I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 52

Bai Cha’s eyes widened in delight as she tightly gripped the slender umbrella ribs and jogged forward. The surrounding students couldn’t dodge in time, letting out a chorus of “Ouch, ouch!” complaints.

The wind lifted stray strands of her hair as Nan Ju squinted slightly, watching with amusement as the other girl ran toward her. She tilted the umbrella, letting the rain slide off diagonally, revealing half of her striking features that stood out brilliantly in the gloomy rain.

Bai Cha slowed her steps when she was two meters away, her shoes splashing through puddles without a single drop touching the hem of Nan Ju’s lifted skirt.

She didn’t want the dirty rainwater to stain this beautiful butterfly in the slightest.

The girl’s cheeks were slightly flushed as she leaned the umbrella against her slender shoulder and looked up, her eyes brimming with joy though she tried hard to maintain a composed expression.

“You’re back.”

At noon, she had checked her phone and found that Nan Ju’s flight had been canceled. She had thought the other wouldn’t make it back.

The woman smiled faintly, lifting the umbrella slightly to reveal a snow-white forearm and an exquisitely enchanting face. Her voice was light and unhurried, a black-gray hair ribbon embroidered with golden butterflies entwined in her long hair, draping over one side of her chest and adding a touch of elegance to her already beautiful features.

“I drove back once the rain let up.”

The typhoon hadn’t maintained its heavy winds and rain the entire time. Seizing the lull, she and her assistant had driven back from Haicheng, arriving just as Bai Cha’s school let out.

Because of the rain, the school entrance was crowded with private cars. Nan Xing rushed out from the crowd, a book bag over her head, her face full of displeasure. “Bai Cha, why’d you run off?! I got drenched!”

Originally, the two had been sharing an umbrella, but in a moment of distraction, Bai Cha had grabbed it and dashed off, leaving Nan Xing to get soaked. She was fuming.

The large umbrella blocked Nan Xing’s view as she busied herself wiping rainwater from her face, failing to notice who Bai Cha was talking to. The latter glanced back at her and decisively shoved the umbrella into her hands.

“Sorry, take this. I don’t need it anymore.”

“How do you not need it?” Nan Xing took the umbrella in confusion. “Aren’t you supposed to ride back with me today?”

Uncle Wang had caught a cold and taken leave, so Bai Cha had been carpooling with Nan Xing these past two days. Though they weren’t in the same class, their shared commute had gradually warmed their relationship.

Nan Xing pouted as she held the umbrella, then suddenly asked, “Are you trying to get out of doing my homework?”

“Doing homework?” Nan Ju, who had been standing still all this time, was tall enough that even with Nan Xing’s oversized rainbow umbrella, the girl hadn’t noticed her beneath its shelter.

Hearing the voice, Nan Xing froze. Hugging her half-soaked book bag, she lifted the edge of the umbrella and stared—her stunning yet terrifying Omega sister stood there, the corners of her eyes curved in amusement as she gazed at her.

Nan Xing let out a whimper and burst into tears.

Before Bai Cha could stop her, she hadn’t expected Nan Xing to bring this up. Now, she could only lower her head, staring at her toes and shrinking timidly under Nan Ju’s umbrella.

Amidst the wind and rain, even the largest umbrella couldn’t prevent some from noticing Nan Ju and the car lingering too long at the school gate. Temporarily setting aside the “homework” matter, Nan Ju urged the two girls into the car to head home.

Nan Xing, too afraid to share a car with her, stiffly retreated to her own vehicle, hoping to escape consequences with the excuse of needing to return early for dinner. Bai Cha obediently took her seat in the back, nervously twisting her fingers in silence.

Nan Ju folded the dripping umbrella and stepped inside, neatly shutting out the storm. The wet umbrella left another dark patch on her already damp skirt hem as she placed it at her feet. Leaning sideways, she retrieved a clean towel from behind the seat and began carefully dabbing at the fabric.

The car remained silent as the assistant drove toward the villa. Rain streaked down the windows, blurring the outside world into a hazy veil.

Bai Cha began to regret her actions.

She lifted her head, steeling herself to confess, only to see Nan Ju bending forward with her skirt pulled up to her knees. The older woman’s movements were meticulous as she blotted the soaked fabric, revealing snow-white skin and slender calves that resembled delicate yet sturdy flower stems dusted with frost—soft and pampered.

Instinctively, Bai Cha turned up the car’s temperature. As warm air circulated, that porcelain skin gained a faint pink hue before disappearing again beneath the skirt’s cover, as if reluctant to be seen.

Nan Ju pressed a hand to her waist, pushed the towel aside, and opened her bag to retrieve a wooden carving.

“A gift for you.”

It was a small white cat, intricately carved from wood—a project that had taken Nan Ju nearly half a month.

“I haven’t done this in years, so it’s not perfect.”

Woodcarving was a skill Nan Ju had learned in her previous life after resigning from her job. Though her soft fingers lacked natural talent, she’d stubbornly mastered the craft enough for simple floral pieces. This animal carving was her first attempt, leaving her dissatisfied with the result.

The tiny sculpture settled into Bai Cha’s palm—a kitten standing primly with tucked paws, curved tail, and slightly puffed cheeks that gave it an indignant expression.

An inexplicable sensation tightened Bai Cha’s throat, as if she’d swallowed wind during her earlier sprint. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

She’d been harboring secrets, determined to keep them hidden whenever apart from Nan Ju. Yet after just moments together, the weight of them pressed down unbearably. Cradling the wooden kitten, her heart ached with bittersweet emotions. Too proud to cry, she bit her lip hard before finally murmuring, “Sis…”

“Hmm?” Nan Ju’s absentminded response floated back.

The lighter Nan Ju’s tone, the more unsettled Bai Cha became. The kitten’s ears left faint impressions in her palm as she swallowed back her emotions with sudden resolve. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I already know about you doing Nan Xing’s homework.” Nan Ju turned, her sharp jawline accentuated, the usual warmth in her eyes replaced by uncharacteristic sternness. “We’ll discuss it properly when we get home.”

Bai Cha…

That wasn’t what she’d meant to confess. Well then, better think of a way to mitigate the homework offense first.

After being away for half a month, Eight Million had the strongest reaction among everyone in the villa.

Before Nan Ju could even finish crossing the front yard, the dog had already come out of the house, standing under the eaves and howling “awoo awoo” repeatedly—pitiful, mournful, and full of grievance, making Nan Ju’s forehead darken with exasperation.

She really shouldn’t have let Eight Million watch Animal Planet every day. Instead of barking properly like a normal dog, it had taken to tilting its head back and howling “awoo awoo” daily. Anyone who didn’t know better would think they were raising a wolf.

“Stop howling like a wolf.”

Nan Ju smacked the dog’s head lightly in exasperation. With a couple of whimpers, Eight Million shamelessly flopped onto the ground, pressing against her feet and refusing to get up. Its pitch-black eyes were watery, clearly looking utterly wronged.

Having just changed into slippers, Nan Ju felt the soft, furry weight on her feet and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scold. She bent down, pinched the dog’s ears, and rubbed them while chiding, “Do you even know how heavy you are? Move—I haven’t even washed my hands yet.”

After two months of care, Eight Million was no longer the short-legged, chubby puppy that could be lifted by the scruff of its neck. Its fluffy puppy fur had faded, and it was gradually growing into a tall, slender, and elegant dog.

Sometimes, Nan Ju even felt the name she had given it was too rustic for its current long-legged, graceful appearance. It really should have been called something like “Little Prince.”

But the silly dog had terrible taste. Calling it “Eight Million” ten times might not get a response, but the moment “Gou Fugui” was uttered, it would wag its tail and shake its head excitedly. Every time, Nan Ju felt like she had been scammed.

“Silly dog!” Nan Ju poked its head, then accepted the freeze-dried chicken strips that Bai Cha had run inside to fetch. She coaxed the dog back indoors, washed her hands, and spent some time petting it before the house finally quieted down.

After dinner, Bai Cha followed Nan Ju to the study.

The rain was still falling, and the sky had turned completely dark, the thick clouds obscuring the stars and moon. The curtains were drawn, faintly revealing the gently swaying flowers and leaves in the yard.

Nan Ju pulled out a chair and sat down, her expression turning serious for the first time as she asked softly, “Tell me, why did you help Nan Xing with her exams?”

The tutor had been personally chosen by Nan Ju, and she had only recently learned that Bai Cha had been sending Nan Xing copies of her completed homework and test answers. She wasn’t angry, just puzzled about Bai Cha’s motives.

The girl’s face paled at the question. She bit her lip and lowered her head, hesitating and unwilling to explain.

Seeing this, Nan Ju sighed inwardly, wondering if this was a sign of teenage rebellion. She carefully considered her words, trying to find a gentler way to ask, when the person standing before her in silent punishment suddenly moved.

Bai Cha let out a soft “whimper” and looked up at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears—enough to melt anyone’s heart. Nan Ju struggled to maintain her stern parental demeanor, inwardly cursing.

Damn it! This kind of acting cute was downright unfair.

“Don’t act cute,” Nan Ju resisted softening her tone and pressed on. “Can you help her during the actual entrance exams?”

“I stopped helping with her homework once school started. Before that, I always included the steps to solve the problems,” Bai Cha defended pitifully. She had never acted this coquettishly before—even during her unstable post-differentiation phase, she had only cautiously clung to Nan Ju.

Nan Ju felt as though she had bitten into a slice of unripe green orange—the kind that was tart yet sweet.

She couldn’t help but raise her hand, gently pinching Bai Cha’s flushed ear tip just as she’d rubbed Eight Million’s dog ears that afternoon, her voice softening.

“I know Bai Cha is a good girl. Can you tell me why you did this?”

No one had ever called her good before.

Bai Cha’s face instantly flushed red. Her eyes darted away, wrestling with herself for a long moment before she simply shook her head lightly, lashes lowered, saying nothing.

“Well, never mind.” Nan Ju didn’t want to push too hard. After all, Bai Cha was nearly an adult—she needed to learn to decide for herself what was right and wrong. As for Nan Xing…

“Then from now on, you’ll have to attend classes with Nan Xing, and you’ll have to teach her, okay? Consider this your punishment.”

Bai Cha nodded obediently.

Just like that, the matter of her homework was lightly brushed aside. Closing the door behind her, Bai Cha sat alone on her bed, the small wooden kitten still clutched in her palm, warm to the touch.

The room was unlit. Sitting in the darkness, her long, delicate eyelids lowered as she whispered softly to herself.

“Because I don’t want them always taking your attention away from me.”

Whether it was Nan Xing, Su Wei, Ye Qiumian, or even some famous celebrity idol—she was afraid someone might steal Nan Ju away.

A girl’s secret thoughts spilled over like relentless rain, impossible to take back.