I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 3

Perhaps out of a guilty conscience, after Nan Ju unceremoniously yanked out the telephone line at home, she never heard Ye Qiushuang’s name again, nor did the other party dare to show up.

The scandal at the engagement banquet was completely hushed up. The entire Flower Market knew only of the joyous news of the Ye family’s second daughter’s engagement, which was splashed across the newspapers for three consecutive days, brimming with celebration.

Nan Ju didn’t step outside or check her phone, shutting herself in her room or the meditation chamber for days, racking her brain over how to return—or die—back to her original world.

It wasn’t until the crabapple trees in the courtyard began to blush with buds that Nan Ju finally gave up on returning to the real world. Wrapped in an ankle-length nightgown, she stood calmly on the balcony, gazing down at the sprawling 1,500-square-meter garden villa below, her heart as still as water.

She had died from overwork—even if she went back, she’d be long gone. Might as well live well in this world.

The upright branches stretched skyward. Though it was early spring, the new crabapple blossoms already adorned the trees, sparse leaves but dense flowers, blooming in riotous splendor.

Nan Ju felt a lump in her throat, unable to bear the sight of the garden filled with flowering quinces.

Damn it, she was actually tempted by this false prosperity!

Being transmigrated into a Flower Market novel was terrifying—but a 1,500-square-meter villa was just too damn tempting, ugh!

Like the kapok of the Ye family, the crabapple was the emblem of Nan Ju’s lineage, with the sturdy, vibrant flowering quince often serving as its symbol. Every object bore the distinctive crabapple motif.

In the Flower Market, a family represented by such a floral emblem was undoubtedly prestigious and affluent—nobility among the elite.

To put it bluntly: filthy rich!

Recalling the book’s description of the original owner’s family background, Nan Ju—a self-made woman with a house, a car, and six-figure savings in her past life—snorted disdainfully, her pretty face scrunching up.

Damn rich people! Even fictional characters were wealthier than her!

“Miss, are you feeling unwell?”

Xia Duo, the maid who had just pushed open the glass balcony door to call Nan Ju down for breakfast, looked nervous.

The early spring chill—had her young mistress caught a cold? Why did she look so aggrieved?

No wonder Nan Ju had been holed up in her room these past few days, sometimes even skipping meals. She must be ill.

Xia Duo’s face twisted with regret as she hurried forward.

“Miss, don’t stand here in the wind! I’ll call the doctor!”

Nan Ju, dragged back into the room like a beautiful wooden puppet, blinked before bursting into laughter.

“I’m not sick. I was just lost in thought.”

Sudden wealth was too disorienting—she could barely contain herself.

Though accustomed to obeying orders, Xia Duo remained skeptical. She stopped and scrutinized her mistress’s face—pale from the wind but with lips still red and glistening—before asking uneasily, “Really?”

Nan Ju nodded.

The villa staff doted on her, and as a proud successor of socialism, Nan Ju didn’t put on airs. Finding Xia Duo’s furrowed brows amusing rather than offensive, she repeated,

“I’m really fine.”

Xia Duo exhaled in relief, though traces of worry lingered.

Having grown up alongside Nan Ju, she enjoyed a closer bond than the other servants and spoke more freely. Only now did she realize she was still gripping Nan Ju’s wrist. Flushing, she quickly let go.

“Miss, please come down for breakfast. Aunt Pei has returned.”

Nan Ju lifted her eyelids, a ripple of emotion flickering in her eyes.

The villa’s housekeeper, who had taken a three-day leave, finally returned from her vacation. Nan Ju restrained her urge to test her suspicions and decided to eat first.

Those who have experienced hunger never want to miss a meal.

“Aunt Pei, have you eaten? Sit down and join me.”

The housekeeper standing nearby looked surprised, her already gentle expression softening further.

“I’ve already eaten, Miss.”

Aunt Pei was a kind-faced middle-aged woman around forty. The original novel hadn’t devoted much ink to describing such insignificant side characters.

Nan Ju scooped up tender steamed egg custard with a small silver spoon, pondering how to casually inquire about pheromones, when she suddenly wrinkled her nose.

“What’s that smell?”

A sharp, minty scent—somewhat familiar, yet strangely unsettling.

Frowning in confusion, she glanced up as Aunt Pei hesitated before stepping forward.

“You can smell it, Miss? It’s the suppressant I used.”

Aunt Pei was also an Omega. Having lost her husband early and never remarried, she relied on suppressants to endure her heats, always taking three to five days off to avoid disrupting work in the villa.

Suppressants came in two types—Alpha-specific and Omega-specific—typically used by minors lacking parental pheromone guidance or adults who had lost their mates. They didn’t suppress heats but provided indirect relief.

Aunt Pei hadn’t expected Nan Ju to detect the scent despite having taken leave to endure the most turbulent first three days of her heat. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

As Aunt Pei approached, that peculiar, not-quite-unpleasant scent grew stronger.

Ah, how familiar. It was the smell of Six God insect repellent.

Suppressants were a setting emphasized multiple times in the novel. Recalling this, Nan Ju suddenly remembered the scandalous scene she’d witnessed at the engagement banquet and had an epiphany.

Aunt Pei was still in heat—otherwise, she wouldn’t be using suppressants.

So, the stench of dirty socks and sweaty feet she’d smelled in the Ye residence, and now Aunt Pei’s Six God scent—these were all pheromones emitted by others in heat.

But why couldn’t she smell her own pheromones?

Did being a model socialist citizen disqualify her?

Nan Ju lifted her hand, sniffing delicately at her wrist—only the faint scent of shower gel lingered.

The novel stated that the original host had a unique constitution, highly susceptible to others’ pheromones, especially those of Alphas or Omegas in heat, becoming weak-kneed and flushed at the slightest whiff.

Yet she felt nothing. Did this mean she truly wouldn’t experience heats like the people in this twisted world?

Higher-ranked Alphas and Omegas with stronger talents were more sensitive to pheromones. Aunt Pei, torn between embarrassment and awkwardness, forced herself to remain composed. “Perhaps I should take two more days off…”

“No. Sit down and keep me company while I eat.”

One bottle clears the mind, two bottles ward off fatigue, three bottles grant immortality.

With a walking Six God dispenser guarding her, Nan Ju refused to believe she’d lose her senses and fall for traps like the original host.

As for whether she could detect others’ pheromones without experiencing heats herself—well, testing it on a powerful Alpha would settle that.

Su Wei, the original host’s fiancé, would make an excellent test subject.

“I need to go see Su Wei at noon, so don’t prepare dinner for me.”

It had been three days since she arrived in this world without stepping outside, and she figured this annulment meeting would be a good opportunity to explore.

That’s right—Nan Ju was going to meet her fiancée Su Wei to call off their engagement, and she intended to keep it a secret from everyone.

The engagement was arranged between the original owner and Su Wei—what did that have to do with her, Nan Ju? She wanted nothing to do with some overpowered Alpha; that was just too extreme for her to handle.

Her family had no idea about her plans to meet Su Wei today. Aunt Pei, who had just sat up straight in her chair, looked up in surprise before giving an understanding smile.

Young love—what Omega wouldn’t be drawn to an Alpha?

Though it was an arranged marriage between powerful families, and Su Wei was five years older than the young mistress, she was a female Alpha and their social status matched perfectly. Aunt Pei thought this marriage was quite ideal.

The young mistress hadn’t liked it before, but now that she’d come around, everything would be fine.

“What car would you like to take today, Young Mistress?”

Nan Ju didn’t have a preference.

“The usual one is fine.”

“The Phantom’s door got scratched by the diamonds on your shoe and is being repaired. Would the red one be alright today?”

Nan Ju!!!

She had escaped the engagement party relying on her proud memory to find the car that only appeared once in the original novel. In her panic, she had kicked the car door—only now remembering what kind of car it was.

“A Rolls-Royce Phantom, worth eight million RMB. Very expensive.”

So that kick had landed on eight million?

For a moment, Nan Ju couldn’t decide whether to mourn the eight-million-RMB dent or rejoice that her high heels were studded with diamonds hard enough to scratch a Rolls-Royce.

How enviable—a fictional character with diamonds on her heels and a collection of classic black and red Rolls-Royces.

Torn between grief and joy, she could only nod stiffly.

“That’s fine. Let me know when the car’s repaired.”

She wanted to see what eight million looked like with her own eyes.

—

Burdened with guilt over the eight-million-RMB car, Nan Ju still took an identical red Rolls-Royce Phantom to meet her fiancée Su Wei.

The eye-catching red sports car pulled up beside the office building. Unfortunately, it was just noon break, and many people stopped in their tracks when they saw Nan Ju step out of the car.

Jet-black straight hair, oversized sunglasses, a slender waist, and long legs—she was clearly a stunning Omega.

Nan Ju strode confidently into the building, completely unbothered by the stares since no one could see her face clearly behind the shades. Her beautiful eyes, hidden behind the glasses, sparkled with amusement.

This felt like some cheesy dramatic entrance—so tacky yet so satisfying. She loved it.

Less than a minute later, she was stopped by the front desk.

“Hello, miss. You can’t enter without an appointment.”

Her swaggering steps came to an abrupt halt. Pouting slightly in frustration, Nan Ju tugged her sunglasses halfway down her nose and lifted her eyelids, her eyes shimmering like water.

“My name is Nan Ju.”

A year ago, the high-profile marriage between the Nan family of the south district and the Su family of the north had been the talk of the entire city. The receptionist’s professional smile faltered as her mouth fell open slightly, her sharp eyes catching the tiny red begonia embroidery on Nan Ju’s collar.

“President Su!”

The girl’s near-squeak made Nan Ju take a step back. Turning around, she saw a cool, black-haired woman walking toward her.

“Su Wei, top-tier female Alpha, the silent and domineering CEO—mature and steady. She angrily called off the engagement because she deemed Nan Ju ‘unclean’ after being marked by someone else, earning her a premium membership at the crematorium.”

Peering through her sunglasses at that icy expression, Nan Ju couldn’t stop one of her legs from trembling slightly, even beginning to tap out a rhythm against the floor.

“Su wei su wei su wei, du wei du wei du wei…”

The cursed tune looped endlessly in her mind like a 360-degree surround sound, refusing to fade.