Transmigrating Into A Sadistic Novel And Becoming A Master Of Painting Rosy Pictures - Chapter 100

Shang Qinghui didn’t understand, but her body trembled uncontrollably. Her mind and body seemed to be operating independently.

A tingling sensation, like a faint electric current, shot up her back; an unfamiliar tongue invaded her territory.

She instinctively pressed her lips together, trying to prevent its intrusion, only to be met with an even more overwhelming assault. Her own raised chest, her own hand pressing down…

She was like a piece of taffy, being molded and reshaped by various methods.

“Mmm…”

Shang Qinghui let out a soft moan, her mind losing its usual clarity. She only felt that this closeness wasn’t unpleasant.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together; every heartbeat resonated, and she heard a rhythmic thumping. But she couldn’t distinguish whether it was her own heart or someone else’s.

As the wet kisses and sucking trailed down her neck, each peck accompanied by a soft popping sound, Shang Qinghui closed her eyes and stiffly arched her long neck.

It felt like she was sinking into oblivion, yet also like she was yearning for more. When the hot breath lingered on her collarbone, sucking and circling, she clutched the hand on her chest.

Her face was flushed, but she honestly expressed her desire, “The… other side too…”

Bian Yingning paused all her movements, then lifted her head.

Shang Qinghui kept her eyes closed, unsure if she dared to look or wanted to feel everything more intensely with her eyes shut.

Her lips were still wet, red, and glistening, reminding Bian Yingning of a flower drenched in rain, vibrant and alluring.

She was like an unreserved child, openly expressing her innermost desires.

So cute.

Bian Yingning suddenly smiled, “Why are you so greedy?”

The teasing words reached Shang Qinghui’s muddled mind; she opened her eyes.

How could she describe the eyes before her? Even though everything around her was swaying, she could still see the desire welling up in those eyes—a raw, naked desire that could drag someone into a fiery abyss.

Shang Qinghui thought she would receive more, after all, she had voiced her desire. But Bian Yingning was being playfully cruel.

She pinched one of her own cheeks, her lips brushing against the other, their skin intimately close.

The words she uttered were like the whispers of lovers, but upon hearing them, a surge of anger welled up inside Shang Qinghui.

She said, “Even if you ask, I won’t give it to you, drunkard.”

Shang Qinghui: “?”

…

That night, Shang Qinghui felt like she was lying on a grill, being subjected to intense heat.

Bian Yingning, on the other hand, lay awake until dawn.

The midday light streamed through the gaps in the unclosed curtains, and Shang Qinghui woke up vaguely.

The only fragments she remembered were from the latter half of the night: herself lying in her own bed, wrapped in a blanket, a pillow pressed between her legs, tossing and turning restlessly.

The tightening grip, the white knuckles clenching the blanket, were insufficient to quell the surging tide of desire within her.

…

On Monday morning, Shang Qinghui still looked unwell.

Wang Yu asked if she was feeling uncomfortable, but Shang Qinghui only shook her head.

How could she possibly admit that she was likely suffering from unfulfilled desires, feeling restless and burning with a fierce inner fire, making her crave a cold shower in the dead of winter?

She figured she must be getting older and needed to engage in some adult activities. And the alcohol had likely stirred up the demons lurking deep within her…

With this thought, Shang Qinghui opened her cup and took another sip of the chrysanthemum tea she had brought to cool her down.

“Why did you run off so quickly on Saturday night? I turned around, and you were gone,” Wang Yu asked, remembering the incident.

Shang Qinghui closed the lid of her cup, a lingering look of desire in her eyes.

“…I don’t remember.”

After all, when she regained consciousness, she was lying in her own bed, suffering from a splitting headache, feeling dizzy, nauseous, and on the verge of vomiting.

“Damn, that bar must have served watered-down drinks,” Shang Qinghui muttered angrily.

Wang Yu: “…”

There’s a possibility you simply drank too much.

Wang Yu: “Drink more hot water.”

Shang Qinghui: “…”

They fell silent. Shang Qinghui appeared to be listening attentively to the professor’s lecture, but her gaze was unfocused.

As she listened, she unconsciously touched her ear, her fingertip tracing along her earlobe, gently rubbing it. Her hand was warm; her ear was cold; the contrast felt pleasant.

Was it… a dream?

Why did she remember that area being… touched?

…

On Monday afternoon, the cooking competition between the Culinary Arts department and the French exchange students officially began in the Culinary Arts department’s practical training hall.

“How confident are you?”

Bian Yingning and Zhang Zhizhi, dressed in their chef’s uniforms, Zhang Zhizhi asked Bian Yingning, who was still adjusting her sleeves.

“Completely confident,” Bian Yingning replied with a smile.

Zhang Zhizhi nodded. Their main objective in this competition was to defeat the French team; who won amongst their own team was secondary.

Emerging from the back, they realized that a considerable number of people had come to watch the competition; the hall was already surrounded by a circle of students, and the members of the French team had also arrived.

The students from other departments who were there to assist with translation were also arriving one after another, all dressed in their uniforms and standing near their respective team members.

Bian Yingning looked down at her palm, noticing several crescent-shaped indentations—marks she had just made herself by pinching her skin. Taking several deep breaths to center herself, she looked up.

At that precise moment, Shang Qinghui, also dressed in a white chef’s uniform, walked by. Her hair was tucked neatly under her hat; her mask wasn’t properly adjusted, hanging loosely around her ears and pulled down to her chin, revealing her small, delicate face.

Upon seeing her, Bian Yingning’s breath caught in her throat, and the crescent-shaped indentations on her palm deepened.

Her mind was flooded with images of Shang Qinghui’s straightforward and somewhat clumsy behavior in the restroom the previous night.

“Good luck,” Zhang Zhizhi patted Bian Yingning on the shoulder, interrupting her unwelcome train of thought.

“You too, good luck,” Bian Yingning withdrew her gaze and said earnestly to Zhang Zhizhi. In a way, they were fighting for the honor of their school.

Shang Qinghui’s eyes lingered on Zhang Zhizhi’s hand resting on Bian Yingning’s shoulder; the two were standing very close, encouraging each other. Shang Qinghui slowed her steps.

Should I go over? Would it make me a third wheel?

Remembering her plan, Shang Qinghui hesitated even more.

“Please, all contestants, take your positions according to your assigned order,” the emcee announced from the stage.

The first round was a collaborative effort between the two teams. Since the event was framed as a cultural exchange, they couldn’t make it look too bad. Today’s competition involved pairings of Culinary Arts students and members of the French team to create a single dish together.

The pairings had been determined beforehand but hadn’t been announced until now, when the staff projected them onto a screen. Bian Yingning saw that her partner was a French student named Marco.

As she prepared to walk to her station, she remembered something and turned around. Shang Qinghui was a few steps behind her, still standing still.

“Let’s go, Junior.”

Bian Yingning said this to her, her expression betraying no emotion.

It felt strange to be addressed this way. Even her senior classmates, those who knew her, would use more familiar terms like “Qinghui” or “Qingqing.”

Shang Qinghui pursed her lips, avoiding Bian Yingning’s gaze, but her feet obediently followed her to their station.

“Bonjour!” Marco, with deep-set eyes, was already waiting at their station. Seeing Bian Yingning and Shang Qinghui approach, he greeted them with a smile.

Bian Yingning offered a polite smile, but before she could respond, Shang Qinghui, with a serious expression, leaned in, dutifully translating, “He’s challenging you.”

Bian Yingning: “…”

What?

Bian Yingning slowly looked at Shang Qinghui, who was maintaining a serious expression. A stranger might have thought they were at an international exchange conference.

If she hadn’t heard what Marco said, Bian Yingning almost would have believed Shang Qinghui’s translation.

But…

Even though she didn’t understand French, she knew what “bonjour” meant, just like foreigners know “hello.”

Marco was even more confused than Bian Yingning. He had greeted them politely; why did the two Chinese students look so serious?

Bian Yingning said with difficulty, “What is he challenging us about?”

“It doesn’t have a specific meaning; it’s like an onomatopoeia or a catchphrase,” Shang Qinghui explained.

Her expression was too serious, and her explanation wasn’t entirely wrong.

So, even though Bian Yingning knew Marco had said “hello,” she couldn’t help but feel challenged.

“Then… what should I say back?”

“Let me handle it.” Shang Qinghui said, as if implying that Bian Yingning shouldn’t force herself if she couldn’t do it. She said to Marco, “Bonjour.” Then, turning back to Bian Yingning, she said, “Don’t worry; I’ve challenged him back.”

Bian Yingning: “…Thank you.”

“Now, everyone open the cabinets under your stations. Today’s competition is: using the provided ingredients, create a dinner dish to be judged by the panel.”

The emcee spoke again. Six judges sat on the stage, three Chinese and three French.

The competition, seemingly simple, had many complexities.

First, they had to collaborate with the exchange students, who would likely want to make French food, while the Chinese students would want to make Chinese food, leading to disagreements.

Second, the judges were split; their tastes varied; making only one type of cuisine might lose points with half the judges.

These two factors alone were very limiting.

After the emcee finished speaking, Bian Yingning heard Shang Qinghui chattering with Marco, who looked at the cabinet after listening.

The station was small; the three of them blocked the cabinet. He said something to Bian Yingning.

Bian Yingning looked at Shang Qinghui.

Shang Qinghui: “He said if you don’t move, get out of the way; he wants to open the cabinet and see what’s inside.”

Bian Yingning: “…”

Bian Yingning knelt down and opened the cabinet; the ingredients were revealed.

“Wow, C’est très bien!” Marco exclaimed happily.

Shang Qinghui: “He said you have bad luck; why didn’t you let him open it?”