"Of course," Second Madam Gong replied. "He is my son."
Lin Che's smile disappeared.
"Yes," she said calmly. "He is your son. And yet, the moment you found him—after twenty years—you didn't try to rebuild what was lost. You didn't try to understand him. You immediately arranged his marriage to benefit your family."
She tilted her head slightly.
"What an excellent mother you are."
The color drained from Second Madam Gong's face.
"Lin Che!" she shouted, her voice echoing sharply down the corridor.
Lin Che met her fury without flinching.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she wiped the last trace of a smile from her lips.
"Ten billion," she said quietly. "Is that the price?"
Second Madam Gong's face turned completely pale.
For a moment, she looked as though the blood had been drained straight from her veins, leaving behind nothing but shock and disbelief. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her eyes fixed on Lin Che with an intensity that bordered on panic.
How could she know?
That was the only thought echoing in her mind.
Lin Che watched her quietly. There was no triumph in her gaze, no smugness—only a calm certainty that made the silence even more unbearable. She had not spoken carelessly. Every word she had said had weight.
Earlier that evening, while she had been standing off to the side of the ballroom, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, she had overheard things she was never meant to hear.
At the time, she had been standing behind a decorative partition near one of the columns, her figure concealed by shadows and the movement of guests. A group of elegantly dressed women stood not far away, their voices lowered but sharp with thinly veiled disdain.
"Look at how radiant she looks," one of them scoffed softly, her gaze flicking toward Second Madam Gong across the room.
"Anyone who didn't know better would think she had been searching for her son for twenty years straight."
Another woman laughed quietly, the sound laced with mockery. "Twenty years? Please. Who would believe such a story?"
A third voice joined in, colder, more cutting. "With the wealth of the Gong family, finding a lost child should have taken no more than a few months. But back then, what was the use of finding him? A poor village boy, no value, no bargaining chip."
There was a pause, then someone sneered.
"She stopped searching the moment she realized there was no benefit. And now? Now that a ten-billion-dollar collaboration with the Ming family is on the table, suddenly she knows exactly where her precious son is."
The sarcasm was unmistakable.
"Such deep maternal love," one of them added, her tone dripping with irony.
The women laughed softly among themselves, their expressions full of thinly disguised contempt. None of them noticed Lin Che standing behind them, frozen in place, her fingers curling slowly at her side.
She had not meant to listen.
But every word had carved itself into her heart.
Back in the corridor now, Lin Che met Second Madam Gong's gaze steadily.
"Who told you that?" Second Madam Gong asked sharply, her composure finally cracking.
Lin Che shook her head. "It doesn't matter who told me."
She paused, then spoke again, her voice calm but unwavering.
"All you need to know is this—I liked your son when he had nothing. When he was just a boy from a village, with no name, no status, no future written for him."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"That means I liked him. Not what he could bring. Not what he could earn. Not what he could be sold for."
Second Madam Gong's fingers tightened at her side.
"But you," Lin Che continued quietly, "the moment a profitable collaboration appeared, you didn't hesitate. You chose to trade him."
She let out a soft, almost tired breath.
"Between the two of us, morality doesn't even come close. No mother in her right mind abandons her son for twenty years simply because he wasn't useful at the time."
Second Madam Gong's expression twisted, fury flashing across her face.
Lin Che turned her head then, her gaze drifting across the ballroom to where Gong Rui stood.
He was still beside Ming Mimi, his posture rigid, his jaw clenched.
His smile was stiff, forced, as though it had been carved onto his face rather than chosen. His eyes were dull, lacking any spark of joy.
Lin Che studied him for a long moment.
"Look at him," she said softly. "Do you think your son is happy?"
Second Madam Gong followed her gaze, then snapped back sharply, her voice cold and absolute.
"Happiness is not an option," she said. "He is my son. I can do whatever I want with him."
Something inside Lin Che finally went still.
All the anger, the hurt, the resentment—it settled into a quiet, hollow calm.
"I see," she said.
She nodded once, almost politely.
"Good luck with that."
Then she turned and walked away.
Her steps were firm, her back straight, but it was only when she had taken several steps that Second Madam Gong's voice rang out behind her, sharp and threatening.
"Do not even think about getting close to him again," she said coldly. "If you do, Lin Che, I will destroy you."
Lin Che stopped.
She turned her head slightly, just enough for her profile to be seen.
"So will I," she replied evenly. "Second Madam Gong."
Her lips curved faintly, not in amusement, but in resolve.
"I look forward to seeing how the two of us destroy each other."
She paused, then added quietly, "Nice party. Good night."
And with that, she walked away.
Only then did her breath finally shudder out of her lungs.
Her heart pounded violently against her chest as the weight of what she had just done crashed down on her. Second Madam Gong was a woman of immense influence, someone revered—and feared—within high society. Speaking to her like that was reckless. Dangerous.
But Lin Che had never been someone who could swallow humiliation and pretend it didn't hurt.
She had held her breath the entire time.
Now, as she moved farther away, she released it shakily, her steps quickening.
Suddenly, a hand caught her arm.
She stumbled slightly, startled, and turned.
Gong Rui stood in front of her.
His grip was firm, his face tight with emotion—conflicted, strained, and unmistakably troubled.
"We need to talk,"