Lin Che did not understand what was happening to her.
Before she could even make sense of her emotions, tears began to fall—one after another, unstoppable, as if something deep inside her had finally cracked open. They slipped down her cheeks at an almost frightening speed, blurring her vision, splashing softly onto the surface of the soup below.
In the midst of her confusion, anger, heartbreak, and humiliation, she had never expected something like this.
She had prepared herself for coldness. For ridicule. For being pushed aside once more.
But she had not prepared herself for kindness.
For Gong Feng, perhaps this was nothing more than a small gesture—a way to quietly atone for the sins of the Gong family, a way to clean up a mess that should never have been created in the first place. To him, it might have been as simple as retrieving a dish and offering it back to its maker.
But to Lin Che, it was enormous.
It was the first time tonight that someone had chosen her—her effort, her sincerity—without calculation, without conditions, without ulterior motives.
Her hand trembled as she scooped up a spoonful of soup. The surface rippled from the slight shake in her fingers, and before she could bring it to her lips, the spoon wobbled dangerously, tilting as if it were about to spill.
Suddenly, a steady hand reached out and caught her wrist.
Firm. Warm. Unwavering.
Lin Che looked up in surprise.
Gong Feng was watching her, his dark eyes fixed on her face, his grip gentle but sure, stopping the spoon before it fell.
"If you keep crying like this," he said calmly, his voice low and even, "the soup will get salty. Then it won't be edible."
She froze.
Then she realized it.
The droplets falling from her face were landing directly into the bowl.
For a split second, her mind went blank.
And then—
She laughed.
It slipped out unexpectedly, a soft, broken laugh tangled with sobs, completely unguarded. Tears were still clinging to her lashes, her cheeks were flushed, and the sound she made was neither elegant nor composed. It was clumsy, almost foolish.
But it was real.
Amid the tears, her expression looked silly—eyes red, nose slightly pink, lips trembling between laughter and sobbing. She looked nothing like the poised woman who had entered the ballroom earlier.
She looked like someone who had been hurt badly.
Gong Feng didn't look away.
In fact, he couldn't.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just her.
She was really, really beautiful.
Not the sharp, dazzling kind of beauty that demanded attention—but something softer, something that made the chest ache. With tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes and her lips curved into an unguarded smile, she looked pitiful in the most dangerous way, as if the world had wronged her deeply and she had endured it all alone.
A sudden pang struck his chest.
Hard. Unexpected. Almost violent.
Gong Feng frowned slightly, pressing his lips together.
He did not understand it.
He had met countless women—brilliant, ambitious, refined, calculating. He had been surrounded by admiration and desire for most of his life. Yet none of them had ever made him feel this strange tightening in his heart, this instinctive urge to shield, to protect, to draw closer without reason.
There was something about Lin Che.
Something unpolished. Something honest. Something that did not belong in the gilded world of the Gong family.
But there was time.
Plenty of time to figure out what kind of existence she would be to him, and what kind of dynamic would form between them.
Lin Che slowly calmed down, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. When she looked at him again, her eyes were still wet, still red—but they were filled with unmistakable gratitude.
"Thank you," she said softly.
It was not a casual thank-you. Not a polite one.
It came from the very bottom of her heart.
Tonight, she had been humiliated in ways she had never imagined. Gong Rui's words—I will accommodate you—still echoed cruelly in her mind, sharper than any slap. The implication, the dismissal, the way her years of sincerity had been reduced to something shameful… it was a humiliation so deep it left scars.
Yet Gong Feng had not asked her anything. Had not interrogated her. Had not demanded explanations or offered empty consolation.
He had simply done something.
And that was enough to break her.
After a brief pause, as if afraid one thank-you might not be sufficient, she said it again, more quietly.
"Thank you."
Gong Feng gave a small nod, neither dismissing nor exaggerating the moment.
They fell into silence.
Not the awkward kind. Not the heavy kind.
It was a quiet that felt… safe.
They continued eating.
Gong Feng picked up his spoon and tasted the food that had been placed before him. The flavor spread across his tongue, rich and warm, layered in a way that felt both familiar and strangely new.
He paused.
Then took another bite.
His brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
This wasn't the kind of food served at Gong family banquets—overly refined, overly polished, created more for display than nourishment. Those dishes were cuisine, crafted for prestige.
This was food.
Real food.
Savory, balanced, comforting in a way he had not experienced in a long time. It carried warmth that seeped slowly into the chest, grounding, steady, honest.
He looked up abruptly.
"This is…" He stopped himself, then continued, "Very good."
Lin Che blinked, clearly startled.
Her lips parted slightly in surprise before a faint blush crept up her cheeks. Never—not even in her most unrealistic imaginings—had she thought that the head of the Gong family would be sitting across from her, eating her food, and genuinely complimenting it.
She almost thought he was just being polite.
But when she looked closer, she realized he wasn't.
Gong Feng was eating seriously, thoughtfully, as if he were discovering something new with every bite. His expression was subtle, restrained, but unmistakably sincere.
That realization filled Lin Che with a quiet, profound satisfaction.
Not pride.
Something warmer.
Something that settled gently in her chest.
They ate without speaking further.
Under the dim lights, their shadows stretched across the floor, overlapping faintly—two figures utterly different in background, temperament, and fate, yet sitting together in an unspoken harmony.
Contradictory. Improbable. And somehow… perfectly balanced.
For this brief moment, the chaos of the night, the cruelty of the world outside, and the weight of unspoken futures all faded into the background.