Toxic Pheromones of a Scumbag Alpha (GL) - Chapter 18

In that instant, it was as if Tan Zishu had predicted everything—she whipped off her mask and smiled as she welcomed the kiss.

Just as Ji Yao leaned in and kissed her, she suddenly heard the system speak:

System: “Apologies. There’s been a mistake.”

Ji Yao: “???”

You’re telling me it was a mistake—after I’ve already kissed her?

System: “Sorry, I just noticed. Task No. 5 doesn’t have a time limit. The task description said ‘task duration: five minutes,’ not a five-minute countdown.”

Ji Yao: “…”

You mean… kiss for five minutes??? Are you serious?

The system shamelessly tried to defend itself:

System: “You can’t blame me alone. You didn’t notice it either.”

Ji Yao: “???”

Oh, so now you’re being reasonable?

“You… what… what are you two doing…?”
Jiang Jiaran covered her mouth, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. Her shock was overwhelming.

Ji Yao, drained of all strength, leaned back against the rock and gave up on explaining.

Having gotten her “reward,” Tan Zishu gleefully slipped Ji Yao’s sunglasses onto her now flushed face, then turned to Jiang Jiaran and said cheerfully, “What’s the problem? Isn’t this totally normal?”

Normal your ass!

Jiang Jiaran was just short of pointing at them and shouting curses.

She stood frozen in place. Her expression went blank for a moment, then her eyes began to glisten with tears.

Her feelings, in that moment, were probably similar to someone watching the deity they worship suddenly descend from the heavens… only to passionately kiss a beggar in the dirt.

Jiang Jiaran stared at Ji Yao, voice trembling:
“Why would you do this, Sister?”

Ji Yao turned her head, pretending to be dead inside. As if I wanted to! This damned system left me no choice…

Jiang Jiaran pressed on, her tone accusatory:
“Tan Zishu is the child you raised. How can you… How can you not feel anything wrong with this?”

Ji Yao muttered, “That’s enough.”

Enough already—I’m about to explode too!

But Jiang Jiaran clearly wasn’t in sync with Ji Yao’s emotions. To her, this was completely insane. She had thought their reunion just brought a closer bond—how could she have imagined it would be this… intimate?

Her worldview shattered on the spot.

So this is what it came down to? She had been fighting for a bit of affection, a place in Ji Yao’s heart. But Tan Zishu? She’d taken it straight into love territory?

Jiang Jiaran stood there, stunned—shocked, disbelieving—and yet… a door in her mind seemed to creak open.

Wait… this is possible?

Not only did she not walk away—she stepped closer.

With intense focus, she studied Ji Yao as she leaned against the artificial rock, trying to comprehend how something so absurd between these two had even started.

Ji Yao sighed and spoke gently:
“Jiaran… I’ve been dead for ten years. You’ve grown now—you’ve made something of yourself. There’s no need to cling to the people or things you couldn’t have in the past.”

She paused, voice soft but firm.

“When I’m around, maybe it feels like a bonus in your life. But even if I’m not by your side, it shouldn’t stop you from living well. Let go of the past. Just pretend I never came back.”

“No,” Jiang Jiaran tilted her head, “Sister, I still want to know—how did the two of you end up in that kind of relationship?”

Silence fell over them.

Ji Yao quietly took off the sunglasses Tan Zishu had put on her. Beneath them, her eyes shimmered like water—deep, soft, and filled with a warmth that defied words.

Jiang Jiaran was momentarily entranced. For the first time, she tried to see Ji Yao from Tan Zishu’s perspective—and with that shift in mindset, she began to notice things she’d never seen before.

Her sister—once the most celebrated actress of her generation, admired for years—was so breathtakingly beautiful it could leave the clearest mind dazed. Her features were perfectly proportioned, every detail delicate and graceful. Her eyes and expression radiated a gentleness that felt boundless, divine—like a goddess who had descended to earth with compassion in her heart. No one could look at that face and feel rejection. Everyone wanted to love her, to draw close to her, to listen to her low, gentle voice.

Jiang Jiaran’s gaze drifted downward and was caught again—this time by the elegant lines of Ji Yao’s sharp nose. The lower half of her face contrasted starkly with the softness of her eyes. There was a striking, almost heroic strength there—like a warrior or a celestial being. It inspired awe and reverence.

How could someone like this exist?

Someone who embodied both tenderness and strength, and instead of clashing, those qualities fused—creating a new kind of charm that was completely, uniquely her own.

A sudden thought surged into Jiang Jiaran’s mind:
Maybe… I could fall for her too.

Just like Tan Zishu had, watching, observing—until one day, she realized Ji Yao’s beauty wasn’t just admirable. It was irresistible.

Ji Yao had brought light to those mountain villages. And they—Jiang Jiaran, Tan Zishu, all the children—were the ones bathed in that light. At first, they had only worshipped her, respected her from a distance. But when you gaze up too long, when you reach and never quite touch, something inside you begins to shift. You rest for a moment, then look again—and what had been admiration turns into something deeper.

In front of a sacred figure, who hasn’t had at least one impure little thought?

Then came death—sudden and brutal—shattering the fantasy.
And now, a reunion—sudden and real—making the impossible possible again.

What a perfect opportunity.
They were all grown now. Equal in age, equal in status. No more looking up or looking down. Now, she could reach out… and hold Ji Yao’s hand.

Maybe… this isn’t impossible after all.

Jiang Jiaran swallowed, a new idea quietly blooming in her chest.

“Sorry if we startled you,” Ji Yao coughed lightly, trying to explain. “Tan Zishu’s a child I raised. I have a responsibility toward her. She’s not in a good place right now. I worry about her… If doing a little more can make her happy, then I don’t mind making some compromises.”

Jiang Jiaran latched onto that one word:
“So it’s just responsibility? You don’t actually… like her?”

Tan Zishu’s gaze darkened. Her brows drew together as she looked toward Ji Yao.

This was what she feared most.
And it was also the most honest explanation Ji Yao could give.

But the truth was too sharp.
Too cruel.
So Ji Yao said nothing.

Jiang Jiaran didn’t get a direct answer—but her gut told her she didn’t need one. With a sharp glint in her eye, she turned to mock Tan Zishu:
“How pathetic. The only way you could keep her… was by clinging to her like a parasite.”

Yes.

That was the truth.

Tan Zishu lowered her gaze.

She had tried again and again—repeating it over and over—and in the end, she still couldn’t make Ji Yao stay.

Maybe it was because she really was just that pathetic.
If it had been Jiang Jiaran instead of her, things might have turned out differently.

Back then, Ji Yao had clearly liked obedient girls like Jiang Jiaran. Her own appearance had been the real accident. If Jiang Jiaran had tried to keep Ji Yao back then, she probably would’ve succeeded on the first try.

“Yeah,” Tan Zishu let out a bitter laugh, and admitted it outright. “If she was willing to stay, I wouldn’t have cared what I had to do to make it happen.”

Ji Yao frowned. “Don’t say stupid things.”

Tan Zishu stood silently beside her, not saying another word.

Ji Yao sighed inwardly. Tan Zishu was far too easily trapped by her own emotions. A few careless words could bury themselves in her heart and turn into guilt—self-blame she wouldn’t shake off easily. That kind of mindset was dangerous, possibly even harmful to her condition.

Tan Zishu wasn’t that wild child anymore, the one who used to scale walls and set fires. She had grown up, carrying with her too many tangled thoughts, trying to hide them—only making it worse in the process.

Standing beside her, Ji Yao felt as if a gloomy black-and-white filter had settled over the air around Tan Zishu. The color in that space faded away. The sadness hung heavy like incense smoke—thick, clinging, impossible to dispel.

She suddenly recalled the first time she’d seen Tan Zishu again at that party. Surrounded by glitter and excess, Tan Zishu had looked utterly lifeless, standing cold and distant in the lavish banquet hall.

“You know,” Ji Yao said, trying to lighten the mood, “you could shoot for a top-tier fashion magazine looking like this. No need for any grayscale filters—you’ve got the ‘melancholy aura’ down pat.”

Tan Zishu replied flatly, “So, you mean I’m allergic to sunlight now.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Why didn’t she go major in contradiction studies?

Breathe. Breathe. Anger is a bad habit, Ji Yao reminded herself over and over, forcing a smile onto her face. “Let’s go home, okay? Don’t overthink things.”

Jiang Jiaran, who had been enjoying the drama from the sidelines, almost clapped from the show. Seeing the tension spike again, she decided to stir the pot:
“Tan Zishu, why are you being so sensitive? You’re even giving Sister the silent treatment. If it were me, I’d never bear to—”

“If it were you? If only it were you…”
Tan Zishu turned to face her fully, eyes filled with pain and inner conflict. “I wish you could feel what I’ve been through. But the one who suffered punishment… was me, not you.”

Jiang Jiaran was startled. “Punishment? What punishment?”

It was the curse of repetition. Pain layered on pain.

Tan Zishu thought to herself: After everything I’ve endured, what’s wrong with wanting a little sweetness?

“Jiang Jiaran, just shut up already.” Ji Yao finally snapped, frowning as she reached out to take Tan Zishu’s hand. “It’s fine. However you want to be, just be. I’m not that fragile. If you really managed to upset me, that would be something new.”

“She’s already twenty-four! Not some little girl anymore!” Jiang Jiaran shouted after them. “Sister, why do you always spoil her? Why does she—”

“I said shut up, didn’t you hear me?” Ji Yao’s voice went cold, sharp enough to slice through steel.

She grabbed Tan Zishu’s arm, then turned to Jiang Jiaran and said with chilling clarity:
“Provoking an alpha who’s on the verge of emotional instability—are you that confident in your own pheromones?”

Jiang Jiaran: “…”

When Ji Yao turned serious, her aura could be absolutely terrifying—like a cliff face rising straight out of the ground, imposing and immovable. She hadn’t said much else, but Jiang Jiaran still felt a cold wave rush over her, freezing her in place.

“She’s an S-class alpha,” Ji Yao added calmly. “If you don’t have the strength to match her, don’t provoke her to her face.”

The warning was clear.

If Tan Zishu had truly seen Jiang Jiaran as a rival, she wouldn’t have just exchanged words—alphas fought with pheromones. And Jiang Jiaran wouldn’t have stood a chance.

That wasn’t a fight she was qualified to pick.

Finally, Jiang Jiaran realized:
In front of Tan Zishu, she was just a loud, irrelevant clown.
They weren’t even on the same playing field.

Tan Zishu was an alpha. If pushed too far, she could break her with a single surge of pheromones.

What Ji Yao didn’t know was that she herself was actually an Omega—not another alpha like she thought. In a confrontation between alphas, she assumed she could hold her own. But if Tan Zishu ever truly lost control… there’d be no need for words or explanations. A single, instinctive release of her pheromones would be enough.

Tan Zishu’s pheromones were toxic. One encounter would destroy Ji Yao’s entire Omega system.

And Jiang Jiaran, standing in the wake of all this, finally grasped just how much Tan Zishu had held back.

Her legs gave out slightly as she watched the two figures walk off together, side by side—leaving her behind like a survivor after a storm.