Toxic Pheromones of a Scumbag Alpha (GL) - Chapter 10

Ji Yao had been alone in the house for a while and, out of boredom, wandered toward the last room at the end of the second-floor hallway — the one Tan Zishu had mentioned.

According to Tan Zishu, it was just a regular storage room.

Regular? Ji Yao didn’t buy it.

If Tan Zishu had specifically told her not to go near it, then it was anything but ordinary.

But… when Ji Yao placed her hand on the doorknob and gave it a gentle twist, she was surprised to find it wasn’t even locked.

All she had to do was push it open, and the truth inside would be revealed.

“…Sigh.”

Ji Yao pulled her hand back. Not because of any sudden burst of conscience, but because she figured — the kid’s grown up now. It’s not necessarily a bad thing for her to have a few secrets of her own.

No matter how strange that room was, Ji Yao didn’t think anything in there could really shock her anymore.

When Tan Zishu came home, she brought a new phone for Ji Yao.

Ji Yao really didn’t have one — after she was reborn, the system hadn’t arranged much for her. The only thing it had bothered to set up was a simple ID card.

Ji Yao had once complained to the system, “You’re really an irresponsible piece of tech, you know that?”

The system had replied matter-of-factly, “It’s my first time. As long as nothing goes too wrong, it’s fine.”

Ji Yao: “……”

Tan Zishu handed her the phone with a half-excuse: “Since we’ll be living together from now on, you might need to connect with new people. I’ve already added my number, along with Xu Xiyan’s and Lou Juan’s. If there’s ever an emergency, you can use it to reach me.”

The implication was clear — it was also to prevent Ji Yao from accidentally messaging any old friends or family.

After all, a… kept woman situation wasn’t exactly something you broadcast.

Ji Yao accepted the phone wordlessly, the unspoken understanding hanging between them.

She tapped around a bit and sent a sticker to Xu Xiyan — her way of saying hi. When she looked up, Tan Zishu had already gone to shower.

With nothing better to do, Ji Yao continued chatting with Xu Xiyan.

Xu Xiyan messaged: “Tan-jie’s not in a good mood today. Please be careful, okay? Try not to upset her.”

Ji Yao replied simply: “I’m not afraid of upsetting people.”

Xu Xiyan: “T_T”

Suddenly, Ji Yao remembered how pale Tan Zishu looked earlier. A strange intuition struck her, and she typed: “Did she eat anything tonight?”

Xu Xiyan: “I was with her the whole day — she didn’t eat a single bite.”

Ji Yao stared at the message in silence.

Is she trying to kill herself? Not eating all day was one thing — but on top of barely sleeping the night before?

She thought back to what Tan Zishu had said in the car when they first reunited: “I have a bit of an appetite issue. And insomnia, too.”

At the time, Ji Yao hadn’t taken it seriously. She’d thought Tan Zishu was just making conversation. But now… she suspected it was true.

It seemed like one of those illnesses caused by emotional stress — a troubled mind leading to sleepless nights and loss of appetite.

Ji Yao messaged back: “It’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll make sure she eats something before she rests.”

Xu Xiyan quickly responded: “There’s medicine in the living room — in the drawer under the coffee table. Tan-jie never takes it, but if you can convince her, please try to get her to at least take one or two pills.”

Phone in hand, Ji Yao went over and pulled open the drawer.

Inside, she found a box of stomach medicine.

She held it for a moment, then said: “She has a stomach condition?”

Xu Xiyan: “Yeah. Diagnosed three years ago. But she’s never taken it seriously.”

Ji Yao picked up one box — the seal was still intact. She switched to another — also unopened, packaging perfectly pristine.

Long-term stomach issues, and she still refuses to take care of herself!

Ji Yao was genuinely angry. Not because of anything dramatic — she was angry because Tan Zishu, a grown adult, couldn’t even look after her own health. Living like this, constantly punishing herself, made Ji Yao want to drag her out and give her a good scolding.

The sound of running water from the bathroom hadn’t stopped yet.

Ji Yao took the medicine, went to the kitchen, washed some vegetables, and started cooking a light meal — a simple porridge and some blanched greens.

By the time Tan Zishu came out of the shower, towel in hand and drying her hair, Ji Yao was already sitting at the dining table, watching her.

“I’m not hungry,” Tan Zishu said.

Ji Yao looked at her flatly. “Right, your stomach’s barely functioning anymore. Of course you don’t feel hungry.”

Tan Zishu paused, not moving from where she stood.

Ji Yao let out a breath, softening her tone. “Eat a little. Something light. Then take your medicine. Xu Xiyan told me you haven’t eaten all day.”

“She told you that?” Tan Zishu stepped forward and sat across from Ji Yao. “I’ve just been in a bad mood today. No appetite.”

Ji Yao pushed the dishes toward her. “Then eat something easy.”

They didn’t talk after that. The large kitchen was quiet, with only the faint sound of Tan Zishu slowly eating. She was painfully slow, savoring each tiny bite as if it took effort — as if she didn’t enjoy eating, yet still wanted to taste it properly.

Suddenly, Tan Zishu put down her chopsticks and looked up at Ji Yao with a bright smile. “It’s delicious.”

Ji Yao was caught off guard. For a split second, it felt like time had blurred — this version of Tan Zishu overlapping perfectly with the little girl from years ago, the one Ji Yao had once brought home. Back then, the child had eaten her cooking with the same gleaming eyes and said, “It’s so good.”

“If you like it, I can cook for you every day,” Ji Yao said. Then, adding a condition, “But only if you eat on time and take your medicine properly.”

Tan Zishu agreed almost without hesitation. “Okay.”

Right after saying it, she hunched forward onto the table. “My stomach hurts.”

Ji Yao immediately took out the medicine she’d prepared and helped her up, guiding her toward the bedroom. “You didn’t sleep well last night. Don’t mess around anymore. Just rest properly.”

Tan Zishu let out a quiet “Mm” and lay down with Ji Yao’s help.

Sleep is the best way to heal, Ji Yao thought. She didn’t know what had happened to Tan Zishu today, but as long as she could stay by her side, Ji Yao wouldn’t let her suffer alone.

Tan Zishu gave a small, shaky breath. Ji Yao couldn’t tell if it was from the pain in her stomach or her heart. She lay there like a doll drained of its soul, her eyes distant, her face full of sadness as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

“…Can you get me a suppressant patch?” she asked softly.

Ji Yao sat at the edge of the bed, watching her. Even now, Tan Zishu was asking for a suppressant. That meant her susceptibility episode might not have been faked. Last night might not have been manipulation after all.

Suppressant patches were a quick fix — they could ease the symptoms temporarily — but long-term use could lead to side effects.

Ji Yao didn’t know exactly what those side effects were, but she had always believed in living naturally and healthily. She didn’t support over-reliance on medication.

Before her rebirth, Ji Yao hadn’t even understood the concept of secondary gender attributes or differentiation. She figured she must’ve been dead too long — she barely remembered her own body or condition. But if she was differentiated now, she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t rely on something like that unless absolutely necessary.

Still, Tan Zishu wasn’t in a normal state today. Maybe this time could be an exception.

“I’ll get it for you,” Ji Yao said.

“It’s in the cabinet across the room,” Tan Zishu murmured, half her face hidden in shadow.

Ji Yao caught that detail. She keeps them in the bedroom? That probably meant she used them often. Too often.

Following the directions, Ji Yao opened the cabinet, took out a fresh box of patches — and, in the process, quietly slipped the corner of the instruction leaflet into her sleeve.

She returned and handed the patch to Tan Zishu. “Put it on yourself.”

Tan Zishu nodded. “Goodnight.”

Ji Yao didn’t stay. She got up and left for the other room.

Behind the closed door, Ji Yao pulled out the instruction leaflet she had discreetly taken and quickly found the side effects section:

[Adverse Reactions:]

Cardiovascular: Rapid heartbeat, chest tightness, shortness of breath, dizziness, slowed response…

Digestive: Loss of appetite, altered taste, difficulty swallowing…

Psychiatric: Decreased libido, insomnia, nervousness, anxiety…

Ji Yao: “……”

She could practically check off every symptom.

[Note:] This product is intended only for temporary symptom relief and should not be used long-term, especially for Alpha individuals. Alpha users must not apply suppressants more than three times in a row. If symptoms persist after one treatment cycle, seek medical attention. If the product’s effect weakens, it is recommended to resume sexual/physical intimacy or seek pheromone comfort from another Alpha.

Additional Warning: Continued use by Alphas may lead to pheromone release disorders, imbalance, or mutation.

In simple terms: suppressants were designed for Omegas. If an Alpha used them frequently… they were basically asking for trouble.

Ji Yao was speechless. Tan Zishu was supposedly seeing a different “canary” every month — so why did she still need to rely on this stuff to get through her susceptibility phase? Was she addicted to suffering?

Was she such a ridiculously strong S-class Alpha that not even a rotation of partners could satisfy her? Had to depend on suppressant patches just to function?

That didn’t seem right.

Ji Yao didn’t know everything about this world’s physiology, but her instincts told her that theory was off.

…Which left only one possibility.

Tan Zishu had recognized her — probably sometime last night. After realizing the truth, she hadn’t dared lay a hand on Ji Yao. That’s why she ran off early in the morning. Then she spent the day suffering in silence, got emotionally wrecked by the recording device Ji Yao had found, and finally, by nightfall, couldn’t hold on anymore and asked her for help retrieving the patch.

Wait a minute.

Ji Yao: “……”

Then what the hell was that ten-year contract about?

Shouldn’t Tan Zishu’s first move have been to get the hell out and replace Ji Yao with someone else?

Ten years? Was she planning to live on suppressants for a decade? Or maybe go celibate? Or… was she just playing dumb, trying to legitimize her way into Ji Yao’s bed?

Whichever way Ji Yao thought about it, she was fuming.

Face cold, she stormed back to Tan Zishu’s room.

Tan Zishu was still curled up in bed, clearly uncomfortable — but that didn’t stop her mouth from working. With a teasing tone, she asked, “Back so soon? What, did you come to offer yourself as a replacement for the patch…?”

“Tan — Zishu — !” Ji Yao didn’t hesitate. She yanked the blanket off her, grabbed her by the wrists, and forced her arms over her head like she was scolding a misbehaving child. “Still pretending? You think this is funny? You don’t feel the slightest bit guilty?”

Tan Zishu froze.

That cold, detached arrogance she always wore cracked instantly. She looked completely stunned, like someone who’d just been caught rehearsing a tragic monologue — only to be dragged offstage by a clown before the first line even finished.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“You…” Tan Zishu looked up uncertainly, still trying to backpedal. “What… what are you talking about?”

But Ji Yao had never had patience for this kind of self-destructive nonsense.

She treated Tan Zishu like a disobedient child, smacking her once on the backside. Tan Zishu flinched, shocked, immediately shrinking into herself like a guilty shrimp.

“Let go!” she cried, struggling.

But Ji Yao had the upper hand — literally. With one hand, she held both of Tan Zishu’s wrists in place. With the other, she pinched her chin and forced her to look up.

“This whole place is soundproof,” Ji Yao said coldly. “I don’t care how powerful you are — no one’s coming to save you. Still refusing to behave? Keep going. Let’s see who breaks first — me or you.”

Ji Yao was truly furious this time. And honestly, Tan Zishu had it coming. If she hadn’t been so reckless, Ji Yao wouldn’t have had to go this far.

Her voice was sharp as she interrogated:
“Ten-year contract? Rotating girls every month? Not eating on time? Staying up all night? Drinking cold alcohol at night? You knew who I was and still planted a bug on me? And those damn suppressants — what are you even doing with them?! Throw them all out!”

She took a breath and practically roared:

“Tan Zishu — are you trying to devolve into your worst self?!”

Tan Zishu was crying.

“You have the nerve to cry?” Ji Yao snapped, furious. “You did this to yourself! Are you stupid? If your body’s not well, why don’t you see a doctor? Do you not know your pheromones are unstable? Or are you pretending not to know you’re an S-class Alpha? You just had to wreck your own health and reputation. What exactly are you trying to do? I really don’t get you.”

Tan Zishu sobbed, “Please stop scolding me…”

Ji Yao exhaled heavily. Her anger had mostly passed. She sat down beside her, watching Tan Zishu cry quietly.

“Is there a reason behind all of this? Can you tell me?” she asked, voice gentler.

There was.

She just wanted to make someone stay.

But she didn’t have the courage. So all she could do was resort to cheap tricks, desperate and beneath her. Even if it meant earning only shallow concern, fake warmth — it was better than nothing at all.

She just hadn’t expected it to fail so quickly.

Another lifetime, and once again, she couldn’t keep the person she cared about.

Tan Zishu even considered ending it and starting over. All it would take was one reset — she would die, and the cycle would begin anew. She’d revive at age fourteen, wait another ten years, and try again.

Her eyes dim, she came up with a weak excuse to get Ji Yao out of the room. “Could you get me an apple? I’ll tell you everything slowly…”

Ji Yao nodded and left.

There was a knife in the bedside drawer — always there, prepared for herself. Every time she failed and had to reset, this was what she used.

She was used to it by now. It would be quick. It wouldn’t even hurt.

She reached for it.

Just as she was about to make a move, the knife was suddenly snatched from her hand.

Ji Yao stood in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly, her whole-body trembling in silence. She looked completely shaken, pushed past her limit.

SLAP—

A crisp slap echoed through the room. Tan Zishu’s head snapped to the side. She was stunned speechless.

Ji Yao dropped the apple, then pulled her into a hug, voice breaking. “I’m done yelling. Just… don’t hurt yourself like this. You can be mad, be reckless, do whatever you want — just don’t be cruel to yourself. Please.”

Tan Zishu blinked slowly.

Maybe… it wasn’t over yet. Maybe she didn’t have to reset. She could stay a little longer. Watch her a little more.

She had been too impatient.

In recent cycles, she hadn’t truly reached a dead end before choosing to exit. She’d been giving up too quickly.

Tan Zishu raised her hand and lightly patted Ji Yao’s back. “Jie… I just wanted to peel the apple.”

Bullshit, Ji Yao thought. Who the hell keeps a fruit knife in their nightstand?

And just like that, she finally understood why Tan Zishu had looked so off when they first met again — why her face had been pale, her emotions out of control. The knife had already been there. Her mental state had already cracked.

Ji Yao was truly, deeply shaken.

No matter how angry she was, nothing was more important than life.

She had originally intended to keep Tan Zishu close so she wouldn’t go off hurting other people — but now, she realized that “keeping her close” had a whole new meaning:

To make sure she stayed alive.

“Forget it. You won’t believe me anyway,” Tan Zishu said with a dry laugh. “You’re right. I’m just in so much pain that I left myself no way out. That knife… it was my escape hatch.”

Ji Yao steadied herself and said, “Then tell me what you want. Anything. Just say it.”

Tan Zishu looked at her… and slowly shook her head. “I don’t want anything. I just don’t see the point of anything anymore.”

Ji Yao met her gaze, her tone firm. “Do you remember what you promised me when you were seven?”

Tan Zishu replied without hesitation: “I said I’d never lie to you again… because I can’t lie to you.”

She had been seven, and had just flunked a test. When the teacher asked for a parent’s signature on the paper, little Tan Zishu had faked the score and forged the handwriting to make it look better.

Of course, Ji Yao saw through it instantly.

But she didn’t yell. She signed the paper quietly, then asked, “You changed your score to trick me. But how are you going to explain this to the teacher?”

Little Tan Zishu had been bratty back then. “I’m not afraid of the teacher,” she had said casually.

“So, you’re more afraid of me?” Ji Yao had put down the pen, sternly. “You don’t have to like me, but you will respect your teacher.”

Tan Zishu had grumbled, “She just wants your autograph. She doesn’t care what score I got.”

At the time, Tan Zishu hadn’t even officially been adopted. She was still in the early foster stage, and Ji Yao had been staying in the area for a while due to a donation project.

In that town, the standard of education was low. The teacher had wanted Ji Yao’s autograph more than she cared about student performance. So she’d tried every roundabout way to “call the parent” — not out of concern, but in hopes of currying favor. Flattering and coaxing little Tan Zishu had become a daily tactic.

Once Ji Yao found out what was going on, she wasted no time. She pulled Tan Zishu out of that school and processed a transfer on the spot.

The moment they stepped out the school gates, Tan Zishu looked back at the place she had always resented — unable to believe it was really happening.

Ji Yao had actually taken her away. Just like that.

To a child, that kind of swift, decisive action by a guardian felt heroic — like something out of a storybook. It left Tan Zishu stunned. And in return, she’d promised:

“You’re not like other parents… I’ll never lie to you again.”

As long as you always choose my side.

The second half of that promise, she never said aloud. She kept it in her heart.

“Always choosing my side” — that was the unspoken condition. If Ji Yao ever changed, or stopped standing with her… then Tan Zishu believed she’d be justified in breaking that promise.

Like now.

What Tan Zishu wanted… was Ji Yao. Her person, her heart — everything. And a desire like that could never be confessed openly.

Which meant Ji Yao could never stand on her side — not fully.

So, by her logic, the lie didn’t count as betrayal.

Under the dim light, Ji Yao’s face betrayed no expression. But her voice was calm and clear:

“You promised not to lie to me. So, say what you just said again.”

Tan Zishu couldn’t speak.

Ji Yao didn’t push her. Instead, she began slowly listing her “charges.”

“That night at the banquet, I followed you down the stairs. I saw Xu Xiyan accidentally bump your arm. You immediately pulled away — that’s a bad habit from childhood. You’ve always hated being touched… except by me. Am I right?”

Tan Zishu’s throat tightened. She didn’t dare meet her eyes.

“I only just put it together. I’d thought you recognized me that night — but maybe you knew even earlier. From the very first moment.”

“That night, you had no issue touching me — not even a hint of hesitation. That means you’d already decided to play a role.”

“You claimed the contract was for a year — but you didn’t even know the terms clearly.”

“You didn’t make a move that night. Maybe guilt caught up with you the next morning, or maybe something else did. You ran off early, then came back that night — and once the truth was out, you wanted to die over it.”

“Tan Zishu — that’s just pathetic.”

If she’d had a knife right then, Tan Zishu felt she could’ve died a second time.

Ji Yao let out a tired sigh. “I used to believe the child I raised couldn’t be truly bad. So, I’ll just say it now, no more acting, no more games. I already know everything.”

Tan Zishu said nothing.

She couldn’t.

Because knowing she was only pretending to be “bad”… or knowing the truth and still being willing to acknowledge her…
Or worse, knowing exactly how she felt about her. Those were completely different things.

The first would be a good sign. Like being forgiven.
The second…

Tan Zishu didn’t dare think that far.

“I’m not someone who cares much about love,” Ji Yao said. “That part’s real.”

Tan Zishu held her breath and stared at her with everything she had.

“I think you’re really stubborn. And the way you think… I don’t always get it,” Ji Yao sighed. “But I can go along with it. I’m willing to try — after all, you can’t keep living on suppressant patches. Life still needs to move forward.”

Tan Zishu grabbed her arm tightly. The veins in her neck were tense. “Try what?”

Ji Yao looked at her calmly. “If you really like me… then we can try being together.”

Lou Juan had been worrying all night.

She knew how obsessive and extreme Tan Zishu could be. That’s why she was afraid Tan might try to force Ji Yao into something.

Ji Yao had such a proud and straightforward personality and now, after everything, she still had to smile and pretend in front of Tan Zishu. Acting had been her job before she died. Now that she was alive again… she still had to keep acting.

How exhausting must that be?

Tan Zishu, seriously… you’re too much.

The very same Tan Zishu , who never did anything properly — had finally been coaxed to sleep by Ji Yao.

Ji Yao quietly turned off the room’s lights. But the bedside lamp was still on, so she walked over and turned that off, too.

She stepped out of the room.

And thought to herself: When did I stop pretending?

She walked aimlessly down the hallway, restless.
Somewhere deep inside, the feelings she had been trying to ignore… were growing stronger.