I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 62

In the car, the two sitting in front and back remained silent for a long time.

Bai Cha sat in the back seat, head lowered without a word, a milk carton placed squarely on her lap. The outer layer was printed with patterns, and as she lifted the cardboard flap with her fingers, a sliver of light slipped inside—revealing a pair of yellow-green cat eyes peering out.

It was a two- or three-month-old tabby, with a pointed face and long whiskers, stretching its paws as if trying to climb out while emitting faint mewls.

Bai Cha felt the kitten’s thin yet sharp claws hook onto her knuckle and quickly withdrew her hand, pressing the little creature back into the box with a bit more force.

She closed the flap again, calmly listening to the soft, weak sounds.

“I forgot to mention—she’s clingy. If you let her out now, she’ll climb all over you.” Nan Ju glanced up at the rearview mirror but couldn’t quite make out the expression of the girl with her head bowed.

Before this, they hadn’t been like this.

That bright yet stiflingly humid afternoon seemed veiled in mist. They had looked at each other, then simultaneously averted their gazes, feigning ignorance as if nothing had happened.

The car’s air conditioning blew cool air, refreshing against skin and face. Nan Ju drove steadily along the main road as summer blossoms drifted down in abundance, blanketing the intersection like a pink mist.

Pink clouds—thin, soft, damp to the touch—like lingering warmth at dawn, tempting one to lower their head, to kiss, to touch, to wonder if they would tremble and scatter at the slightest contact.

The girl’s back was like those pink clouds, quivering at the slightest touch. After being kneaded a few times, the flushed hue of embarrassment, impossible to conceal, spilled onto the snow-white sheets.

Nan Ju snapped back to reality, biting her lip in shock…

She really had lost her mind.

The words she had intended to say openly to Bai Cha were swallowed back. For some reason, Nan Ju felt inexplicably guilty. She glanced back again—the slender girl sat obediently holding the cat box, head lowered, her black hair cascading like smooth satin over her neck and shoulders.

“Sister, why do you keep looking back?” Bai Cha suddenly lifted her head, her narrow eyelids rising to reveal pale, clear eyes.

In the dim light, those eyes were cool and lucid, like faint rays piercing through clouds, landing squarely on Nan Ju.

Nan Ju, unsettled: How do I put this? It’s weird.

Can I say I’m dying of awkwardness?

“I wanted to ask what you’d like for dinner. There isn’t much left in the fridge.” Suppressing her scattered thoughts, Nan Ju offered a casual excuse, forcing herself to focus on driving instead of letting her mind wander.

The kitten in the box squirmed restlessly. Bai Cha opened the lid, scooped it out, and placed it on her lap before pushing the box aside onto the seat. The little thing was soft and, just as Nan Ju had said, immediately began climbing onto her.

Before Bai Cha could react, it had already clambered up to her chest, its tiny claws catching on her neck. Frowning, she plucked it off, cupped it in her palms, and returned it to the box.

“Should we go to the vet for a checkup first?”

This unexpected little cat strangely eased the awkward silence between them. Nan Ju didn’t dare mention that day’s incident at all, instead recounting how she happened to pass by a small convenience store and ended up buying this pitiful creature that had been tied under a tree.

Bai Cha listened quietly, occasionally responding while playing with the kitten through the cardboard box, her expression noticeably more relaxed.

Nan Ju stole glances at her, her restless heart finally settling somewhat. When the car stopped at a pet hospital, Bai Cha carried the box inside.

The kitten was tiny, not even three months old, but full of energy, mewing constantly. Watching from the side, Nan Ju couldn’t help asking, “Why is she crying so much? Is she uncomfortable?”

“Too young. Without her mother, she feels insecure,” explained the white-coated, masked vet as she stroked the kitten now pacing across her keyboard before settling it on her lap. “Bl00d and biochemistry results will be ready soon. No ringworm but some ear mites, and neck abrasions from being tied too long. If tests show no feline distemper or other diseases, you can take her home. Any other pets?”

“One dog, six months old.”

“Large breed?”

“No,” Nan Ju shook her head, picturing Eight Million’s increasingly refined yet silly appearance. “A native breed, somewhat foolish.”

Just yesterday it had charged into the villa’s pond for backstroke swimming—she couldn’t restrain it at all.

“With existing pets, you’ll need isolation for at least two weeks before gradual introduction. Cats stress easily.” As the test results arrived, the vet carefully explained everything again. “I’ll prescribe medication. Does she have a name?”

Nan Ju shook her head: “Haven’t had time…”

…

Hospital records required a name. Being somewhat perfectionistic, Nan Ju couldn’t immediately think of a suitable one, temporarily calling it “Little Tabby” based on appearance.

While they discussed, the kitten had already fallen asleep on the vet’s lap—a tiny, pitifully adorable ball, remarkably unfazed by strangers, sleeping anywhere.

Bai Cha glanced over and suddenly suggested, “Can we board her here first? Her ears and neck need daily medication, right?”

With no servants currently at the villa, suddenly bringing home a three-month-old kitten would be challenging. After brief consideration, Nan Ju agreed: “Let’s board her here until her neck and ear mites heal.”

The upscale pet hospital Nan Ju chose specialized exclusively in cats—no barking dogs like mixed clinics—making it ideal for boarding.

“Five days to start.” The efficient vet swiftly prepared paperwork, personally carrying the kitten to the boarding area upstairs. After inspecting the facilities and depositing 3,000 yuan, they prepared to leave.

—

“That kitten has ear mites—you held her awhile. Shower and change first when we get back.” Nan Ju shielded her eyes from the still-intense sunlight, reminding Bai Cha of post-trip priorities.

It was just past four in the evening, the sunlight filtering through the branches, scattering fragmented rays everywhere.

Bai Cha walked two steps behind her, gaze slightly lowered, her eyes peering from beneath her thin, long eyelids—just at the right height to catch the swaying hem of Nan Ju’s skirt as she moved.

The plump, snow-white flesh of her thighs was breathtakingly beautiful. If she were to kneel, it would leave behind an especially erotic shape. When fingers pressed into it, the sensation was unbearably soft and smooth, like tender clam meat.

She had touched it, pinched it, even tried to pry it apart a few times—until she was bitten hard enough to stop.

When her scent gland was caught between lips, Bai Cha recognized who was pinning her down. And precisely because she recognized her, she couldn’t restrain herself.

The sunlight was harsh. She closed her eyes briefly before heading upstairs to shower.

By the time she came back down, Nan Ju wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen—only a few large takeout boxes sat on the dining table.

Opening them revealed several steaming, fragrant boxes of crayfish.

Nan Ju loved seafood, especially fish and shrimp, and Bai Cha happened to adore shrimp as well. They had once agreed to celebrate the end of exams with an all-shrimp feast.

But after that day’s incident, neither brought it up again.

Bai Cha unpacked the boxes, then, after a moment’s thought, carried them to the kitchen, transferring the contents into pretty dishes before arranging them neatly on the table. By the time she finished preparing the fruit tea, Nan Ju had just come downstairs in pajamas, her hair still damp and loose.

“Why aren’t you eating? I ordered this just for you.”

The tall, clear glass was filled with passionfruit, white peach, and strawberries, topped with a couple of green citrus slices. A colorful straw slanted through it, casting a vibrant beauty in the bright room.

Nan Ju had always loved these sweet-and-sour drinks.

“I wanted to wait for you,” Bai Cha said, seated at the table, her hair now tied up, the ends curling slightly to reveal her clean features.

Like this, she looked obedient and pure again.

Nan Ju’s eyes flickered. She walked over and took a seat across from Bai Cha, picking up the glass to sip the fruit tea. “Let’s eat then. Do you want gloves?”

Wearing gloves while eating crayfish took away half the fun. Since there was no one else around, Nan Ju didn’t bother with unnecessary pretense, grabbing a shrimp barehanded.

Though called “crayfish,” each was nearly the length of a palm, still scalding to the touch. Nan Ju carefully placed one on a plate, pressed the soft shell on either side of the head, and pulled it apart, bending down to suck the juices inside.

The broth was thick, perfect for dipping noodles. As Nan Ju’s thoughts wandered, the long hair draped over her shoulders slipped forward.

Nan Ju!!!

She had just washed her hair!

“Tie it up,” Bai Cha said, reaching out to catch the stray strands, leaning over to tuck them behind Nan Ju’s ear. Where her fingers brushed, the skin flushed red.

Nan Ju’s hands were covered in shrimp juice. Before she could stop Bai Cha, the other girl had already stood, sliding the black hair tie from her wrist and gathering Nan Ju’s hair to tie it up.

Bai Cha’s movements were gentle, never tugging at her scalp. Nan Ju stiffened, clutching the crayfish, terrified Bai Cha might touch her scent gland. She had removed her scent-blocking patch after her shower and hadn’t reapplied it yet.

Surprisingly, Bai Cha didn’t make any other moves. She deftly tied up her hair, washed her hands in the kitchen, and then sat down beside Nan Ju, who immediately let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, let’s eat before it gets cold,” Bai Cha said naturally as she sat down and began peeling shrimp. Her movements were quick and efficient—her slender fingers pressed into the slightly soft sides of the shrimp, peeling off the shell piece by piece before cleanly pulling out the snow-white meat.

Nan Ju had already been fed several pieces by her, her mouth stuffed full of shrimp as she squinted happily, instinctively licking the juices off her fingers.

Bai Cha’s gaze unconsciously followed those glistening, pretty fingers as they were cleaned, her eyes clouding over slightly.

Nan Ju looked up belatedly, unnerved by the other’s ambiguous expression, and quickly averted her eyes. Hesitating, she said, “Bai Cha, what happened last time was just an accident.”

As she spoke, she still held a piece of peeled shrimp Bai Cha had given her, now unsure whether to eat it or not.

“I know,” Bai Cha replied, reaching over to take the shrimp. Then she added, “But if it was just an accident, why won’t you look at me, sister?”

Something soft pressed against Nan Ju’s lips, and she instinctively parted them, dumbly taking in both the shrimp and Bai Cha’s fingers, biting down just like that day.

Instantly, a flush of red rose in Bai Cha’s eyes.