Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 23

Qin Zishu stepped forward silently, looking up at Ji Yao with an almost prayerful devotion. “Can you tell me the story of how you picked me out from all the other children again?” she asked earnestly.

This phrase wasn’t her own invention; Ji Yao had heard a version of it before, though the original line was: “Can you tell me the story of how you picked me out from all the other puppies again?”

The girl was certainly quick to apply what she learned. Ji Yao sighed helplessly and reached out to stroke her cheek. “It wasn’t that I chose you; it was fate that left you with no choice but to come with me.”

“If that hadn’t happened, would you still have taken me?” Qin Zishu pressed her cheek into Ji Yao’s palm, her expression unreadable. “Or to put it another way—what is your main criteria for choosing someone?”

“I’ve forgotten,” Ji Yao replied. “But given my personality back then, I probably would have preferred a well-behaved little Omega girl.”

Qin Zishu’s face darkened, and she tightened her grip on Ji Yao’s hand.

They had been at odds from the very beginning. Even when Qin Zishu was small, the friction was there.

Back then, Ji Yao had launched a charity project for orphanage children. As the founder and primary investor, she used her celebrity status to bring in massive sponsorships. She didn’t just show up for a photo op and leave; she often stayed at the locations personally for a few days at a time.

One such place was the Mount Kui Orphanage, where young Qin Zishu lived.

Compared to the other sponsored institutions, Ji Yao seemed to prefer staying at this dilapidated orphanage. Each time she visited, she would stay for several days. The children there quickly became familiar with her—take Jiang Jiaran, for instance. Ji Yao remembered her name and would always bring her beautiful dolls as special gifts.

Unlike young Qin Zishu.

Qin Zishu was a loner, out of place among the other children. Whenever gifts were being handed out, she would hide far away, as if those presents weren’t treats, but a curse called “indebtedness.” She avoided the outsiders; every time Ji Yao brought her team, Qin Zishu would rarely join the excitement.

“Why is there still one left?” asked a staff member responsible for distributing the gifts. “Did someone not get theirs?”

Ji Yao smiled and turned around. “I know who it is. Give it to me; I’ll go find the child.”

The staff exchanged looks. The orphanage supervisors broke into a cold sweat—the only “wild brat” in Mount Kui who would dare snub a star like Ji Yao was almost certainly Qin Zishu.

Ji Yao waved them off. “No need to follow. I’ll go by myself.”

Without realizing it, Ji Yao had already memorized where Qin Zishu stayed. She didn’t need anyone to lead the way. Upon reaching the door, she placed the gift on the outside windowsill and walked in empty-handed.

“I don’t want a gift,” young Qin Zishu said, sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms crossed. She watched Ji Yao for a few seconds before asking, “Did you not bring gifts for everyone this time?”

Ji Yao sat down. “I did.”

Usually, even if Qin Zishu didn’t come to collect her gift, Ji Yao would keep it for her. This time, however, Ji Yao truly had nothing in her hands.

“Oh. So you just didn’t bring me one.” Qin Zishu was still a child after all; she couldn’t hide the emotion in her eyes. She looked down, her expression dejected. “Forget it. I don’t care about those things anyway.”

“What do you care about?” Ji Yao asked.

Qin Zishu froze. It was a question she had never actually considered. What did she love? What did she want? She looked up, studying Ji Yao.

When Ji Yao attended events or walked red carpets on television, she was always in magnificent gowns, adorned with expensive jewelry. But every time she came to Mount Kui, she wore simple casual clothes. The only “accessory” she ever had was a pale yellow hair tie on her wrist.

Qin Zishu glanced at Ji Yao’s wrist and said, “I want your hair tie.”

Ji Yao hadn’t expected that answer. She hesitated, surprised.

“If you won’t give it, forget it,” Qin Zishu said, quickly giving herself an out. “I was just saying.”

“Is that all?” Ji Yao slid the tie off her wrist and held it in her palm. “As long as you can think of it, and it’s within my power, I will try my best to satisfy you.”

“Fleeting pleasures are useless; they only increase unrealistic fantasies,” Qin Zishu said in a tone far too old for her years. “I know the weight of my own fate. Even if you gave me a million-dollar necklace, I couldn’t hold onto it. It would only bring trouble.”

With Ji Yao’s status at the time, the necklaces she wore to events were worth far more than a million. To mention a million was almost an insult to her brand. But to young Qin Zishu, a million was an unreachable sum. She was right—even if Ji Yao gave her the money, she couldn’t manage her own life. How would she save it? How would she spend it? How could she keep it safe from those who would prey on her?

Ji Yao felt a profound sense of sorrow and helplessness. She pinched the thin hair tie between her fingers, looking at the child in silence.

She had asked Jiang Jiaran the same question. That little girl had been very obedient; when asked what she wanted, she said she only wanted a few moments of Ji Yao’s company. “If it’s okay, can you give me a hug?”

Ji Yao’s heart had melted then. She had patted the girl’s back and decided that if she were to take a child with her, it would be her.

Now, facing Qin Zishu, Ji Yao felt only a sense of powerlessness. At the time, Ji Yao had sentimentally thought that perhaps Qin Zishu wanted the hair tie as a memento, that the girl actually cared for her and wanted affection, but was too stubborn to ask for a hug.

Ji Yao opened her arms, offering a hug.

“You won’t give the gift without a hug?” Qin Zishu asked, genuinely confused. “Then I don’t want it.”

Ji Yao: “…”

She stood there in awkward silence, forced to retract the embrace. “Do you hate me?” she asked.

“I’m just not very fond of physical contact,” Qin Zishu replied bluntly. Especially with people I don’t know well.

Fortunately, though Qin Zishu was a rebel, she wasn’t entirely tactless. She hesitated, managing to suppress that last hurtful sentence.

“Then why do you want my hair tie?” Ji Yao was baffled. “It’s a personal item. I don’t understand what use it has other than being a memento.”

Qin Zishu was stunned by the superstar’s lack of practical sense and her sentimentality. “Wait,” she said. “Are hair ties supposed to be mementos? Aren’t they just for tying up your hair?”

Ji Yao: “…”

So, I really was just being sentimental.

Ji Yao gripped the hair tie in her palm and looked seriously at the child before her. “You really are a different kind of child,” she remarked. “Your temperament is the most unique I’ve ever seen.”

In short—she had too much of a rebellious streak. It wasn’t just rebelling against adults; it was rebelling against the way of the world. It wasn’t an arrogant rebellion, nor a self-destructive one. She was like a clever cat hiding in the shadows, ears alert, scrutinizing the world before choosing to simply live on as an ordinary person.

“My hair tie is old, and I’m too lazy to get a new one. I saw you had one, so I mentioned it,” Qin Zishu explained. “I don’t want your charity. If something is mine, I will work for it. If it’s not mine and I’m not interested, I won’t beg or flatter to get it.”

Ji Yao asked, “If you are interested, would you.”

Would she beg? Would she flatter? Ji Yao couldn’t imagine a child like Qin Zishu ever lowering her head to plead with someone.

“If I’m interested,” Qin Zishu thought for a moment. “I might just take it by force.”

Ji Yao: “…”

As expected, don’t count on her to back down.

After that conversation with the child, Ji Yao’s heart was a tangle of complex emotions.

As she prepared to leave, she leaned against the doorframe and asked in a low voice, “If I were to take you away with me, would you be willing?”

Ji Yao never made such offers to the other children she liked. If she couldn’t follow through, she would only break their hearts—offering hope only to deliver disappointment was not the act of a responsible adult.

But young Qin Zishu was different. There was a very real chance the girl wouldn’t even want to go with her. Even if she asked, an answer wasn’t guaranteed.

“If you take me, you’ll only harvest misery and headaches. You’d be better off taking someone obedient and sweet,” young Qin Zishu analyzed objectively. “You could give them a bit of love after work; it would fill your inner void and give you some peace. But if it’s me, you’ll probably have to spend your working hours worrying about how to deal with me.”

She hit the nail right on the head.

Ji Yao couldn’t help but laugh, leaning against the doorframe for support.

People like her, who went to orphanages to adopt, really were doing it to broadcast a bit of love; it was, in fact, a lopsided emotional transaction. It was like getting a cat—don’t most people want an obedient one just to play with and satisfy their own surplus of affection? No one willingly chooses a rebellious feral cat that tears the house apart.

Ji Yao was no different. She had said it herself: she liked those who listened.

So, she asked Qin Zishu one last time if there was anything else she wanted. If she finished her project or left one day, she wouldn’t be coming back to Mount Kui, and by then, it would be too late for regrets. She even offered to leave a way to contact her.

Qin Zishu refused again.

As she turned to go, Ji Yao remarked, “If your guardian were here to hear your answer.”

“They’d call me a failure, a piece of trash that can’t be helped,” Qin Zishu said with an indifferent shrug. “That’s all the villagers ever said when they discussed these things. I’m bored of hearing it. But it doesn’t matter. I take responsibility for every action I take. Even if I end up so destitute that I have to beg for scraps, I won’t regret today’s decision.”

Ji Yao was stunned once again.

By viewing the situation with the jaded eyes of an adult, she had truly underestimated the heart of this child. Ji Yao realized that a child capable of saying such things at this age was destined to never fare too poorly—provided she actually wanted to live a good life.

Ji Yao’s only concern now was that Qin Zishu seemed interested in nothing; she wasn’t sure if the girl would ever find the motivation to live proactively.

Qin Zishu didn’t see her off. Ji Yao lingered for a moment before giving a final instruction: “The base of the wall is cold. Don’t sleep pressed against it.”

“I like it,” Qin Zishu replied. “I like the damp, cold smell of the wall. It makes me feel safe.”

Ji Yao didn’t quite catch those last few words, as someone had already called her away.

She left the hair tie on the windowsill and took the ordinary gift back with her. Ji Yao thought to herself that Qin Zishu deserved a gift chosen with much more care; something as common as this would only be thrown away by a child like her.