in a tangled web. She clicked into Shen Qijia’s profile.

Shen Qijia had two wives. His first wife bore him three children: eldest son Shen Qing and second son Shen Ming were both Omegas, and their eldest daughter, Shen Li, was an Alpha. The first wife had died 28 years ago, and Shen Qijia later remarried. With his second wife, he had one son and two daughters. The third son, Shen Qin, was an Alpha. The younger daughters, Shen Yu and Shen Lan, were both Omegas.

Which meant—by the family hierarchy—Shen Qin was Shen Tingjun’s third uncle.

The very same uncle who, when she was sixteen, had nearly assaulted her—an incident that led to her mother’s death.

Shang Ranzhu knew this man was Shen Tingjun’s deepest scar. Her fingers clenched tightly around the tablet.

“You know him?” Chen Ming asked, confused by her reaction.

Ranzhu shook her head but bit out the words, “You were right—he is Teacher Shen’s relative. It’s truly unfortunate to have a family member like him.

*****

By the time their car pulled into the hotel, it was already late. Chen Ming, exhausted from the day, yawned several times and went straight to her room after settling Shang Ranzhu in.

But Ranzhu, unusually, couldn’t sleep.

She tossed and turned in bed, the name “Shen Qin” stuck in her throat like a thorn.

If she knew about Shen Qin, then Shen Tingjun certainly did too.

What would she do now that this had come to light?

Ranzhu reached for her phone beside her pillow and opened her chat with Shen Tingjun. Her fingers flew across the screen:

[Miss Shen, I just found out from Chen Ming that…]

Halfway through the message, she deleted it. It felt too abrupt—she didn’t want to ruin Shen Tingjun’s night with bad news.

Instead, she replaced it with a vague, probing line:

[Miss Shen, are you still awake?]

At that moment, Shen Tingjun’s phone lit up. With water still clinging to her fingertips, she casually pulled a tissue from the box and wiped them off. Then she looked down at her messages—one was from Shang Ranzhu, and the other from Shen Nianlan.

When she saw Ranzhu’s careful, tentative message, she let out a soft chuckle. A faint smile played across her porcelain-pale face.

But the moment she opened Shen Nianlan’s message, her smile froze instantly.

[Sis, Mom just called. She said the family’s having a dinner. Grandpa’s ordering everyone to be there. 😰😰😫😫]