At the same time, across the vast stretch of the mansion, the East Wing stood cloaked in quiet dignity.
Behind its tall glass windows, the faint glow of evening sunlight painted golden streaks across the marble floor, illuminating the lone figure who stood by the window—Gong Feng.
He was dressed immaculately, as always.
A crisp white shirt hugged his tall frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the lean strength of his arms. His black suit jacket rested neatly on the back of a chair, abandoned for now.
In his hand, a sleek phone glinted softly as he spoke into it—his voice calm, steady, commanding.
"Seal the deal before the quarter ends," he said quietly. "No excuses. I want a report by morning."
The man on the other side of the call stammered an acknowledgment, but Gong Feng was barely listening anymore. His gaze was fixed outside the window—drawn to the sprawling gardens below.
The conversation continued, but his thoughts drifted.
He wasn't sure why, but every time he tried to leave this spot, something invisible seemed to hold him there.
It was as though a thread—thin, unbreakable—tethered him to that view.
And his eyes, unbidden, always found their way toward one particular direction—a far-off window on the other side of the mansion.
He didn't even know what exactly lay there. Yet he couldn't shake the strange pull that came from it.
The same pull he'd felt once before.
That day in the village.
That moment by the stream, when he had turned and seen her standing there—sunlight dancing across her hair, her eyes bright with quiet defiance.
Lin Che.
Her name whispered through his mind again, uninvited yet persistent.
Lin Che.
He murmured it under his breath as if saying it could somehow explain the ache that rose within his chest.
Ever since that fleeting encounter, something inside him had shifted—something that refused to settle.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was foolish. Irrational. He barely knew her. And yet—every time he closed his eyes, he saw her standing there again, calling him Sir, that little crease between her brows visible as she tried to mask her irritation.
And now this feeling again.
Was she… here?
His aunt had mentioned that the guests from the village had arrived earlier that day—villagers who had raised her long-lost son. It wasn't impossible.
Could one of them be her?
The thought sent a ripple through his composed demeanor. His grip on the phone tightened slightly, though his face betrayed nothing.
"Understood," he said curtly, ending the call.
Silence fell around him once more.
Outside, the fading sun dipped behind the horizon, scattering a soft amber glow that kissed the edges of his face.
For a long moment, he stood there—still, quiet, thoughtful.
Then, with a faint shake of his head, he turned away, forcing himself to focus.
Work. That was what he should be thinking about. Not… her.
He moved back to his desk, where documents lay scattered in neat precision. Yet even as he began to read through them, his thoughts strayed.
That strange sensation of being watched, or perhaps drawn, lingered. He could almost feel eyes on him—gentle, questioning, familiar.
And then, suddenly, the pull vanished.
Just like that.
The invisible thread snapped, and the quiet ache inside him dulled to silence.
He released a slow breath and lowered his pen, the faintest furrow creasing his brow.
Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," he said, his tone smooth and composed again.
The door opened, revealing Auntie Li, the house's senior attendant. She bowed slightly before speaking.
"Sir, dinner will be served at seven," she announced politely.
"I'll have it sent up," he replied without looking up. "I have a conference shortly."
"Yes, sir."
She hesitated briefly, then seemed to remember something.
"Oh, and sir," she added, her tone cautious, "Madam Gong's guests from the village have just arrived."
That caught his attention. Gong Feng's pen stilled over the paper.
"Guests?" he asked quietly. "How many?"
"Three, sir. An elderly gentleman and two young women."
He glanced up at her then, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Names?"
Auntie Li shook her head. "I did not inquire their names, but…"—she paused, thinking—"I believe one of them has the surname Lin."
The word echoed softly through the room.
For a heartbeat, Gong Feng didn't move. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in their depths.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "Understood," he said simply.
Auntie Li bowed and left quietly, closing the door behind her.
When the silence returned, Gong Feng leaned back in his chair, his gaze once again drawn toward the darkening garden outside.
The faintest ghost of a smile curved his lips—barely there, gone before it could fully form.
She was here...
She was truly here.
A brief feeling of joy jumped around his heart and he almost went out to maybe accidentally encounter her yet he stayed put.
He found himself unable to get up no matter what and the indescribable happiness that emanated from just hearing she was around brought a profound sense of helplessness to him.
He was not like this, but with her, his heart almost felt alive again.
He realized that he had wanted to see her again ever since their last encounter but he did not know how to go about it but now that she was here, all was good.
"Lin Che…" he murmured again under his breath, testing the sound of it like a secret.