I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 58

The setting sun cast golden rays through the open window into the director’s office, where the white-haired old director still sat in her aged wooden armchair.

Bai Cha stood by the desk, bathed in the fading light, her expression calm and composed.

“If anyone comes to the welfare home asking about me, please tell them you’ve never seen me.”

The girl’s slender frame stood tall and straight, no longer the tiny child who once struggled to step over the threshold. The old director clasped her hands over her abdomen, her eyes crinkling with deep wrinkles yet still warm and affectionate.

She loved all the children in the welfare home deeply, hoping each would find a better family and future. The Angel Welfare Home had strict screening processes for adoptive parents, even including an additional return agreement.

If any adopted child regretted their decision, they could return to the welfare home.

This was the greatest protection and kindness the home could offer these children who had no one else to rely on.

The old director’s legs had healed, but her advanced age made it difficult for her to move around much. She usually stayed in her office, watching the children play in the courtyard through the open window.

She didn’t press Bai Cha for the meaning behind her request. Instead, she simply gazed at her quietly before gesturing for her to come closer.

“Are the adoptive parents you found treating you well?”

The welfare home reserved the right to visit each adoptive family periodically until the child came of age, at which point this protective oversight would end. The old director worried little about the others—only Bai Cha.

The way Bai Cha had found her adoptive family was unconventional, striking, and uniquely beautiful—so much so that the old director often feared the day the stunning Omega might send her back.

Her impression of Nan Ju was indelible. This humble, modest welfare home had never before welcomed such a dazzling figure.

She still didn’t quite understand how someone like that had become connected to Bai Cha. After Nan Ju took her away, the welfare home continued to receive generous donations, greatly improving the lives of the children. Yet, the old director couldn’t help but worry.

It wasn’t that she distrusted Nan Ju—she simply knew Bai Cha’s nature too well. Proud to the core, unwilling to flatter or submit.

A temperament like that, without someone to shield her, could easily lead to hardship.

Her rough hand gently patted Bai Cha’s shoulder as she fretted, “If you ever don’t want to stay there anymore, call me, understand?”

She avoided saying “if they send you back,” not wanting to hurt the sensitive heart of the girl before her.

Bai Cha couldn’t help but clutch the hem of her clothes. Whether she admitted it or not, the director had always favored her. She didn’t even dare ruffle her hair as she used to, afraid of messing up her carefully tied ponytail.

Memories flowed quietly through the air like the gentle, fading twilight. Bai Cha lifted her gaze to the elderly woman before her—her temples now gray, her years weighing heavily upon her.

When she knocked on the orphanage door alone at five years old, the matron was still a handsome middle-aged woman. Back then, she didn’t wear nun’s habits but a light blue floral blouse with cropped pants, looking capable yet gentle.

The day Bai Cha arrived was also evening, but it was pouring rain. The downpour soaked the ground, water streaming toward the lower grassy areas. Drenched, she carried a small backpack, shivering slightly from the cold, yet stubbornly furrowed her brows as she looked up and asked defiantly if the orphanage still needed more children.

The matron paused, then without a word, bent down to pick her up, stepped over the threshold, and closed the door behind them.

From then on, Bai Cha lived in this small orphanage—shabby, impoverished, and growing more crowded as more children arrived, stretching the matron’s energy thin.

Sometimes, Bai Cha would fight with the other kids, and the matron would rush over to pull them apart, sternly demanding an explanation. Bai Cha always hung her head in silence, ensuring she’d be the last one left behind after everyone else had gone.

She had once done such foolish things to draw attention.

As a child, she had committed many muddled acts, believing herself seamless. Now, looking back, she realized the elderly woman before her had likely always known her little schemes—just silently indulged her whims.

After all, with so many children in the orphanage, showing favoritism would have been unfair.

Now that she had left, learning to reconcile with her past self, she slowly realized she hadn’t disliked this place as much as she thought.

The orphanage was, after all, better than that home.

“She’s good,” Bai Cha muttered, then swallowed the suffocating lump in her throat before repeating clearly, “She’s good. Better than anyone else in this world.”

The old woman looked surprised for a moment before a smile surfaced in her eyes. “That’s good. You have no idea how worried I was about you.”

Bai Cha’s chest tightened. After hesitating, she leaned against the table and began softly, slowly telling the matron just how good Nan Ju was.

She didn’t believe in gods or kind-hearted strangers, stubbornly trusting only herself. Even after Nan Ju took her in, fear lingered—she yearned for salvation but dreaded the abyss.

Yet Nan Ju was different from everyone else. She was breathtakingly beautiful, tolerant—even indulgent—toward all of Bai Cha’s unreasonable demands born from insecurity.

She would embrace Bai Cha, administer her suppressants, apply scent patches to her glands, handle every Omega-related task Bai Cha loathed.

Sometimes, a thought would flicker through Bai Cha’s mind: Maybe not all Omegas are that disgusting.

“She’s good. I like her a lot. Don’t worry about me.”

As dusk settled on the treetops, Bai Cha left the orphanage, weighed down by the matron’s endless admonitions. Instead of heading home, she hailed a cab to a remote place.

Beneath a low slope, warm golden light filtered through the trees, casting odd-shaped shadows. After two months of absence, the slope was now covered in short grass, soft underfoot.

Buried beneath this slope lay Bai Cha’s most treasured secret.

The red iron box, tightly wrapped in layers of plastic film, was unearthed. On its lid were two peonies in red and pink hues, with a golden full moon suspended in the center. Beneath the moon stood the celestial maiden Chang’e, her hands raised as if holding the moon.

Bai Cha forcefully pried open the iron box, carelessly stuffing the few remaining red bills into her chest bag. Then, with delicate fingers, she carefully lifted the coat from the very bottom, gently blowing away the dust that had settled on it.

This was the coat Nan Ju had thrown onto her head the first time they met.

Having been stored in the iron box for too long, the coat carried a faint, peculiar odor. Bai Cha hugged it close to her chest, not bothering to glance at the scattered box or the unfilled hole in the ground. With resolute steps, she walked toward the setting sun.

She no longer needed this secret little spot. Night was falling—it was time to go home.

By the time she returned to the villa, the sky hadn’t fully darkened yet.

In spring and summer, the days lingered longer. Heavy branches swayed gently, and as soon as she stepped inside, she caught sight of the delicate and alluring flowering quince, bathed in a faint golden glow, swaying lightly in the breeze.

Nan Ju was curled up in a woven rattan swing by the garden path, wearing a sleeveless red dress, playing fetch with Bai Wan. She would toss the small yellow ball far away, and Bai Wan would dart after it, bringing it back and dropping it into Nan Ju’s hand—a simple, repetitive game.

She seemed to have just washed her hair. Her long, raven-black tresses lay soft and smooth against her skin, the air around her carrying a faint dampness and the sweet scent of pheromones, intoxicatingly dizzying.

Bai Cha didn’t know if others felt the same way—if Omega pheromones always smelled sweet to them. Her own pheromones were scentless, and she couldn’t detect them herself.

But lately, she had begun to notice Nan Ju’s pheromones. At first, she had to be very close to catch a whiff. Now, even standing meters away, she could detect the sugary sweetness in the air, stirring a restless heat within her.

“Sister, why didn’t you dry your hair after washing it?” Bai Cha walked over and reached out to touch Nan Ju’s hair, confirming its dampness beneath her fingers. The strands were soft and cool.

“I don’t like the hairdryer. The breeze in the yard will dry it soon enough,” Nan Ju replied, leaning slightly to take the ball Bai Wan had brought back before tossing it behind a distant flowerpot.

She turned to look at Bai Cha, her lips curving into a faint smile, her delicate brows like distant mountains in March, her lips rosy. “Did you finish everything you needed to do?”

The hem of her dress was pinned under her jade-white toes, the vibrant red fabric wrapping around slender calves and elegantly shaped ankles. Bai Cha glanced once before looking away.

Her chest bag and the coat she’d brought back had been handed to a servant at the entrance to take upstairs. Standing nearby, her youthful, makeup-free face contrasted sharply with Nan Ju’s naturally radiant beauty, making her appear even more aloof.

But seated as she was, Nan Ju was shorter than the standing girl.

Bai Cha silently withdrew her hand and stood behind the rattan swing, gently pushing it as she slowly recounted what she’d done at the orphanage that day.

She hadn’t yet confessed to Nan Ju that she was a direct descendant of the Bai family, but she held nothing back about everything else she had done or planned to do.

“I asked the headmistress not to disclose my existence publicly. There shouldn’t be any remaining documents or photos of me at the orphanage… She agreed.”

Nan Ju squinted lazily as she swayed gently, her cheeks tinged a faint pink from the outdoor temperature. Her gaze remained fixed in the distance as she spoke softly.

“I’ve already taken all your files. I had my assistant withdraw your student records from your previous school.”

“Don’t worry.”

The Omega with lowered lashes appeared docile and harmless, but Bai Cha knew the razor-sharp beauty hidden beneath.

She’d never met an Omega like this before. She was shameless—she liked it.

Unable to resist, Bai Cha grabbed a strand of the long hair before her, bending down to inhale deeply before speaking in a slightly husky voice.

“Is big sister’s heat coming soon?”

She wrinkled her nose, confirming the scent wasn’t from soap or shampoo, then continued: “I think I can smell your pheromones—sweet, like fruit candy.”

Nan Ju froze completely. She turned her head, meeting Bai Cha’s clear, innocent eyes.

The other girl looked genuinely puzzled, staring intently at her neck concealed by long hair.

???

Since when did she have pheromones?