Transmigrated Into the Stand-In of the Tragic Novel’s Heroine - Chapter 17

He Yanjin was the type of person who, if you asked her what she wanted, would reply, “Whatever,” but then, if she found it not to her liking, she would throw a tantrum. Sometimes she would weep silently, and sometimes she would scream hysterically—accusing you of not caring and not even knowing her preferences.

In this regard, Xie Qingtang was different from her. Or, perhaps, people like He Yanjin were truly rare.

When Chang Yishao got off work, she didn’t go straight home. Instead, she stopped at the supermarket across the street from the complex to buy a fish and some seasonings.

Pingyao was far away, and Xie Qingtang hadn’t arrived home yet.

She slowly cleaned the fish, removed the bones, and then meticulously sliced the flesh into translucent, thin pieces.

Xie Qingtang didn’t eat fish. What would her reaction be if she came back and found only a pot of sauerkraut fish? Chang Yishao contemplated this in a good mood.

Although she didn’t have anything specific she craved, she still held a strange anticipation for mealtime. As Xie Qingtang keyed in the password upon arriving home, a sudden realization dawned on her: she understood why Chang Yishao had asked her that “daily question” so early. Now, she was the one coming home the latest.

A scent carrying a hint of spice wafted towards her, and Xie Qingtang’s brow furrowed. Looking at the single dish on the table, she had a bad feeling. Red and white chili peppers covered the delicate, milky white fish slices, from which a faint steam was rising.

She didn’t want to eat fish, yet Chang Yishao had made a fish.

Was the sauerkraut fish meant to criticize someone? (The Chinese phrase (suāncài yú) sounds like “(yòu suān yòu cài yòu duōyú), meaning “sour, pathetic, and superfluous/unnecessary,” a common online insult).

Chang Yishao came out of the kitchen with two bowls of rice. She was still wearing the apron with the cartoon character, which looked a little comical.

Xie Qingtang frowned. It wasn’t that she deeply detested fish; she just found picking out the bones troublesome.

She accepted the rice bowl from Chang Yishao, didn’t say much, and sat down to start restoring her energy by poking at the sole dish with her chopsticks. The day had been spent listening to Qi Wang introduce the history of Pingyao’s development and going with him to dig clay in the rice paddies—collecting the raw material. No wonder they needed someone strong and energetic; it was physical labor from the start. Given this, she hadn’t had the leisure to talk to Chang Yishao about anything.

The fish was tender, seemingly melting with just a taste. The soup was savory, and the spice level was actually adjusted to their shared preference—a little more would be unbearable, but a little less would leave the flavor insufficient. What’s the point of living if one denies oneself delicious food? Xie Qingtang’s dining etiquette was less graceful than Chang Yishao’s; it carried a touch of wild abandon. Only after she was full did she slowly wipe her mouth and ask curiously, “Teacher Chang, have you considered changing jobs?”

Chang Yishao smiled. She had learned her cooking skills from a master chef. He Yanjin was fussy, and she was happy to be the fool—with the result that Xie Qingtang ultimately benefited. After clearing the bowls and chopsticks into the kitchen, she emerged having taken off the apron. She was clean and free of any oily smoke smell, as if she had simply been sitting calmly in the living room.

She gazed at Xie Qingtang with a light smile and asked casually, “Aren’t you angry?”

Xie Qingtang: “…” It really was intentional, but Chang Yishao hadn’t touched the pot of sauerkraut fish much; the majority of it had ended up in her own stomach. Xie Qingtang really had no intention of getting angry. She lazily raised an eyebrow and countered, “Why should I be angry?”

“Your temper is really good,” Chang Yishao remarked with emotion.

Xie Qingtang rarely saw such an expression on Chang Yishao’s face. She felt it was a bit subtle. Was Chang Yishao being sarcastic? After a moment of thought, Xie Qingtang replied, “Has someone disliked Teacher Chang at school?” Was that why she came back and made a sauerkraut fish (sour, pathetic, and superfluous)?

Chang Yishao lowered her eyelashes, and her smile subsided somewhat. She shook her head, “No.” She was only recalling He Yanjin’s behavior of seeking her out at the school and felt a degree of displeasure.

Xie Qingtang “tsk-ed” and didn’t bother to ponder the truthfulness of Chang Yishao’s words. She stretched, preparing to head into the study to continue her unfinished “work,” when she abruptly heard Chang Yishao ask again, “How do you view Duke Zheng?”

“What?” Xie Qingtang doubted her hearing. Duke Zheng? Did she know anyone named Duke Zheng?

Chang Yishao said seriously, “Zhuang Gong of Zheng.” (The name is often simplified to Zheng Bo in context).

Xie Qingtang sat back down.

She didn’t know what whim Chang Yishao was following, but it wouldn’t be right to directly refuse the boss’s request for a chat. She had that much professional etiquette.

“Guiding them with perversity, and then punishing the perversity; teaching them to rebel, and then attacking their rebellion! (1)” Xie Qingtang quoted a passage, then added, “His heart should be condemned.”

Chang Yishao pressed her hands on her legs, her fingertips unconsciously tapping up and down. She “hmm-ed” casually, then continued, “If your girlfriend cheated on you, would you forgive her?”

Xie Qingtang: “…” She didn’t have a girlfriend. If she had to name one, wasn’t it Chang Yishao? Was she hinting at herself? She curled her lip, raised an eyebrow at Chang Yishao, and replied, “Yes.”

Chang Yishao’s expression immediately became subtle. Could it be that she was the strange one?

Before she could ask why, she heard Xie Qingtang’s lazy voice pipe up, “When a person is about to die, their words are good (2). In the final moment, why not satisfy her?” A qualified ex is a dead person, and if they rise from the dead, they must be eliminated.

Chang Yishao was startled, then smiled after a moment. “Alright, you should go get busy.” Her tone was noticeably lighter.

Xie Qingtang got up. She looked down at Chang Yishao—Elder Qi used the phrase “Beauty like porcelain” to describe her, but those four words were much more fitting when applied to Chang Yishao. The finest porcelain pieces were on display in museums, to be admired from afar but not handled irreverently.

“Teacher Chang,” Xie Qingtang retracted her hand, which had gained a mind of its own and tried to touch Chang Yishao’s hair, and suddenly spoke.

Chang Yishao looked up at her slightly. Without the barrier of the lenses and the cold light reflected off the frames, Chang Yishao’s eyes held a touch more softness, their glances like ripples on autumn water. Xie Qingtang chuckled softly, then asked, “Teacher Chang, am I your milk tea?”

“Hmm?” Chang Yishao raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

Xie Qingtang laughed, “You drink it and then throw it away.” She was just a tool for chatting.

This time Chang Yishao understood. She didn’t raise her head or even glance at her. She said, “You’re not warm.”

Xie Qingtang was choked by her words. Who said milk tea had to be warm? “It’s almost May. Isn’t it nice to get a taste of the crisp coolness of iced drinks early?” Xie Qingtang stopped moving. She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, watching Chang Yishao who was half-sunk into the sofa.

After a long time, Chang Yishao’s voice drifted out.

She said, “No.” Whether early or delayed, it wasn’t particularly wonderful; she only wanted the just-right completeness. But since she probably couldn’t achieve it, she wouldn’t try.

There was no follow-up to the two words “No.” Xie Qingtang waited for a moment and then stopped waiting. The strange Chang Yishao was a thing of the past; the current one was Chang-Tight-Lipped-Yishao.

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