Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 13

Qin Zishu had just drifted off to sleep, sinking gently through layers of dreams. Only when her body began to rest did her mind finally loosen and start to unwind—until a burst of noise rudely tore through the calm.

It was music—strange, unfamiliar, and utterly jarring.

Because it was unfamiliar, it felt unsettling. Irritated beyond measure, Qin Zishu got up and searched for the source of the noise—only to discover it was her phone.

She hardly ever turned her ringer on, so even her own ringtone sounded foreign.

“What happened?” she asked calmly after seeing who was calling, already prepared to listen patiently.

Of course, nothing had happened.

Luo Juan didn’t dare admit the truth—that she’d just felt uneasy and wanted to call.

“Are you awake?” Luo Juan asked.

“I rarely sleep,” Qin Zishu replied. “You know that.”

“The audition went well,” Luo Juan said. “Director Huo was very pleased. Jiang Jiaran is furious—her studio’s going crazy posting smear articles about you. I’ve already suppressed most of them.”

“It’s fine, whether you do or not,” Qin Zishu said casually. She knew Jiang Jiaran couldn’t stir up much trouble anyway. “You wouldn’t call me over something that trivial.”

Luo Juan hesitated, then switched to a more legitimate reason. “Director Huo wants to talk to us about something. Xu Xiyan and I will drop by later. Also, take care of your condition these days—there’s an event you’ll need to attend tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Qin Zishu replied listlessly.

She’d much rather stay home with Ji Yao.

“Time to eat,” Ji Yao said, knocking on the doorframe. “Aunt Zhao isn’t feeling well today, so I told her not to come. I made breakfast myself. Come and try it—see if my cooking’s improved.”

“I need to go out later to discuss work.”

Qin Zishu didn’t sound remotely interested. The same routines, over and over—she’d gone through this cycle so many times that nothing felt new anymore.

Ji Yao sat across from her. “Do you hate your work that much?”

“I never liked being in front of a camera,” Qin Zishu said. “There’s no ‘hate’ about it—it’s just not something I enjoy. Being a celebrity was never my choice.”

Ji Yao chuckled. “You know, most people would kill for your opportunities. You really don’t appreciate what you have. With your looks—and that distinctive style—you’re one of a kind. You know, single eyelids can be both a weakness and a strength in this industry.”

Qin Zishu chewed and muttered, “They’re always telling me I look cold on camera, like I’m judging the audience. Every day it’s, ‘Open your eyes wider.’ But what can I do? Single eyelids are just tricky.”

“You’re the most beautiful single-eyelid girl I’ve ever seen,” Ji Yao said generously. “Beauty reigns supreme—if you’re pretty, nothing else matters. Look at you—your acting’s awful, but that face alone’s earned you half the awards in the country.”

Qin Zishu: “…”

Thanks for the compliment. Appetite gone.

“Hey, I’m joking—don’t get mad.” Ji Yao apologized with a grin. “It’s not just your looks. The award judges are all old friends of ours—they practically watched you grow up.”

Qin Zishu gave up pretending: “Not just that. One of the judges also happens to be the investor for my next film.”

Ji Yao smiled with absolute confidence. “See? Miss Qin, the superstar—your future’s bright.”

Qin Zishu stared at the overcooked fried egg and sighed. “My egg’s burnt. My future’s not looking bright at all.”

“That’s life,” Ji Yao said, still smiling. “We all have to swallow things we don’t like. You don’t like being on camera, but you still have to face it for work. And just like that burnt egg—you don’t like it, but you’ll still have to smile and eat it, otherwise, the guardian might just spank the picky little child.”

Qin Zishu froze mid-bite, dropped her utensils, and bolted out of the dining room.

Of course—it always came back to that tormenting problem. Picky eating. And only heaven knew why Ji Yao’s cooking managed to defy physics—how could anyone burn food in a nonstick pan? The egg was bitter, charred, yet somehow still half-raw.

Qin Zishu chose flight over suffering.

Luo Juan arrived at Qin Zishu’s house with Xu Xiyan, who looked as nervous as a quail.

Before pressing the doorbell, one was polishing her glasses while the other munched on a jianbing guozi—neither expected the door to open right away.

They were used to this routine: bombard her with calls for half an hour, knock for another ten minutes, ring the bell nonstop. If they were lucky, the housekeeper might still be there to let them in early.

If the housekeeper wasn’t around—well, then it’d be a real challenge.

But this time, before Luo Juan could even knock, the electronic lock beeped—and someone came rushing out like a storm.

Qin Zishu.

Barefoot.

She’d run out barefoot, clutching her shoes.

At the doorway, Ji Yao stood holding a tall porcelain vase. She and the two visitors stared at each other in mutual shock.

The silence was finally broken by Xu Xiyan, who let out an awkward hiccup.

Then Ji Yao remembered her “canary” act. She lowered her eyes shyly, smiling as she explained, “I was just doing some housework, and then Sister Qin said she wanted to play something a little fun with me.”

Xu Xiyan choked violently on her drink—please, for the love of all that’s holy, could she not hold that priceless vase like a baseball bat? If that thing’s value were converted into eggs, the cholesterol alone would kill you.

Unfortunately, Xu Xiyan was too busy coughing to intervene. Compared to her, Luo Juan remained composed. She pushed her glasses up and said smoothly, “Understood. Thank you for looking after things here. If anything comes up, feel free to contact us anytime.”

Ji Yao set the vase down casually in the entryway, still smiling sweetly. “Of course.”

Xu Xiyan gawked at the vase on the floor, eyes bulging.

Luo Juan grabbed her arm and nodded politely to Ji Yao—then dragged her away at lightning speed.

“Gone like the wind,” Ji Yao murmured, gazing at the crumbs of jianbing guozi left behind.

The thin crispy layer—the soul of the pancake—had shattered completely in the chaos.

Xu Xiyan mourned, “That crisp part is the soul of a jianbing guozi! Such a big piece all gone.”

Luo Juan: “…”

She glanced at Qin Zishu, now crouched a few steps away putting her shoes back on, and for a fleeting moment, wondered who among them was really the strange one here.