Did the Tsundere Miss Get Slapped in the Face Again Today? - Chapter 67

Chapter 67: “Don’t Think Of A Piece Of Trash Like Me Ever Again.”

“Yesterday, I accidentally saw the search history on the computer. Jiang Zhi was the one using it before,” Lin Anran said, staring at the ceiling, her narration alternating between calm and turbulent.

“Do you know what she was searching for?” Lin Anran’s hand tightened on the quilt.

“She was searching for affordable pink sedans. Do you think… maybe at the very beginning, she wasn’t planning on leaving? Maybe she was planning and mapping out a future for us?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Lin Yishu said, tucking the corners of the quilt around her. “Stop thinking. Try to get some sleep.”

Lin Anran shook her head and continued. She wasn’t really talking to Lin Yishu; it was more of a monologue to herself.

“She asked me once if I liked a certain model of sedan. How did I answer? I forgot. I’ve been trying to remember for so, so long.”

She had thought about it for a long time without success, until one day, the memory suddenly became crystal clear.

At the time, she had casually remarked that it was “embarrassing”—that driving a car like that was too shameful, too cheap.

Lin Anran lowered her gaze. “Do you think she left because I rejected that car? Because I rejected her vision of our future?”

Lin Yishu replied, “She’s the one who left without a word. She is the one in the wrong.”

Lin Anran suddenly grew agitated. “How could it be her? It was clearly my family making things difficult for her. I knew Big Sister would pressure her, yet I still missed the signs that she was struggling emotionally.”

“Anran,” Lin Yishu sighed softly. “Life has many possibilities. Love is only a small part of it. It’s important, yes, but it’s not everything. Look forward.”

Lin Anran closed her eyes and fell silent. It was unclear if she had taken the words to heart.

She was clearly exhausted, yet even in the silence, even with her eyes closed, sleep eluded her.

She opened her eyes, sat up, and reached for her phone.

Her finger hovered over the screen for a long time, hesitating, as if she were in the middle of a deep internal struggle.

Finally, she clicked on the chat box with a certain someone.

She hadn’t opened it in a long time. From the moment she stopped actively searching for Jiang Zhi, she hadn’t made a single call or sent a single text.

The chat history ended three months ago. Back then, she was frantically searching for her—sending hundreds of messages and making countless calls.

But no matter how much she struggled, it was meaningless. Every call and message sank into the ocean without a single echo.

Lin Anran scrolled through the old messages.

Among those hundreds of texts, there were angry curses, calm attempts at communication, and humble pleas.

Did Jiang Zhi ever see them?

Lin Anran didn’t know. She had successfully “quit” her for three months.

But today, she wanted to message her again. Even though she knew there would be no reply.

“I’m sick. I feel terrible.”

Lin Anran stared at the screen. She waited and waited.

She waited until her eyes grew sore from the glare, until a single tear blurred the screen.

In the end, she didn’t get what she was waiting for.

An hour later, she sent one last message.

“Liar.”

She had asked her so many times, and every time, Jiang Zhi had promised she wouldn’t leave, that she wouldn’t abandon her.

But Jiang Yi was a liar.

In a remote little mountain village, night fell. The sound of frogs echoed from the rice paddies, and fireflies danced among the grass.

Jiang Zhi lay on an old wooden bed, her forehead covered in cold sweat, her throat dry and aching.

She had a fever again, likely from catching a chill two nights ago.

This mountain village was where she grew up. Since her grandmother passed away, she had rarely returned. She came back this time because she realized she had nowhere else to go.

She didn’t know where to turn; the only place left was this small village.

Nestled at the foot of a mountain with only a few scattered houses, the village had no young people left—only the elderly. They had lived here their whole lives, some never having stepped foot outside the area.

Jiang Zhi didn’t actually like it here. It was too quiet—a silence so heavy it bred fear.

This bout of cold and fever kept recurring, as if it refused to leave her.

In her delirium, she often had an illusion—one she shouldn’t have. She felt like someone was sitting by her bed, someone familiar.

Who could blame her? The last two times she had a fever, that person was there.

She had grown used to having company when she was sick. Now that she was alone… her heart felt empty. A hollow, bleeding void.

Jiang Zhi turned her head toward the phone resting on the ancient wooden table. For three and a half months, it had remained powered off.

In a backward village, a phone didn’t serve much purpose anyway, other than being one less distraction to kill time.

Jiang Zhi weakly propped herself up and reached out for the phone.

The moment her finger touched the device, she jerked it back as if she had been electrocuted.

She didn’t dare. She still didn’t dare.

She was afraid that if she turned it on, there would be too many messages—and equally afraid that there would be none at all.

The only thing she could do was escape.

A person like her truly didn’t deserve love. She had hurt her family when she was young, and now she had hurt her lover.

Lin Han was right. She was incompetent and cowardly, someone who couldn’t be relied upon.

Weakened by the high fever, Jiang Zhi soon collapsed back onto the bed.

She stared blankly at the old white mosquito net above her and let out a bitter smile.

A fever was agonizing, but the illness would eventually pass. Whether it was a physical sickness or a sickness of the heart, it would heal—it just needed time.

If three months weren’t enough, then she would take another three. For someone like her, time was the one thing she had in abundance, and time was worthless.

Recovery was a slow process. It took Jiang Zhi a full half-month to regain her strength. Once she was mobile, she didn’t stay idle; she found plenty of tasks to occupy herself.

She repaired the old house, turned a patch of land into a vegetable garden, and planted flowers and grass around the courtyard.

She kept herself busy all day. Slowly, the dilapidated little house began to look respectable under her care.

During this time, she went to the small town to buy a new phone and get a new SIM card. As for why she bought a new one, it was likely because she didn’t dare touch the original.

She didn’t buy the phone for fun. She started filming videos again, registering a new account. Every day, she filmed herself repairing the house, planting vegetables, and making various snacks.

Oddly enough, back then, Lin Anran had bought her all sorts of phone stands and filming equipment, and she had studied filming techniques online.

But no matter how hard she tried back then, her videos barely got any likes.

The most she ever got was 1,000 likes—and those were “watered down” because Lin Anran had secretly spent money to buy traffic for her…

The little cat was afraid her Jiang Yi would lose her fighting spirit, so she used that secret way to encourage her.

Lin Anran thought she had been perfectly stealthy, but Jiang Zhi had discovered it long ago.

Back then, no one watched the cooking videos she poured her heart into. Now, the rustic life videos she filmed casually were gaining significant traction.

When she received her first 10,000 likes, Jiang Zhi couldn’t believe it. She clicked in and out of the app repeatedly. She was afraid her eyes were playing tricks on her.

She instinctively held her phone out to her side. “Kitten, look! 10,000 likes…”

Mid-sentence, she froze.

There was no one beside her. Jiang Zhi silently withdrew her phone.

The joy of the 10,000 likes was washed away, her heart wrapped in bitterness.

When she used to get 100 likes, she couldn’t help but share it. Lin Anran would always say: “Only 100 likes? Look at how easily satisfied you are.”

When she had 100 likes, she had someone to share it with. Now that she had 10,000, she was alone.

Her “country life” videos performed well. Every post broke 10,000 likes. Her followers quickly surpassed 10,000… then 100,000. Slowly, she began to receive advertising offers.

Although there was still a massive distance between her and the “one million followers” goal Lin Anran had set, at least she had something to strive for.

Her savings grew bit by bit.

Before meeting Lin Anran, she would have jumped for joy every time she saved 10,000 yuan. It would have brought her a huge sense of satisfaction and security.

But now…

She stared at her bank balance with a heavy heart. This money wasn’t even worth one of the bags Lin Anran carried.

Jiang Zhi sighed. She lay on a lounge chair with her hands behind her head, staring blankly at the full moon.

It was spring again. They had been separated for a year.

Jiang Zhi was still the same ordinary Jiang Zhi. What about Lin Anran?

Lin Anran, of course, was still the carefree princess.

Jiang Zhi thought of her again. Though she tried her best to control herself, longing was an all-pervading force.

She took out her phone and habitually typed “Lin Anran” into the search bar. There might be information about her online—perhaps the Third Miss of the Lin family was engaged, or getting married…

She could type those three characters skillfully, but she never dared to press the search button.

She wanted to know about Lin Anran, but at the same time, she was terrified of what she might see.

Even after a year, she was still escaping, huddling in this backward mountain village, living a life of near-isolation, not daring to take a single step outside.

Having hidden for so long, Lin Anran had likely forgotten someone like her. Lin Anran was confident and vibrant; her life was colorful. A failed romance wouldn’t trap her. She must be living well.

That was good. She should start her new life.

She shouldn’t think of a piece of trash like Jiang Zhi ever again.

Finding herself idle, she began a deep cleaning of the house. She worked from dawn until dusk. While cleaning, she accidentally saw the phone covered in dust in the drawer.

Her gaze froze.

She put down her cleaning rag and picked up the phone.

Clutching the device, her thoughts were a chaotic mess. Time ticked by, feeling as long as a century.

In the end, she gently placed the phone back into the drawer and closed it.

Halfway through the cleaning, she suddenly lost the heart to continue. She sat cross-legged at the gate of the small courtyard, eyes closed, letting the country breeze blow over her.

The wind carried the fresh scent of soil after rain, slowly smoothing out her frantic heartbeat.

She had almost pressed the power button on that phone.

What a terrifying, horrifying thought.

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