Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 10.1

After spending so much time alone at home, Ji Yao found herself growing idle. Out of boredom, she decided to check out the last room at the end of the second-floor hallway—the one Qin Zishu had mentioned.

According to Qin Zishu, it was just a storage room.

Just ordinary? Ji Yao didn’t buy that.

The very fact that Qin Zishu didn’t want her going there made it anything but ordinary.

But, when Ji Yao placed her hand on the door and gave it a light push, she realized the room wasn’t even locked.

All she had to do was nudge the door open, and the secret inside would be hers to see.

“Sigh.”

She withdrew her hand—not out of guilt, but because she figured that a grown child having secrets wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

No matter how strange that room was, she doubted anything inside could surprise her anymore.

When Qin Zishu came home, she brought Ji Yao a brand-new phone.

It was true—Ji Yao didn’t have one. After her rebirth, the system hadn’t set up much for her. The only thing it had properly arranged was a simple ID card.

Ji Yao had once complained to the system, “You’re really a useless system, you know that?”

The system replied, “It’s my first time doing this. As long as nothing goes terribly wrong, it’s fine.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Qin Zishu handed her the phone with a perfectly reasonable excuse: “Since you’ll be living with me from now on, you might need to contact some new friends. I’ve already saved my number, Xu Xiyan’s, and Lou Juan’s in there. If there’s ever an emergency, you can reach me right away.”

She added casually, “It’s also to prevent you from accidentally sending messages to your old friends or family.”

After all, being someone’s “canary” wasn’t exactly something to broadcast.

Ji Yao accepted the phone without comment, perfectly aware of what Qin Zishu meant.

She unlocked it, opened the chat app, and sent Xu Xiyan a sticker—just a simple greeting. When she looked up again, Qin Zishu had already gone to shower.

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

Xu Xiyan said, “Something’s off with Qin-jie today. Be careful not to set her off.”

Ji Yao replied, “I’m not afraid of getting on her nerves.”

Xu Xiyan sent a crying emoji.

Something clicked in Ji Yao’s mind—she suddenly recalled how pale Qin Zishu had looked earlier. On a hunch, she asked, “Did she eat anything tonight?”

Xu Xiyan replied, “I’ve been with her all day. She hasn’t had a single bite.”

Ji Yao paused.

Was she trying to die? Not only had she not rested properly last night, but she’d also gone the entire day without eating.

She remembered their car ride together—Qin Zishu had mentioned she suffered from insomnia and a poor appetite. Ji Yao hadn’t taken it seriously at the time, thinking it was just a casual remark. But now, it seemed all too real.

This was more than just fatigue—it was a psychological problem. The pressure had built up so much that it had begun to affect her body.

Ji Yao texted back, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she eats something and takes her medicine before bed.”

Xu Xiyan responded, “There’s medicine in the coffee table drawer in the living room. Qin-jie never takes it. If you can persuade her, please coax her into at least taking some.”

Ji Yao opened the drawer and found a box of stomach medicine.

She stared at it for a moment. “She has a stomach condition too?”

“Yeah,” Xu Xiyan replied, “She was diagnosed three years ago, but she’s always ignored it.”

Ji Yao picked up one box—unopened. She checked another—still sealed.

Chronic gastritis, and she didn’t even bother to treat it.

A spark of anger flared in Ji Yao’s chest. Not because of inconvenience, but because Qin Zishu—an adult—couldn’t even take basic care of herself. Living every day in quiet self-destruction, she made people want to shake some sense into her.

The sound of running water still came from the bathroom.

Ji Yao grabbed the medicine, went into the kitchen, washed some vegetables, and began cooking—simple dishes: porridge and blanched greens.

When Qin Zishu finally came out, towel-drying her hair, Ji Yao was sitting at the dining table, watching her.

“I’m not hungry,” Qin Zishu said flatly.

Ji Yao’s expression didn’t change. “Of course you’re not. Your stomach probably doesn’t even feel like yours anymore.”

Qin Zishu froze where she stood.

Ji Yao sighed, softening her tone. “Just eat a little, hmm? Eat something, then take your medicine. Xu Xiyan told me you haven’t eaten all day.”

Qin Zishu’s eyes flickered. She crossed the room and sat opposite her. “She told you that? I just wasn’t in the mood today. No appetite.”

Ji Yao pushed a plate toward her. “Then eat something light.”

Silence fell. The only sound in the large kitchen was the soft clinking of utensils as Qin Zishu ate. She moved slowly, chewing each bite as if it took effort. Ji Yao couldn’t tell if she was forcing herself—or savoring it.

Then, suddenly, Qin Zishu put down her chopsticks, smiled with bright eyes, and said, “It’s really good.”

Ji Yao froze.

For a moment, the woman in front of her overlapped with the little girl from so many years ago—the small Qin Zishu who had once sat at her table, eyes sparkling as she said with pure sincerity: “Your cooking is delicious.”

“If you like it,” Ji Yao said softly, “I can make it for you every day—but only if you promise to eat on time and take your medicine.”

Qin Zishu nodded almost instantly. “Okay.”

The word had barely left her lips when she bent forward, clutching her stomach. “It hurts.”

Ji Yao handed her the prepared medicine and helped her to the bedroom. “You didn’t sleep well last night. Don’t push yourself. Rest first.”

Qin Zishu murmured a quiet “mm,” and let herself be guided onto the bed.

Sleep was a natural cure for pain. Ji Yao didn’t know what had happened to her today, but as long as she stayed by her side, she wouldn’t let her suffer alone.

Qin Zishu drew a shaky breath. Ji Yao couldn’t tell whether it was from stomach pain or heartache. She looked hollow—like a doll that had lost its soul—as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

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

Ji Yao looked at her, surprised. Even now, she was asking for that—it meant her susceptibility period probably wasn’t an act. What happened yesterday might not have been manipulation after all.

Suppressant patches were useful in emergencies, but long-term reliance could cause side effects.

Ji Yao didn’t know exactly what those were, but she’d always believed in living healthily and naturally. She didn’t approve of constant dependence on such things.

Before her rebirth, she hadn’t even known about these “secondary gender” classifications. Maybe she’d been dead too long, and her memories had blurred. But one thing she was sure of—if she was in a differentiated body now, she’d never want to rely on suppressants all the time.

Still, Qin Zishu’s condition tonight was special.

Ji Yao nodded. “Alright. I’ll go get it for you.”

Qin Zishu’s face was half-hidden in the shadows. “In the cabinet across from you,” she murmured.

Suppressant patches kept in the bedroom? Ji Yao caught that detail immediately. It suggested something—Qin Zishu probably didn’t rely on them often, did she?

Following the directions, Ji Yao opened the cabinet, took out a new box, and—while doing so—slipped the instruction leaflet discreetly into her sleeve.

She handed the patch to Qin Zishu. “Put it on yourself.”

Qin Zishu nodded. “Good night.”

Ji Yao didn’t stay. She rose and went to another room.

Once the door was closed, she pulled out the leaflet and scanned through it until she found the section on side effects:

[Adverse Reactions]

Cardiovascular system: Rapid heartbeat, chest tightness, shortness of breath, dizziness, sluggish responses.

Digestive system: Loss of appetite, abnormal taste, difficulty swallowing.

Psychiatric: Decreased libido, insomnia, nervousness, anxiety.

Ji Yao: “…”

Every single one of those symptoms fit perfectly.

[Cautions]

This product is for temporary relief only. It must not be used long-term. In particular, Alpha individuals should not use these suppressant patches more than three times consecutively. If symptoms persist after a treatment course, seek medical help immediately. If the product’s effects weaken over time, consider resuming normal sexual activity or receiving pheromone comfort from another Alpha.

[Note:] Continuous use by Alphas may cause pheromone release obstruction, imbalance, or mutation, among other pathological consequences.

In short: these things were made for Omegas. Any Alpha using them was practically courting death.

Ji Yao was speechless.

Didn’t Qin Zishu find new partners every month? Why would she need to rely on suppressants to get through her susceptibility periods? Was she deliberately torturing herself?

Or was it that S-class Alphas were so powerful that even their “canaries” couldn’t satisfy them, forcing them to depend on patches just to function?

That couldn’t be it.

Ji Yao wasn’t an expert in these matters, but even she knew that theory didn’t make sense.

Which meant—there was only one explanation left.

Qin Zishu had already recognized her. She must have realized it last night, panicked, and didn’t dare lay a hand on her. Then she ran off early in the morning, only to be caught again by the surveillance system she herself had installed.

After being emotionally tormented all day, she finally broke down by nightfall and begged Ji Yao to fetch the suppressant patch for her.

Wait.

Ji Yao: “…”

Then what the hell was with that ten-year contract? Shouldn’t Qin Zishu have been trying to get out of this mess as fast as possible—cut ties, replace her, anything but signing a decade-long deal?

Ten years? Was she planning to survive ten years on suppressant patches? Or maybe live like some ascetic monk?

Or was this all a scheme—to deceive her, to make their relationship seem inevitable?

Whichever it was, the more Ji Yao thought about it, the more furious she became.

She stormed back into the room.

Qin Zishu, though physically weak, still had her usual sharp tongue. With a teasing tone, she asked, “Why’d you come back? Planning to replace the suppressant patch yourself.”

“Qin—Zi—Shu!” Ji Yao snapped, yanking the blanket aside and grabbing her by the arm, forcing both her wrists above her head—just like when they were children. “Still pretending? Is this fun for you? Doesn’t your conscience hurt?”

Qin Zishu froze.

That careless, aloof attitude she always wore shattered instantly. She just stared blankly, completely thrown off.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Under normal circumstances, even if Ji Yao had noticed something, she should’ve pretended not to, keeping up the polite act, continuing their mutual façade.

But now, Qin Zishu felt like a tragic heroine in a play—one who had painstakingly rehearsed her lines—only to have a comedian suddenly storm the stage and drag her off mid-scene.

This was not the script.

“You.” Qin Zishu stammered, her voice uncertain. She didn’t dare tear the pretense apart. “What are you talking about?”

Ji Yao, straightforward as ever, couldn’t stand her self-destructive fatalism.

So, she did what came naturally—she punished her like a misbehaving child, landing a sharp slap on her backside. Qin Zishu yelped in surprise, instantly curling up like a frightened shrimp.

“Let go!” she struggled.

But Ji Yao had the advantage—Qin Zishu was weak right now. She pinned her wrists easily and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up. “This house is huge. No one will hear you even if you yell. Still think you can ignore me? Go ahead—let’s see which gives out first, your strength or my patience.”

Ji Yao was genuinely furious this time. If anyone was to blame, it was Qin Zishu herself. If she wasn’t so damn reckless, Ji Yao wouldn’t have been driven to this point.

Her voice grew cold and sharp:

“Ten-year contract? A new girl every month? Skipping meals? Staying up all night? Drinking—cold drinks, even? You know who I am, and you still bugged my room? And those suppressant patches—throw them out, every last one! What’s wrong with you, Qin Zishu? Have you completely lost it?”

Qin Zishu began to cry.

“And you still have the nerve to cry,” Ji Yao shot back, exasperated. “You did this to yourself! Are you stupid? If you’re sick, go see a doctor! You know your pheromones are unstable, you know you’re an S-class Alpha, and yet you keep pushing your body until it breaks—ruining your reputation on top of that! What the hell are you trying to do? I really don’t get you.”

“Stop scolding me,” Qin Zishu sobbed.

Ji Yao let out a long breath. The anger slowly ebbed away. She sat back down, watching Qin Zishu cry. “If there’s something you’re hiding, mind telling me?”

There was.

She just wanted to keep her close.

But she didn’t have the courage, so she used clumsy, shameful tricks to tie the other woman to her—anything, even false affection, was better than nothing.