Chapter 8: As If She Wanted to Devour Her

While she had been locked in that standoff with Yu An, Liu Huaixu had suddenly sensed that something was wrong.

The back of her neck had grown itchy, then hot, and then she had caught it—that faint, barely-there Cold Fragrance drifting in the air. She had abandoned the argument with Yu An on the spot and gone straight into her room to apply the suppression ointment.

Her Rain-Dew Period was nearly over. She could not let Yu An discover it now, of all times.

During the scuffle with Cao Guan, Yu An had stood unbearably close to her, and her nerves were still wound tight from it.

Taking out the little porcelain bottle, she eased it open, loosened her clothing, and swept her jet-black hair off her neck. Her movements were rushed—she was terrified Yu An might burst in at any moment—which was why she never heard Yu An calling her in for dinner.

She had just scooped out a bit of suppression ointment and raised it toward her nape when the door creaked. Yu An had pushed it open.

Liu Huaixu’s whole body jolted. She clenched the bottle in her fist and said, ice-cold, “Get out.”

Yu An said something more, but Liu Huaixu’s mind was nowhere near her words—she didn’t care what they were. She was simply drowning in panic at the two of them sharing a room.

“I said get out. Do you not understand?”

Only after Yu An had fully withdrawn did Liu Huaixu finally breathe again.

If Yu An ever found out, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Scene after scene from the beginning of the year surfaced in Liu Huaixu’s mind, and a thread of fear—of loathing—flickered at the bottom of her eyes.

But she smoothed it away quickly, hid the porcelain bottle, opened the window to let in fresh air, and only then left the room.

The moment she stepped out, she found Yu An sitting on a small folding stool, watching her without a single blink.

Meeting so clear and guileless a gaze, Liu Huaixu went briefly lightheaded, a hollow unease rising in her chest.

Could it be… that Yu An found out?

Then again—no. Impossible.

If Yu An had found out, she would never be stared at like this. Liu Huaixu had seen Yu An’s eyes go mad before, wild enough to devour her whole.

But such a clear gaze shouldn’t belong to Yu An either.

For a moment, Liu Huaixu honestly didn’t know what to do with this “acting” Yu An.

For the first two days, she had insisted to herself that this was all a performance—that Yu An must be angling to take something else from her. But today she had wavered, just for an instant. All she could do now was keep warning herself to be careful.

Do not go soft and fall into her trap.

With that resolution, her thoughts settled considerably, and she sat down.

No sooner had she sat than Yu An handed her a bowl and chopsticks, then nudged both dishes over in front of her.

“Nudged” was generous—it was barely a push. Their dining table wasn’t large to begin with, just a low little table, perfect for two.

But Yu An’s intent to please could not have been more obvious.

Utterly unaware of everything running through Liu Huaixu’s head, Yu An was still introducing her handiwork: “I saw pickled vegetables in those jars over there, so I stir-fried them with pork.”

Yu An gestured casually beside the stove. Liu Huaixu followed her finger with a glance, gave a silent nod, and started eating without another word.

Their Zeyuan Village belonged to Linyang County and counted as the true north, where winters were brutally, unbearably cold and crops could be planted only once a year. Every household had a pickling habit.

The Chinese cabbage Liu Huaixu grew, for instance, was stored away each winter to be eaten through the cold months.

So pickled vegetables stir-fried with pork was no rare delicacy—yet the way Yu An made it tasted somehow different.

Somehow extra fragrant.

At first, Liu Huaixu simply thought the dish differed a little from her own cooking. Then it hit her.

Yu An had been pampered and spoiled since childhood. When, exactly, had she learned to cook?

The two had grown up together. What Yu An could and couldn’t do, Liu Huaixu knew to the letter.

Yu An, who had been waiting for her praise all this while, watched Liu Huaixu’s brow knot tighter and tighter and felt her stomach flutter. She reached out with her chopsticks for a taste.

It tasted great! Nothing wrong with it whatsoever.

A touch light on the oil, maybe.

“Is the food… not good?”

Liu Huaixu looked up, took in the naked hope on Yu An’s face, nodded—and then asked, “How do you know how to cook?”

At her approval, the corners of Yu An’s mouth had just begun to curl when the question flattened them again.

Right—the original owner was never cut out for a kitchen. How had she forgotten that?

With a resounding smack, Yu An slapped her own thigh. Liu Huaixu, who had been waiting for her answer, nearly jumped out of her skin.

Having smacked, Yu An set down her chopsticks, squared her shoulders, and declared to Liu Huaixu with the utmost gravity: “These past few days, I have reflected deeply on my sins and resolved to wash the slate clean and become a new person. Today’s dish was my very first attempt. Well? I’d say I have a talent for it, no?”

Every word left Liu Huaixu more dumbfounded than the last. She was still trying to work out what exactly was off about the speech when Yu An pressed on: “I gave you no end of grief before. Don’t worry—never again.”

Yu An believed she’d sounded sincere enough. In Liu Huaixu’s eyes, it was another picture entirely.

She thought Yu An’s acting had climbed to new heights.

Having delivered her rousing speech to no reaction—Liu Huaixu still eating with her head down—Yu An began to lose her composure.

“You… don’t believe me?” Even as the words left her, Yu An felt guilty on her own behalf. If she were Liu Huaixu, she wouldn’t believe the original owner either.

And yet—hadn’t her recent behavior been decent? At the very least she wasn’t as rotten as the original owner. Even if Liu Huaixu couldn’t believe her fully, surely she’d grant her a chance?

But she had overlooked one thing.

Liu Huaixu, by now nearly finished, set down her bowl and chopsticks and said, grave: “What trouble did you stir up in the county town, that Second Grandmother had to come looking for you herself?”

“Uh… that.” Yu An scratched her head, at a complete loss for how to answer.

She hemmed and hawed for a good while, brow furrowed as she sifted through the jumbled memories.

To Liu Huaixu, this meant only one thing: Yu An didn’t want to tell her.

Fine. She didn’t want to know anyway.

She rose, washed her own bowl and chopsticks clean, and turned back toward her room.

Watching her go, Yu An stuffed in two more rapid bites and called out, “It’s still early. Want to chat for a bit?”

The past few days, they’d both been dead on their feet—meals devoured at top speed, then straight to bed. But the work was done now, Yu An’s energy was surging again, and she wanted to build a little rapport with Liu Huaixu.

Liu Huaixu wanted none of it. All she wanted was to get back to her room.

She had just reached the door when Yu An sniffed the air and caught that familiar Cold Fragrance again. She remarked, without thinking, “You know, these past few days I keep catching a faint Cold Fragrance. Have you smelled it too?”

Liu Huaixu’s hand froze on the doorframe and her whole body went rigid. Instinct screamed at her to reach back and touch her nape—but with Yu An’s eyes on her, she didn’t dare.

“No,” she said coldly.

Then she opened the door and disappeared inside.

Flustered and rattled, she shut the door harder than she meant to. Yu An blinked at the uncharacteristic display and muttered, “If you didn’t smell it, you didn’t smell it. What’s with the snapping?”

Behind that closed door, Liu Huaixu possessed none of Yu An’s easy spirits. She snatched out the little porcelain bottle and hurriedly applied another layer of suppression ointment.

When she finished, she clutched her collar and sat down on the kang, a quiet gloom settling over her.

In the past, when Yu An refused to stay home like a decent person, she had worried over what disaster Yu An would cook up next.

Now that Yu An was home every single day, she found it stifling.

For days she had made do with hasty wipe-downs of cold water, and the grime on her body was maddening. She wanted a bath.

But Yu An was right next door, and she was still in her Rain-Dew Period. She simply didn’t dare.

Deep in the night, after the sounds of Yu An’s splashing and rustling had finally faded, Liu Huaixu worked up her courage. She slid off the kang and peered through the crack of her door; only once she’d watched Yu An disappear into her own room did she ease hers open, meaning to add some firewood and boil a little hot water to wash with.

But the moment she lifted the pot lid, there it was: a whole pot of water, steaming.

Surprise flickered through her. Her gaze drifted toward the room with the closed door, then drew back.

The Yu An of the past had never once been this thoughtful.

The strange ache in Liu Huaixu’s chest was unmistakable—but she refused to dwell on it.

She told herself not to hope. It was probably coincidence. Or Yu An had simply boiled too much water.

After lugging several buckets inside, Liu Huaixu enjoyed a proper, satisfying hot bath.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Yu An had tracked every sound since Liu Huaixu first emerged.

She’d been paying close attention these past few days: Liu Huaixu never did more than a cursory wash-up. Never a real bath.

Conditions here were poor, nothing like Yu An’s old life, but after a day’s work her whole body felt grimy, and going without a bath was unbearable. She simply could not sleep unwashed.

She bathed every day, yet she’d never once seen or heard Liu Huaixu do the same. The occasional faint sounds from next door never resembled bathing—just a quick rinse.

At first she hadn’t thought anything of it. Later, the pattern dawned on her: Liu Huaixu must be embarrassed.

The world she came from had nothing called Alpha or Omega. She liked women, sure, but she’d never imagined women needed to tiptoe around each other like this. She’d been to public bathhouses—how was bathing one room apart any worse?

Yu An hadn’t minded. In the days after, she left water behind for Liu Huaixu after every bath—only to find, every single morning, that not a drop had been used.

So now, hearing movement from Liu Huaixu’s side at last, Yu An felt a good deal better.

Liu Huaixu accepted my goodwill this time, didn’t she?

Even if she appreciated nothing else, the bath was nothing—it wasn’t as if Yu An was going to skip her own bath. It was pure convenience. Liu Huaixu was just wound far too tight.

Or are all Omega this shy???

The word “Omega” snapped something loose in Yu An’s head, and she shot upright in her quilt.

Alpha. Omega. Pheromones.

So that faint Cold Fragrance she kept catching these past few days—that was Liu Huaixu’s pheromones, wasn’t it?

She thought back to this world’s rules: both Alpha and Omega had Rain-Dew Periods…

Then that stuff she’d walked in on Liu Huaixu rubbing into her nape—that was probably the so-called suppression ointment?

No wonder the woman had been so tense. She was cold as ice on a normal day; who would ever have guessed she could be frightened into trembling? Musing on pheromones and Rain-Dew Periods, Yu An couldn’t help but curiously touch the back of her own neck…

Liu Huaixu’s Cold Fragrance smelled of mint. So what about the original owner… oh. Right. That was her now.

What would her pheromones smell like?

Yu An dug through her borrowed memories, trying to work out how one released pheromones. She fumbled until she was nearly sweating—and produced nothing.

Thoroughly bored with herself, she pulled the quilt up and went to sleep.

Work done, bath taken, Yu An slept uncommonly sweet that night—vastly better than her first night here, when the kang had burned hot but the bedding lay damp, leaving her wretched and uncomfortable from head to toe.

Waking now, she stretched long and was tempted to laze in bed a while longer.

Then her nose caught a faint scent of wine, and bewilderment took over.

Wine? First thing in the morning?

She shuffled groggily toward the door, only to find the scent thinning with every step—as if it existed inside her room alone. Then she opened the door, saw Liu Huaixu’s gloomy, faintly flushed face, and suddenly understood.

This… this couldn’t be her own pheromones, could it?

A faint Peach Blossom Wine Scent.

Liu Huaixu’s expression was ghastly, and she watched Yu An the way one watches a thief, her body still faintly unsteady.

The moment Yu An pieced it together, she rushed to explain: “Um… I—”

“Grand-niece’s wife, is Yu An at home?”

Before a single word of explanation could land, an elderly yet steady voice cut in.