Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 14

Ji Yao still wasn’t completely at ease. She thought that since Qin Zishu wasn’t home today, she might as well take the opportunity to go to the hospital and get her secondary gender tested.

Before she died in her past life, she had never undergone differentiation. Now that she had been reborn, if she still hadn’t differentiated, that was fine. But if she had, she needed to make early preparations.

Fortunately, this so-called “system” wasn’t entirely useless—it could still handle some basic requests.

No reason not to make use of it. Ji Yao simply treated it as her own personal electronic butler.

To give credit where it’s due, the system was quite generous with money. The moment Ji Yao spoke up, a large sum was transferred into her phone account.

When she noticed the transaction, she was just about to question it when the system calmly explained that it was a “reasonable measure” to prevent her from breaking character.

Even though the phone was one Qin Zishu had given her—and the transfer had come from Qin Zishu’s account—Ji Yao wasn’t the least bit worried about getting caught or causing a story collapse.

“Doesn’t use electricity, available twenty-four seven, honestly, pretty handy,” she said approvingly after pocketing the money. “If you weren’t such a piece of junk otherwise, I might even like you a little.”

The system replied in its usual flat tone, “I’ll try.”

Pleased, Ji Yao scheduled a private VIP checkup at the hospital.

“Not in a hurry,” she murmured lazily. “Let’s rest a bit first. That little brat kept me up all night yesterday.”

System: “Where are you going?”

Ji Yao: “I’ll tell you later. Don’t want you glitching out and giving me a random mission midway.”

Meanwhile, Qin Zishu had napped in the car before arriving just on time at the restaurant Director Huo had chosen.

It was a high-end place with excellent ambience—and most importantly, no other guests.

As Luo Juan accompanied her inside, she explained, “Director Huo’s just like you—doesn’t like crowds.”

Qin Zishu nodded. She got along well with Director Huo precisely because their temperaments were similar.

Turning a corner, the waiter led them into a private room where they were greeted by the sight of Huo Qi sitting cross-legged on the floor.

The restaurant was tucked away and rarely opened to the public. Instead of standard tables and chairs, it was styled more like a serene lounge, decorated in elegant, old-fashioned Japanese tones.

The great Director Huo had clearly made himself at home—sitting comfortably on an expensive mat, a delicate lava cake half-melting in his hand.

Normally, he was impeccably dressed in suits. Today, however, he wore loose cotton-linen casuals, looking unusually relaxed.

“Director Huo’s surprisingly laid-back when he’s off the clock,” Qin Zishu greeted.

He waved a hand dismissively.

Qin Zishu blinked. “We’re here to talk work? Did something happen?”

Huo Qi snorted. “Can’t you read the room? I need a favor.”

Qin Zishu: “…”

Ah. The lava cake had dripped onto his shirt.

“Sit, sit. This place belongs to a friend—no outsiders here,” he said, gesturing for Luo Juan and Xu Xiyan to settle nearby before turning to Qin Zishu. “I heard you’ve not been eating properly lately, looking all pale and listless. Since you’re here, stay for lunch.”

It was a simple meal—no social games, no drinking, none of the usual hidden agendas that plagued business dinners.

For once, Qin Zishu actually ate a bit more than usual.

“You skipped breakfast?” Huo Qi asked.

She recalled that disastrous fried egg from earlier that morning. Her brows twitched, but the corners of her lips curved faintly upward.

He gave her a sharp look. “You seem in good spirits. In love or something?”

“No,” she said calmly. “Just in a good mood lately.”

“You’re in a good mood, but I’m not,” he grumbled. “About that last audition—Jiang Jiaran’s team contacted me. I didn’t want to reject her too bluntly, so I told them she could test for the same role. But what do you do? You stood me up three times. Their company’s been wasting trips back and forth because of you. Honestly, you’re too much.”

Director Huo was infamous for his temper—just like Qin Zishu. When he didn’t like someone, he made it painfully obvious. As one of the industry’s most renowned directors, his scolding could be so creative and cutting that countless young actors had been reduced to tears.

The first time Qin Zishu worked with him, they’d argued all day over something trivial. The entire crew had tried to break them up, convinced their collaboration was doomed. Yet somehow, after discovering they were equally stubborn, they’d ended up on good terms instead.

Still, Huo Qi’s temper was legendary. He could be eccentric—but he was fiercely protective of his own.

That was why he was often a favorite target of online attacks.

Two people with reputations for scandal sticking together—naturally, they became friends.

Qin Zishu smiled faintly and offered a half-hearted apology. “Sorry for the trouble, Director Huo. Still, you picked me in the end. I bet she was fuming.”

“I was just going through the motions,” he said. “That role was made for you. No amount of money could make me replace you. And frankly, Jiang Jiaran’s all wrong for it. Her whole brand is ‘sweet and lovely’—she can’t pull off the lunacy that part needs.”

Qin Zishu: “…”

Was that a compliment or an insult? Hard to tell.

“Speaking of Jiang Jiaran,” Huo Qi went on, “not sure what’s up with her lately. When she came to audition, she looked like you—smiling dreamily but totally spaced out. These young starlets, honestly. Always getting wrapped up in some love affair, ready to hang themselves on the first crooked tree they find.”

“Ah?”

Qin Zishu felt a prickle of unease. She glanced at Luo Juan—who looked equally alarmed.

Could it be, Jiang Jiaran had found out about Ji Yao?

Qin Zishu thought she’d done a good job keeping Ji Yao hidden and safe. Even if she was discovered eventually, it shouldn’t have been this soon.

Wiping his hands, Huo Qi continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. “You two weren’t around, so I only caught bits of gossip. Apparently, someone from Jiang Jiaran’s past is coming back—a woman, beautiful, someone she used to admire.”

Qin Zishu’s eyelid twitched violently. She lowered her gaze—just in time to see a message from Ji Yao pop up on her phone:

Heading out for a bit. Got bored staying home.

Lou Juan leaned in and whispered, “A paparazzo from Jiang Jiaran’s side just leaked something—apparently, Jiang Jiaran drove halfway across the city just to go to a hospital near your place.”

Qin Zishu looked up at Huo Qi.

Without even glancing her way, Huo Qi said, “Go ahead. I’m fine here.”

Beside the hospital’s outpatient building stood a separate tower—unmarked, with few people coming or going.

Only a handful knew that this was an exclusive facility reserved for VIP clients.

Even the system had no idea how Ji Yao had managed to secure an appointment there so effortlessly.

System: “When did you even book this?”

Ji Yao: “The very second you transferred the money.”

System: “…”

Wait a minute—wasn’t this place supposed to be nearly impossible to access without verified VIP status? How did Ji Yao, someone who had just been reborn, manage to bypass everything and make a reservation right under its nose?

As a consciousness that shared thoughts with her, the system felt an uneasy ripple of something slipping out of its control.

Ji Yao had no obligation to explain. She stepped into the empty elevator and pressed for the 11th floor.

Hardly anyone ever came here. Just as the doors were about to close, a sweet female voice called out from outside.

“Wait, please!”

A young woman hurried in, practically running to catch the elevator. Several people followed her from behind, but as soon as she stepped inside and stood beside Ji Yao, she immediately pressed the close door button without hesitation.

She looked to be in her early twenties—about the same age as Qin Zishu, Ji Yao thought—and oddly familiar.

The girl was slightly out of breath. “Thank you, jiejie.”

The others could only watch helplessly as the elevator doors slid shut before them.

Ji Yao didn’t reopen them. She had a faint feeling this young woman didn’t want her pursuers to catch up—like a runaway heiress defying her family. Oddly enough, there was something cool about that.

“You’re heading to the eleventh floor too? What a coincidence.” The girl looked at her shyly, eyes bright with curiosity. “Did you book an appointment too? Maybe we can go together?”

So forward, huh?

Ji Yao studied her quietly. Though she was in her early twenties, her styling leaned deliberately toward “sweet and youthful.” Everything about her—makeup, hairstyle, clothes—looked carefully curated by a talent agency, like a doll polished to perfection.

“Sure,” Ji Yao said with a gentle smile. “I was just thinking it’d be lonely to go alone.”

The girl beamed and extended her hand. “Jiejie, my name is Jiang Jiaran.”

Well then. Since you didn’t recognize me at first glance, you’d better remember me from now on.

Jiang Jiaran’s smile was dazzling—sweet as honey, flawlessly practiced. It was the kind of smile that could melt anyone under its warmth.

Anyone but Ji Yao. She accepted the handshake politely but didn’t seem to recall who the girl was.

The name did sound vaguely familiar, but back in her previous life as a celebrity, Ji Yao had met thousands of people, heard countless names. How could she possibly remember a little girl from an orphanage?

Jiang Jiaran’s perfect smile almost cracked. The moment Ji Yao let go of her hand, realization hit—Ji Yao didn’t remember her.

She stared at Ji Yao in disbelief, her beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears.

To her, Ji Yao had been the only light in her bleak childhood.

She had said she liked her back then—so why didn’t she remember now?

She hadn’t even changed that much! It had only been ten years!

Jiang Jiaran wanted to move closer, to ask why, to remind her—You said my face was pretty, that I was sensible and well-behaved.

Inside the mirrored elevator, Ji Yao felt slightly uncomfortable under the girl’s intense gaze. To ease the tension, she spoke first.

“Your nose is very pretty.”

Jiang Jiaran froze.

That—those exact words were what Ji Yao had said to her more than a decade ago.

She’d once told her she loved her nose, that it was delicate, like a porcelain doll.

So, when the company later wanted to “enhance” her features, Jiang Jiaran had refused—stubbornly. That nose was her pride, the one beautiful thing left untouched from her gray childhood—the one feature Ji Yao had praised.

Back then, Jiang Jiaran had hated the orphanage, dreamed of escaping it. Ji Yao’s arrival had been like sunlight breaking through a dusty window, showing her a glimpse of a dazzling world outside. She had longed for Ji Yao to take her away.

She’d tried her best to please her—to make Ji Yao remember her. With her obedient demeanor and pretty face, she’d succeeded, even becoming one of Ji Yao’s shortlisted choices for adoption.

But Ji Yao had lied.

She’d said Jiang Jiaran was the most well-behaved child she’d ever met—so why, when she finally left, did she take away that rebellious Qin Zishu instead?

Jiang Jiaran stared at her reflection in the elevator mirror, fingers curling tightly at her sides.

It didn’t matter. So, what if Ji Yao forgot? She wasn’t the powerless little girl she used to be.

Even if she wasn’t worthy yet, she’d find a way to win her back.