Chapter 17: Itās a Pity Some Peopleās Hearts Are Filthy
Realizing his tone had been a bit harsh, Ji Songting gently took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He said apologetically:
“Sorry, Xiao Yan. I wasn’t snapping at you. Itās just that there are some things I haven’t settled yet. Besides, due to the business relationship with the Jian family, I can’t make a hasty decision.”
Shen Chuyan didn’t continue his tantrum. He suppressed his temper just enough, knowing full well that Ji Songting had loathed Jian An for years. He would never abandon him to love a murderer.
With a smile on his face, he nodded. “It’s fine. I know A-Ting is being forced. I’ll wait for you forever.”
Seeing the youth being so sensible and understanding, Ji Songtingās eyes were full of heartache, and a sense of self-reproach welled up within him.
He loved Shen Chuyanās obedient personality, and he couldn’t bear to see him suffer even a bit of grievance.
A look of determination appeared on Ji Songtingās face as he made a solemn promise: “Xiao Yan, the wedding and the ring that belong to youāI won’t miss a single thing.”
Shen Chuyan snuggled into the man’s arms, his fingers tracing idle circles over his heart. He said softly:
“Okay. I believe in A-Ting.”
By the time he returned after dropping Chuyan off, the sky had been swallowed by the night tide. Ji Songting had originally intended to spend the night at the office to avoid the unprovoked irritation he felt whenever he saw Jian An.
Just then, Yang Rui sent over the surveillance footage from the bar, along with a message:
[Ji-zong, these are the two thugs who took Mr. Jian away. Do you want me to find someone to teach them a lesson?]
As he watched the video on his phone, a slight trace of surprise flashed in Ji Songtingās eyes. He replied:
[No need.]
It seemed he had indeed wrongly accused the man.
The only thing he wanted to know was whether Jian An had left with them voluntarily. As for whether those two punks should be punished, what did that have to do with him?
There was absolutely no need to waste time and energy on that wretch.
But what about the private photos on the USB drive? Had someone tampered with it?
Who would go to such great lengths to slander a useless nobody who posed no threat and had nothing to his name?
Ji Songting was certain the Jian family wouldn’t do it; they wouldn’t bother making trouble for an illegitimate son.
Rather than believing it was a frame-up, he preferred to believe that Jian An couldn’t endure the loneliness and was out seducing men.
After all, the man was very good at putting on an act, wasn’t he?
From a distance, the rows of streetlights merged into a single line of light, reflecting in the manās deep pupils.
Turning off the screen, Ji Songting closed his eyes slightly and leaned back against the seat in exhaustion.
His empty mind suddenly and uncontrollably echoed with Jian Anās humble, pleading words:
“Can you eat a meal with me every day?”
From morning to night, that man always had a melancholic look about him, lacking even a shred of the youthful energy someone his age should have. Yet, he loved to put on a show of deep affection. He was probably waiting at home right now, looking pitiful.
Thinking of this, Ji Songting rubbed his throbbing temples and changed his mind on a whim. He suddenly spoke:
“Don’t go to the company. Go back to the villa.”
“Yes, Ji-zong.”
Stepping into that dull, tedious house, Ji Songtingās calm face turned ice-cold in an instant.
He handed his suit jacket to Chen Ma and asked casually, “Where is he?”
Chen Ma informed him truthfully, “Mr. Jian heard you were coming back and is in the kitchen making dinner for you right now.”
Ji Songting gave a grunt of acknowledgement. He remained indifferent to the way the servants made things difficult for Jian An, not caring at all.
He had planned to go to the study to finish some delayed work, but his feet somehow led him toward the kitchen.
Having lived a life of luxury, he rarely came to this placeāhardly ever, in fact.
He vaguely remembered the last time he had been in the kitchen was during his youth. It had been far too long.
Back then, his mother was still around.
During her life, Lin Qiuwan had not only loved art but was also passionate about culinary research. She often fed the young Ji Songting until he was stuffed.
Ever since his motherāthe only person who truly cared for himāpassed away unexpectedly, he would easily find himself overwhelmed by grief whenever he saw things or places related to her.
Now, standing in the corner of the doorway and looking in, he could just see Jian Anās busy back. He did indeed look a bit like Lin Qiuwan had in life.
The same apron, the same counter-clockwise motion of whisking eggs.
It was just a pity that some people’s hearts were filthy; he could never be compared to his gentle and kind mother.
Ji Songting just stood there silently, not saying a word, his clenched fingers slowly relaxing.
He watched somewhat dazedly, as if he were seeing his younger self, standing on a stool waiting for his motherās chopsticks.
He didn’t even notice that his usually cold and distant expression whenever he faced Jian An had gradually become soft and warm.
In a gap between turning around to get a seasoning, Jian An caught sight of the man quietly hiding at the door. He was both surprised and joyful.
“Songting, youāre back? What are you doing there? Dinner will be ready soon. Go wait in the living room for a bit.”
Coming back to his senses, Ji Songting coughed twice in extreme embarrassment, feeling bewildered by his own lack of disgust just now.
He merely spared Jian An an indifferent glance, ignoring his question, and left the kitchen.
A hint of disappointment appeared on Jian Anās face, but the fact that Ji Songting had returned before dinner for the first time filled his heart with an uncontrollable joy.
It was like a tiny, microscopic ray of sunlight had finally shone onto a body that had been shrouded in gloom for a long time.
It was rare for Ji Songting to sit at the dining table so calmly. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the tabletop, watching silently as Jian An carried the dishes back and forth.
Setting aside his resentment, the food the man made was quite well-presented, looking both exquisite and delicious.
But sometimes, appearances were useless.
The last two dishes, placed specifically in front of him, were a bowl of “Three-Fresh” rice noodles and a plate of Yam braised pork.
Ji Songtingās tapping hand stopped abruptly. His dark pupils contracted sharply, and a long-buried string in his mind suddenly snapped.
He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of braised pork, examining it, then put it back under Jian Anās expectant gaze.
The look Ji Songting gave him was one of unmasked scrutiny and coldness. “How do you know my tastes? Who taught you how to make these two dishes?”
Faced with this sudden question, Jian An stood by the table, stunned and momentarily at a loss. He explained:
“I… in the past, I wanted to know what foods you liked, so I asked Professor Lin to teach me.”
The next second, Ji Songting stood up and swept the rice noodles and braised pork off the table right in front of him.
The sound of shattering bowls and chopsticks rang out in the empty dining room, followed by the manās furious voice:
“You aren’t worthy of mentioning my mother in front of me, nor are you worthy of making these! You pathetic, begging thingāget out!”
Ji Songtingās chest heaved violently. As if finding it utterly ridiculous, he pulled out a tissue to wipe the soup splashes off his hand and left the dining room.
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