Toxic Pheromones of a Scumbag Alpha (GL) - Chapter 15
The atmosphere inside the elevator was… far from pleasant. Ji Yao was completely baffled.
Who was this girl?
Why was she suddenly upset?
Did I offend her somehow?
All I did was compliment her nose, for heaven’s sake.
She glanced over and saw that Jiang Jiaran’s mood had clearly dipped. Her eyes shimmered with tears, soft and pitiful.
Ji Yao let out a quiet sigh. “…Sigh.”
Her heart felt exhausted. Who could understand the emotional labor she’d just gone through yesterday, coaxing that little brat Tan Zishu to calm down—only to run into this today?
Too much. Seriously, this was too much.
Ji Yao subtly shuffled a step to the side, silently wishing the elevator would please hurry up and reach the 11th floor already.
The worst thing that could happen in an elevator? A mechanical failure. The second worst? Stopping at every single floor… with no one getting on.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Ji Yao watched in awkward silence as the elevator doors opened and closed, again and again—seven, eight times in total. Not a single new passenger. Just the two of them. Alone. Still.
Sure, the VIP wing had fewer people—but did the elevator really have to stop at every floor?
Suddenly, Jiang Jiaran seemed to make up her mind. She looked over and asked, voice soft but direct:
“Big sister, do you recognize me? Or… do I seem even the tiniest bit familiar?”
Oh no.
Ji Yao was panicking inside:
System! System! Who is this?! Help me!
The system replied, flatly:
[Please wait. No signal in the elevator.]
Ji Yao: ???
What kind of garbage system loses signal in an elevator?
With no help coming, Ji Yao was forced to rely on herself. She started analyzing Jiang Jiaran’s background. The girl had come up earlier, trailed by a whole entourage. Based on Ji Yao’s years of experience…
She must be a minor celebrity.
No way she was a big name.
Ji Yao was sure of it. Big-name stars usually wrapped themselves up tight when going out—especially to hospitals. They wouldn’t just stroll in, bare-faced and fully visible, like this girl had.
Plus, she was too young to be nationally famous.
Putting the pieces together, Ji Yao figured it out:
She’s probably a somewhat-recognizable starlet, hoping I’d recognize her. But when I didn’t… her hopes crashed. And now she’s on the verge of tears.
Ji Yao cleared her throat. Guess she’d better do some damage control. If this girl cried right in front of her, it’d be a whole new headache.
Truth be told, Ji Yao had always been weak to crying. Even someone Tan Zishu’s age—if she cried—Ji Yao couldn’t stand it.
Fine, fine.
Let’s just try to cheer her up.
Ji Yao offered a gentle smile.
“I have seen you—on TV. You’re even prettier in person than on screen.”
—The universal line for complimenting a minor celebrity.
Back when Ji Yao was a star herself, she’d used this line whenever she ran into a junior, she didn’t recognize. It never failed—kept the conversation flowing, avoided awkwardness, and usually prompted the junior to act modest and change the topic.
Ji Yao had thought her response was foolproof—flattering, polite, and noncommittal. But when she glanced at the mirrored wall to sneak a peek… Jiang Jiaran looked even sadder, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears.
Ji Yao: “…”
Wait—what did I do wrong this time?
Jiang Jiaran wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “Thank you, big sister… for still remembering me.”
Oh no.
Ji Yao’s heart skipped a beat.
What do you mean, “still remembering”?
Did that mean… they had met before? And Jiang Jiaran had recognized her?
No, that couldn’t be right. Ji Yao had died ten years ago. Logically speaking, there’s no way a normal person would even consider that possibility.
The idea of someone returning from the dead was pure fantasy. Ji Yao herself still found it unbelievable.
Take Lou Juan for example—she hadn’t recognized her at all.
Ten years was a long time. Most people could barely recall someone’s face unless they were extremely close. How could anyone…
Wait.
There was one more possibility—maybe Jiang Jiaran had simply mistaken her for someone else.
Clinging to that hope like a lifeline, Ji Yao braced herself and forced a denial. “You might be confusing me with someone else. I don’t know any celebrity friends.”
But then Jiang Jiaran looked like she was about to sob. Ji Yao felt her scalp prickle in panic. She would do anything to escape this elevator right now.
Jiang Jiaran whimpered, “You… can’t say that.”
Ji Yao, internally screaming: Why the hell not?! I really don’t remember you!!
She tried again. “Jiaran, you must be mistaken. I’ve never met you in real life…”
Ji Yao stared desperately at the elevator panel, begging for the 11th floor to arrive faster.
Just then, the system suddenly chimed in:
[Mission No. 4: Return to the first floor. Now.]
Ji Yao, who had just seen “11” light up: “…”
Seriously?! Is this system pulling missions out of a hat?!
System:
[Countdown begins: 60, 59, 56, 52…]
Ji Yao: !!!
Why is it skipping numbers now?!
System:
[Apologies. Weak signal in elevator. 50, 47…]
This is literally trying to kill me!
Ji Yao stopped caring whether Jiang Jiaran was crying or not. She turned around and said sharply, “You need to get out. Now.”
Jiang Jiaran’s tears paused mid-fall. “Why?”
“The 11th floor’s here.” Ji Yao gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to shove her out. “I… just remembered I forgot something downstairs. I need to go back.”
Jiang Jiaran hesitated, her voice soft and clingy. “Then I’ll go too… My team didn’t catch up yet.”
No time. No patience. No negotiation.
Ji Yao ignored her completely. The countdown was under 30 seconds now. She quickly shut the doors, slammed the button for the first floor, and closed her eyes, praying the damn elevator didn’t start stopping at every single floor again.
Miraculously—maybe because of her desperate prayers—it didn’t. The elevator glided down without interruption.
System:
[29, 24, 21, 10, 9…]
The first floor was almost in sight. Ji Yao broke into a cold sweat—this was what it must feel like to dance on the edge of the afterlife.
Ding—
Ji Yao looked up—
And saw the number 2.
Countdown: 5 seconds.
Ji Yao: “…”
I’m done. Let the world burn.
Just then, the system seemed to glitch again. The countdown turned… weird:
[5, 4.9… 4.83…]
Ji Yao: “…”
Seriously? Now we’re down to two decimal places?
Next to her, Jiang Jiaran was still pressing: “Big sister, please—look at me properly. Try to remember…”
The elevator doors closed again and resumed their descent to the first floor.
Ji Yao let out a relieved breath and gave one last exhausted attempt at explaining, “We really don’t know each other. Honestly. I’m not lying—I don’t have any celebrity friends… really.”
Ding.
The elevator doors opened—
And there stood Tan Zishu, facing her directly with a dry tone: “Weren’t we supposed to go together?”
Jiang Jiaran: “…”
Outside the elevator, two entire teams of celebrity assistants and staff were standing in formation—like two armies facing off across an invisible battlefield. Every single face screamed, “We have absolutely nothing to say to the other side.”
Out of all the elevators in this building… of course they had to wait for this one.
The air was thick with awkward tension.
Tan Zishu smiled—so fake it hurt—and naturally looped her arm around Ji Yao’s. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Ji Yao screamed internally: Weren’t you busy with something?! I just came here for a checkup—how did you even track me down?!
But she didn’t say a word. Even an idiot could tell the atmosphere was seriously off. One wrong move could make everything worse.
“You don’t have any celebrity friends,” Jiang Jiaran said, voice low and wounded, staring straight ahead. “You lied to me. Again.”
Ji Yao: ???
Again?!
What do you mean “again”?!
And as for you, she thought, turning mentally toward Tan Zishu—what do you mean “we said we’d come together”?! When did that happen?
Ji Yao’s face was dark with frustration. She had no choice but to silently stare at the closed elevator doors like the other two.
Tan Zishu slowly slid her hand down Ji Yao’s arm—until their fingers interlaced.
That small gesture carried a rush of sensation through Ji Yao’s nerves. She realized—Tan Zishu had probably run here. Her pulse was racing—close to 180.
It felt like Ji Yao was holding her heartbeat in her hand. The pounding rhythm quickened Ji Yao’s own breath.
Gradually, their heartbeats synced.
And calmed.
Ji Yao finally let go of the elevator door and, with impressive composure, asked the people outside, “Anyone else coming in?”
Tan Zishu swept a glance around.
Lou Juan immediately lifted her phone and started fake-talking, waving a hand: “Hello? Xiao Li? Yes, yes, the thing we discussed the other day…”
Xu Xiyan flipped her hair, then lowered her head as if searching. “Huh? I think I dropped something…”
Across the invisible battlefield, Jiang Jiaran’s team instinctively took a few steps back.
“…President Wang—”
“Oh! I just remembered something urgent…”
Ji Yao: “…”
Her face was blank, but in her heart she wore the mask of pure despair.
The elevator doors finally closed again. Ji Yao felt like she was suffocating.
Tan Zishu gave Jiang Jiaran a painfully polite smile. “Well, if it isn’t Jiaran. What a coincidence. Long time no see.”
Jiang Jiaran’s tone was ice. “We literally saw each other at the audition last week.”
Ji Yao stared at the mirrored reflection of the three of them and thought: This is absurd. This is just… chaos.
Jiang Jiaran turned toward her with concern. “Big sister, are you here for a medical check-up? Are you not feeling well?”
She added warmly, “I happen to know Dr. Zhao here. She can take us straight through the back—no need to go through all the boring procedures.”
Ji Yao, inwardly: I feel fine—everything is just fine. But if I had to pick the moment I felt the worst, it’s definitely right now.
If either of you would just get out of the elevator, I wouldn’t be in this much pain.
She forced a laugh. “Haha, no, I’m not unwell—just a routine check-up. No need to take any shortcuts… it’s best to follow proper steps for medical procedures.”
Just look at me now.
The cursed elevator had started its torment again—stopping on every single floor, like it had all the time in the world.
Tan Zishu wrapped an arm around Ji Yao and said coldly to Jiang Jiaran,
“We’re all here as VIPs. No one needs your connections to get in.”
Jiang Jiaran’s voice turned icy.
“Right. I wasn’t being thoughtful enough. But clearly, you’re not much better—letting her come to the hospital alone? If it were me, I never would’ve let her come by herself.”
Ji Yao: “…”
Thanks for the input, but I came here alone precisely to get away from people like you two.
Tan Zishu lowered her head and “whispered” to Ji Yao in a voice loud enough for all three to hear:
“My bad this time. I was too busy with work to come along. I’m not like some people who can wander halfway across the city just for fun. But next time you go to the hospital, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay~?”
Those last three words—“okay~?”—were drenched in syrupy sweetness.
Ji Yao nearly short-circuited.
In two lifetimes, she had never heard Tan Zishu act this cutesy before. Once was enough to shorten her life by a few years—it was more damaging than taking a punch to the gut.
She clenched her molars as goosebumps spread across her arms.
Jiang Jiaran exploded, “Tan Zishu!”
Tan Zishu didn’t even blink. “Don’t get mad, Jiaran. You’ve got that sweet and gentle image to maintain, remember? No cameras here, sure—but you don’t need to flip your personality this fast, right?”
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she leaned closer to Ji Yao again and “whispered” just loud enough for all three of them to hear:
“Don’t worry, big sis—I don’t need to fake a public image to get attention. No risk of exposure for me.”
Ji Yao: “…”
Okay. Neither of you has any right to mock the other.
Yes, Tan Zishu—renowned actress, public darling—was the one who’d taken home trophies through backdoor connections.
At the awards show, you could barely tell the difference between the audience and her personal entourage—every seat filled with her own people. With odds like that, of course she wasn’t worried about a PR disaster.