Did the Tsundere Miss Get Slapped in the Face Again Today? - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: “Don’t Turn Around, Please Don’t Turn Around.”

With a soft creak, the heavy door of the meeting room was pushed open.

Hearing the movement, Jiang Zhi set down her teacup and looked up toward the entrance.

The newcomer had a sharp, shoulder-length bob and wore a professional black business suit. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with a serious expression and even more serious attire.

This made Jiang Zhi’s casual outfit feel painfully out of place. She uncomfortably tugged at her white T-shirt, wishing she had worn something more formal.

“Hello, Miss Jiang, right?” The short-haired woman offered a polite smile and extended her hand. “I am the Operations Director of ZAR. It’s a pleasure to have you at our company.”

Jiang Zhi shook her hand, her mind racing. Wasn’t the boss supposed to come? Why is it the director now?

After the handshake, they sat down. The director explained: “Our boss was originally intended to speak with you personally. However, due to some unforeseen circumstances, she is temporarily unavailable. We didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I’ve stepped in. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jiang Zhi waved her hands hurriedly. “Not at all, not at all. I’m not a big star; talking to anyone is fine.”

The director let out a soft laugh. Her face was stern, but her voice was warm and approachable. “You’re too modest, Miss Jiang. Our boss is actually a fan of yours. She watches every video you post and likes them very much.”

Jiang Zhi laughed awkwardly. “Is that so? Ha, I’m honored. Thank you for the support.”

The response was purely diplomatic. She didn’t take it literally. The boss of a company like ZAR managed a massive operation—how could she have time to watch amateur countryside videos? It was clearly just polite office banter.

They skipped the small talk and got straight to the point.

Jiang Zhi flipped through the contract. To her surprise, everything seemed perfect. She had worried the company might interfere with her creative process, but the contract explicitly stated that ZAR would not interfere with content creation, offering only suggestions and maintaining full creative freedom.

The terms were so generous that Jiang Zhi had no reason to refuse.

The meeting went well, and Jiang Zhi signed the contract on the spot.

The director stood up, and Jiang Zhi followed suit for a final handshake.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the director smiled.

“Likewise,” Jiang Zhi nodded.

At that moment, a faint, lingering scent of perfume drifted over.

Jiang Zhi froze.

It was a familiar scent—light, fresh, and smelling of peaches.

Lin Anran loved this specific perfume. It was her signature scent.

Is this perfume that common? Jiang Zhi wondered. It was the first time she had smelled it on anyone other than Lin Anran.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” The director noticed her strange expression.

“No,” Jiang Zhi snapped back to reality. “It’s nothing.”

Once the details were finalized, the director escorted her downstairs. Before leaving, Jiang Zhi bit her lip, hesitating for the entire walk before finally asking: “Excuse me, but the…”

What perfume are you wearing?

The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t finish.

The director looked confused.

Jiang Zhi shook her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

It was better not to ask. What would she do if she knew? Buy a bottle herself? Spray it on her skin when she missed her to indulge in the past? She shouldn’t be so childish.

After saying goodbye, Jiang Zhi stood by the roadside, watching the heavy traffic and the towering skyscrapers. Having lived in the countryside for two years, the bustling city felt alien and overwhelming.

She felt like an outsider, a feeling that made her yearn to go back home immediately. If the contract hadn’t been so important, she never would have left the village. It had become her safe zone—safe inside, terrified outside.

But she didn’t know what she was afraid of. The world was huge. Even if she was in the same city as Lin Anran, the chances of a run-in were zero. There weren’t that many coincidences in the world; people who part ways stay parted.

Jiang Zhi checked her phone for train tickets. The last train for the day was sold out. She would have to wait until tomorrow, unless she paid for an expensive high-speed rail or a flight.

Since Jiang Zhi refused to spend five or six hundred yuan more on a flight when a hotel night cost much less, she decided to stay over. She was as frugal as ever.

She exited the train app and opened a hotel booking site, instinctively sorting by “lowest price.” She chose a budget option—essentially a youth hostel. Jiang Zhi didn’t care about luxury; as long as it was cheap and safe, it was enough.

Even though her income had doubled thanks to her video ads, her lifestyle remained stubbornly “stingy.”

Exhausted from the journey, she checked into the hostel and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

She didn’t know how long she slept, but she was eventually woken by the sound of rain.

Raindrops pattered against the window. Outside, the sky was dark, and the room was even darker. Jiang Zhi stared out, wondering if Lucky was scared being home alone, if the cat knew to hide from the rain, and if it had eaten the food she left.

She worried like an old mother, even though she’d only been gone for a day or two. Keeping a cat is too exhausting, she thought. If I had known…

Actually, she was glad she didn’t know. Lucky was good company.

Growl.

Her stomach protested. She hadn’t eaten much all day.

The rain was pouring. Jiang Zhi wanted to wait for it to stop before going out for food, but it showed no signs of letting up. She headed down to the front desk to see if they had anything.

“We have instant noodles, bread, and coffee. Take your pick,” the hostel owner, a middle-aged woman with a bob cut, said while cracking melon seeds and watching TV. She didn’t even look at Jiang Zhi; her eyes were glued to the noisy screen.

Jiang Zhi bought a cup of instant noodles and a coffee—a combination Lin Anran used to love.

The lounge area had a few people scattered about. Jiang Zhi took her food to a quiet window seat. To an outsider, eating instant noodles by a window might look pathetic, but with the rain lashing against the glass and the warmth of the food, it felt almost cozy.

The window faced a busy intersection. People hurried across the crosswalk under umbrellas. Jiang Zhi watched them while she ate. She looked at the colorful umbrellas, her eyes lingering on any that were pink.

That style is nice, Anran might like it. That one is ugly, she definitely wouldn’t.

She watched for a long time, moving from interest to a quiet, aching sadness. Just as she was about to look away, she saw a familiar figure.

A figure so familiar it was etched into her soul. No matter how much time passed, she would recognize her instantly.

The person was holding a transparent umbrella, walking from across the street. Her silhouette was graceful, blurred by the mist of the rain.

She wasn’t holding a pink umbrella, nor was she wearing a pink dress. She looked a bit different.

It was Lin Anran, yet not the Anran in her memories. Her hair was shorter—the long, wavy curls replaced by a straight, shoulder-length cut. She looked much thinner; in the wind and rain, she appeared fragile.

Jiang Zhi felt her heart race out of control. Her mind couldn’t even manage her body; her eyes were locked on the woman crossing the street, and she stood up so abruptly her chair screeched.

Her knee slammed into the table, spilling the coffee.

Jiang Zhi ignored the mess. Her eyes only held the person on the street.

Lin Anran seemed to sense something. She stopped, her footsteps halting, and tilted her head up to look toward the building.

Jiang Zhi’s heart hammered. The moment Anran looked over, Jiang Zhi spun around, presenting only her back to the window.

Her mind was a mess. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she held her breath.

One… two… three… four… five…

Jiang Zhi counted the seconds. She was calculating how long it would take for the person to finish crossing the street, how long until they were out of sight, and how long until the danger of eye contact passed.

She stayed in that frozen position for a full minute before daring to turn around.

The familiar figure under the transparent umbrella was gone.

Jiang Zhi looked down and smiled. It was a smile, but it looked more painful than crying—a forced, bitter curve of the lips.

She took a deep breath, grabbed a napkin, and began cleaning the spilled coffee as if nothing had happened.

Halfway through cleaning, she felt the light dim slightly.

She looked up.

The person who had vanished had reappeared just outside the window. She had folded her umbrella and was standing under the hostel’s eaves to avoid the downpour, her back to the glass.

Jiang Zhi stared, frozen in place. Her grip on the napkin tightened until it tore with a sharp rip.

Jiang Zhi wanted to run, but her feet felt like lead. Yet, more than wanting to run, she wanted to look at her—even if it was through a window, even if it was just her back.

Her eyes were full of longing and sorrow. Why such a coincidence? The world is so big; why must we meet like this?

Was it luck or a curse?

Jiang Zhi decided it was luck. This way, she could secretly look at her back one more time. She watched greedily, praying to herself: Don’t turn around.

Let the rain last a little longer so she stays there.

Then she changed her mind. Let the rain stop. Her sleeve is getting wet; she needs to go home and change so she doesn’t get sick.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind. But thankfully, the woman never turned around.

The rain began to taper off. Jiang Zhi thought it was time for her to leave.

Outside the window, Lin Anran looked up at the sky and reached out a hand to feel the rain. It had stopped. She picked up her umbrella and began to walk away.

Jiang Zhi watched her leave in silence.

Then, without warning, Lin Anran stopped. She turned her head back.

Jiang Zhi gasped. It was too late to hide. Their eyes met.

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