Dinner was served at exactly seven, just like Auntie Li had instructed.
The dining room gleamed with warm gold light, the chandeliers glittering like captured stars. The table was laden with dishes so delicate and fragrant that even the servants who carried them moved reverently, as if afraid to disturb the perfection of the moment.
But Second Madam Gong was not around. The servants said she was busy with preparations, that the coming celebration demanded her full attention. There were meetings to attend, decisions to make, decorations to oversee.
Lin Che nodded politely, but a hollow feeling filled her chest.
Zhang Rui was not there either.
She had hoped—just a little—that she might see him tonight. That maybe, after a week apart, he would at least appear, even for a moment, to greet her. It wasn't much to ask, was it? A word, a smile, something to bridge the distance that had suddenly grown between them.
He had only called once since leaving the village. Once. And that call had lasted barely five minutes.
Now, sitting before a table that could have fed twenty, Lin Che found she could not swallow a single bite. The food was exquisite, the flavors subtle and rich, but her mouth felt dry, her throat tight.
Nan Lu kept nudging her arm, whispering, "Che Che, eat. You'll faint before you see him again if you keep this up."
But Lin Che only forced a small smile and lowered her eyes to her plate.
Across the table, Grandpa Zhang sighed softly, his chopsticks unmoving. He knew that no amount of urging would change anything tonight.
When dinner finally ended, they rose quietly. The servants bowed as they left, and the long hallway outside seemed even more silent than before.
They bid Grandpa Zhang goodnight at his door, and Lin Che and Nan Lu retreated to their shared room.
Inside, the soft lamplight glowed warmly. Nan Lu, seeing the sadness etched on Lin Che's face, leaned against the bedpost and said gently,
"I know he's busy, Che Che. Don't worry. You'll definitely see him tomorrow."
Lin Che nodded, but she said nothing.
When Nan Lu's breathing finally evened out into a soft snore, the silence returned. Lin Che lay on her side, staring at the ceiling. She tossed and turned, the unfamiliar scent of the room—a mix of jasmine and old wood—keeping her restless.
Sleep came and went in waves. Each time she drifted close to it, something tugged at her heart, pulling her awake again.
The feeling grew stronger—an invisible pull, like a string fastened deep inside her chest, drawing her toward something unseen.
Her mind flickered back to Auntie Li's warning earlier that day:
"You can go anywhere, Miss Lin, but not the East Wing. That place is out of bounds. Just… don't go there."
A chill crept down her spine at the memory, but the pull in her chest refused to let her be.
She sat up slowly, the moonlight spilling across her face. The mansion was utterly silent—no footsteps, no whispers, just the faint rustle of leaves beyond the tall windows.
Before she knew it, her feet had already found the slippers placed by her bed. She wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and quietly slipped out of the room, careful not to wake Nan Lu.
The hallway beyond was dark, the air heavy with stillness. Only the faint glow of the courtyard lights filtered through the tall glass windows, painting thin silver lines on the marble floors.
The mansion at night felt different. Alive somehow. As if every wall held a breath, every shadow held a secret.
Her soft slippers made no sound as she walked, yet her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She followed the corridor's long stretch, guided by that strange, inexplicable pull.
The path curved slightly, and she realized she was heading toward the far end of the house—toward the forbidden East Wing.
The air grew cooler the closer she got. The scent changed too—no longer jasmine, but something faintly woody, like sandalwood mixed with rain.
And then she saw it—the grand double doors that marked the entrance to the East Wing.
She hesitated.
Her mind screamed that she should turn back, but her body didn't listen. Something in her heart whispered her name, almost like a sigh carried through the air.
"Lin Che…"
Her breath caught.
She stepped closer.
The East Wing was different—more intricately designed than the rest of the mansion. The wallpaper had soft golden threads woven through it, glimmering faintly even in the dark. The corridor was narrower, lined with old paintings and wooden carvings that seemed to belong to another era entirely.
Despite the eerie silence, she felt no fear—only a strange warmth spreading through her chest, as though she had finally found something familiar.
There were only three rooms here, unlike the dozens on the other side of the house.
Two were on the left, doors slightly smaller, the handles ornate. But the one on the right—its door was wider, taller, almost regal. That had to be the main room.
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out and brushed her fingers over the cold brass handle.
The metal was cool beneath her touch, but she swore she felt something stir from within the room, as if answering her presence.
Her heart pounded so loudly she thought it might wake the entire mansion.
"Just a quick look," she whispered to herself.
Her fingers tightened.
She pressed down gently.
A soft click.
The door swung open.
A faint rush of air brushed past her face, carrying with it the scent of cedar and something faintly familiar—something that made her heart ache with recognition.
She stepped inside.
The room was dim, the curtains half-drawn. A desk stood near the window, papers scattered neatly across it. A dark coat rested on the back of a chair. The faint glow from the courtyard lights illuminated a few framed photographs, their details just out of reach.
And then her eyes widened.
By the window, she could make out a tall figure—broad shoulders, sharp posture. A man.
For a heartbeat, she froze.
Had she imagined it?