The whole country knew who Gong Feng was.
His name was no longer just a name—it was a symbol.
In the southern business circles, Gong Feng was spoken of with reverence and caution alike. He was magnanimous yet cold, decisive yet unfathomable, a man whose rise had been so swift and so brilliant that it bordered on legend. At an age when most heirs were still being groomed under the shadows of their families, Gong Feng had already started his own company, carving out a place for himself with ruthless precision and astonishing foresight.
But what most people remembered most vividly was not his success.
It was his loss.
Years ago, when the old patriarch of the Gong family died suddenly in a car accident, the entire business world trembled. The Gong family had stood at the peak for decades, and the patriarch was its unshakable pillar. His death alone was enough to send shockwaves through the industry.
Yet fate had been merciless.
Barely a day later, news broke that the new heir—Gong Feng's father—and his wife had also died in a tragic plane accident.
Three deaths.
Three pillars.
Gone in the span of days.
The chaos that followed spread like wildfire across the country. Stocks fluctuated violently, competitors circled like vultures, and rumors bloomed unchecked. Everyone was asking the same question: Who would take over the Gong family?
In the midst of all that noise, almost no one asked how Gong Feng was doing.
At that time, Gong Feng was still very young.
In just a few days, he had lost his grandfather, his father, and his mother. The family that had once surrounded him—firm, authoritative, warm in its own distant way—had vanished entirely. Overnight, he had become the sole survivor, the lone branch left standing after the storm had uprooted the entire tree.
Lin Che remembered hearing about it back then.
She and Nan Lu had been sitting together, gossiping as usual, flipping through news articles and whispered rumors like everyone else. Nan Lu, ever the seasoned gossipmonger, had been the one to tell her all the details with great enthusiasm—how the Gong family might collapse, how the power struggle would be brutal, how Gong Feng was rumored to be "too young" to hold everything together.
Lin Che had listened quietly.
Then, without really thinking, she had asked a question that surprised even herself.
"I wonder how Gong Feng is feeling."
Nan Lu had blinked at her, then laughed it off. "Feeling? Who cares about that? This is the Gong family we're talking about."
But Lin Che had cared.
Even then, when Gong Feng was already the heartthrob of countless young women, when his name alone could make headlines, Lin Che had not thought about his looks, his wealth, or his status. She had only thought about a young man who had lost everything in a matter of days.
Later, rumors spread that Gong Feng had changed.
They said he became ruthless.
They said he stopped trusting anyone.
They said he was no longer human, but a machine that existed solely for profit and control.
Lin Che had believed those rumors—at least partly.
And now, years later, walking behind him under the dim lights of the Gong mansion, those old memories resurfaced with startling clarity.
She watched his back as he walked ahead of her.
Straight. Unwavering. Solitary.
The light from the lamps stretched his shadow long and narrow across the stone path, making it look fragile, as though it might dissolve into the darkness at any moment. For reasons she could not explain, that thought unsettled her deeply.
Without realizing it, she quickened her pace slightly, afraid of falling too far behind.
Her heart was restless.
So many things had happened tonight—too many emotions colliding at once. Betrayal, humiliation, heartbreak, anger. And now, fear.
She didn't know where Gong Feng was taking her.
A part of her wondered if this, too, was a form of retaliation—if he intended to speak for the Gong family, to make her leave Gong Rui just as Second Madam Gong had tried to do. The mere thought tightened her chest painfully.
If that happened… she wasn't sure she could endure it.
Just when her thoughts were spiraling out of control, Gong Feng stopped.
He turned slightly and said, "We're here."
Before she could react, he pushed open a door and stepped aside.
"This way."
Lin Che hesitated for only a fraction of a second before walking in.
The room was quiet.
Dim lights glowed softly near the window, casting a warm, subdued atmosphere that felt entirely different from the dazzling chaos of the banquet hall. The curtains fluttered faintly in the night breeze, and the faint scent of food lingered in the air.
Her gaze fell instinctively on the table.
And then—
She froze.
On the table sat a steaming bowl of food.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She knew that food.
She would recognize it anywhere.
The familiar arrangement, the careful plating, the faint aroma that carried traces of her own effort and exhaustion—it was unmistakable. This was the food she had prepared earlier. The food she had made with burned hands and aching arms. The food she had made for Gong Rui.
Her vision blurred instantly.
But… didn't I see it thrown away?
She had seen it with her own eyes, discarded into the trash like something worthless, unwanted.
So how—
"How is this here?" Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it.
Gong Feng closed the door behind them and gestured toward the chair. "Sit."
She obeyed, almost numbly.
Only after she sat down did he speak again.
"I saw what happened in the kitchen."
Her fingers tightened unconsciously on the edge of the table.
"I asked," he continued calmly, "and found out who ordered the dishes to be thrown away."
Lin Che's eyelashes trembled.
"Second Madam Gong," he said flatly.
There was no surprise in his tone—only a quiet, restrained anger that was far more terrifying than open rage.
"Some of the servants kept part of it," he added. "They said it was too good to waste."
For a moment, Lin Che could not speak.
Her eyes burned as tears pooled again, threatening to spill over. She stared at the bowl in front of her, steam rising gently, as though mocking her—mocking all the care she had poured into something that had been so casually rejected.
Gong Feng pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
"Eat," he said.
She looked up at him in disbelief.
"This wasn't made for you," she whispered.
"I know," he replied.
The way he said it—quiet, firm, unyielding—left no room for argument.
"You made it," he said, meeting her gaze steadily. "That's enough