Transmigrated as the Short-Lived White Moonlight, I Ended Up Happily Ever After With the Female Lead - Chapter 17

“You… don’t know where the kitchen is?” Song Yi finally understood why Ji Yan’an was standing by the door and wouldn’t move.

Ji Yan’an was planning to make up an excuse, her face flushed with embarrassment, but the quick-tongued Le Yan started up again: “Someone always brings the young lady’s meals directly to her room. How could she possibly go to a greasy place like the kitchen!”

In Le Yan’s eyes, her own young lady was like the moon and stars, meant to be hung high in the sky. Even if the Song Yi in front of her was beautiful, she was merely a splash of color in the mortal world and could not be compared to Ji Yan’an. Of course, the moon and stars do not eat mortal food.

Ji Yan’an pressed her hand to her forehead. Was this maid too silly? Song Yi wanted to laugh at Ji Yan’an’s expression, but ultimately held it in to save her face. She took the initiative to hold Ji Yan’an’s hand and said, “I’ll take you there.”

Ji Yan’an nodded and gave Le Yan a reproachful look. Le Yan was still scratching her head in place: “Why does the young lady keep doing inexplicable things with Miss Song?”

The protagonist doing “inexplicable things” was happily following the beauty, walking through the Ji estate.

After what felt like a long time, when her body, which hadn’t exercised in ages, started panting, Song Yi finally stopped. She pointed at the room that was emitting a fragrant aroma from inside and said, “This is the kitchen.”

If an uninformed bystand saw this, they might think the eldest young lady of the manor was Song Yi, not Ji Yan’an. Song Yi was far too familiar with the path to the kitchen, a familiarity that made Ji Yan’an feel a pang of sympathy.

The original text only mentioned that when the original owner refused to send Song Yi dinner, Song Yi would casually go to the kitchen to cook porridge for herself. It was during that one time, just as she finished the porridge and was about to take a few sips, that several nannies overturned her bowl. From then on, she learned the Ji manor had a rule that no one was allowed into the kitchen while cooking was in progress.

Too familiar… Ji Yan’an felt a little heartache. Song Yi should have also been a high-status young lady.

While Ji Yan’an was feeling sorry for her, Song Yi had already put the past aside. Her cold, slender hand was about to let go of Ji Yan’an’s, but Ji Yan’an held onto it tightly: “My hands are cold. You have to keep holding them for me, to keep them warm.”

Ji Yan’an started acting spoiled. The touch in her hand was like fine jade—cool but smooth and delicate. Except for the fingertips, where there were scars from being chapped by the cold.

She didn’t need to ask to know what caused those frostbite marks; she had to wash her own clothes in the freezing winter. Given Ji Tong’an’s temper, how could she possibly allow Song Yi to use hot water?

Song Yi couldn’t refuse her, so she reluctantly kept holding her hand as they walked into the kitchen.

The cooks who were stir-frying over the fires heard the sound, put down their work, and bowed first.

“Greetings to the Young Lady!” The cooks’ movements were uniform. After receiving Ji Yan’an’s pardon, they all got up and continued cooking.

The nanny steaming pastries on the side saw Ji Yan’an arrive and quickly walked over to ask, “Is the Young Lady hungry?”

Ji Yan’an coming to the kitchen was a rare occurrence, perhaps once in a hundred years. Her sudden arrival surprised everyone.

“Nanny, I want Miss Song to cook porridge for me. Could we… find a place for us?” Ji Yan’an inquired politely, and the nanny was very accommodating.

“If the Young Lady commands it, there must certainly be a place.” With that, the nanny warmly led Ji Yan’an and Song Yi to a side room of the kitchen. Inside, there were several clay jars—some used for brewing medicine, others for simmering soup—and one unoccupied pot.

“Young Lady, feel free to use it.” The nanny finished speaking and retreated to continue making her pastries. Song Yi rolled up her sleeves without a word and was about to get a bowl to scoop rice for washing.

Ji Yan’an knew she couldn’t help, so she didn’t stop her. She obediently found a small stool and sat down on it, propping her chin on her hand to watch Song Yi make porridge.

Song Yi’s snow-white wrists moved fluidly before Ji Yan’an, mesmerized her. She unconsciously lifted her own little hands to look at them. Although they were also pleasing to the eye, they were simply not as beautiful as Song Yi’s.

“As expected, beautiful people are beautiful all over,” Ji Yan’an chuckled foolishly. She was happy that this beauty in front of her was making porridge just for her. Song Yi was making her porridge!

The beauty first took a bowl and filled it with rice, then scooped water from the bucket to wash the grains. Her movements were smooth and graceful, not like cooking porridge, but more like a fairy performing a spell.

She brought some firewood, skillfully used a candle to light it, and pushed the burning wood into the stove beneath the pot. As the flames began to burn, Song Yi poured water into the pot to boil, added the rice, stirred it gently, and then covered the pot to let it cook.

Having completed the series of actions, Song Yi finally had a moment to look at Ji Yan’an. She found her sitting on the stool in a daze, hugging her arms, her eyes fixed on some unknown spot.

Song Yi walked over and followed her gaze, only to discover that Ji Yan’an was actually looking at her own wrist.

“What’s so good about a wrist?” Song Yi wanted to say something gentle, but for some reason, her words came out sounding like she wanted to keep people at a distance.

Fortunately, Ji Yan’an was already used to the outwardly cold but inwardly warm Song Yi. She took Song Yi’s hand and held it up for Song Yi to see: “Look at your wrist, it’s so slender and white! It’s just too beautiful!”

Ji Yan’an did not hide her admiration for Song Yi’s beauty or any part of her. Song Yi had grown accustomed to such enthusiastic praise.

“You like looking at other people’s wrists this much?” Song Yi asked, laughing helplessly as Ji Yan’an continued to hold and stare at her hand.

Ji Yan’an shook her head, stating seriously, “No, no, I only like looking at your wrist. Because only your wrist is beautiful, and only you are more beautiful than me!”

Ji Yan’an admired her own speaking skills—praising Song Yi while not forgetting to be narcissistic about herself—leaving her feeling quite pleased.

As time passed, the porridge in the pot gradually emitted a fragrance, mixing with the smell of the stir-fries in the kitchen. Ji Yan’an’s mind was now filled only with images of a table full of delicious food. Her stomach protested even louder.

Song Yi stood up, looked at the rice in the pot—it still needed a bit more cooking time. She extinguished the fire and covered the pot to let it steam before it would be ready to eat. Seeing Ji Yan’an’s face screwed up with hunger, Song Yi suddenly recalled her experience of waking up hungry three years ago and sneaking into the kitchen for snacks.

At that time, the pastries were hard as a rock, but Song Yi ate them happily.

Now, seeing Ji Yan’an hungry, Song Yi actually felt a strange urge to get something for her again.

Driven by a sudden impulse, Song Yi walked out of the side room. Seeing everyone busy, the nanny making pastries was still tending the fire. A fresh tray of pastries was placed on the table behind her, still steaming…

“Sorry, Nanny,” a slight smile appeared on Song Yi’s usually cold face. She skillfully circled behind the nanny, picked up the tray of pastries, and walked away. Because she wasn’t wearing hairpins or other head ornaments, her footsteps were light and silent. By the time the nanny reacted, all that remained was a glimpse of a fleeting sleeve corner.

“These children…” The nanny certainly knew what had happened, but she didn’t pursue it. After all, a new batch of pastries was about to come out of the oven…