Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 15

The atmosphere inside the elevator could hardly be called harmonious. Ji Yao was completely baffled.

Who was this person?

Why did she suddenly look so upset?

Did I do something to offend her?

All I did was compliment her nose, wasn’t it?

When Ji Yao glanced again, Jiang Jiaran’s mood had clearly sunk, her eyes faintly glistening with tears.

Ji Yao sighed inwardly.

Sigh.

Her heart felt so tired. Who could possibly understand her suffering? She had just finished coaxing that little brat of a rabbit yesterday, and now she had to deal with this.

Life was too hard.

Ji Yao subtly shifted to the side, silently begging the elevator to hurry up and stop at the next floor.

The worst thing that could happen in an elevator—aside from a mechanical failure—was when it stopped at every single floor and no one got in.

The elevator doors opened and closed again and again—seven or eight times in total—without a single person entering.

Of course, the VIP area had fewer people, but still, did the elevator really have to stop at every floor?

“Jiejie, do you know me?” Jiang Jiaran finally couldn’t take it anymore and blurted out directly, “Or do I at least look a little familiar to you?”

Ji Yao’s mind exploded. System! System! Who is this person? Help! Save me!

The system replied: 【Please hold. No signal in the elevator.】

Ji Yao: ?

What kind of garbage system can’t even work inside an elevator?

With no help from her so-called assistant, Ji Yao could only rely on observation. The girl had come in with a small entourage—based on Ji Yao’s years of experience, she was probably a minor celebrity.

Not a big name, though.

Ji Yao was sure of it.

Because true A-list stars always went to great lengths to stay out of sight—they wouldn’t stroll into a hospital without a disguise like this one.

Besides, she was too young to have reached nationwide fame.

Putting all that together, Ji Yao figured it out.

The girl was probably a somewhat well-known up-and-coming starlet, hoping Ji Yao would recognize her. When she didn’t, disappointment set in—and hence, the tears.

Ji Yao cleared her throat. She might as well comfort her a little. Otherwise, if this girl started crying right in front of her, it’d be a nightmare.

She hated it when people cried—kids especially. Even someone around Qin Zishu’s age bawling could make her break out in cold sweat.

Forget it. Just coax her a bit.

Ji Yao put on a pleasant smile. “I’ve seen you—on TV. You look even better in person than on camera.”

The universal compliment for young celebrities.

In her previous life, when Ji Yao herself was a star, this was exactly what she’d say to any younger artist she didn’t recognize. It was a safe conversation starter—after a round of polite modesty, the other person would usually find a way to change the topic.

Ji Yao thought her answer was flawless. But when she sneakily looked through the mirrored wall, she found that Jiang Jiaran’s eyes were even wetter than before.

Ji Yao: “…”

Huh? What did I say wrong this time?

Jiang Jiaran wiped the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you for remembering me, jie.”

Oh no.

Ji Yao’s stomach dropped.

What do you mean ‘for remembering’?

Could it be, someone she actually knew from before? Someone who had recognized her?

No way. She’d been dead for ten years. Normally, no one would recognize a person after such a long time.

Coming back from the dead was ridiculous even to her—so no one else would ever think of it.

Take Lou Juan, for instance; she hadn’t recognized her at all.

Ten years was long enough for most people to forget even a familiar face, unless they’d been extremely close. Otherwise, how could it be possible.

Unless—Jiang Jiaran had mistaken her for someone else.

Ji Yao decided to bluff her way through. “You must be mistaken. I don’t know any celebrity friends.”

But seeing Jiang Jiaran’s tears threaten to spill over again, Ji Yao’s scalp tingled. She wanted nothing more than to leap straight out of the elevator.

Jiang Jiaran’s voice trembled. “You can’t say that.”

Ji Yao thought, Why can’t I? I seriously don’t remember you!

“Jiaran, you must have me confused with someone else. I’ve never met you in real life.” Ji Yao pleaded silently with the elevator display, praying for the eleventh floor to hurry up and arrive.

Just then, the system suddenly chimed in:

【Mission #4: Return to the first floor. Immediately.】

Ji Yao stared at the display—her destination had just arrived.

“Are you kidding me?”

System, don’t tell me these missions are completely random!

【Countdown: 60, 59, 56, 52.】

Ji Yao: !!!

Why is it even counting down?

【Apologies, poor signal. 50, 47.】

You’ve got to be kidding me!

Ji Yao didn’t care whether Jiang Jiaran was still crying or not. She turned sharply and said, “You—get out.”

Jiang Jiaran’s sobs stopped abruptly. “Why?”

“The eleventh floor’s here.” Ji Yao gritted her teeth, struggling not to physically shove her out as the countdown blared in her head. “I just remembered I forgot something downstairs—I need to go back.”

Jiang Jiaran hesitated, voice soft and uncertain. “Then I’ll go down too. My team hasn’t caught up yet.”

Ji Yao didn’t waste time arguing; there were less than thirty seconds left. She quickly shut the doors, pressed the button for the first floor, and prayed this cursed elevator wouldn’t stop on every floor again.

Maybe heaven had taken pity on her, because this time, the elevator descended all the way in one smooth go.

【29, 24, 21, 10, 9.】

The first floor was just ahead, but Ji Yao was already drenched in a thin layer of sweat—she felt like she’d just danced on the edge of the underworld’s gate.

“Ding.”

Ji Yao looked up and saw the glowing “2F” sign.

The countdown only had five seconds left.

Ji Yao: “…”

So tired. Just end it all already.

Just then, the system seemed to freeze again, and the countdown went bizarre.

[5, 4.9. 4.83.]

Ji Yao: “…”

Really? Down to two decimal places?

Jiang Jiaran was still pressing her, eyes full of hurt. “Jie, take another good look at me. Think carefully.”

The elevator doors closed, continuing downward to the first floor.

Ji Yao let out a breath of relief and made one last weary attempt to explain. “We really don’t know each other. Honestly. I swear I don’t have any celebrity friends.”

The elevator doors slid open.

And standing right in front of her was Qin Zishu, greeting her with a line that nearly made Ji Yao’s soul leave her body:

“Didn’t we agree to come together?”

Jiang Jiaran: “…”

Outside the elevator, the two celebrity entourages stood in two distinct camps, a clear line of demarcation between them—like the Chu–Han border itself. Every face read the same expression: We have nothing to say to those people.

Of all the elevators in the building, of course they had to wait for this one.

The air was thick and awkward.

Qin Zishu’s smile was painfully fake as she slipped her arm naturally through Ji Yao’s. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Ji Yao thought, Weren’t you supposed to be busy? I just came to the hospital—why are you here too?

But she didn’t say anything aloud. Even a fool could sense the tension right now—one wrong word and things would only get worse.

“You ‘don’t know any celebrity friends,’ huh?” Jiang Jiaran said in a low, wounded voice, staring straight ahead. “You lied to me again.”

Ji Yao: “?”

Again?

Lied again?

Where the hell did that “again” come from?

And this brat who just showed up—what do you mean “we agreed to come together”? When did that happen?

Ji Yao’s face was full of dark lines as she resignedly joined the other two in staring straight ahead in silence.

Meanwhile, Qin Zishu’s hand slowly slid down Ji Yao’s arm until their fingers intertwined.

The moment their fingers touched, Ji Yao’s nerves—dutiful little messengers—delivered the startling truth: this brat must have run all the way here; her pulse was racing, heart pounding nearly 180 beats per minute.

It almost felt like Ji Yao was holding Qin Zishu’s heart in her hand—beating fast and loud, dragging Ji Yao’s own breathing along with it.

Gradually, their heartbeats synced.

Then, just as gradually, both calmed.

Ji Yao lowered the hand holding the elevator door open and asked evenly, “Anyone else coming in?”

Qin Zishu glanced around. Lou Juan instantly raised her phone to her ear. “Hello? Xiao Li? Oh yes, yes, about that thing we discussed the other day.”

Xu Xiyan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bent down to “look” for something. “Huh? I think I dropped something.”

On the other side of the invisible border, Jiang Jiaran’s team instinctively took a few steps back.

“Director Wang.”

“Oh, I just remembered something important.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Her face was expressionless, but inwardly she was wearing a mask of pain.

The doors closed again, and Ji Yao felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Qin Zishu gave Jiang Jiaran a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, if it isn’t Jiaran. What a coincidence! Long time no see.”

Jiang Jiaran’s gaze was icy. “We just saw each other at the audition not long ago.”

Ji Yao stared at their reflections in the mirrored wall, utterly defeated. What kind of cosmic joke is this.

“Jie,” Jiang Jiaran said gently, turning back to Ji Yao, “are you here for a checkup? Are you feeling unwell? I happen to know Dr. Zhao here—she can take us through the express lane, save us from all that boring procedure.”

Ji Yao thought, I’m perfectly fine. The only thing making me sick right now is this situation. If either of you would just leave, I’d feel a hundred times better.

“Haha, no, it’s just a routine checkup,” she said awkwardly. “No need for shortcuts—these things should be done step by step.”

And there it was again—the cursed elevator, crawling down one floor at a time, torturing her.

Qin Zishu tightened her hold on Ji Yao and said sharply, “Everyone here’s a VIP. We don’t need your connections.”

“Yes, yes, I wasn’t being thoughtful enough,” Jiang Jiaran replied coolly. “But you’re hardly one to talk—you let her come to the hospital alone. If it was me, I’d never let her go by herself.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Thanks, but the whole reason I came alone was to avoid you two.

“My mistake,” Qin Zishu said, deliberately lowering her voice just enough for all three of them to hear. “Sister, don’t be mad. I was really busy today, not like some people who have time to run around half the city. Next time you come to the hospital, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?”

The last word—“okay?”—was dripping with honey. Ji Yao had never heard her act this coy before, not in two lifetimes. It was physically painful to endure, like losing a year of life every time she spoke that way.

Ji Yao clenched her molars, goosebumps prickling all over her skin.

Jiang Jiaran snapped, “Qin Zishu!”

“Oh, don’t get mad, Jiaran. You’re supposed to be the sweet, gentle one, remember?” Qin Zishu said with venomous sweetness. “No cameras here—don’t tell me you drop the act the moment they’re gone, hmm?”

Then she leaned closer to Ji Yao again, speaking in that same “quiet” tone only the three of them could hear. “Don’t worry, Sister. Unlike some people, I don’t rely on fake personas for attention. No risk of getting exposed.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Neither of you has any right to be mocking anyone.

Yeah, sure—Miss Big Star Qin Zishu, who won her awards through connections.

At that awards ceremony, aside from the nominees, the rest of the audience were all “friends and family.” No wonder you’re not afraid of being exposed.