The moment the servant finished speaking, Gong Feng's expression hardened completely.
It was not a visible outburst—no raised voice, no sharp movement—but anyone who knew him would recognize the danger in that stillness. His jaw tightened, the muscles along his cheek flexing slightly, as if he were grinding something bitter between his teeth.
Earlier, after seeing the marks on Lin Che's hands—those faint yet unmistakable traces of oil splashes and burns—he had already ordered his assistant to quietly investigate what had happened in the mansion that day.
At the time, he had forced himself to remain composed, telling himself not to jump to conclusions.
But now, standing in the service corridor, looking at the discarded dishes in the bin, something in him shifted.
Those dishes had been prepared with care. That much was obvious even to someone like him, who had never stepped foot into a kitchen.
The colors were balanced, the plating thoughtful, the aroma lingering even after being thrown away. This was not the work of someone casually cooking—it was the work of someone who had poured time, effort, and sincerity into every step.
And she had been a guest.
Not only that—she was a guest he cared about far more than he was willing to admit.
His gaze darkened.
"Who ordered the dishes to be thrown away?" Gong Feng asked quietly.
The servant stiffened instantly, her back straightening as if an invisible weight had been placed upon her shoulders.
"It… it was Second Madam Gong, sir," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.
A faint crease appeared between Gong Feng's brows.
"Is there any of the food she made left?"
The servant blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. She hesitated, then nodded quickly.
"Yes, sir. Some of it… some of us didn't throw everything away. The food was very good, and we thought it would be a waste. We kept a portion aside."
As the words left her mouth, fear crept into her expression. She lowered her head instinctively, already bracing herself for reprimand. Keeping food without permission was not exactly proper conduct in a mansion like this.
Yet instead of anger, she heard something unexpected.
"Send some of it to the East Wing," Gong Feng said calmly. "The rest—you can share it."
The servant froze.
Then she looked up, disbelief flashing across her face before relief washed over her entirely.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she said hurriedly, bowing again and again.
Only after she turned to leave did she notice that Gong Feng was no longer looking at the kitchen at all.
His gaze had gone distant, unfocused, as if his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Inside the bathroom, Lin Che stood in front of the sink, gripping its edges tightly.
Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
At first, she had thought she could endure it. That if she simply stayed still long enough, the tightness in her chest would ease on its own. But instead, the emotions she had been suppressing all evening came crashing down at once.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror.
Her eyes were red, lashes clumped slightly from tears. Her lips trembled despite her efforts to keep them steady.
She had spent her entire youth with Gong Rui.
From the village paths they had walked together, to the years of quiet companionship, to the unspoken understanding that had bound them long before either of them knew what love truly meant.
And now—just like that—it was gone.
Snatched away without warning.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if trying to hold her heart together.
So this is what it feels like, she thought bitterly.
After a long while—long enough for her breathing to finally slow—Lin Che straightened.
She rinsed her face with cold water, dabbed at her eyes, and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, the traces of crying were still visible, but her posture was steady.
She did not expect to see Second Madam Gong standing there.
The woman's gaze swept over her, lingering deliberately on her reddened eyes and slightly disheveled appearance. For just a fraction of a second, something flickered in her eyes—satisfaction, perhaps even pride—before it vanished behind a composed smile.
Lin Che tried to walk past her.
Second Madam Gong lifted a hand and caught her wrist.
"Did you see?" she asked softly. "Things that don't belong to you will always return to where they should be."
Her grip was not strong, yet it was firm enough to stop Lin Che in her tracks.
"You're a smart woman," Second Madam Gong continued. "You already understand what this means."
Lin Che slowly turned to face her.
Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "What is it about me that you dislike so much?"
The question slipped out before she could stop herself.
She had not wanted to ask it. Pride alone should have kept her silent. But she truly did not understand.
They had met only a handful of times.
And yet, from the very first encounter—inside Old Zhang's house—she had felt it. That inexplicable hostility. That sharp, targeted disdain.
"I've never done anything to you," Lin Che said steadily. "So why?"
Second Madam Gong's lips curved into a small smile.
"Hate?" she repeated. "No. I don't hate you."
Her gaze sharpened. "I simply believe that you don't belong anywhere near my son."
Lin Che let out a soft, humorless laugh.
"So the young mistress of the Ming family does?"
Second Madam Gong nodded without hesitation.
"She comes from a wealthy family. She brings resources, influence, connections—things you cannot offer," she said coolly.
"Gong Rui is a member of the Gong family. He should marry someone within his own circle."
Lin Che listened quietly.
Strangely, the anger she had felt earlier began to fade.
In its place was something colder, heavier.
Pity.
"Is that so?" she asked softly.
For the first time, she truly saw it clearly—not just Gong Rui's future, but the cage surrounding him.
A life planned out down to the smallest detail. A marriage chosen not for love, but for profit and appearance.
She felt sorry for him.
And, unexpectedly, sorry for the woman standing in front of her.
"If that's the case," Lin Che said after a pause, "then there's nothing more I can do."
Second Madam Gong's smile widened, satisfaction evident.
"At least you know your place," she said.
"I'm doing this for your own good as well. Stay away from my son. If you need anything—money, opportunities—I can give them to you. But Gong Rui can never end up with you."
Lin Che laughed again.
This time, it was self-deprecating, hollow.
"Pay me to leave him?" she said lightly.
She shook her head, as if amused by her own situation.
"I've only seen things like this in dramas," she murmured. "I never thought it would happen to me."
Then she looked up, her gaze steady and sharp.
"This is quite the love you have for your son."