I’m Addicted to your Pheromones from the First Moment We Met - Chapter 27

Yu Zhouyao picked a time when she had no classes and headed to the hospital alone.

The First Interstellar Hospital of Dawn Planet was perfectly situated; she could make the round trip in twenty minutes by running, and no one would even notice she had left campus. Dr. Pei was waiting for her, the office door left slightly ajar.

Yu Zhouyao pushed the door open, closed it tightly behind her, and sat down.

“Yu Zhouyao, do you remember the physical constitution report from last weekend? I went back and cross-referenced yours with Mingyue’s. I found something.”

Dr. Pei pulled two waveform charts from a folder. Both looked eerie. The one on the left showed values that were generally lower with very small fluctuations. The one on the right showed values that were exceptionally high, staying almost constantly at a peak. Yu Zhouyao knew exactly which belonged to whom.

“These are brain activity maps fitted from your pheromone fluctuations. Zhouyao, your values are low and flat. Hers are high and steep. Based on long-term medical experience, both of your profiles are rare. Mingyue’s condition, however, can be definitively diagnosed as pathological. Do you have any thoughts on these?”

Yu Zhouyao blinked, cleared her throat, and said nothing.

Pei Xian didn’t push. “If you think of anything, let me know as soon as possible.”

“I will. Dr. Pei, can I take a closer look at these?”

As she studied the charts, Mu Mingyue’s data perfectly matched her “Mental Blood-Burning” hypothesis, a state of being passively held at high mental output. For someone already at such a high baseline, any further surge toward a peak would inevitably trigger a loss of control.

Mental status and pheromone fluctuations are nearly identical, Zhouyao thought. This isn’t a coincidence.

“Dr. Pei, what data were these charts based on?” “Your pheromone fluctuations.” “Can you be more specific? My data is from last week but what about the other one?”

Pei Xian’s expression turned solemn. “The Mu family records Mingyue’s data at regular intervals. Her chart is fitted from a massive amount of data collected since she was fifteen including periods of normalcy and periods of total loss of control.”

Yu Zhouyao stared at the right-hand chart. High values, steep waves, yet the fluctuations weren’t as chaotic as she expected. It was as if the data was screaming at the viewer: the subject is dangerous, and the level of danger is constant.

“Is it only pheromone data?” Zhouyao asked. “Is there mental power data?” Dr. Pei frowned. “I have it, but only for Mingyue. What are you thinking?” “Could you fit a mental power fluctuation map for both of us and then compare it to the pheromone maps?”

“You suspect… that pheromones and mental power fluctuate in sync?” Pei Xian noted. “You asked a similar question last time.”

Yu Zhouyao nodded. “Last time I asked if mental power could be visualized, and you said the military has its own methods. The Mu family has operated in the Thirteenth Army for a long time. As their relative, you must have a way to know what methods they use.”

Pei Xian snapped the folder shut. “I don’t know, and I can’t say. You aren’t allowed to ask further, and you’d better not keep investigating.”

“Is it so dangerous that it makes your face change like that, Dr. Pei?”

Pei Xian leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Why the rush? Mingyue told you there’s a physical at the end of the semester. You’ll find out then.”

Realizing she wouldn’t get more, Yu Zhouyao said her goodbyes and left. She had gained some answers but added many more questions. She felt like she was walking too fast; before she could map the environment, she had stepped into deep water, and the whirlpools at the bottom were threatening to pull her under.

The fear of half-knowledge was much more torturous than total ignorance.

Heavy coursework left her no time for idle brooding. The dense schedule and complex assignments kept her running. Instructor Zhai, thrilled by her “extraordinary talent,” had accelerated their pace to rocket speeds; she was now expected to design and assemble a mecha from existing parts.

“Teacher Zhai… don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast?” she had weakly protested. “Mhm? Really? Haha. You learn fast, so I teach fast,” he replied, adjusting his glasses.

Yu Zhouyao spent the entire weekend in the workshop staring at blueprints until she wanted to vomit. After pulling several all-nighters, she managed to hand-assemble what could be described as a miniature mecha.

Just like the week before, Mu Mingyue visited her in the evenings, bringing snacks and drinks Yu Zhouyao had never seen. Zhouyao would lie flat on the floor, exhausted, looking up at the young miss.

Weeks bled into one another. On school days, she sprinted between core and elective classes, taking “beatings” from various instructors. After class, she lived in the library or the workshop. Combat training, mecha training, engineering training, and a sea of theoretical courses—her brain was stuffed so full of knowledge it felt like it might stop working.

On weekends, she’d go with Mu Mingyue to Dr. Pei’s for “talk therapy.” She used every spare second—eating, walking—to search for information. She found nothing. Dr. Pei didn’t call her for private data reviews again, and Zhouyao didn’t know if the doctor was taking her suggestions seriously. Both Mu women were impossible to read.

The massive, unresolved mystery weighed on her. She had a nagging premonition that something was going to go wrong. Pheromones, mental power, and mechas put those three together and the potential for disaster was infinite. If it didn’t happen to her, it would happen to Mu Mingyue, or to any of the thousands of soldiers and students.

Finally, a month later, it happened during mecha class.

With a thunderous crash, several mechas slammed into the ground. Everyone froze. From her cockpit, Yu Zhouyao saw the fallen machines, their alloy shells webbed with fine cracks.

Instructor Colin moved with practiced efficiency, broadcasting an order for everyone to stay in their cockpits and stand by. Medical personnel arrived almost instantly. Mu Mingyue landed her mecha beside Yu Zhouyao’s.

“Zhouyao…” “I don’t know what happened yet. Let’s wait for the instructor’s report.”

Yu Zhouyao had been busy sparring with Mu Mingyue and hadn’t seen the fall. She whispered to her own machine, “Grandma, did you see what happened?”

“Hmph… of course I did. I’m not like you; I have eyes and ears everywhere.” “Yes, yes, you’re the greatest. Probably the greatest mecha on this entire campus,” Zhouyao coaxed. “As long as you know it. Those kids fell for a simple reason: abnormal mental power output. You’re still learning flight maneuvers; when they tried to glide into a turn, their output frequency and magnitude went haywire. They lost balance and dropped.”

Mental power again, Yu Zhouyao frowned.

Taking advantage of the instructors’ distraction, she hopped out of her cockpit. The moment she hit the ground, she smelled several dense pheromone scents, all jumbled together. And pheromones too. She bit her lip.

She messaged Mu Mingyue, telling her to stay in her mecha, while she stood on the ground observing. She had no equipment, only her instincts. The mental power was chaotic—typical for a crash—but the intensity was much lower than Mu Mingyue’s. However, the pheromones were aggressive, as if everyone had unleashed their worst, most violent sides. It felt like a brawl between space pirates.

Other instructors arrived and shooed her back into her cockpit. “Student Yu Zhouyao, the ground is dangerous right now. Get back inside.” “Oh, okay.”

Back in her cockpit, she described what she felt to Mu Mingyue. Mu Mingyue was silent for a moment. “Are you sure about those details, Zhouyao?”

Yu Zhouyao chuckled. “Miss Mu, don’t you trust me? I’m on the Mu family payroll now; I wouldn’t dare lie to you.”

“I do trust you,” Mu Mingyue said softly. “The situation you described sounds very similar to my own ‘episodes.'”

“Mhm,” Yu Zhouyao replied. “It’s a loss of mental power control leading to a secondary loss of pheromone control. It’s just… their intensity wasn’t as high as yours.”

Mu Mingyue tapped her comms. “I see. I understand. I will discuss this with my family.” Her voice was devoid of emotion.

Yu Zhouyao wasn’t worried about the young miss losing control. She was worried about the frequency. How often was this happening? How long would those injured students be out of commission? And with Mu Mingyue’s condition, how much longer could her mental power hold out?

The bell rang, sounding mechanical and cold. Within five minutes, the Dawn Academy forums were flooded with posts about the accident.

Panic was setting in.

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