Did the Tsundere Miss Get Slapped in the Face Again Today? - Chapter 93

Chapter 93: “Lin Anran, Give Me Back The Hand-Cord.”

Text and language are sometimes too pale; they cannot express enough. Many things, across the distance of a mobile phone, simply cannot be explained clearly.

You need to be face-to-face. You need to look into each other’s eyes, hold each other’s hands, so that the message can be delivered accurately without error.

Jiang Zhi always loved to shrink into her tortoise shell to hide, but this time, she didn’t want to run. She would go see her, give her a chance, and give herself one too. Even if it truly had to end, she didn’t want it to end in a muddle.

Gazing at the scenery rushing past the train window—stretching mountains and lush greenery—Jiang Zhi didn’t find it beautiful. Instead, she thought about how remote her hometown truly was. How did someone living in such a secluded place ever get connected to a princess in a castle? Could this connection actually continue?

The stranger sitting next to her had been sobbing quietly the whole time. Jiang Zhi didn’t know what had happened to her, but it surely wasn’t anything pleasant. She pushed a pack of tissues toward the girl.

The girl whispered a thank you and an apology, her tears falling even harder. Jiang Zhi didn’t offer comfort, nor did she look at her again; she just turned her head back to the window.

Jiang Zhi wanted to cry like that girl—to wail without restraint—but for some reason, the closer she got to Mucheng, the less she was able to shed a single tear. She was in a state of numbness.

Where exactly was the final stop of this train? Did there have to be a “final stop” between people? She felt a cowardly urge to turn back to her safety zone, but she endured. She was terrified, but she still had to see her.

For the past half-year, Jiang Zhi had taken this train countless times. Every time she looked at the scenery, her heart would leap with joy. She would hum tunes the whole way, heading to see the person she loved most with a cheerful spirit.

But today, on the same train, the feeling was gone. There was no joy, only a heavy weight, like a thousand-pound boulder pressing on her chest, making it difficult even to breathe. The scenery outside was glaring; the noise inside was jarring.

Her phone vibrated twice. She checked it; it was a message from Lin Anran.

Anran: “Where are you?”

The white glow of the phone reflected in Jiang Zhi’s black-rimmed glasses. The eyes behind them were cold and hollow. She didn’t reply.

Anran quickly sent another: “I’m at the office now. Just come straight here.”

Jiang Zhi still didn’t reply. She just stared blankly at the screen. Finally, she let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you with my crying?” the girl next to her apologized through her sobs, clearly misunderstanding the sigh.

“No,” Jiang Zhi said, her eyes downcast. “I’m just dealing with some annoying things too. I kind of want to cry myself.”

The girl wiped her tears. “Did you go through a breakup too?”

Jiang Zhi gave a bitter smile. “Probably soon.”

Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, Jiang Zhi saw the scene inside the conference room.

People were gathered around the long table. Lin Anran sat at the head of the table in a professional suit, her long hair tied back. She was presiding over the meeting with calm composure.

This version of Lin Anran was a stranger—so much so that Jiang Zhi almost didn’t recognize her. Her features were the same, but her aura had changed. Every movement and expression was different from before.

The old Lin Anran loved wearing bold red dresses, her wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, her makeup exquisite, looking at people with an arrogant, disdainful tilt of the head. But that arrogant girl would suddenly run to Jiang Zhi, spread her fingers, and demand that Jiang Zhi admire her new glittery nails.

“Are they pretty? My new nails,” she would ask, showing off like a child.

Back then, she was familiar and easy to understand. But the person now controlling a boardroom was complex and difficult to read. Lin Anran had grown up; she wasn’t a child anymore. She was an adult capable of standing on her own, while Jiang Zhi felt as though she were still standing in the same spot, not having moved an inch.

Jiang Zhi’s gaze slowly drifted away from her and scanned the others in the room. She identified them one by one. Which one is Chu Yuening? Is she in this meeting?

Jiang Zhi had never seen Chu Yuening, but she had heard her mentioned countless times, giving her a general impression. She looked for someone who fit the description: beautiful, bright, perhaps a bit aggressive, yet witty and humorous.

She looked closely at everyone. She couldn’t find her. No one fit that aura.

So, Chu Yuening wasn’t in this meeting? Good. At least for today, she wasn’t there. If she were, there might be too many “accidents.” Without her, Jiang Zhi might actually be able to have a smooth conversation with Anran without outside interference.

Yesterday, when she called Anran, a cliché scene had flashed through her mind: what if the person who answered wasn’t Anran, but Chu Yuening? Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. She had heard Anran’s voice, not Chu Yuening’s. Her shattered heart had found a small bit of comfort in that.

Inside the room, the person at the head of the table stood up. From the shape of her lips, Jiang Zhi could tell she was saying “Meeting adjourned.”

The meeting was over. Anran was about to come out. Jiang Zhi inevitably became nervous. Her hand at her side curled into a fist. With a creak, the heavy doors were pushed open.

Lin Anran was the first one out.

Jiang Zhi’s body stiffened for a second. She stood frozen, not daring to move or speak. She suddenly regretted coming—her cowardly nature was hard to change. At the critical moment, her instinct was to hide.

But it was too late. Anran had seen her.

Their eyes met.

Lin Anran was followed by a crowd of people filing out of the room, yet among them, she was as dazzling as ever. Seeing Jiang Zhi, the dazzling woman’s eyes curved into a smile. The coldness of a CEO vanished, replaced by a childlike playfulness as she practically skipped toward her.

She crashed right into Jiang Zhi’s embrace.

Taken off guard, Jiang Zhi stumbled back two steps before regaining her balance. The hand holding the small cake box hung in the air for three seconds before she slowly and cautiously wrapped her arms around Anran.

“You’re finally here! Why didn’t you reply to my messages? Are you playing ‘cool and distant’ again? Is that bad habit coming back?” Anran grumbled, rubbing her face against Jiang Zhi’s neck with immense intimacy.

Jiang Zhi was stunned for a moment.

Why did she run over to hug me? Was the distance and the phone really just creating an illusion? Does the problem really solve itself once we’re face-to-face?

Could it be that simple?

Jiang Zhi wasn’t sure. She pushed her back slightly and looked into her eyes, trying to find the truth.

“What? Why are you staring at me? You’re acting weird,” Anran noticed the cake box. “Oh! You bought this for me.”

Jiang Zhi collected herself and handed it over. “I happened to pass by the bakery. I knew you liked this flavor, so I got one.”

Anran didn’t take it immediately. She just tilted her head, looking at the cake.

Jiang Zhi’s heart climbed into her throat. She prayed Anran wouldn’t say something like “I stopped liking this flavor a long time ago.” Seeing her hesitate, Jiang Zhi’s eyes grew lonely. It seemed she really didn’t like it anymore. It made sense; Anran got tired of things quickly—coffee, instant noodles… and perhaps even her.

Just as Jiang Zhi’s thoughts were spiraling, Anran took the cake.

“I don’t even like it that much, but since you already bought it, I’ll take a few bites out of pity,” Anran said, cradling the cake with crescent-moon eyes.

Jiang Zhi watched her, bewildered. She couldn’t understand. On the phone, she was so cold, yet in person, she was this warm? It was as if their previous conflict didn’t even exist.

Am I dreaming again? Am I still on the train, having fallen asleep?

Jiang Zhi secretly pinched her thigh. It hurt. It was real.

Since it wasn’t a dream, Jiang Zhi smiled, but she didn’t dare let it get too big, fearing the scene would vanish into thin air.

“Let’s go to the office to eat. I’ll share half with you—reluctantly. I don’t really want to share,” Anran said, lifting her chin and walking ahead.

Reaching the office door, she realized something was wrong and looked back. Jiang Zhi was still standing where she had been.

“What are you doing? Stop dawdling and catch up! Why are you spacing out? Do you not recognize me?”

Jiang Zhi snapped out of it, suppressed her emotions, and jogged to catch up.

Entering the office, Anran immediately placed the cake on the coffee table and began a “violent” unboxing. She accidentally tilted the cake while opening it, letting out a sharp “Hiss” of annoyance before glaring at Jiang Zhi by the door.

“It’s your fault. A perfectly good cake is ruined. If you hadn’t been so slow, I wouldn’t have had to open it myself. So annoying!” Anran sat down huffily and took a fork to taste the lopsided cake.

The faint, fresh scent of peach spread through her mouth—sweet, but not overly so. It was exactly the taste she liked.

Jiang Zhi watched her—opening the cake impatiently, scolding her when it broke, then immediately devouring it with her eyes squeezed shut in enjoyment. This was the Lin Anran she knew so well.

Jiang Zhi bit her lip, not daring to blink for fear the scene would disappear.

Anran took two more bites and glanced over. “Jiang Yi, are you actually sick? Why are you standing at the door? Do I have to invite you in? Actually, don’t come in. Get lost!”

That fierce attitude was also so familiar.

Jiang Zhi’s nose tingled. She turned her back and looked up, forcing the tears back. Only when she was sure they wouldn’t fall did she turn around, approach her, and sit down.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Anran scooped up a spoonful of cake and moved it toward Jiang Zhi’s mouth. Jiang Zhi opened her mouth with a slight delay, but before she could bite, Anran whipped it back.

“Did I say I’d give you some? No way,” Anran winked playfully.

Jiang Zhi grabbed her hand and pulled her close. She didn’t control her strength well; the fork and the cake tumbled to the floor with a splat.

Anran frowned, about to scold her fiercely. But before she could speak, Jiang Zhi leaned in, her lips inches from Anran’s.

But at that final distance, everything stopped.

Jiang Zhi halted. Anran looked at her with confusion.

Jiang Zhi pulled back, her gaze moving from Anran’s lips to her wrist.

The wrist was bare. The red hand-cord was gone.

Jiang Zhi asked, “Where is the hand-cord?”

Anran replied, “I was wearing it this morning, but someone told me it didn’t match my outfit today. So I took it off and put it away.”

Jiang Zhi fell into silence. “Someone told me.” Who said it? Chu Yuening? Chu Yuening said the cord didn’t match, so Lin Anran took it off?

Her face turned deathly pale. Her stomach suddenly cramped, a sharp acidity stinging her throat. She scrambled to the trash can, knelt on the floor, and began to vomit violently.

“Ugh—”

It felt as if she were retching up her very soul. Physiological tears were forced from her eyes.

Seeing this, Anran hurried over in concern and patted her shoulder. “Jiang Yi, what’s wrong?”

Like a startled animal, Jiang Zhi violently threw her hand off. “Enough!”

Anran stumbled back from the force. Once she steadied herself, she looked at Jiang Zhi with shock and confusion.

Jiang Zhi met her eyes. For a split second, she regretted snapping at her, but that regret was quickly overtaken by a vast desolation and numbness. She lowered her eyes, her fingers digging into the floor, her voice hoarse and pained.

“Lin Anran, I don’t want anything else. I don’t want any of it. Just… give me back the hand-cord.”

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