For a moment, his breath stilled.
Lin Che looked like she had stepped into the world through a crack of soft light. She was too unaware of her own charm, too unguarded, too gentle in a place full of sharp edges and hungry ambition. Something tight and unfamiliar stirred in his chest—something he did not name, something he did not entirely welcome, yet he couldn't ignore.
His instinctive reaction was unreasonable, almost primal. He hated how many eyes followed her. He hated how openly they admired her. He hated the unspoken thoughts he could already predict on the faces of the younger men.
He wanted to shield her—not possessively, not selfishly—but protectively, fiercely, in a way he had never wanted to protect anyone before.
Yet he quickly suppressed the feeling.
She was not his to hide, nor someone who should be hidden.
And even he knew she deserved every ray of admiration that fell upon her.
Meanwhile, not far away, Director Zhu Wenhai—one of the most influential figures in the country's film industry—felt his entire body jolt upright. His eyes widened as he stared, hardly believing what he was seeing.
He grabbed his assistant's sleeve urgently.
"The heroine for Moonlit Promise—we haven't finalized it, right?"
The assistant shook his head. "No, Director. Lin Meirong didn't pass her screen test. The role is still open."
Zhu Wenhai's excitement burst forth instantly.
"Good. Perfect. Excellent. I've found the face I need. The one in the blue dress—find her information immediately. I don't care who she is—just get it."
His assistant nearly tripped from shock. Zhu Wenhai was known to reject actresses even after dozens of auditions. But now, one look was enough to make him want to chase after an unknown woman he didn't even know the name of.
Lin Che and Nan Lu, unaware of the swirl of attention orbiting them, finally slipped through the crowd and reached a quiet corner table. Only then did Lin Che release a shaky breath.
"Why were they all staring like that…?" she whispered, her voice soft and uneasy.
Nan Lu gave her an exasperated but affectionate look. "Because you're beautiful. Accept it. Don't make me slap some confidence into you."
Lin Che groaned softly, covering her face with her hands, her ears turning red. Even in embarrassment, she radiated a gentle warmth that made it impossible not to look her way.
More men drifted toward their side of the room, pretending to admire the decor or refill their drinks while stealing glances. The women, meanwhile, exchanged looks thick with jealousy—measuring, calculating, disapproving.
And among all those reactions in the ballroom, none was as intense as the one from Gong Rui.
He had been chatting lightly with a circle of young masters, enjoying the party, when the movement at the entrance caught his attention. He turned casually—then froze.
The glass slipped from his hand.
Shattered against the floor.
But he didn't react to the noise. He didn't even blink.
His gaze was fixed entirely, breathlessly, on the girl in the blue dress.
"...Lin Che…?" he whispered, almost disbelieving, as if his mind refused to accept that the gentle girl from the village could appear like this—glowing under chandelier light, elegant, breathtaking, almost surreal.
For a moment, Gong Rui genuinely believed his eyes were deceiving him.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Even rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, as if trying to clear away a mirage.
But the scene before him did not shift.
The girl in the baby-blue gown standing at the far end of the ballroom remained exactly where she was — glowing, ethereal, breathtaking in a way that almost hurt to look at straight on.
Only then did he register the crash.
The glass he had been holding moments ago had slipped from his fingers and struck the floor, shattering into dozens of sharp pieces. Crystal shards scattered across the polished marble like spilled starlight. Several guests gasped and jerked backward, the sudden commotion startling the people near him.
A few fragments bounced against the hem of one lady's gown, slicing a faint line across her ankle. The cut was tiny — a dot of red rising like a pinprick — yet she immediately clutched the nearest arm and whimpered as if her leg had been chopped clean off.
Her exaggerated cries spread even more alarm.
But Gong Rui heard none of it.
His world had narrowed into a tight, breathless tunnel vision, and at the end of that tunnel stood Lin Che — so stunning that his chest tightened painfully. She had always been pretty, always gentle and sweet in a simple way… but this?
He never imagined she would appear like this.
And the sight of her beauty, so vivid beneath the chandelier lights, filled him with a strange ache he could not explain. Something between regret and longing, between disbelief and an emotion he had no courage to name.
For a fleeting second, that pain flickered openly in his eyes — raw, sharp, unguarded.
But it vanished as quickly as it surfaced, swallowed back into the darkness behind his usual calm expression.
He took one step toward her.
Just one.
But immediately — a firm tug yanked him from behind.
He stumbled slightly and turned, only to see Madam Gong gripping his arm. Her smile was frozen too tightly, her eyes sharp with disapproval.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed under her breath, her voice sugar-coated but laced with displeasure. "There are guests watching. Compose yourself."
Only then did Gong Rui look around.
Dozens of eyes had turned toward him — some concerned, some curious. The lady with the cut ankle was still whimpering dramatically, clutching onto the arm of an unfortunate man who was trying to console her while clearly regretting standing too close.
The atmosphere was awkward.
This was supposed to be his party.
His big welcome ceremony.
And he had just caused a small scene.
A wave of irritation flashed through him — not at the guests, not at the woman still pretending to die from a paper-thin cut — but at how everything and everyone suddenly felt like obstacles.
He wanted to take one step, just one more step, to go to the girl standing alone across the room.
But he couldn't.