After Running Away From Her Wedding, The Tsundere Young Lady Went Crazy - Chapter 22

Hunger, Thirst, Syndrome!

Shang Keju seemed to find her wide-eyed, tongue-tied expression amusing. Curling the corners of her lips, she added, “Not only that, you also said I was sick.”

“Huh? What kind of sickness?”

“Hunger, Thirst, Syndrome.”

Those three words felt like a bolt from the blue; Ji Songshu felt like she was going to scream. This was blatant flirting! How could she have dared to speak to Shang Keju like that!?

She immediately bowed to the other woman three times at ninety degrees—a total of two hundred and seventy degrees—repeating, “I’m sorry!”

Lowering her head, her thoughts were drowned in guilt and a guilty conscience. A surge of sorrow filled her heart as she listed her crimes one by one: running into someone else’s house uninvited, causing a mess of trouble, sleeping with them, and then claiming they had a problem…

She was truly finished this time!

Ji Songshu was on the verge of tears. In response to her apology, Shang Keju remained silent for a long time.

Ji Songshu shot a quick glance to steal a look at Shang Keju’s expression. It was cold, much like her usual self, and she didn’t seem particularly angry. So, she asked cautiously and tentatively, “I’m really sorry, can you forgive me?”

“Of course not,” Shang Keju replied instantly.

“This is the first time anyone has dared to treat me like this.”

“I’m really sorry. I had a fever and was talking nonsense, doing nonsensical things. I’m a mess…” Ji Songshu nervously rubbed her fingers, feeling herself shrinking smaller and smaller under Shang Keju’s stern gaze.

“Then do something that can earn my forgiveness,” Shang Keju said, her tone suddenly shifting.

“What is it?” Ji Songshu asked hurriedly.

“Think of it yourself.”

Ji Songshu thought for a moment and asked sincerely, “Do you want me to kowtow and kneel to you?”

Shang Keju: “…”

Ji Songshu: “That was a very common way to admit a mistake in ancient times.”

Shang Keju rolled her eyes and turned to ask Carlotta, “Is there anywhere shorthanded?”

“A maid in the kitchen just left; we happen to need an extra hand.”

Shang Keju nodded and pointed a finger at Ji Songshu. “You take her place.”

Before Ji Songshu could react, Carlotta had lightning-fast produced a maid’s uniform—everything from the hair ribbon to the ankle-length dress and black leather shoes.

Ji Songshu took them blankly, at a loss for words.

Shang Keju leaned in close to her. “Listen well, my newly appointed little maid.”

“A guest is coming tonight. She called and said she wants to eat stir-fried eggs with onions, stir-fried beef with onions, stir-fry okra with onions, stir-fried peppers with onions, and… stir-fried onions with onions.”

“Why is it all onions?” Ji Songshu looked up in confusion.

Ten minutes later, the sound of constant sniffing came from the kitchen.

Ji Songshu was wearing the long maid’s dress, holding a knife, tears streaming down her face. A phalanx of onions was laid out before her.

Shang Keju leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, supervising the work. She enjoyed watching her cry from the spice, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand only to make the tears flow faster.

Ji Songshu turned her head to give Shang Keju a resentful look, but was cut off by a “No slacking off,” so she withdrew her gaze and obediently continued chopping.

Suddenly, she felt someone press up behind her, and her hands stopped involuntarily.

Shang Keju’s voice was extremely close, right behind her ear: “The ribbon on your clothes is loose. I’ll tie it for you. You keep chopping.”

Ji Songshu wanted to continue, but with someone standing behind her and warm breath puffing against her neck, she couldn’t help but shudder. The knife slipped, landing on the back of her hand.

She gasped as blood scrambled to pour out of the wound.

“What happened?”

Before Shang Keju had time to admire the perfect bow she had tied, she immediately grabbed Ji Songshu’s hand to check it.

This hand was fair and slender, with pinkish fingernails trimmed neatly. The red bloodstain on the back of the hand appeared abrupt and was a flaw in its beauty.

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Ji Songshu apologized softly.

“Stop chopping.” Shang Keju lost all interest. She pulled Ji Songshu out of the kitchen and pressed her onto the sofa.

The first-aid kit was on the coffee table. Just as Shang Keju took out the iodine, her figure paused. She stood up, turned, and called out to the distance, “Carlotta, come over and help Miss Pei deal with this.”

While Carlotta was wrapping Ji Songshu’s hand, Shang Keju stared intently from the side.

She asked, “Will this injury affect your piano playing?”

“Piano?” Ji Songshu was surprised.

She had indeed learned the piano when she was a child, but that was before her parents passed away.

“When I visited your parents’ house last time, there was a Steinway in the living room.”

“It shouldn’t affect it,” Ji Songshu answered.

“Perform for me then,” Shang Keju said. “If you can move me, I’ll forgive you.”

Ji Songshu’s eyes lit up.

She hadn’t touched a piano since being adopted by her aunt. She could only watch enviously as Pei Jiyue studied under various famous teachers until reaching Grade 10, only for her passion to fade into loathing. The piano in the living room had become a decoration she was not allowed to touch.

If Shang Keju was the one asking, she had a reason to touch the piano again—though she didn’t know how much she still remembered.

“My standards are very high,” Shang Keju warned.

Ji Songshu’s voice was firm: “I can do it, but you have to give me some time to practice properly.”

Shang Keju smiled:

“That’s perfect. I have a friend who is currently on a world tour. She is a violinist and has a performance at the Fengyuan Grand Theatre in a month, but something happened to her piano accompanist. Can you accompany her?”

Ji Songshu was shocked. The Fengyuan Grand Theatre was the largest venue in the city, capable of holding tens of thousands of people. Only the top performers could play there.

She hadn’t played the piano for over ten years, yet as soon as she picked it up, she was expected to perform in front of so many people.

Thinking of the dark mass of people below the stage, thousands of eyes staring at her and countless ears scrutinizing every note under her fingers, she couldn’t help but tremble.

“Can’t do it?” Shang Keju asked nonchalantly.

Ji Songshu took a deep breath and said, “Of course I can.”

She believed that music was magical, and she believed she could do it.

Shang Keju nodded in satisfaction and added, “It’s a formal occasion. Wear the dress I gave you then, okay?”

Now Ji Songshu was truly confused.

“When did you ever give me a dress?” she asked.

An hour later, Ji Songshu rushed home in a fit of rage.

When she entered the door, Pei Jiyue was lying on the sofa scrolling through videos. The AI female voice in the video was shrill, and she was giggling, her hair hanging all the way to the floor.

Ji Songshu slammed the door heavily. The “bang” startled Pei Jiyue, making her jump off the sofa. Seeing it was her, she immediately rolled her eyes and said disdainfully:

“So you finally know how to come home. Staying out all night every other day, you’re having a lot of ~fun~ out there, aren’t you~”

Ji Songshu tried her best to control her temper and said calmly and clearly:

“A few days ago, did you receive a dress delivered to the door?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Didn’t you think that dress didn’t fit quite right?”

Pei Jiyue stopped talking and stared coldly at Ji Songshu.

“That was a gift for me from Shang Keju. Please return it to me.”

“How was I supposed to know it was for you?” Pei Jiyue wrinkled her nose, sounding self-righteous. “When that dress was delivered, the person said very clearly it was for Miss Pei Jiyue. Pei Jiyue, those three characters, don’t you recognize them? Or do you really think you’ve become me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Ji Songshu took a deep breath. “But now Shang Keju wants to see me wear that dress.”

At the same time, she considered that Pei Jiyue had a slight point. She didn’t really want a dress someone else had already worn, so she took a step back and said:

“I don’t want you to return the dress to me; I just hope you can lend it to me for one day when the time comes.”

Ji Songshu was prepared for Pei Jiyue’s cold sarcasm.

To her surprise, Pei Jiyue held her chin, thought for a moment, and agreed readily.

“Sure.”

Ji Songshu stared at her cousin in shock, as if meeting her for the first time. Pei Jiyue had never been so easy to talk to, which made her suspect she was cooking up some kind of scheme.

“—But, you have to do one thing for me.”

As expected. Ji Songshu felt an immediate sense of relief: “What is it?”

“I haven’t thought of it yet. You’ll know when the time comes.”

“Then take your time. As long as it’s not illegal or harmful to my personal safety, I can do it.”

“Also, I want to borrow your piano,” Ji Songshu took the opportunity to say.

“Whatever,” Pei Jiyue said before leaving.

Ji Songshu watched her back disappear behind the door, wondering what Pei Jiyue would ask her to do. Based on past experience, it would likely be something intentionally troublesome that she could get through by gritting her teeth.

She suppressed the suspicion and unease in her heart and devoted herself to the piano.

Over the next few days, Pei Jiyue came home exceptionally late. During the hours when the house was empty, Ji Songshu sat at the piano for the first time in a long while. As her fingertips touched the keys, a tide of nostalgia surged in her heart.

The last time she sat at a piano, she was only eight years old, her legs unable to reach the floor, swinging in front of the piano stool.

In the blink of an eye, eleven years had passed.

When she placed her fingers on the keys again, she found to her surprise that every key and every note seemed to remember her.

Amidst the poetic and flowing music, she remembered her childhood and her home—that beautiful large house with a yard. In the yard were strawberries she had planted herself; they weren’t very successful, only producing small, prickly green fruits.

Back then, every one of her teddy bears and bunny plushies had a name and endless beautiful clothes to wear. At night, moonlight soaked the room, white curtains fluttered in the wind, and she sat on the bed with her sister and her bears, cats, and bunnies, listening to her mother tell fairy tales that would never run dry.

“Haven’t you played enough?”

The cold voice pulled Ji Songshu back to reality.

Tonight was a moonless night. She turned her head and saw the clock silently pointing to 2:00 AM. Pei Jiyue had returned and was bending over at the entryway to take off her high heels. She lost her balance, hopping several times, yet didn’t forget to comment:

“What is this you’re playing? It wouldn’t even qualify for a kindergarten competition.”

Ji Songshu withdrew her hands sheepishly. Although she didn’t want to admit it, Pei Jiyue had passed Grade 10 piano.

“I can’t seem to get this arpeggio right. Could I trouble you to teach me?”

Facing Ji Songshu’s request, Pei Jiyue suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of superiority. She let out a long breath, tilted her chin high, and smiled: “I’ll only demonstrate once.”

Her fingers were nimble as they darted across the keys, the notes flashing by.

“Did you learn it?” Her eyes and brows were full of pride.

Ji Songshu nodded: “I’ve memorized it.” She placed her hands on the keys and tried to play it from memory. “Is it like this?”

Pei Jiyue’s face turned pale. She didn’t answer but pushed Ji Songshu off the piano stool, sat down, and played an entire segment of a rapid, swirling melody. Then she asked urgently: “What about this one?”

She was demonstrating an extremely advanced technique that had taken her three different teachers and months of practice to barely master. This would definitely be enough to slap Ji Songshu’s face, she thought excitedly, constantly urging her.

Ji Songshu carefully recalled the movements from just now and followed suit, playing it through. She looked up somewhat uncertainly and asked, “Is it like this?”

Pei Jiyue clenched her fists.

Looking at Ji Songshu’s calm and beautiful face, she was gnashing her teeth with hatred. She shouldn’t have been so light-handed back then; she should have just broken her hands and scarred her face.

“Such a simple thing and you still need me to teach you. I can’t be bothered to waste time on you. Practice by yourself.”

Pei Jiyue dropped those words and went back to her room. When she closed the door, the “bang” sounded like it was going to explode.

Ji Songshu didn’t take this episode to heart. Pei Jiyue’s emotions were like an overly sensitive smart trash can; you didn’t even have to step on it—it would open its lid just by you getting close.

She checked the time; it was getting late and she should sleep. She had an 8:00 AM class tomorrow.

However, her footsteps were lingering.

Actually, recently, for some reason, she was a bit afraid of sleeping…

After dawdling for a long while, she showered and lay down on her small bed, where even turning over was difficult. The sound of the piano seemed to still be echoing in her ears. She couldn’t help but raise her hand and press piano keys in the air.

After playing like that for a while, she felt she was being a bit silly, so she pulled her hand back and tucked it under her cheek, warning herself:

“Sleep, go to sleep quickly. I won’t dream of those things tonight!”

In a haze, her consciousness blurred, as if she were thrown high into the air and landed on a cloud.

Someone was softly calling her name.

She felt a hand support her, and a pair of long, powerful hands wrapped around her from behind. A soft body pressed against her back.

The other person’s breath affectionately puffed against her ear. She trembled, she softened, she felt herself turn into a pool of water, soaking the sheets, dripping down, becoming wet—everything was a mess.

Amidst the blur and the world spinning, she saw that person’s face clearly.

Eyes as dark as ink, usually filled with uncontrollable spirit, were now equally entranced.