The County Magistrate Isn’t a Scumbag—She’s Very A - Chapter 11

The room was empty of others, yet Mother Song still looked around with exaggerated caution before pulling a dark, blackened pill from her bodice. “Your old mother has spent her whole life planning for you, you ungrateful brat. All you do is nag me about money. Hurry up and swallow this.”

Mother Song held the pill to Song Boxue’s lips like a priceless treasure, her eyes brimming with pride.

Song Boxue took the pill. As she held it, a memory flashed through her mind—a scene of the original owner swallowing a similar pill. It was the very night she had transmigrated into this body. A flicker of unease shot through her, but she couldn’t quite grasp the thread of the thought.

“What kind of medicine is this?”

Mother Song gave a cryptic smile. “Haven’t I told you? It’s a divine medicine to ensure your official career prospers.”

Song Boxue frowned. “Where did it come from?”

She felt as though she was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, and her intuition told her it was linked to this so-called “divine medicine.”

Seeing her frown, Mother Song poked her forehead again. “There are only three of these left in the world! I managed to get two for you. Do you know who took the third? Secretary Zhou. He used to be nothing but a groom for the yamen’s horses. It was only after he took this medicine that the previous Magistrate took a liking to him and promoted him to Secretary.”

Mother Song leaned in closer. “You’ve only had one, and already the people adore you. Everyone out there is calling you a ‘Blue Sky’ judge reborn. If you take another, there’s no telling how high you’ll rise.”

Song Boxue’s expression nearly crumbled. What kind of feudal superstition is this?

“Did Secretary Zhou give this to you?”

“His wife gave it to me. She wants you to rely more on her husband. Now eat it quickly! I’m exhausted. Would your own mother ever harm you? Remember to take it before you sleep.” Mother Song let out a long yawn and turned to leave.

Song Boxue stared at the pill in her hand. She brought it to her nose and sniffed. Her expression instantly sharpened. There was something wrong with this.

As an Alpha, not only were her physical strength and mental fortitude far beyond normal, but her sense of smell was also exceptionally keen. She detected the faint, distinct scent of bitter almonds—a scent that immediately brought to mind lethal poisons like cyanide.

She pushed open the door and watched Mother Song’s retreating figure. Her mother likely wouldn’t harm her, but others were a different story.

Song Boxue searched the original owner’s memories. She had been overlooking the most important question: Why did I transmigrate here? In other words, how did the original Song Boxue die? In the original novel, the villainous Magistrate lived perfectly fine until the female lead returned for revenge. Had her arrival changed the timeline, or was the original owner murdered?

And if someone had made a move, who was it? Secretary Zhou?

Furthermore, she realized that even though she had inhabited this body, her Alpha constitution remained intact. The body was a perfect replica of her own. But for now, she needed to know if this pill was toxic.

After a moment of deliberation, she stepped out into the night.

Knock, knock, knock. A rhythmic tapping sounded at the door.

Jiang Fanyin was about to blow out her candle when she heard the noise. A silhouette was cast against the paper window.

“Who is it?”

“Sister Jiang, it’s me,” Song Boxue’s voice called from outside.

Jiang Fanyin dressed quickly. She hesitated for a heartbeat before hiding her dagger in her sleeve and approaching the door. “It is late. What is the matter?”

“I wanted to confirm something with you. If it’s inconvenient, we can talk tomorrow.” Song Boxue realized belatedly how late it was. Given the original owner’s history of harassment, showing up at this hour was poor form.

She was about to turn away when the door opened. Jiang Fanyin stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Sister Jiang, you know medicine. Could you help me see if there is something wrong with this pill?” Song Boxue handed the dark sphere to her.

Under the soft glow of the candlelight, Jiang Fanyin sat at the table to examine the medicine. Her hair, which had been pinned up during the day, now fell loosely over her shoulders. Her clear eyes were focused, and the faint red mark on her snow-white neck was visible in the flickering light.

Song Boxue caught a trace of that delicate black tea fragrance again. The gland behind her ear began to throb uncontrollably.

A sudden, parching thirst hit her. She felt as though she were standing in a scorching desert, with the only oasis right before her—a cool, tempting spring.

A shadow fell over her. Sensing someone approaching from behind, Jiang Fanyin said softly, “I will scrape a bit of the powder to inspect it. Please wait a moment.”

She drew her dagger from her sleeve, the cold steel glinting in the candlelight. The flash of metal brought a momentary spark of clarity to Song Boxue’s mind.

Song Boxue abruptly covered the back of her ear and took two steps back. The gland was pounding now, reacting as if it had encountered the irresistible pheromones of an Omega. It was clawing at her sanity. Even if the woman before her wasn’t an Omega, that fragrance was pushing Song Boxue to the brink of a “heat” cycle.

If this were the modern world, Jiang Fanyin’s pheromones would have a terrifyingly high compatibility with mine, Song Boxue thought dazedly.

Jiang Fanyin was focused on the powder on her blade, unaware that the shadow was looming over her again. A fresh scent of lemon began to fill the room—crisp, yet intensely thick.

Suddenly, the long hair on Jiang Fanyin’s shoulder was gently lifted. Her body stiffened. In the next instant, she felt a cool, soft, damp sensation against the back of her neck.

A heavy, ragged breath fanned against her ear—short, sharp, and burning hot.

Jiang Fanyin’s hand trembled, and the powder scattered from the blade. She bit her lip and turned to stand, trying to pull away, only to be swept into a crushing embrace.

“Song Boxue!”

Jiang Fanyin gasped, her chin forced upward by a rough hand.

Song Boxue lowered her head, grazing Jiang Fanyin’s throat with a shallow, tentative bite before releasing her to trace the skin with her tongue, inch by agonizing inch.

The illness has taken her. Jiang Fanyin’s hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger. She trembled, caught in a moment of agonizing hesitation. Ultimately, a strange softness took hold of her heart, and the dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

The out-of-control Alpha pinned Jiang Fanyin’s hands behind her back.

“Song Boxue!”

Song Boxue pulled loose the silk sash of Jiang Fanyin’s robe. She used the fabric to bind the woman’s wrists behind her back, then pressed her down against the table.

“Sister Jiang, I’m so thirsty.” Song Boxue’s voice was low and hoarse, her tone softening into a plea that carried a trace of inexplicable vulnerability.

Gazing into the blurred heat and desperate longing in Song Boxue’s eyes, Jiang Fanyin momentarily forgot to struggle. She knew this person was suffering an episode; she had promised to help, and she had even mentally prepared herself for a scene like this.

While her resolve wavered, Song Boxue pulled her into a half-embrace, forcing her to turn around.

“Sister Jiang, I’m so thirsty let me mark you, alright?”

With her eyes closed, she sank her teeth into that irresistible nape. The pheromones held between her teeth surged forth, spilling out beyond all control.

Mark?

Jiang Fanyin was momentarily stunned by the unfamiliar word. Then, a sharp sting pierced the back of her neck. It felt as if a sudden gale had swept into her body—simultaneously freezing and scalding—nearly shattering her very consciousness.

“Song… Boxue…”

The low, tearful cry acted like a splash of cold water, pulling Song Boxue back to her senses just as she began to feel a sense of relief. She snapped her head up, her hands loosening instinctively as the marking was severed.

Seizing the moment, Jiang Fanyin stumbled back several steps. She looked up, her dark brows trembling and her eyes shimmering like a rising tide. Her tightly pressed lips betrayed a deep sense of grievance.

Song Boxue’s heart constricted. “Sister Jiang.”

Jiang Fanyin remained silent, her gaze fixed and unwavering. Suddenly, a single, crystalline tear rolled down her cheek—silent, beautiful, and utterly helpless.

Song Boxue stared blankly as the tear fell, the weight of her actions finally crashing down on her. Her mind became a chaotic mess. I nearly marked the female lead!

“What did you do to me?” Jiang Fanyin felt her entire body go weak, flooded by sensations she found too shameful to name.

Song Boxue gathered her scattered thoughts and spoke softly, “I bit your neck. Should we bandage it?”

She was relieved the marking had been interrupted. Had she not snapped out of it at the critical moment, she truly would have marked the protagonist. Yet, she wondered—Jiang Fanyin wasn’t an Omega and had no gland. Even if she hadn’t stopped, could a mark even take hold? For some reason, a flicker of trepidation crossed her heart.

Jiang Fanyin flexed her fingers. Seeing that the other woman had seemingly regained her full sanity, she said coldly, “Untie me.”

Song Boxue walked over and silently undid the silk binding. Regardless of whether Jiang Fanyin could be marked, the act had been cut short; at least a catastrophic mistake had been avoided. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known how to face her—even if a mark were possible, the female lead would hardly want her to “take responsibility.”

Jiang Fanyin glanced at Song Boxue’s uncharacteristically docile demeanor, her heart a tangle of complex emotions. She used a handkerchief to wipe her neck, which came away stained with a faint trace of blood.

Seeing this, Song Boxue tried to remain composed. “I truly harbor no improper thoughts toward you. It was just the illness.”