I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 39

The next day, a light rain began to fall, continuous and unrelenting.

It happened to be the weekend, and Nan Ju didn’t go to work. Barefoot, she stepped onto the floor and drew back the curtains in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the misty drizzle outside.

The rain beat against the crabapple blossoms, shaking the branches laden with quince and crabapple flowers, scattering petals like crimson rain across the ground.

Xu Zhiyi’s sudden appearance was much like this rain—hazy, veiled in an indistinct mist, carrying with it an icy chill.

The brightly colored letters sent in spring lay scattered across the floor, each one unopened.

Bai Cha stood outside the door, about to enter, when her eyes immediately caught sight of the strewn letters.

She knocked lightly, and Nan Ju turned to look at her, the coldness in her eyes not yet fully dissipated, as if the rain had seeped a little of its chill into her.

“What brings you here?”

Nan Ju sounded surprised.

“The kitchen made red bean and taro ball sweet soup. Sister Xia Duo sent me to ask if you’d like some.” As she spoke, Bai Cha walked in, picked up the slippers by the bed, and frowned disapprovingly. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes? You’ll catch a cold.”

Being scolded by a girl eight years her junior instantly made Nan Ju feel a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat, trying to salvage some dignity. “I forgot. I’ll be more careful next time.”

She bent down to put them on herself, but Bai Cha was quicker, immediately crouching down.

Soft fingers wrapped around her ankle, the warmth of the touch sending a faint flush across her skin. Nan Ju had always been sensitive—bruises and marks lingered easily on her, slow to fade. Now, with Bai Cha touching her foot, her breath grew a little lighter.

“Bai Cha, don’t—”

“It’s fine.” Bai Cha looked up, offering a gentle smile, as if oblivious to Nan Ju’s discomfort. She added, “If you keep walking barefoot on the floor, I’ll come every day to put your shoes on for you. That way, you won’t dare forget next time.”

Nan Ju laughed. “Is that a threat?”

Her voice lifted slightly, not as languid as usual, not quite angry—more like she was teasing on purpose. Bai Cha took the opportunity to play along, nodding. “If you say so.”

Their banter dissolved the strange tension that had lingered between them. Bai Cha remained crouched on the floor, head lowered, her dark bangs falling against her cheeks, obscuring her expression.

Nan Ju only heard the girl’s curious voice, softened further by the drizzle outside.

“Are all these letters love letters from that person to you?”

Nan Ju didn’t see any reason to hide it. “Yes. Do you want to read them?”

Bai Cha’s movements paused. She was uneasy—desperate to know what was written inside, but unable to bring herself to do so.

“No. I was just curious about how love letters are written.” The pale foot now tucked safely in the slipper, she lingered for a moment, brushing her fingers lightly over the instep before restraining herself and standing up. Tilting her head, she asked, “That person is your childhood friend, right? Did you… like her before?”

“Like her?” Nan Ju instinctively made a disgusted face, her striking features suddenly animated.

Bai Cha couldn’t help but laugh, her fingers twisting nervously behind her back in the folds of her clothes. She swallowed, then ventured carefully, “You’re even more beautiful than spring.”

Nan Ju: “?”

The two locked eyes, and Bai Cha, who was usually calm and composed, couldn’t help but blush, her gaze darting around nervously. “It’s nothing. If you don’t like them, should I burn all these letters for you?”

Nan Ju had been wanting to get rid of them and was pleased by the suggestion. “Sure, but first tear off the stamps on the envelopes.”

Bai Cha was puzzled. “Why?”

“They’re valuable.” Nan Ju glanced at the pile of letters she had tossed on the floor and added after a moment’s thought, “I think they might make up a complete set. We could auction them off and save the money for your allowance.”

Burning Xu Zhiyi’s letters, selling her stamps, and spending her money—Bai Cha fell silent for a moment, inexplicably finding the idea rather thrilling.

“Alright, let’s split it fifty-fifty.”

“Deal.”

Bai Cha stayed, sitting in Nan Ju’s room as she carefully peeled off each stamp, occasionally glancing at the rain outside. Gradually, the anxiety and restlessness in her heart began to settle.

She had never liked rainy days before. The dampness, the chill, the way raindrops splashed from the eaves, soaking clothes and shoes.

Tilting her head back, she would gaze at the misty, overcast sky, unable to spot any birds or glimpses of light. Trapped under the eaves, no matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t see beyond the immediate surroundings.

Those moments often ended with scoldings, her arm roughly yanked as she was dragged back inside—but she wasn’t allowed to cry, because her mother hated the sound of tears.

Little Bai Cha had felt utterly miserable and confined.

Even after moving to the orphanage, she still disliked rainy days. The clothes never dried properly, always carrying a musty, damp smell.

But now, things felt slightly different.

Bai Cha’s fingers were covered in stamps as she carefully peeled them off and stuck them into an album, occasionally looking up at the dark-haired woman standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, listening to the rain.

Nan Ju was undeniably beautiful. Bai Cha had never seen an Omega so striking—radiant and delicate, yet with an innate, unyielding independence. Her natural gender hadn’t made her soft or naive; instead, she occasionally revealed a sharp, commanding edge.

Yet when she lowered her gaze to look at someone, her expression was incredibly tender.

“What is it? You keep staring at me.”

Bai Cha felt a surge of happiness, pressing her lips together before answering. “I just think rainy days are nice now.”

Nan Ju had no idea what she was thinking but nodded. “I agree. Rainy days are perfect for sleeping.”

Their conversation was completely at odds, and Bai Cha blinked, blindly agreeing. Yes, it was comfortable indeed.

Through the hazy curtain of rain, a transparent white umbrella approached in the distance. Nan Ju narrowed her eyes, shifting her weight to ease the stiffness in her legs from standing too long, then glanced at Bai Cha, still seated on the floor.

“A guest is here. I need to go downstairs.”

Bai Cha hesitated. “Should I—”

“Not a good person. No need for you to come.” Nan Ju reached out and pinched the girl’s soft cheek. “Finish up here and go study. I’ll deal with them and come back to check your homework.”

After a brief pause, Bai Cha nodded.

—

Downstairs, the guest had already reached the porch of the main house.

Ye Qiushuang lifted the hem of her skirt, accepting the towel handed to her by a servant but not bothering to dry herself just yet. Instead, she peered inside. “Xia Duo, your mistress is home today, isn’t she?”

Xia Duo, who didn’t care much for her, nodded. “She’s upstairs. Please come in, Miss Ye.”

As they spoke, Nan Ju had already descended the stairs. Despite not seeing each other for over half a month, Ye Qiusuang remained the proactive one.

“This drifting rain is so annoying—my dress is all wet.”

“Fetch the hairdryer,” Nan Ju instructed a nearby servant before smiling at Ye Qiusuang. “Who told you to come running to my house in the rain? Couldn’t you have picked a better day?”

The familiar, affectionate tone instantly eased the nervousness Ye Qiusuang had felt before arriving. She shot Nan Ju a playful glare as she always did, complaining, “I just wanted you to be the first to see my new dress!”

They eventually settled in the first-floor conservatory, arranging tea and hot coffee as usual, leaning against soft cushions while watching the storm outside.

Ye Qiusuang dabbed at her rain-splattered hem with a towel. Her dress was entirely handmade, embroidered with delicate white flowers on fragile fabric that couldn’t withstand a hairdryer.

Nan Ju’s walk-in closet housed many such garments—every few days, Xia Duo would clear out several old pieces to make room for new arrivals. Over time, Nan Ju herself stopped considering them particularly precious. She wasn’t particular about clothes or jewelry anyway, wearing uniforms to work and preferring loose, comfortable pajamas at home.

Watching Ye Qiusuang fuss over her dress, Nan Ju pointed toward one section. “There’s a snagged flower there. Should I have someone fetch you a replacement? The house just delivered a batch of new clothes two days ago—some look quite similar to yours.”

Ye Qiusuang’s grip on her skirt whitened her fingertips. Her made-up face momentarily twisted, though she kept her head down to hide it. “No need. ‘Light’ is your mother’s brand created just for you—those private collection pieces aren’t for sale. I couldn’t possibly wear your clothes.”

As if you’d ever hesitate before.

In the past, you’d seize every opportunity to take clothes from the original host’s home—how many pieces have you walked away with already?

Nan Ju mentally scoffed but maintained her smile, wrinkling her nose in feigned displeasure. “Are you keeping me at arm’s length now? You never called after your last visit.”

Ye Qiusuang’s expression shifted slightly as she set down the towel.

It wasn’t distance—she’d been too afraid to call or visit.

Letting a drunken Nan Ju escape during the engagement banquet had planted seeds of unease. Her subsequent visit ended abruptly when Nan Ju’s cold attitude provoked her into storming off.

After returning home, growing suspicion led her to orchestrate Nan Ju’s suffering. She’d planned to swoop in and comfort the dimwitted heiress, but a crisis at her branch company left her swamped until now.

Had Nan Ju not spoken first, Ye Qiusuang might have suspected exposure. But the warm concern and unchanged hospitality eased half her wariness.

“Why the formality? Why say that?” Ye Qiushuang muttered discontentedly, secretly eyeing Nan Ju, who was lazily curled up on the sofa hugging a rabbit pillow while sipping coffee—still effortlessly alluring and blissfully unaware of worldly affairs.

Jealousy churned sour in her heart, softening her tone as she complained: “I didn’t mean to not call you. The company had some issues recently—I’ve been running around nonstop for half a month to fix everything. Only now did I find time to visit you.”

Nan Ju looked up, surprised: “What happened?”

“All thanks to your wonderful fiancée—no, ex-fiancée,” Ye Qiushuang corrected herself, openly stirring trouble: “For some reason she cut off collaborations with the Ye family, specifically targeting companies under my management. Is she coming after me? What did I ever do to her?”

You didn’t offend her—you offended me.

Nan Ju lowered her head to sip her coffee, barely suppressing the laughter bubbling inside. Feigning confusion, she asked: “That can’t be right. She probably doesn’t even know you, does she?”

Truth be told, it was almost embarrassing—Ye Qiushuang wasn’t even worthy of Su Wei’s notice. Though the Ye family’s second daughter, she was overshadowed by her elder sister Ye Qiumian, a Beta born to the first Madam Ye three years prior.

Ye Qiushuang was the child of the second wife—a mistress turned legitimate.

The character “Mian” (cotton) in her sister’s name alone revealed how cherished she’d been at birth.

The Ye family adored kapok, adopting red kapok as their emblem. Regardless of current circumstances, Ye Qiumian—whose name carried the essence of “kapok”—was originally the one who moved in the same circles as Nan Ju and Su Wei.

Heirs of prestigious families only mingled with peers of equivalent standing—an unspoken rule among high society.

Someone like Ye Qiushuang, with her questionable legitimacy, was inherently unwelcome.

The Nan, Su, Bai, and Ye families were Flower City’s four most prominent clans. During Nan Ju’s father’s generation, the Nans and Su Weis were particularly close, their patriarchs frequently interacting. Even after unforeseen events, that bond remained—otherwise Su Wei wouldn’t have conspired with Nan Ju to scheme.

By any measure, Su Wei had no reason to remember Ye Qiushuang’s existence. Nan Ju deliberately pointed this out to twist the knife.

As expected, Ye Qiushuang flushed crimson with rage while Nan Ju simply gazed at her wide-eyed, lips slightly parted—the picture of naive innocence, seemingly oblivious to any offense.

Ye Qiushuang gripped her belongings tightly, then yelped in pain the next second, clutching her fingers with a grimace.

A crystal-encrusted fake nail lay glittering on the carpet. Nan Ju immediately recognized it had been snagged and torn off by threads from her own skirt hem.

Fingers being intimately connected to the heart, the pain must be sharp.

Suppressing laughter, Nan Ju sat up anxiously, fussing: “Are you okay? Why so careless? I told you to change earlier—it’s just clothes! My wardrobe’s full of them. We can always have new ones made and delivered.”

“No need!” Ye Qiushuang refused stiffly.

Nan Ju still felt a bit unsatisfied, but to avoid driving Ye Qiusuang away before getting to the main topic, she sighed regretfully in her heart and continued the conversation: “It might just be a coincidence. Su Wei doesn’t know you—why would she specifically target your company’s collaboration?”

Ye Qiusuang accepted this response with dissatisfaction but still couldn’t let it go: “When you went to break off the engagement with Su Wei like that back then, didn’t she give you any trouble afterward?”

Nan Ju was momentarily confused: “My father is Nan Yi—why would she dare to trouble me?” As the omega daughter of the richest family in Huashi, with wealth, beauty, and her father’s backing, Nan Ju couldn’t imagine any fool daring to disrespect her.

Ye Qiusuang choked on her words, her chest aching from this blunt truth. She took a deep breath and decided to drop the subject, shifting to another matter instead.

“Since you’ve called off the engagement, does that mean you’ll be with Zhiyi-jie now? I’ll definitely give you both a big red envelope when the time comes. Thinking about it now, I might even have played a part in bringing you two together.”

Ye Qiusuang gloated proudly, convinced in her heart that Nan Ju, the hopeless romantic, would never give up on Xu Zhiyi. She assumed Nan Ju must have already heard about Xu Zhiyi’s visit and was now here to sweet-talk her.

Having waited so long for Ye Qiusuang to finally broach the subject, Nan Ju was growing impatient.

She sipped her coffee—sweetened with three spoonfuls of sugar—slowly, frowning slightly as if troubled. “Don’t talk nonsense. There’s no future for us.”

Turning her head slightly to gaze at the drizzle outside, her delicate profile resembled a painting, though a faint melancholy lingered between her brows. Even in sorrow, her beauty was breathtaking.

Suppressing her own anxiety, Ye Qiusuang pressed on: “Isn’t it good that she’s back? Before your engagement, you kept saying you wanted to marry Zhiyi-jie. Now you’ve gotten your wish, haven’t you?”

“I…” Nan Ju hesitated, as though mustering great courage to admit the truth. “My father said Xu Zhiyi is too poor for me.”

Ye Qiusuang fell silent at once.

In elite families, marriages were all about matching social status. The wealth and prestige accumulated by Nan Ju’s family over generations were something Xu Zhiyi couldn’t hope to match, not even by a fraction.

Ye Qiusuang’s own background was modest—an ordinary working-class family with beta parents. The luck of giving birth to a daughter who differentiated into an alpha was their greatest pride in life.

In terms of social compatibility, Xu Zhiyi wasn’t even fit to stand beside the dog Nan Ju currently owned. Though “Eight Million” was just a mutt, after using a Rolls-Royce as a scratching post last week, its value had indeed skyrocketed to eight million.

Ye Qiusuang’s chest burned with frustration, momentarily at a loss for words.

Fortunately, Nan Ju knew better than to push her too far and quickly softened her stance: “I made her storm off yesterday. She must have given up on me for good.”

“How could that be?” Ye Qiusuang replied hastily. “Zhiyi-jie is the one who asked me to come here.”

Realizing she had spoken too eagerly, she quickly backpedaled: “Don’t be mad. We’re best friends—of course I support you. But Zhiyi-jie seemed so heartbroken. I was afraid she might do something reckless, so I couldn’t help comforting her a little. You won’t blame me, will you?”

So fake. The act was so transparent it turned Nan Ju’s stomach.

“How could I blame you? It’s all my fault. If only my family weren’t wealthy…”

Ye Qiushuang’s lips twitched uncontrollably. Her original plan to take things slow and probe further now felt unbearably urgent—she couldn’t stand being here another minute.

“Come to my birthday party next Sunday,” Ye Qiushuang said with an encouraging smile. “Zhiyi will be there too. You still like her, don’t you? This is your chance to clear things up. It’d be such a waste to give up on her deep affection for you.”

Bullshit. I wish the author would kill her off immediately.

Nan Ju cursed inwardly but maintained her composure, nodding after a brief pause.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

–

Watching through the window as Ye Qiushuang struggled to lift her dress hem while hastily leaving her house, Nan Ju finally released the sly smile she’d been suppressing. The transparent umbrella swayed unsteadily as it disappeared into the drizzle.

Yesterday, she’d deliberately driven Xu Zhiyi away—partly from genuine concern that the woman might target Bai Cha or Nan Xing during one of her episodes, but mostly because she found her utterly repulsive.

Xu Zhiyi’s facade was impeccable, having charmed all the household staff. If Nan Ju didn’t act decisively, she might one day return home to find the woman lying in her bed—a true nightmare.

Unlike Su Wei, Xu Zhiyi perfectly matched the character described in the novel. Just being near her sent chills down Nan Ju’s spine, as if standing in sunlight couldn’t dispel the cold aura around her.

Someone this skilled at deception would be difficult to handle.

She needed to set a trap—something decisive enough to break Xu Zhiyi’s metaphorical bones, leaving an unforgettable impression that would keep her away permanently.

Cold-blooded?

Nan Ju didn’t think so.

While the novel was fiction, her experiences were real. Just as Su Wei differed from her book counterpart, there were genuinely malicious antagonists in this world.

She existed within the story yet outside it. Understanding this world’s truths required seeing with her own eyes and heart. Having been granted this second chance at life, Nan Ju refused to waste it by judging people through the novel’s stereotypes.

She had people to protect now. This fanfiction would be torn apart and rewritten as her own story.

She was Nan Ju, yet not the “Nan Ju” from the pages.

“Xia Duo, dismiss all household staff except you, Aunt Pei, and Uncle Wang. We’ll hire new help.”

In the greenhouse, Xia Duo startled, nearly dropping the coffee cup she was cleaning. Dark liquid spilled across the tray before she steadied it, her expression shocked.

“Did something happen, Miss?”

Only those who committed grave mistakes faced dismissal from prestigious households.

Having served Nan Ju for years, Xia Duo had only ever witnessed her gentle demeanor. Unlike other wealthy, powerful Omegas, Nan Ju never mistreated staff or nitpicked over minor faults, always forgiving mistakes with soft words rather than anger.

This sudden decision left Xia Duo thoroughly confused.

Nan Ju frowned, unsure how to explain to this loyal maid that the others seemed too much like paper cutouts from a book. They had never left any impression on her, merely following routines like background characters in a corner—until Xu Zhiyi appeared, bringing those background characters to life.

She resisted having such book-like scenarios unfold around her.

“I just don’t like them anymore.” After struggling for a while without finding a reasonable explanation, Nan Ju resorted to sheer willfulness: “I think they’re all unattractive. I prefer good-looking people. Good Xia Duo, please dismiss them all with a full year’s severance pay and send them away.”

Unable to refuse, Xia Duo agreed dizzily and left with the tray.

Nan Ju let out a sigh of relief and was about to leave when Bai Cha entered.

The petite girl was dressed in the new cat-patterned pajamas Aunt Pei had prepared for her, her fair little face utterly adorable.

At the sight of her, all the thoughts swirling in Nan Ju’s mind scattered like mist.

This was the true anomaly from the book—a free spirit existing beyond all established characters.

“What’s wrong? I had Xia Duo bring you some red bean taro ball dessert earlier. Did you like it?”

Bai Cha walked in, but her gaze remained fixed on the rain outside. After a moment’s hesitation, she met Nan Ju’s gentle eyes and spoke softly.

“That woman who just left—she was wearing the pearl earrings from that night.”