Nan Lu saw it then—the helplessness in her eyes, the exhaustion, the pain she was barely holding together.
And just like that, the numbness Lin Che had felt earlier vanished.
The pain surged back, sharper than before, as if a scabbed wound had been torn open all over again. Her chest tightened painfully, her breaths growing shallow.
When she had been with Gong Feng, the pain had dulled, as if temporarily soothed by something warm and grounding.
Now, out here, exposed, it came rushing back with brutal force.
The two women walked side by side toward the room in silence.
Halfway there, they ran into Grandpa Zhang, who had also left the banquet.
He looked at Lin Che quietly, his aged eyes filled with gentle understanding and unspoken sympathy. He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to.
"Let us go back home," he said softly.
Lin Che nodded immediately.
"Yes."
...
Because it was already night, catching a bus back to the village was far more difficult than Lin Che had expected. The city, which only hours ago had glittered with lights and celebration, now felt cold and indifferent. Still, after waiting for what felt like an eternity, they managed to catch the last bus heading in the right direction.
The three of them—Lin Che, Nan Lu, and Grandpa Zhang—sat close together, but not in the way they had arrived earlier that day, chauffeured in a luxurious car that seemed to belong to a different lifetime altogether. Now, the bus was old, its seats worn and faintly smelling of dust and diesel. The windows rattled softly as it moved, and the dim interior lights cast long shadows over their tired faces.
Grandpa Zhang sat beside Lin Che, his back slightly hunched, his hands resting on his knees. Several times, he opened his mouth as if to speak, only to close it again. Words rose to his lips, but each time, he swallowed them back, unable to find the right ones.
He had raised Gong Rui with his own hands.
From a boy with dirt-smudged cheeks and calloused feet from working the fields, to a young man who once stood before him with earnest eyes and said he wanted to marry Lin Che—Grandpa Zhang remembered it all too clearly. Back then, there had been no hesitation. He had agreed immediately, because he knew Lin Che. He knew her diligence, her humility, her kindness, and her resilience. She was exactly the kind of person Gong Rui needed.
Yet now, after tasting wealth and status, Gong Rui had turned his back on the woman who had stood by him through poverty and hardship. Grandpa Zhang could not understand it. No matter how many excuses the world offered—family pressure, business alliances, duty—it all sounded hollow to him.
He glanced at Lin Che.
She sat quietly, her gaze lowered, her hands folded in her lap. There were no tears on her face now, but that somehow hurt more. It was as if she had cried everything out earlier and was left with nothing but exhaustion.
Finally, Lin Che sensed his unspoken thoughts. She turned toward him gently and said, "It's okay, Grandpa. Everything will be okay."
She wasn't sure whom she was comforting—him or herself.
Grandpa Zhang's eyes reddened instantly. He had already lost a son, and now it felt as though he had lost another, not to death, but to ambition and betrayal. No amount of compensation, no public apology, could ever replace the years he had spent raising Gong Rui, nor the future he had once envisioned for Lin Che.
"You've been wronged," he said hoarsely.
Lin Che shook her head softly. "It's okay. Really. It's okay."
The bus rumbled on through the night, carrying them farther and farther away from the city, from the lights, from the illusion of happiness that had shattered so abruptly.
By the time dawn broke, the bus finally reached the village.
The sky was pale, tinged with soft hues of blue and gray. Morning mist clung to the fields, and the air smelled faintly of earth and dew. It should have been peaceful.
What Lin Che did not expect—what none of them expected—was to see her grandmother standing near the bus stop.
She looked frail, her back slightly bent, leaning on her cane, her thin figure wrapped in an old cardigan despite the mild weather. Her health had not been good lately. On most days, even walking to the courtyard was a struggle.
Yet there she was.
The reason became clear almost immediately. The news had already reached the village. The Gong family's announcement had spread everywhere—social media, official statements, whispers carried faster than the wind. Gong Rui's engagement to Ming Ni Ni was no longer a secret.
Her grandmother must have found out.
The moment she saw Lin Che step off the bus, her eyes lit up, filling with tears. She took a few unsteady steps forward.
"Cheche…" she called, her voice trembling.
That was all it took.
Lin Che's composure shattered completely. She rushed forward and threw herself into her grandmother's arms, hugging her as tightly as she could, as if she were afraid that letting go would cause everything to collapse.
This—this was what she had been missing all night.
She cried openly, boldly, without restraint. All the pain she had held back, all the humiliation, betrayal, confusion, and heartbreak poured out in sobs that shook her entire body.
Her grandmother held her firmly despite her own weakness, one hand patting Lin Che's back again and again, the other cradling her head protectively.
"It's alright," she murmured softly. "Cry, Cheche. Cry it all out. Grandma is here."
Nan Lu and Grandpa Zhang stood a short distance away, giving them space. Even though the bus stop was quiet at this hour, a few early travelers cast curious glances in their direction. None of that mattered.
Lin Che cried for a very long time.
Her grandmother whispered soothing words, brushing her hair gently, rocking her slightly as if she were still a child. She scolded her softly for suffering alone, reassured her that no matter what happened, she still had a home, still had family.
"Men come and go," her grandmother said quietly. "But you are precious. Don't ever forget that."
Slowly, Lin Che's sobs began to quiet, turning into soft, hiccupping breaths. She clung to her grandmother, drawing strength from the familiar warmth, the steady heartbeat beneath her ear.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red and swollen, but her expression was calmer.
"We're going home," her grandmother said firmly, as if sealing a promise. "Everything else can wait."