Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 10.2

She never expected it to unravel so soon.

Once again, she had failed to keep her.

Qin Zishu thought bitterly—maybe she should just start over. If she died, the loop would reset. She’d return to age fourteen, wait another ten years, and try again.

Her eyes dulled as she whispered, “Could you grab me an apple? I’ll tell you everything slowly.”

Ji Yao nodded and turned to leave.

There was a knife in the nightstand drawer. Qin Zishu had prepared it long ago—for moments like this. Every time she failed, she used it to reset the cycle.

Once you’ve done it a few times, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

She reached for it with trembling fingers—but before she could act, the knife was snatched from her hand.

Ji Yao stood before her, chest heaving, trembling in furious silence.

Then,

“Pa!”

A sharp, resounding slap echoed through the room.

A slap landed hard across Qin Zishu’s face, snapping her head to the side and silencing her completely.

Ji Yao threw the apple aside and pulled her into her arms, her voice trembling, almost breaking apart. “I won’t scold you anymore, okay? Just—don’t be so cruel to yourself. You can do whatever you want, I won’t say a word. Just please don’t do this, alright?”

Qin Zishu hesitated. Things hadn’t yet reached the worst point. She decided not to reset the loop this time—maybe she should stay a little longer and see her more.

She had been too impatient lately.

In her recent loops, she hadn’t truly reached the breaking point before giving up.

Qin Zishu gently patted Ji Yao’s back. “Jie, I just wanted to peel an apple.”

Peel your ass, Ji Yao thought darkly. Who keeps a fruit knife in the bedside drawer?

Only then did she understand why Qin Zishu had seemed so strange and pale the first time they met—there had already been a knife hidden in that drawer. She’d been on the edge from the start!

Ji Yao was shaken to the core.

No matter how angry she was, life was more important than anything.

At first, Ji Yao only intended to keep an eye on her to prevent her from harming others. Now, it seemed she had another duty—to make sure Qin Zishu kept on living.

“Forget it,” Qin Zishu said with a faint smile. “You won’t believe me anyway. It’s just like you think—I’ve been living in too much pain. So, I put a knife there, to cut off all my escape routes.”

Ji Yao steadied her voice. “Tell me what you want.”

Qin Zishu looked at her for a long moment before shaking her head. “I don’t want anything. Everything just feels meaningless.”

Ji Yao met her gaze seriously. “When you were seven, do you remember what you promised me?”

Qin Zishu lowered her head. “That I’d never lie to you again. I can’t lie to you.”

When she was seven, little Qin Zishu had failed an exam. When the teacher asked for a parent’s signature, she forged the handwriting and changed her score.

Of course, Ji Yao found out.

Yet Ji Yao still signed the paper. She didn’t scold her—she simply asked, “You changed your grade to trick me. But how are you going to explain this to your teacher?”

Little Qin Zishu had been defiant and unruly. “I’m not afraid of the teacher.”

“Then are you more afraid of me?” Ji Yao set down the pen with a serious expression. “You can dislike me if you want, but you must respect your teacher.”

Qin Zishu muttered, “She only wants your autograph. She doesn’t care what I scored.”

At that time, Qin Zishu hadn’t officially moved in yet; she was in the early stages of adoption. Ji Yao had been staying nearby to handle the donation paperwork.

In that small town, education was poor. The teacher, a fan of Ji Yao’s, wanted her signature so badly that she kept finding excuses to “call the parent,” treating Qin Zishu with a mix of flattery and manipulation.

When Ji Yao learned this, she immediately completed Qin Zishu’s transfer paperwork. As they stepped out of that dreadful school, Qin Zishu looked up in disbelief—Ji Yao had really done it. She’d taken her away, decisively and without hesitation.

To a child, that kind of loyalty and courage meant everything. Stunned, Qin Zishu had promised, “You’re not like the other parents. I’ll never lie to you again.”

As long as you always stand on my side.

That last part, she kept buried in her heart.

“Always stand by me” was the condition. If Ji Yao ever changed her heart—or that promise could no longer hold true—then Qin Zishu believed she had every right to keep lying.

Just like now.

What Qin Zishu wanted was Ji Yao—completely, body and soul. A wish she could never admit aloud. And because of that, Ji Yao could never truly stand on her side. So lying wasn’t breaking her promise, it was simply necessary.

Under the soft light, Ji Yao’s face was unreadable. She repeated quietly, “You promised not to lie to me. So say that again.”

Qin Zishu’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Ji Yao didn’t press her further. She only began to list, one by one, her “offenses.”

“That night at the banquet, I followed you downstairs. When Xu Xiyan accidentally brushed your arm, you immediately shook her off. It’s an old habit—you hate being touched. Always have. Except by me, right?”

Qin Zishu’s throat bobbed. She couldn’t meet her eyes.

“I only just realized,” Ji Yao continued softly. “I thought you didn’t recognize me that night—but now I see it. You must’ve known from the start.”

“That night, you could touch me without hesitation. That means you’d already decided to ‘act.’”

“The contract lasts a year. You didn’t even read the terms carefully.”

“You didn’t strike that night, maybe because of guilt—or something else. You slipped away early in the morning and only came back that evening. When I found out the truth, you wanted to die.”

Ji Yao’s voice hardened. “Qin Zishu, you’re pathetic.”

If there’d been a knife nearby, Qin Zishu thought, she would’ve died again without hesitation.

Ji Yao sighed deeply. “I know the child I raised isn’t rotten at the core. So I’ll be honest with you—you don’t have to pretend anymore. I already know.”

Qin Zishu said nothing.

Because “I know” could mean two completely different things.

It could mean I know you only pretended to be bad, which was fine—it meant forgiveness.

Or it could mean I know how you feel about me.

And that, she couldn’t even begin to face.

“I’m not the kind of person who cares much about relationships,” Ji Yao said quietly. “That’s true.”

Qin Zishu held her breath, staring at her.

“I think you’re stubborn, and your thoughts are hard for me to understand,” Ji Yao continued with a weary exhale. “But even if I don’t understand, I can cooperate. I don’t mind trying. After all, you can’t rely on inhibitors forever. Life has to go on.”

Qin Zishu’s fingers tightened around her arm, veins visible on her neck. “Try what?”

Ji Yao met her eyes. “If you really want this, we can try.”

Luo Juan spent the whole night worrying.

She knew how obsessive and unstable Qin Zishu could be, and she couldn’t help but imagine the worst—forcing Ji Yao into something she didn’t want.

Ji Yao, proud and straightforward as she was, already had to hold herself together while pretending to be calm. Acting had been her job before she died; now that she’d come back to life, she still had to keep up the act for Qin Zishu’s sake.

How exhausting must that be?

Qin Zishu, oh, Qin Zishu, you really have no shame.

The shameless Qin Zishu was finally coaxed to sleep by Ji Yao. Ji Yao sighed, turned off the bedroom lights, noticed the bedside lamp still on, and quietly switched that one off too.

Then she stepped out of the room.

And for the first time, she wondered—why had she stopped “acting” alongside her so soon?

As she walked down the hall, restless and conflicted, she realized that the feeling she was trying to suppress inside her was only growing stronger.