I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 21

Men and women dressed in skirts and ties filed into the small orphanage one after another.

Bai Cha was the only one who didn’t go out to greet them. She stood quietly behind the wooden door of the dormitory, watching these people calmly—among them were Alphas, Omegas, and Betas.

The headmistress, dressed in a nun’s habit, stood in the center of the courtyard. Behind her were over forty children, tall and short, all wearing brand-new clothes, their heads raised high like little cabbages straining to grow taller in a vegetable patch.

Bai Cha could have been one of those little cabbages too, but she refused.

Unlike the other children, Bai Cha didn’t want anyone to adopt her.

She remembered every prospective adopter who had come over the years—from the time she was five until she turned seventeen. Countless feet had crossed that low threshold, sometimes one pair, sometimes two or three.

The orphanage was poor, but to prevent certain controllable tragedies, they strictly screened all applicants according to regulations during adoption periods—there was no leniency.

If a child wasn’t adopted by the time they reached legal adulthood, they would be “released” into independence, moving into government-assigned relief housing with rent set at 300 and utilities charged at the city’s minimum standard—enough to keep them off the streets.

Bai Cha had already saved up some money, enough to make finding a job slightly easier once she was “kicked out” of the orphanage.

But it wasn’t nearly enough. She still needed a lot more.

Applause erupted in the courtyard. Like a cat, Bai Cha slipped through the corridor, heading somewhere else.

Someone glanced up furtively but failed to catch sight of the cunning little feline.

—

The welcome performance prepared for the adopters was, as always, the chorus of Fireflies. It was an old tradition at the orphanage—everyone knew the song, and even if they sang off-key, no one would notice.

Mo Chuiliu, tall and lanky, stood in the back row. She tugged at her collar again, feeling more uncomfortable than she ever had in her life.

“What kind of nonsense is this, buttoned up so tight?”

She muttered under her breath, bluntly criticizing the plaid shirts the nuns had insisted they wear tonight.

Tang Ou happened to be standing in front of her and unfortunately overheard. She stifled a laugh and leaned back slightly, whispering just as quietly, “Don’t you like the new clothes?”

“W-who said I don’t?” Mo Chuiliu instinctively reached out to steady her, her striking brows furrowing as she twisted her neck. “Don’t you think the top button’s too tight?”

Tang Ou covered her mouth, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

Ever since they’d fought side by side in that brawl, she and this big, silly Mo Chuiliu had grown much closer. Now, while the adopters hadn’t yet entered the classroom, they could still exchange a few hushed words.

None of the children were used to their new outfits—fresh, well-fitted, hastily washed and dried that afternoon, still carrying the faint scent of soap.

Tang Ou glanced down at her shiny little leather shoes and pristine white ankle socks, curling her toes self-consciously.

So pretty—like a princess.

“Honestly, I’m not used to it either. Do you think we can still wear these after the adopters leave?”

“Probably.” Mo Chuiluo thought uncertainly, then shook her head. “They’ll probably put them away until the next adoption day for us to wear.”

The orphanage gave them a place to stay, but everyone would leave one day—either taken away by adoptive parents or leaving on their own.

These beautiful new clothes could cover their shabby and rustic appearance, at least making them look more presentable.

“I wish the person who sent these clothes, Little Orange, was among the adoptive parents this time. I’d love to see what kind of person she is.”

Mo Chuiluo muttered to herself, glancing at the colorful balloons plastered on the walls with a pout. Just as she was about to say more, her sharp eyes caught the classroom door opening, and she immediately fell silent.

At eight in the evening, the sky was dark, and the small, cramped classroom was filled with well-dressed adults. Children in checkered shirts and pristine white socks stood in rows, singing, while the sounds of insects and birds chirped in the courtyard.

Just beyond the wall, the long-legged Little Orange, whom many had been thinking about, stood quietly by the window. The wide brim of her hat tilted slightly, and the black netting perfectly obscured the upper half of her face.

She wore a matte red lipstick, its velvety texture perfectly accentuated by the dim lighting. The shape of her lips was exquisite, curling slightly with a hint of a smile—clearly a stunning beauty who knew how to command attention.

“Are all the children here?”

Her voice was just as captivating—a little sultry, a little sweet, yet devoid of any arrogance. Soft and slow, it carried a curious, almost innocent tone.

Without a doubt, she was a pampered Omega, one with a bit of a temper, but whose face alone made people overlook her flaws.

The headmistress, who had made time specifically to receive Nan Ju, was taken aback. “There’s one child missing. Would you like to meet her?”

This wealthy and beautiful Omega didn’t seem like the type to adopt a child at all.

She should be held high, looking down on everyone with cold indifference.

“No need.” Nan Ju withdrew her gaze, lowering her long lashes as she turned toward the stairs, her black skirt flaring like a flower. “Take me upstairs. I’d like to hear these children’s stories.”

—

As night deepened, the sound of scripture recitations echoed from the small chapel. A slender figure darted across the dew-covered grass, heading straight for the wall.

The sudden movement startled a dusty little bird, which flapped its wings and landed on the wall, its beady black eyes darting around.

Bai Cha nearly twisted her ankle in fright and glared at it. “Stupid bird!”

How could it fly so fast? Just this afternoon, it had been dumbly pecking at the dirt.

The wall stood at 2.2 meters, and Bai Cha, at 151 cm, couldn’t reach it even on tiptoe. Sharp shards of broken beer bottles lined the top, making it impossible for her to climb over alone.

The wind rustled the leaves, bending the branches under its weight before they sprang back, stirring the foliage noisily.

Nan Ju sat in her car, holding a dog, when she suddenly spotted a familiar little troublemaker using an incredibly tricky method—stepping on a branch to leap onto the wall, wobbling for a moment, then tumbling headfirst down the other side.

!!!

She instinctively tossed the dog aside and abruptly sat up straight, about to open the door, only to see the white tea-colored pup roll a few times on the ground before dusting itself off and dashing away like the wind.

Nan Ju…

That little rascal’s pretty badass—clearly no stranger to scaling walls.

Ah, whatever. She was here in secret anyway. Chasing after the kid now would just give herself away. Considering her reputation as the “Goddess of Generosity,” the older kids in the orphanage—those over 1.5 meters tall—probably wouldn’t dare bully the little troublemaker anymore.

A whimpering bark snapped her attention back. Nan Ju casually scooped up Eight Million again, soothing the pup with a pat on the head before sternly lecturing, “See that? She’s fierce. If you don’t behave, I’ll have her bite you next time!”