I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 49

“I’m back.”

Bai Cong got out of the car and greeted the butler standing at the entrance. Her eyes swept inside, but she didn’t see that quiet figure beneath the eaves.

“It rained this afternoon, and the garden was a bit stuffy. The young miss went to the glass greenhouse.”

Bai Cong nodded, unzipped her backpack, and pulled out a folded test paper. “I’ll go find her. Could you take my bag back to my room?”

The butler nodded and took the backpack from her.

The afternoon rain had been light. Bai Cong had seen it on her way back—pea-sized raindrops hitting the car window, gone almost as soon as they appeared, leaving only streaks of water behind.

She walked along the path flanked by plants, their leaves and petals still dotted with droplets that clung precariously, like round, transparent beads.

The air after the rain was humid and stifling. Bai Cong felt a tightness in her chest and quickened her pace.

The glass greenhouse stood behind the villa, a short walk past the main building. Dusk had fallen, and the last remnants of the sunset scattered through the treetops, casting a golden glow over the greenhouse’s exterior. At a glance, it looked like floating, shimmering flecks of gold.

This wasn’t an illusion—the greenhouse was made of special hollow glass filled with a liquid-like substance that flowed slowly inside. Mixed in were specks of gold powder and tiny spherical particles. When sunlight hit it, the effect was like a flowing sea of golden stars, utterly dreamlike.

When it rained, the glass took on different hues, creating a shifting interplay of colors—a testament to the passion and care that had gone into its design.

Bai Cong followed the path to the greenhouse door. Through the transparent glass, she immediately spotted the long-haired woman sitting inside.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped in.

The woman in the wheelchair, her back to Bai Cong, didn’t stir. She remained still, quietly gazing at the epiphyllum before her, the hem of her long dress covering her feet.

The greenhouse was filled with epiphyllum—large leaves, slender stems, and buds of varying sizes hanging low. Light filtered through the glass ceiling, casting intricate shadows of the hanging vines onto the ground, weaving a tapestry of light and dark.

It was only April, not yet the season for the epiphyllum to bloom. That would come in another two months.

Epiphyllum—fleeting as a dream, known as the “beauty under the moon.” The Bai family’s flower was the epiphyllum.

Bai Cong glanced around before carefully making her way through the lush greenery. She stopped half a meter from the wheelchair, her head slightly bowed, and called out softly.

“Mom.”

The woman didn’t move. Her long, thick black hair cascaded like a waterfall over her white dress. She didn’t react, as if all her attention were elsewhere.

Bai Cong called out only once and then fell silent.

After what felt like an eternity, the girl’s still-childish voice broke the quiet.

“I won first place in the math Olympiad. Would you like to see?” Bai Cong held out her test paper, gripping it nervously, her expression a mix of deference and unease.

It wasn’t the natural reverence a child might have for a parent, but something closer to fear—an odd dissonance.

The woman shifted slightly, tilting her head to reveal an exquisitely gentle profile. Her voice was as soft and soothing as water.

“You’re back.”

“Yes, Mom.” Bai Cong pressed her lips together and handed over the test paper, brushing a fallen leaf from the other’s shoulder before standing behind the wheelchair to push it forward slowly.

This was a familiar routine. Bai Miao had been frail since childhood, and even as an adult, her health hadn’t improved. After giving birth, she became even more sensitive and prone to overthinking. Most days, she remained quiet, detached from everyone—except when one particular person visited, when she would finally show some liveliness.

From the time she could remember, Bai Cong had learned to care for her fragile mother, who couldn’t manage on her own.

The folded test paper was opened. Bai Miao curved her lips slightly as she read it quietly, but at some point, her expression froze, turning as cold as a beautiful statue.

She pointed at the only question marked wrong and asked softly, “Why was this incorrect?”

Bai Cong’s heart clenched. Following her mother’s translucent fingertip, she saw the single mistake—a multiple-choice question.

A vague unease swelled rapidly. Gripping the wheelchair tightly, she lowered her head and whispered, “I hadn’t learned that part yet.”

“I don’t want excuses. I only want the best, the most obedient child.”

The test paper was instantly torn to shreds, scattering like snowflakes onto the ground, some landing on the soil of the flowerbed. The bright red score stung the eyes.

Bai Cong’s eyes reddened instantly, her face draining of color. Faced with her mother’s rising anger, she chose submission.

“There won’t be a next time, Mom. I’ll get full marks. Please don’t be angry, okay?”

The girl bowed her head, meek and compliant, crouching beside the wheelchair. Bai Miao gazed at her coldly before reaching out to touch Bai Cong’s face—bearing a faint resemblance to her own—then stroked her hair, her tone softening like water.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just want you to listen to me. Don’t make such careless mistakes again, all right?”

Bai Cong kept her eyes downcast, like a puppet on strings.

“I understand, Mom. I’ll be obedient.”

The displeased mother smiled happily, her eyes curving like crescent moons.

“Good girl.”

The wheelchair began moving again, slowly. Bai Cong pushed it out of the glass greenhouse. The sky had darkened completely, and the villa’s lights were already lit. The path leading back was lined with vibrant flowers, full of life.

As she wheeled her mother home, Bai Cong glanced up at the heavy sky and, for a moment, felt her heart was just as starless.

Bai Miao’s residence was quiet—a small, elegant villa with many attendants.

At dinner, Bai Miao’s mood still seemed off. She was extremely picky, barely touching her food, and even after a long while, her bowl of rice was only slightly diminished.

The elderly housekeeper, Madam Bai, watched before using serving chopsticks to place a tender piece of fish on her plate. “Miss, you should eat more. If you’re already losing your appetite before summer, how will you manage later?”

The housekeeper was very old, having served since Bai Miao’s birth, and was a respected elder in the household—even sharing the Bai family name. Sitting properly, Bai Cong thought for a moment before speaking up. “Didn’t Auntie say she’d visit Mom tomorrow?”

“Bai Zhu is coming tomorrow.” Bai Miao, who had been reluctant to eat earlier, instantly changed her expression. She clutched the hem of her skirt resting on her knees with delight, then furrowed her brows and muttered to herself, “She’ll be angry if she finds out I didn’t eat.”

This trick always worked. Seeing this, the housekeeper quickly served her some dishes and watched as she finished a clean bowl of rice.

After dinner, Bai Miao took her medicine and began feeling drowsy. Bai Cong wheeled her back to the bedroom and only left after the maids went in to attend to her. In the hallway, she encountered the old housekeeper carrying a tray.

“Miss Bai Cong.”

In this household, the servants and housekeeper only referred to Bai Miao as “Miss,” not even Bai Cong, her own flesh and bl00d, received this honor.

Bai Cong nodded in greeting. Just as she was about to return to her room to study, she suddenly stopped, slightly raising her head to ask softly, “Housekeeper Bai, besides me, have there ever been other children who stayed here before?”

The housekeeper was taken aback, puzzled. “No, why do you ask?”

After asking, Bai Cong also felt it was rather odd. She shook her head, suppressing the inexplicable thoughts that had been surfacing all day, and said, “Never mind. I’ll go back to my room now.”

The warm light in the room was bright. Bai Cong sat at her desk with an open high school physics textbook in front of her, already halfway through. A ballpoint pen lay between the pages, which were filled with annotations.

She should be studying, but she couldn’t focus.

After a long while, Bai Cong pulled open a drawer and took out a pendant from the very back. The colorful beaded strand could wrap around her wrist seven or eight times, with a small stone dangling at the end, crudely painted with a smiling face.

If there had never been any other children, how did this toy end up in the glass greenhouse?

She had never received a single toy in her entire childhood.

–

In another villa, Bai Cha and Nan Xing were unusually sharing a dinner table.

Bai Cha wore a sour expression, displeased that she hadn’t managed to shake the other girl off. Her small face was tightly drawn, clearly annoyed.

Nan Xing, however, was carefree, happily helping herself to a third bowl before slumping contentedly into her chair. Eight Million tugged at her pants leg under the table, whining softly.

“Hey, let go, let go,” Nan Xing hurriedly grabbed her pants and lifted the tablecloth to look down, exasperated. “You dumb dog, why are you here again?”

“You’re done eating, why aren’t you leaving yet?” Bai Cha asked coldly.

Nan Xing struggled to free her pants and, still shaken, sat cross-legged on the chair. Hearing this, she looked hurt.

“You’re so heartless. Didn’t we agree to get haircuts together tomorrow? Besides, what’s wrong with staying at my sister’s place for one night?”

Bai Cha remained unmoved. “I never agreed to go get a haircut with you.”

“Come on,” Nan Xing whined pitifully. “Aren’t you scared about starting at that new school next week? I’ve been at Yucai for almost five years—I know it inside out. Once we’re there, I’ll have your back!”

Bai Cha stepped on Eight Million, who had flopped onto her foot, unimpressed. “Proud of spending three years in ninth grade, are you?”

Nan Xing was speechless.

She was stubborn to a fault. If Bai Cha didn’t want to listen to her chatter, she’d chatter even more, launching into a disjointed “senior’s guide” right from her chair.

“Old Yang is the scariest in the whole school—he’s the academic dean you saw today. He loves standing at the school gate with his beat-up thermos, waiting to catch students. Be careful if you plan to skip class and climb the walls. The other teachers are pretty nice though. Since you did well on your exams, getting into Class 9 is great. Their homeroom teacher is super pretty. Oh, and I think there’s some pretentious top student in Class 9?”

Nan Xing furrowed her little brows, straining to dredge up the few useful bits of information from her memory. She’d never paid much attention to these things before. It was only after dropping out and losing touch with her troublemaker friends that she felt anxious about returning to school and wanted Bai Cha by her side.

“Oh right! I remember now—someone called Bai Cao or something? Been topping every subject with perfect scores since enrollment. Total freak.”

“Her name is Bai Cong.”

“Ohhh, so it’s Bai Cong,” Nan Xing said, suddenly enlightened yet puzzled. “How did you know that?”

Because Bai Cong’s name had been given by her at birth.

The newborn had been a tiny, wrinkled bundle, soft and red like an ugly little monkey.

Now she’d grown into such a beauty.