Her Pheromones Smell Like Sparkling Water (GL) - Chapter 8

Just thinking about that dream—the one where she and Shen Tingjun were in that kind of situation—made Shang Ranzhu want to slam her head against the wall in regret.

Right now, she genuinely owed that thick blanket a thank you. If it hadn’t smothered her awake, she might’ve taken things too far with her dream with Tingjun. At that point, she’d seriously consider jumping out the window.

Just as she was about to bury herself under the covers and suffocate from shame, her phone rang. It was a call from Chen Ming.

That girl, Ranzhu thought bitterly. She didn’t show up when I was drunk, but the moment I sobered up and all hell had already broken loose, she called. Unbelievable.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“I’ve been sitting out here in front of the hotel for over an hour. Where the hell are you?” Chen Ming’s tone had even more fire than hers.

She was currently wrapped in a jacket thinner than a plastic bag, shivering in the wind outside the hotel entrance.

One downside of being drunk? Forgetfulness. Only now did Shang Ranzhu remember she’d told Chen Ming that if she hadn’t called by 11 o’clock in the evening, she should come pick her up from the hotel.

Feeling guilty, Ranzhu licked her dry lips and admitted, “I… went home.”

A loud “What the hell!” burst from the other end, followed by the slam of a car door. Chen Ming barked “Home!” at her smart car system, then turned her wrath back on Ranzhu.

“I showed up early just for you, you know that?!”

“Do you have any idea how cold it is? Fall’s almost here! And I’m just a poor little Beta standing in the wind—do you even care that I’m physically fragile?!”

“You left without a word! Did I wrong you in some past life?!”

…

Faced with this stream of righteous fury, Ranzhu found an opening and blurted out, “What if I told you… I puked all over Shen Tingjun? Would that make you feel better?”

Dead silence on the other end.

Then came Chen Ming’s signature goose-honk laugh: “Honk honk—you puked—honk honk honk…”

“Ranzhu, this time… you really outdid yourself.”

Black lines practically sprouted across Ranzhu’s face. She knew, okay? She knew how mortifying it was. She didn’t need to be reminded.

“Is she the one who brought you home?” Chen Ming asked, sobering up a bit.

“Yeah.” Ranzhu nodded heavily, full of shame.

“Honk honk—so your mom and dad met her?” Chen Ming’s gossip senses flared.

Ranzhu’s mind flashed back to the image of Shen Tingjun holding hands with her mom. She instantly felt a pang of sourness. “My mom… actually really likes her.”

“Wow. That must’ve been wild. I should’ve gone to your place instead.” Chen Ming sounded deeply regretful to have missed the showdown.

“Hey, remember how your mom used to love that film Shen Tingjun starred in? The two of you even fought over the poster. Now that she’s met her in person, she probably loves her even more. What if she wants you to marry her now?”

“Girl, this is basically meeting the parents!”

“What kind of divine rom-com plotline is this?!”

Chen Ming’s imagination went into overdrive, picturing Ranzhu—seductive little minx—backed into a corner, red-eyed and speechless as the cool, aloof beauty Shen Tingjun pushed her to her limit.

Or maybe Shen Tingjun herself was the one being teased to the point of losing control with her icy expression cracking, barely able to restrain herself.

Just the thought was deliciously dramatic.

“Are you sure you’re not thinking about dating Shen Tingjun?” Chen Ming asked, wiping away a non-existent nosebleed.

“I sure am not,” Ranzhu grumbled. “Get lost.”

But Chen Ming wasn’t the type to give up. “It’s a modern world. Double Alpha is totally valid now.”

“Scram.”

“What about ‘marriage first, love later’? Ever considered that?”

“Scram.”

Eventually, maybe tired of the back-and-forth, Ranzhu flopped back on her bed. Her ceiling had a skylight—at night, she could lie there and stargaze.

Tonight’s sky was so dark. Stars scattered across the night like careless flecks of white paint, crowding the sky until even the moon seemed faint, veiled in a misty white glow.

It reminded her of how Shen Tingjun had looked when she glanced up earlier, wrapped in moonlight like a dream.

Damn it, Ranzhu cursed inwardly. Why am I thinking about her again?!

Irritated, she picked up the remote and closed the skylight cover. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Hey, the official announcement for our movie drops tomorrow,” Chen Ming suddenly switched gears. “Make sure to repost the promo and tag Shen Tingjun.”

Ranzhu sighed, palm over her forehead. This woman won’t give me even a second’s peace from Shen Tingjun. “I don’t even follow her.”

“That’s fine. Just follow her tomorrow before the promo goes live,” Chen Ming said casually. In her mind, it didn’t matter whether people speculated about the timing. Ranzhu was in showbiz—these things happened.

It was precisely because Chen Ming didn’t care about rumors that the #ShenShangFeud hashtag had survived this long.

Shang Ranzhu wasn’t the obedient type but she opened her Weibo, searched Shen Tingjun’s name, and hit “Follow.”

Shen Tingjun didn’t post often. Sometimes she went two weeks without a single update. Ranzhu had to scroll quite a bit just to find a selfie.

And to be honest, her selfies were… terrible.

Such perfect bone structure—completely wasted by bad angles and blurry focus. Some didn’t even have proper lighting.

For Ranzhu, who had majored in photography in college, this was pure torture.

“So annoying,” she muttered.

“What is it?” Chen Ming still hadn’t hung up.

“You,” Ranzhu snapped, exiting Shen Tingjun’s profile.

“I stood outside for one hour, fifty-seven minutes, and nine seconds for you!” Chen Ming shot back. Chen Ming’s response was extremely petty.

Shang Ranzhu felt guilty about the whole situation and tried to make it up:
“I’ll treat you to army stew tomorrow. You in?”

The moment Chen Ming heard “food,” all her righteous anger melted away. She nodded so hard it was practically bobblehead-level.

“Sure! I haven’t had your mom’s army stew in forever!”

“Great, then it’s settled. You drive home now; I’ll come to your place tomorrow.”

Ranzhu hung up before Chen Ming could say anything else. She pulled the blanket over her head.
Out of sight, out of love.

*****

The next day, the sun shone bright and clear with not a single cloud in sight. Sparrows chirped noisily from the power lines outside, already gathering in chatty little clusters.

Shang Ranzhu, however, got up sluggishly. Between the hangover and a whole night of nightmares, her head felt like it was about to explode.

Wrapped in a small blanket, she trudged down to the second-floor dining room. Fortunately, Liu Lihua hadn’t headed to the fried chicken shop yet. She was in the kitchen humming a tune, simmering her signature beef stew, and was clearly in a good mood.

Ranzhu pitifully shuffled over and leaned against her. “Mom, my head huuurts…”

“You slept past noon; of course it hurts. I’ll make you a bowl of beef noodles. Be good, okay?” Liu Lihua, with a loving smile, gently rubbed her daughter’s head.

That one soft “be good” gave Ranzhu a full-body shiver. She immediately pulled back a step.
“Mom, don’t be like that. You’re scaring me.”

Liu Lihua’s face instantly dropped. “What do you mean ‘like that’? I’m your mother! I show you a little love, and now you don’t want it?!”

Now that’s more like it. That’s my real mom.

A while later, Liu Lihua placed a steaming bowl of beef noodles in front of her. The meat was rich and flavorful, chewy yet juicy—one bite was enough to make the whole day better.

“What got you simmering beef this early?” Ranzhu asked curiously.

“Oh, I know you’ve got training camp before you start filming, right? I thought I’d prep some in advance for you to bring—” she said, tasting a spoonful of broth.

Ranzhu felt a wave of gratitude rise in her chest. Her mom actually thought ahead for her. So sweet. So thoughtful. So—

“Give some to Tingjun; let her try my cooking too. She’s so skinny. Who knows how rough your training will be? Poor girl, she’s so delicate—if she bruises, my heart would ache…”

And just like that, all that warm gratitude shattered into a million little pieces and disintegrated in the sunlight.

“Mom! I’m your biological daughter!”

“And also—‘Tingjun’? Why are you calling her Tingjun? Since when are you two that close?”

“You literally just met her yesterday!”

Seeing her daughter about to lose it, Liu Lihua simply smiled and tousled her messy hair again.
“Of course you’re my precious girl. But that doesn’t mean I can’t like Tingjun too.”

Ranzhu wasn’t having it. She pulled her head away like a jealous cat.
“No! You’re my mom. Not Shen Tingjun’s.”

“Is that so?” Liu Lihua gave her a meaningful look before turning back to stir her stew.

Watching her mom’s retreating figure, Ranzhu’s resentment toward Shen Tingjun only grew.

She took my Best Actress title, took my popularity… Now she’s even taking my mom?!

Where’s your mom, huh?

******

“Achoo~”

Seated at her dining table, Shen Tingjun let out a soft sneeze. Her slender shoulders trembled as a lock of jet-black hair fell gently across her chest.

She wore a light gray V-neck loungewear set, subtly revealing the defined line of her collarbones. Her neckline dipped low enough to hint at the soft curves beneath—not flat by any means.

“Jie, did you catch a cold?” the girl sitting beside her asked. She had a round face, a high ponytail tied with a shiny butterfly bow, and a few similarities in appearance—but she wasn’t nearly as refined.

This was Shen Tingjun’s younger sister, Shen Nianlan. An Alpha.

Shen Tingjun waved it off. “No, my nose just itched.”

“Pay more attention to hygiene,” came a cool voice from across the table. A sharp-eyed woman with black hair and crimson lips was slicing steak with precise movements. Her voice was even colder than Tingjun’s.

This was their mother, Shen Li. Also an Alpha.

Lowering her long lashes, Shen Tingjun replied calmly, “I know.”

“I heard you’re filming again?”

Tingjun nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Shen Li sighed deeply; a flicker of emotion was crossing her eyes.
“You never listen.”

Tingjun didn’t seem bothered. “It’s fine. I picked up the new Gen-16 suppressants yesterday.”

“Sis, I truly believe that depending solely on those inhibitors isn’t the best course of action.” If you’re worried about other Alphas, I’m right here.” Shen Nianlan grinned, patting her chest. She sounded half-joking… but not entirely.

Before Shen Li could interject, Shen Tingjun frowned and scolded, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know close relatives aren’t allowed to mark each other. What’s the point of sending you to law school if you come back to be a legal illiterate?”

Nianlan’s face scrunched up. “I didn’t even major in law! And I was just saying—I wasn’t really going to mark you.”

“No more jokes like that,” Tingjun said sternly. Still, she reached over and straightened Nianlan’s now-lopsided bow, ever the doting sister.

As she did, Nianlan caught a faint whiff of her faint, pine-and-bamboo-scented pseudo-Alpha pheromones.

It wasn’t aggressive—just… nice. Comforting. Every time they were alone, Nianlan couldn’t help but sneak a few more sniffs.

Shen Li gave her daughter a side-eye and tapped her porcelain plate. “Nianlan, once you’re in the company, no more acting out like this.”

Nianlan pulled back her eager nose and frowned. “Mom, I really don’t want to jump straight into some GM position. That’s too much.”

“Which department is Mother assigning her to?” Shen Tingjun asked, surprised. She hadn’t expected this home visit to involve Nianlan’s future.

“It’s the entertainment division,” Shen Li stated. “It’s one of our major branches. She’ll need to get familiar with it since she’ll eventually take over.”

Tingjun thought about it and nodded. “Mother’s right.”

Then added, “But starting out as general manager might be too much. It’s an old department—she could make enemies or struggle to integrate.”

“Yes! That’s exactly it!” Nianlan echoed eagerly.

“Perhaps a title like creative director or project lead would be suitable? That way, she can handle small mistakes, and it’ll be a good learning experience.”

“My sister is always right.”

Shen Li watched the sisters tag-team her, raised an eyebrow, and finally nodded.
“You always think further ahead than I do.”

Nianlan cheered, trying to throw her arms around Tingjun.
“Sis, you’re the best!”

This girl had always been strong—even more so after becoming an Alpha. Tingjun barely managed to breathe under her bear hug.
“If you keep squeezing me like this, I’ll die at twenty-seven.”

“Oops.” Nianlan giggled and let go, peeling a piece of crab for her as an apology.

“Ahem.” Shen Li cleared her throat. Nianlan quickly peeled another for her mother and handed it over like a good little imp.

After lunch, Shen Li didn’t bother avoiding the topic. In front of Nianlan, she called Tingjun to her study. Nianlan shot her a “Godspeed, Sis” look before quietly grabbing her bag and leaving.

Both daughters had moved out years ago into nearby apartments, per Shen Li’s request.

A widow for eleven years, Shen Li never remarried. She single-handedly raised two daughters and built Starchaser Media from a domestic powerhouse into a global entertainment empire.

She was the textbook definition of a power woman—and the dream of countless Omegas.

“I still think you should’ve spent more time abroad,” Shen Li said softly. “It’d be easier for you to come back under a new identity. Reinvent yourself.”

“I don’t think I need to change anything,” Shen Tingjun replied, firm as ever.

“What Nianlan said earlier wasn’t wrong. You can’t keep relying on suppressants. You’re 27 now. You should be living the life of an Omega.”

Tingjun let out a mirthless laugh. “What is the life of an Omega?”

Shen Li didn’t answer. Tingjun continued:

“Endless heats? Mindless desire? A fate where you’ll always come second to an Alpha?”

“What’s there to enjoy about that?”

This outburst was rare for Shen Tingjun, who was usually cool and soft-spoken.

Shen Li had known this would trigger her. But she brought it up anyway—not to provoke her, but because she wanted her daughter to have a future.

“You know better than anyone that your resistance to suppressants is getting stronger. We barely managed to get Gen-16 approved on time because I pushed for it.”

“But what about next time? What if they stop working altogether? Don’t you know how dangerous that would be?”

Her voice was fast and urgent. Then she paused.

“…Xiao Jun.”

She rarely called her that. The soft nickname tugged something loose in Tingjun—like being yanked back to when she was fourteen, before her secondary gender was presented, when Mom was still alive and the world, though dangerous, still felt warm.

Tingjun calmed down. “Let me think about it.”

“Not too long,” Shen Li warned.

Tingjun nodded and stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”

Back in her car, she sat for a long while. She had no filming plans for today. No obligations.
But she didn’t want to go home either.

So where could she go?

She tapped on her smart GPS and chose a location: A34 Street – AO Fried Chicken.