Scumbag Alpha’s Pheromones Are Toxic - Chapter 27

This time, Qin Zishu knew she couldn’t hide it anymore. She decided to let the chips fall where they may. “So, Sister you found out.”

“Obviously,” Ji Yao replied.

From that bizarre task issued by the System during her hospital check-up (forcing her to take the elevator back the way she came) to the subsequent string of blatant favoritism toward Qin Zishu, even a fool would have pieced it together by now.

Ji Yao looked up, her gaze piercing. “Why is the System biased toward you?”

Qin Zishu startled, then let out a breath of relief. Ji Yao was close to the truth, but she hadn’t touched the core of it yet.

Qin Zishu sighed. “Sister, remember when we first came home? I told you never to go into the last room at the end of the second-floor hallway.”

“I remember,” Ji Yao said. “What exactly is hidden in that room?”

Qin Zishu looked at her with a faint smile. “All of my secrets.”

Ji Yao frowned, perplexed. “What is the logic behind telling me the place exists but forbidding me from entering? Are you trying to torture me, or yourself?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see it, it’s that I’m afraid of you seeing it.”

Ji Yao arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve hidden quite a lot from me. Afraid of a beating, are we?”

The conversation was cut short by a notification on Ji Yao’s phone—someone had just transferred tens of millions into her account.

Ji Yao turned to Qin Zishu. “Did you have someone send me money?”

“No? Why?”

“Oh.”

Ji Yao pocketed her phone, but as she went to straighten her clothes, she froze. A chill ran down her spine. Wait, this account was only activated through a System exploit. Theoretically, only Qin Zishu knows it exists. To anyone else, this account should have been deleted long ago. So, who sent the money?

The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she felt. It was the first time in her life that receiving a massive sum of money felt terrifying.

It was as if you had just risen from the grave, and the person burning offerings for you had thoughtfully exchanged the “hell bank notes” for actual legal tender!

Ji Yao wasn’t afraid of the money itself; she was afraid of the feeling of being manipulated and watched. What did this person know? Why do this? Was she the only one being kept in the dark? It seemed even Qin Zishu knew more than she did, despite her being the one who “reincarnated.”

“Sister, what’s wrong?” Qin Zishu asked softly, trying to avoid her wrath. “Did something happen?”

Ji Yao turned a sharp, scrutinizing gaze on her.

Qin Zishu shrank back. I haven’t done anything bad lately, have I? She stole a glance at Ji Yao’s phone just as another news notification popped up—from that same trashy tabloid site Ji Yao used to follow.

The headline screamed: SHOCKING! Click to see Qin Zishu’s latest canary tryst with a peerless beauty in the VIP lounge.

Qin Zishu didn’t see the rest. Thinking Ji Yao was angry with her, she leaned in to beg for forgiveness. “I never touched those other people. I didn’t like them; I couldn’t have possibly touched them.”

Ji Yao had already guessed as much. Given Qin Zishu’s chronic abuse of scent-blocking patches and her lack of familiarity with the contracts she’d drawn up, it was clear she was just putting on a front for some hidden reason.

Ji Yao didn’t offer immediate forgiveness. Instead, she asked, “Then why did you do it?”

“They begged me for help,” Qin Zishu sighed. “Somehow a rumor started that my pheromones were toxic—that smelling them would lead to infertility. Those starlets with no backing or pretty young actresses being harassed by old men came to me to use me as a shield. My reputation was already trashed anyway, so I didn’t mind the hit. Eventually, as more people came, it became a ‘business’—rotating one new girl a month.”

Ji Yao: “…” She actually turned being a sugar mommy into a professional service. Ridiculous.

Qin Zishu added, “They were only canaries in name. Only you, Sister, you’re the real deal.”

As she said it, Qin Zishu realized the headline mentioned “latest canary.” The latest wouldn’t that be Ji Yao? The tabloids were slandering the “Main Character” right in front of her!

Qin Zishu was livid. “Sister, let me see that news!”

Ji Yao read the title and handed her the phone. “I suggest you get your PR team on this immediately.”

The paparazzi were fast. They had already snapped photos of Ji Yao, though her face was currently pixelated. As long as her face wasn’t exposed, it was just a typical piece of celebrity gossip. But if it was revealed.

Ji Yao could already imagine the public’s reaction. If her face, identical to her past self hits the trending searches, the vitriol aimed at Qin Zishu would be unprecedented.

The backlash would be far worse than before. When Ji Yao died, she was at the pinnacle of her career, and her death was a national tragedy. Her massive fanbase had eventually migrated to Qin Zishu for emotional closure.

But if they discovered that Qin Zishu harbored illicit feelings for her former guardian—or that she had “created” a puppet made to look exactly like Ji Yao through plastic surgery, they would tear her apart. This wouldn’t be a minor scandal; it could end Qin Zishu’s career.

Ji Yao sighed. “We can’t claim I’m a plastic surgery look-alike this time,” she said. “Even if you don’t care about the hate, you have to think about your future.”

“Sister, don’t worry,” Qin Zishu promised. “I won’t tell them you’re a ‘stand-in’ or a ‘clone’.”

“Go handle this first,” Ji Yao said. “I have some loose ends of my own to look into.”

“Do you need help?”

“No. After all, the System is on your side.” Ji Yao went to investigate the source of that money.

Ji Yao left Qin Zishu to her own devices. It didn’t take long to find the sender: Sun Lin.

Why was Sun Lin sending her money? And more importantly, how did she manage to make the transfer successful?

Ji Yao’s face darkened. She assumed Qin Zishu’s people had put the squeeze on Sun Lin, and in a desperate bid to move her assets, Sun Lin had accidentally sent the money to Ji Yao’s account.

She analyzed the possibilities, and every single one seemed absurd. The most likely reason was simply that Sun Lin had lost her mind. Ji Yao knew Sun Lin was greedy, but she was still furious over the betrayal after her death, especially that the woman had gone back to that abusive man.

Lost in her anger, Ji Yao decided to pay Sun Lin a visit.

Half an hour later, Ji Yao stood before an old house, feeling disoriented. Ten years had passed, and Sun Lin was wealthy now; why would she still live here? The house was a small duplex. Just as Ji Yao was about to knock, the door opened.

“Auntie?”

Ji Yao blinked. The woman in front of her was Jiang Chengyu, Sun Lin’s mother.

“Oh, Ji Yao! You’re here,” Mrs. Jiang said. Though she was older now, she was still elegantly dressed. She set down a trash bag and pulled Ji Yao inside. “Xiao Lin was just complaining about you recently, said you never come to see her and left her to suffer all alone.”

Ji Yao was thunderstruck.

First: Why wasn’t Sun Lin’s mother surprised that she was alive?

Second: It sounded like she expected Ji Yao to come back and look for Sun Lin.

If Sun Lin knew everything, why had she acted so shocked during their first encounter?

“Come in, have some tea,” Mrs. Jiang bustled about. “I remember you love the tea I brew.”

As Ji Yao watched her, something fluffy brushed against her ankle. She looked down and saw a Chihuahua. It was the same dog she had seen in the hospital garden.

“Sun Lin’s been so busy lately she can’t even look after the dog,” Mrs. Jiang sighed. “She sent it here. I don’t know what that girl is thinking. She used to insist I never move out of this old place, but now she’s nagging me to pack up. In two weeks, I’ll be gone. It’s lucky you came today.”

She stayed so that I could find her.

As for the dog.

A terrifying thought crossed Ji Yao’s mind: Has Sun Lin already been “handled” by Qin Zishu’s people?

“I’m sorry, Auntie, I can’t stay for tea. Something urgent came up,” Ji Yao said, standing up.

“Leaving so soon?” Mrs. Jiang hurried after her and handed her a box of strawberry cranberry cookies. “Sun Lin told me to give this to you if you ever came by.”

Ji Yao took the box. Qin Zishu was busy with her PR crisis, so the System didn’t manifest. Seizing the opportunity, Ji Yao opened the box.

Tucked beneath the bottom layer of cookies was a letter. On the first page, the words “I HATE YOU” were scrawled repeatedly in thick red ink. The sheer intensity of the hatred was enough to make Ji Yao’s skin crawl.

She frowned and flipped the page.

Ji Yao, you didn’t save me from the hell I was in as you promised. I never thought you could be this despicable! When I went to find you that day, you actually pretended not to know me. Not only that, but I realized that whenever I’m near you, my thoughts are no longer my own. In your story, am I always just the ‘evil supporting character,’ destined to be tortured over and over until I die?

Every time you die, I have to live like a puppet for years, running this life-threatening business for you. I’ve had enough. I’m taking the money and leaving. I’m not staying with that man anymore; he makes me sick.

In the middle of the letter, a section of text had been frantically scribbled over, suggesting the writer’s mental state was far from stable. Toward the end, however, the handwriting returned to a chillingly calm script.

“You truly are heartless. You only care if we are of use to you. You are the most hypocritical person on earth—vile to the core, yet insisting on wearing a mask of virtue!

You didn’t stop Qin Zishu. I’m being hauled off for a public trial, and you just stood by, completely indifferent. Hahahaha! I never thought you’d actually abandon me. From now on, who would ever dare to risk their life for you?

Just wait, the others will betray you just like Lou Juan did!”

Ji Yao: “…”

As she finished reading, a series of questions flooded her mind: Who am I? What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing? What on earth is Sun Lin talking about?

Feeling helpless, Ji Yao called Qin Zishu. Her original intent was to vent about Sun Lin’s erratic mental state, but Qin Zishu was in the middle of a frantic schedule and wasn’t really listening. She simply gave Ji Yao the update on the situation.

“Oh, you mean Sun Lin?” Qin Zishu said. “My team just told me that there are massive issues with the company she and her husband run. It’s enough to land them both in prison several times over. I’m not sure why they weren’t caught before, maybe they had a protector. I thought it was just some small, insignificant firm I could topple with a few minor hurdles, but a closer look revealed they were actually neck-deep in criminal trouble.”

Qin Zishu was also puzzled. In previous loops, punishing Sun Lin usually just meant making her go bankrupt. Finding something this severe was a new and surprising development. Perhaps they had a powerful backer, but this time, that backer had abandoned them, leaving them to face the court.

Ji Yao’s heart sank. Wait, am I actually the villain here?

And more importantly, why did Sun Lin use the phrase “this time”? Did that imply there was a “last time” and a “next time”?

Ji Yao was completely bewildered. After her reincarnation, she thought she would have several advantages—like a high tolerance for the supernatural and a (somewhat useless) System. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It turned out the world was far stranger than she imagined, and everyone else seemed to know just as much as she did, if not more.

As for the System? Not only was it barely functional, but it also acted like a love-struck fool that only existed to cause her more trouble.

Ji Yao couldn’t help but recall Sun Lin’s words: “You truly are heartless. You only care if we are of use to you. You are the most hypocritical person on earth”

Ji Yao grumbled to herself, “If I were really that calculating, I definitely wouldn’t have kept such a useless System!”

Qin Zishu, who had just finished her work and was about to use the System to talk to Ji Yao: “…”

The System fell back into a stony silence.

Qin Zishu called Ji Yao directly. Still rattled by Sun Lin’s letter, Ji Yao’s tone was less than friendly. “What is it?”

Qin Zishu sounded hurt. “Sister, I didn’t do anything to make you mad, did I?”

Ji Yao suppressed her rising temper and softened her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Qin Zishu began to act spoiled. “I’m finished with work. I want a reward. I want to eat your stir-fried shrimp with greens tonight.”

Ji Yao agreed. After all, Qin Zishu had handled the PR crisis remarkably fast. Ji Yao assumed she had simply reached a price with the paparazzi.

Back when Ji Yao was a star, she knew of a specific type of paparazzi tactic: they wouldn’t just sell a scoop; they would post a pixelated photo of a star’s secret lover to drum up hype. Once curiosity reached a fever pitch, they would “sell” the photo back to the star for an exorbitant fee. It was far more lucrative than a standard news story. If the star refused to pay, they’d simply release the photo and get the traffic anyway.

Just as Ji Yao assumed Qin Zishu had paid the “hush money,” she checked the trending searches.

Ranked number one was Qin Zishu’s direct explanation. She had tagged the tabloid’s official account and issued a public statement:

“Go ahead and release the photos. Let me introduce everyone: this is my lover, and also the guardian who raised me after my rebirth, Ji Yao.”

Ji Yao: “…”

Forget the shrimp and greens. Tonight, you can eat the wind!