I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 19

As dusk deepened, the orange-red sunset dyed half the sky, blending with the pale blue in a striking contrast. The warm-toned light filtered through the treetops, casting peculiar shapes on the ground.

At the foot of a low slope, a slender figure crouched, digging through damp soil to uncover something buried deep.

The corner of a sturdy metal box emerged. Bai Cha paused her digging, tossed aside the sharpened wooden stick she had been using, and knelt to scrape away the dirt with her hands.

It was a festive red mooncake box, wrapped tightly in layers of plastic wrap. Despite the covering, the design was still visible—two peonies in red and pink, with a golden full moon suspended between them, beneath which Chang’e, the moon goddess, reached up as if to embrace it.

The damp soil quickly dirtied her hands, but Bai Cha paid no mind. Carefully, she pried the box free, brushing off clumps of mud before peeling away the plastic wrap layer by layer. Then, cradling the metal box, she sat at the base of the slope and opened it.

The sky darkened gradually from the horizon upward, and only when the warm yellow light was about to vanish below the earth did the motionless girl finally stir.

She closed the box and returned it to the deep hole, packing the soil firmly back into place. Straightening, she picked up a bundle of crabapple blossoms nearby and climbed the slope, selecting a spot that barely satisfied her before starting to dig again.

She wanted to plant a crabapple tree.

The branches were too thin—propagation might not succeed at all—but she wanted to try.

In spring, the sky darkened late. Standing atop the slope, Bai Cha tilted her face upward, spotting a faint star hidden behind the clouds. Her mind was filled with the vivid, beautiful face of another woman.

This time, too, she had refused Nan Ju’s offer to see her home when they parted.

“We shouldn’t meet again. When the crabapples bloom next year, I’ll come find you myself. I’ll treat you to a meal then.”

Bai Cha didn’t know why she had suddenly made such a promise. Perhaps it was the foolish pride of youth at work, or perhaps it was her longing for the tenderness and care she had never known before. On impulse, she had spoken, hoping in an utterly naive way to keep this woman—whom she had met only three times—close a little longer.

If this was just some rich person’s cruel amusement, then I hope your interest in me lasts just a little longer.

The beautiful woman had stood beneath a willow tree, looking at her in surprise. Her lashes were astonishingly long, and when her eyes widened slightly, they held an innocent clarity that clashed strangely with her striking, voluptuous features.

Bai Cha watched as she smiled—soft and quiet, like snow, yet unlike snow. Snow was cold; this was more like a glistening drop of water, fragile enough to shatter at a touch.

“Then it’s settled. I live at No. 1 Tanghua Road. You must come.”

Clenching her fists, the girl gazed up at the darkening sky, her expression resolute. “By then, I’ll be even more worthy of your attention!”

—

The night was hazy. As Nan Ju reached her doorstep, she glanced up and saw the dense shadows of flowers in the front garden, the warm light flickering behind swaying branches.

She heard the sound of Bai Wan’s barking—loud and spirited—as the little creature darted past the struggling servants and straight to Nan Ju’s feet.

Compared to when it first arrived, it had grown a bit bigger, its body becoming rounder while its limbs remained short and chubby, showing no signs of elongating at all.

“I haven’t washed my hands yet,” Nan Ju nudged it away with her calf, only to have it cling to her again within seconds. She sighed in exasperation.

“Xia Duo, take it away.”

The ever-elusive maid swiftly stepped forward to remove the whining, clingy puppy. As Nan Ju walked, she asked, “Anything noteworthy at home today?”

The front yard was filled with flowering quince trees leading straight to the main residence where the family lived. The swaying blossoms cast delicate shadows under the moonlight, their faint fragrance lingering along the path. Nan Ju listened with downcast eyes as Xia Duo reported beside her, then paused mid-step on the stairs.

“Who sent me a letter?”

“The envelope didn’t list a real name. It came from the north with a flowering quince stamp on it.”

The flowering quince stamp was priceless, released in limited quantities by the post office each year, its market price soaring annually.

Without that stamp, this anonymous yet personally addressed letter to Nan Ju would never have made it past the villa’s gates.

Xia Duo hesitated, still uneasy. “Should we notify the post office to block these unclear letters in the future?”

“No need.” Nan Ju stepped inside, her long lashes fluttering slightly, veiling her emotions. “I know who sent it. Next time, just place it directly in my room.”

After dinner, Nan Ju draped a white robe over her shoulders and leaned by the window to gaze at the moon, recalling the kitten that had slipped through her grasp yet again.

“When the quince blossoms bloom next year, I’ll come find you myself. Then, I’ll treat you to a meal.”

The girl’s soft, trembling voice echoed in her ears, and Nan Ju couldn’t help but laugh.

“So adorable.”

“What’s so adorable?” Aunt Pei entered with a glass of milk, puzzled. “I knocked earlier, but you didn’t seem to hear.”

Nan Ju turned, offering a smile reserved for close elders.

“It’s nothing. I caught a kitten today—so cute. She even played hide-and-seek with me.”

Aunt Pei looked surprised. “A kitten? Will you bring it home?”

Nan Ju took a big sip of warm milk, her cheeks adorably puffed as she shook her head, resembling a well-behaved child at bedtime.

“Not yet. She’s a feisty little stray. If I forced her here, she’d probably fight Eight Million right away.”

Nan Ju saw nothing wrong with her reasoning. Eight Million was mischievous enough; if she brought Bai Cha home against her will, the first victim would undoubtedly be the dog, not her.

“A stray? How pitiful. So, you’ve decided not to keep her?”

“Oh, I will. Once I get to know her better, I’ll kidnap her.” Nan Ju’s eyes curved mischievously, glinting with cunning.

A little kitten wandering outside was far too dangerous! Better to find an opportunity to abduct her sooner rather than later.

She had initially planned to take Bai Cha home directly, but the girl had beaten her to it, requesting they never meet again—alert and clever.

Nan Ju didn’t want to push too aggressively.

“Aunt Pei, any news about what I asked you to look into earlier?”

“There is. Those letters are likely the abbreviation of an orphanage. Welfare institutions usually sew labels inside the collar when making clothes for children under their care—it’s a method to help locate them if they go missing.”

The folder on the table was pushed forward. Although Nan Pei didn’t understand why Nan Ju had suddenly taken an interest in orphanages, she continued explaining: “This orphanage is holding an event this Saturday, where many prospective adoptive parents will come to see the children…”

Warm light fell on Nan Ju’s hair, casting golden highlights. She opened the folder, her fingers pausing on a small ID photo of a little girl.

“Angel Orphanage, is it?”