Toxic Pheromones of a Scumbag Alpha (GL) - Chapter 6
Ji Yao felt a little warm.
But she was completely drunk, her mind a blur like thick paste. She couldn’t think on her own and could only let Tan Zishu handle her however she wanted.
Tan Zishu laid her gently on the chaise lounge and leaned in—so close they were almost touching.
At last, she could look at her openly and without guilt.
Tan Zishu was overjoyed, though she wasn’t someone who liked to show her emotions directly. Instead, she just kept staring at Ji Yao, not looking away for even a second.
When they were younger, she had rarely looked at Ji Yao properly—partly out of pride, partly because she didn’t want to admit how much she cared. Only after losing her did she realize how much she regretted it. For the next ten years, she obsessively collected every photo and video of Ji Yao. She watched all of her dramas over and over again.
Ji Yao had always been so beautiful. Why hadn’t she cherished her back then?
Tan Zishu gazed at her, eyes full of longing. Her thumb gently brushed over Ji Yao’s eyebrows and eyes. Seeing the gentle curve of her features, she couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her softly.
She remembered—these eyes, while tender when closed, could become commanding and full of strength when angry.
Even when smiling silently, Ji Yao’s round eyes carried a kind of authority.
She once played a royal advisor in a drama. Back then, people said she had the face of a golden age—an appearance that could bring peace and prosperity to a nation. With light makeup, she was a clear, flawless beauty whose gaze could calm like a spring breeze. Even in heavy makeup, she never looked overdone or gaudy. Instead, she appeared even more dignified and majestic, like a blooming peony in full glory.
There are many beautiful women in the world, but most are beautiful in the same way—nothing truly unique. Even those who stood out were lazily described by the industry as “cool,” “gorgeous,” or “sweet”—tired, overused words. But Ji Yao, the celebrated Best Actress, was always praised with one special word: “盛 (shèng)”.
Shèng—as in greatness.
Shèng—as in prosperity.
Shèng—as in a flourishing era.
That’s why she was invited to so many grand events and national celebrations. It felt like anywhere she appeared naturally became a celebration. Her presence alone added brilliance and splendor to the occasion.
When Tan Zishu was young, she used to think Ji Yao’s reputation was nothing more than hype and PR spin. She never agreed with how people admired her.
But after Ji Yao’s death, as Tan Zishu grew up, she finally came to understand where that aura came from.
From the day she was born until the day she died, Ji Yao used her own wealth to do good. She started countless charity programs and took part in every one of them personally. All year round, if she wasn’t on set or attending events, she was out doing charity work.
She truly had no intention of saving money for herself. She gave selflessly, like a model worker—and even adopted young Tan Zishu and raised her as her own. In the end, she was betrayed and died young.
She died without understanding what happened. Even after being reborn, she never tried to seek revenge.
But Tan Zishu did.
She dug through every trace Ji Yao had left behind. When she finally uncovered the truth, she nearly shattered her own teeth from the fury, wanting nothing more than to tear their enemies apart with her bare hands.
To take revenge, she chose the very path she once hated—she became a celebrity.
Only by following Ji Yao’s path could she get close to the ones who hurt her. Only then could she use the tools of fame to get her revenge.
Every day, Tan Zishu lived with regret and hatred. If she could, she would’ve begged the heavens—either to bring Ji Yao back, or to let her destroy those people completely.
Maybe her desire was too strong—because on the Double Ninth Festival, when she was 24, Tan Zishu saw Ji Yao alive again for the first time.
At their first reunion, she showed her the bloody truth and asked her to live with her again.
Ji Yao responded with a soft “Okay,” but then gently turned her down.
She said: when she was wealthy, she could help the world; when she wasn’t, she would simply live a quiet life for herself. Now that Tan Zishu had grown up and had the ability, she should live the life she wanted.
As for the truth… she was already dead. What did it matter anymore?
Tan Zishu nearly broke down all over again. Ten years of pain and regret still couldn’t make up for what she had lost. She could only watch helplessly as Ji Yao disappeared into the crowd… and five years later, returned to the earth, gone forever.
Eventually, Tan Zishu realized she was stuck in a cycle. The sad part? Every restart brought her back to the year Ji Yao died. The only comfort was that she still had time—to try again, to make things right.
The second time they met again, Tan Zishu chose not to tell Ji Yao the truth. She brought her home, hoping they could live a simple, quiet life together. But Ji Yao always seemed ready to leave.
Tan Zishu cried, asking why.
Ji Yao replied, “I’m not obligated to stay with you forever. I raised you. That’s enough. Don’t you have your own life to live?”
She was gentle—but too gentle. That kind of gentleness could feel like cruelty. When Ji Yao calmly said those words, Tan Zishu realized she had overestimated her place in Ji Yao’s heart.
In the end, adopting her had been Ji Yao’s own choice—a duty she took on. Now that she had fulfilled it, she was ready to let go and walk away.
…Over and over again, in each new cycle, Tan Zishu couldn’t change the rebellious girl she once was. She couldn’t hold onto the reborn Ji Yao, either. She just kept reliving the same pain, again and again, like a punishment with no end.
After who knows how many lifetimes, she finally lost her mind.
In one life, after another reunion, Tan Zishu took Ji Yao home again.
She watched Ji Yao smile, caught in the joy of their reunion, and felt nothing. Her heart was empty. She’ll get tired of this soon, she thought. Then she’ll leave again.
That night, Tan Zishu drank, but said nothing.
The next morning, under the thin heels of her shoes, she stepped on several torn wrappers. The foil had been ripped open along jagged edges—roughly, hastily—God knows how many had been used.
Her hands shook as she helped Ji Yao sit up. She brushed aside the long hair stuck to her shoulder and saw the messy, painful marks on her skin.
Tan Zishu turned her head away.
She didn’t know how they had come to this. All she knew was that she was filled with so much anger and grief—hatred and regret that had been bottled up for ten years. It wasn’t something she could just let go of. So she lashed out, like a form of revenge.
She had crossed a line. And from that moment on, no matter how many times the cycle restarted, she could never go back.
Tan Zishu tried again and again to prove her feelings—through force, through soft words—but nothing worked. Every time, she failed. It was as if she had tied herself to Ji Yao’s soul, and unless she could untangle that knot, she would be trapped forever.
Love didn’t work.
Hate… she couldn’t bear to feel it.
With no options left, Tan Zishu tried something else. She set things up so that Ji Yao would come to her, on her own.
Wasn’t she the kind of person who always took responsibility? Then let her watch the girl she once raised slowly walk toward destruction. Would she come? Would she stop it?
It worked.
Ji Yao came. She even signed a long-term agreement to stay. She still felt responsible for her.
After countless lifetimes of suffering, Tan Zishu—worn and lost—finally welcomed her savior.
…And now, that savior was still peacefully asleep.
Tan Zishu thought this might be the happiest moment of her life so far. Ji Yao wasn’t blaming her. She wasn’t pushing her away.
The person she loved most lay quietly on the chaise lounge, as if she belonged there, as if she could be kept forever.
Forever.
Tan Zishu ran the tip of her tongue along the edge of her teeth, repeating that word silently, hungrily.
Forever.
What a beautiful word.