I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 65

Nan Ju had been dating for three days, each day dressing more flamboyantly than the last and returning home later than before.

By the end of the third day, she was utterly exhausted, feeling as if she were taming a hawk—except the hawk was herself.

The June flower market was a riot of blossoms, startling flocks of birds into flight. But the weather was unkind, with two straight days of drizzling rain soaking the eaves, droplets pattering down and splashing into large and small transparent pearls.

Many of the garden’s seasonal flowers had withered. Pushing open the window in the morning, one could smell the damp rain mingled with petals, carried by the water to the lawn and the corners of the walls.

After three days of “dinner dates,” Nan Ju fell asleep the moment she closed her eyes and didn’t wake until noon, only roused by Bai Cha knocking on her door.

The door wasn’t locked. She lay sprawled in the middle of her soft blankets, eyes closed, mumbling lines to herself in a daze.

“Time to wake up, fairy.”

“No, no. Fairies have morning grumpiness.”

“Get up.”

“I refuse.”

Bai Cha knocked a few times, unsure if she had heard Nan Ju’s muttering, and called from outside, “I made braised prawns, fish soup, and duck bl00d with vinegar.”

Like a dying man suddenly sitting up in bed—where are my chopsticks?

Nan Ju instantly straightened and scrambled out of bed, padding over to open the door with a serious expression. “Wait for me to wash my face and brush my teeth, then we’ll eat together.”

She pretended to be composed and awake, but in reality, her hair was a tangled mess, the corners of her eyes still faintly red from sleep, her face blank with confusion. Only her love for her favorite foods kept her standing properly in front of Bai Cha.

Bai Cha’s fingers twitched. Unable to resist, she reached out and ruffled the other’s long hair. By the time Nan Ju realized and tried to dodge, Bai Cha had already distracted her with words.

“Then I’ll go set the table. You go freshen up first, sis.”

Nan Ju’s eyelids still felt heavy, her hearing fuzzy. She nodded vaguely, oblivious to Bai Cha’s little trick, and turned toward the bathroom.

The bathroom door remained ajar. The drowsy Omega stood behind the frosted glass, undressing, her soft waist curving into an alluring arc. A white, triangular piece of fabric landed in the laundry basket. Bai Cha’s breath hitched, and she quickly retreated, closing the door behind her without daring to look further.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. The slender girl stood dumbly in the hallway, her face as red as a monkey’s backside.

The gardenias in the villa had wilted, replaced by pink hydrangeas. Their small, dense petals clustered into rounded blooms, arranged in vases like tiny floral umbrellas.

The villa was never short on flowers. A path in the garden was lined with hydrangeas of every color, a sea of blossoms that burst into radiant bloom every June, creating a scene as magnificent as clouds at sunset.

Nan Ju adored plants and flowers. When inspiration struck, most of her paintings featured them, and she often pressed them into specimens. There was even a room in the house dedicated to her collection.

Under her influence, Bai Cha had gradually learned to appreciate flowers—though what she truly admired wasn’t the flowers, but the person admiring them.

She had no artistic talent to speak of. Her drawings were frequently criticized by her tutors as soulless and devoid of emotion—hopelessly unteachable.

For an Omega, Bai Cha lacked the expected sensitivity, instead possessing a certain coldness and detachment.

If it were anyone else holding a bouquet for her to critique, she would have immediately spat out a string of creative insults without repetition. But with Nan Ju, it was different.

A fondness for flowers—such an adorable hobby—became utterly endearing when it was Nan Ju who loved them.

The drizzle slanted, filling the garden with mist. Bai Cha stood at the dining table arranging bowls and chopsticks, her gaze lingering on the hydrangeas in the vase. The scene she had glimpsed earlier flashed in her mind, and she blushed uncontrollably, thinking: Sister is even more delicate and lovely than these pink hydrangeas.

Coincidentally, Nan Ju happened to come downstairs for dinner wearing a pink spaghetti-strap dress.

Her long hair was loosely tied into a messy bun, a few damp strands falling carelessly around her face. The thin pink straps crisscrossed over her slender neck, so delicate they looked like they might snap with a single tug.

The dress was a shimmering bright pink, iridescent like a mermaid’s scales. The straps looped behind her neck and tied at the back of the dress, which was adorned with intricate floral patterns—absolutely breathtaking.

Bai Cha stared, her face burning even hotter.

“Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?” Nan Ju padded over in slippers, surprised at the girl’s flushed ears, puzzled.

“Is the kitchen too stuffy? We could just order takeout—you don’t have to cook fresh meals every time.”

Nan Ju knew that during her days of gallivanting around, Bai Cha had insisted on cooking every meal. Even if she returned late at night, the kitchen light would still be on—sometimes with a warm bowl of red bean taro sago soup waiting, other times a peppery pork stomach broth.

Even when Nan Ju’s return time was uncertain, Bai Cha stubbornly waited under the eaves, sitting alone or with the silly dog, Eight Million, making Nan Ju feel an overwhelming pressure every time she came home.

She could pretend to ignore Bai Cha when she went out to have fun, but she couldn’t bear the thought of someone waiting at home, eyes full of longing, making her feel like some kind of heartless playgirl.

So, she had hastily cut short her food-hopping date with Cheng Fuxue across the city.

“Let me check—hmm, you do feel a little warm.” A soft hand pressed briefly against Bai Cha’s scorching forehead before retreating. Nan Ju had just showered, her skin still cool and damp, like touching a wisp of soft cloud.

Bai Cha forced herself not to react, answering as naturally as possible: “No fever. I just forgot to turn on the exhaust fan while cooking.”

Nan Ju: “Oh. Remember next time, okay?”

After days apart, the two finally shared a peaceful, uneventful meal. Nan Ju ate until her stomach bulged slightly, reluctantly setting down her chopsticks. Sipping water, she studied Bai Cha beside her.

Huh, the kitten doesn’t seem as clingy as before. Did my deliberate distance actually work?

She had worn such a provocative little dress, yet Bai Cha remained indifferent, focused solely on eating. Maybe her pheromones had stabilized, calming her heart as well?

Distractedly, Nan Ju leaned back in her chair, deliberately striking a lazy, alluring pose. The dress clung tightly to her chest, the fabric straining as if about to burst.

She held the position for a while, but Bai Cha remained unmoved, eyes fixed forward, demeanor composed—as if they had returned to their old dynamic. Instantly, Nan Ju felt smugly satisfied.

It must be the pheromones playing tricks again. She had always believed Bai Cha’s affection was simply that of a junior admiring an elder—nothing more, certainly nothing with romantic undertones.

Suppressing the glee in her eyes, Nan Ju maintained a composed demeanor and asked, “Have you felt any discomfort these past few days?”

Bai Cha set down her chopsticks. “No, my pheromones have been stable. I don’t think another heat will happen.”

Nan Ju loosened her grip on the water glass, exhaling in relief. She had been terrified Bai Cha might ask for her help again or that the girl would grow to resent her own gender and body, choosing only to escape it.

Gender wasn’t a choice—all one could do was learn to accept it. After a moment’s hesitation, Nan Ju stammered awkwardly, “I, um, ordered some things for you. They should arrive in a couple of days. You can… read the instructions and learn how to use them. They might come in handy later.”

Help! Why am I teaching a kid how to use adult toys?!

“I’ve received them. Thank you, sister.” Bai Cha smoothly took over the conversation without a trace of embarrassment. “You can forget what I said last time. If I have needs, I’ll handle them myself.”

Good girl. Well done.

Nan Ju praised her inwardly, her face visibly relaxing. She set the glass down, her skirt fluttering like a pink butterfly as she stood—graceful and innocent.

“I’ll go paint in the greenhouse.”

Bai Cha nodded. “Mm.”

Inside the warm, spring-like greenhouse, Nan Ju sat on a plush sofa, her snow-white calves peeking out from beneath her skirt. Scattered across the intricate carpet were several vibrant paintings, their colors so lifelike they could almost deceive the eye.

When Bai Cha entered, hugging a pillow, she immediately noticed the artwork on the floor—each one a cluster of pink hydrangeas, bright and full.

“You’re here.” Nan Ju looked up with a smile, holding up her latest piece. “Do you like it?”

Another breathtaking cluster of hydrangeas filled the canvas. Bai Cha wasn’t much of an artist, but she had a sweet tongue.

“It’s beautiful!”

Nan Ju beamed, carefully tucking the painting between the pages of a nearby book, murmuring, “As long as you like it. When the hydrangeas fade, we can still enjoy them through these paintings. The flowers will bloom forever here.”

She knew Bai Cha had been replacing the flowers in the villa—a task that shouldn’t have fallen to her. When Xia Duo wasn’t on break, it was her job, and now that the staff were away, the cleaning lady could handle it for a small extra fee.

It took Bai Cha a moment to grasp Nan Ju’s meaning. Was she trying to preserve an endless summer for me?

Why are you so kind? If Nan Ju had remained as distant as before, Bai Cha could have suppressed her urges and hidden her feelings.

If only she had ignored Bai Cha’s longing and kept dating other Alphas.

If only she had been colder, more distant—then Bai Cha wouldn’t dare approach the blooming flowers. But instead, the blossoms never withered, carrying with them the hope that Bai Cha would always be well.

The emotions she had fought so hard to restrain now sprouted like new leaves, spreading wildly and uncontrollably.

Her ambition, raw and unbridled, was laid bare in that moment.

The soft throw pillows were piled haphazardly on the couch. Bai Cha sat beside them, leaning against Nan Ju’s leg, quietly watching the woman who sat with her back turned. The woman was absorbed in flipping through a book in her hands, her scent gland openly exposed.

Outside, rain had begun to fall unnoticed—a steady drizzle that dimmed the light. Only the Omega wrapped in a mermaid-hued dress seemed to glow, captivating the senses. The pink shoulder straps of her dress hung unevenly, one long and one short.

Bai Cha pressed her lips together, then reached out to undo one of the thin straps. Wrapping her arms around the other woman from behind in an embrace, she murmured hoarsely, “I’m sorry… I’ve thought about it, but I just can’t be the obedient girl you want me to be.”