After returning from the Gong family, Lin Che's life slowly slipped back into its former quiet rhythm, as if that grand banquet, the glittering lights, and the suffocating tension had all been part of someone else's dream.
The village mornings were still the same.
Roosters crowed before dawn, thin mist curled lazily over the fields, and the scent of firewood and porridge drifted through the air. Lin Che woke early every day, helped her grandmother wash up, prepared simple meals, and tended to the small chores around the house. Her hands moved out of habit, efficient and familiar, as though nothing had changed.
Yet something inside her refused to settle.
It wasn't Gong Rui.
At least, not directly.
She had already accepted that chapter of her life as something that had ended abruptly, like a book slammed shut before the final pages. The pain was still there, dull and persistent, but it no longer surged uncontrollably. What unsettled her was something else entirely—something she hadn't expected to linger.
A voice.
A calm, steady voice that had spoken only two words that night.
Marry me.
No matter how busy she kept herself, no matter how many times she scolded herself for overthinking, those words surfaced again and again, echoing softly in the corners of her mind. Sometimes they appeared while she was washing vegetables. Sometimes while sweeping the yard. Sometimes in the quiet moments before sleep, when the world finally went silent.
Lin Che tried very hard to suppress them.
From this moment onward, there was no possible way she and Gong Feng would cross paths again. That much was obvious. She lived in a small village, clinging to the edge of a hill. He lived in a world of glass buildings, boardrooms, and decisions that affected thousands of lives.
Their worlds did not overlap.
In fact, once she calmed down enough to think clearly, the distance between them felt almost absurd. The difference in status alone could fill several pages if she were to list it carefully. Background, wealth, social circles, responsibilities—none of it matched. Even their brief encounters felt more like accidents than fate.
And yet.
Unknowingly, without any deliberate effort on her part, her thoughts had shifted. Gong Rui faded into the background, becoming a shadow of the past, while Gong Feng—someone she should not have thought about at all—occupied an unsettling amount of space in her mind.
Lin Che didn't like that realization.
So she pushed it down.
She told herself that time would smooth everything out.
On the fifth day after returning home, life seemed determined to prove that peace was not something she could hold onto so easily.
That morning began like any other.
Lin Che woke early, helped her grandmother sit by the window where the sunlight was gentler, and prepared a simple breakfast of rice porridge and pickled vegetables. After making sure her grandmother was comfortable, she stepped outside to rinse the bowls.
Her house sat atop a small hill. To reach it, one had to follow a narrow path that wound upward, flanked by wild grass and uneven stones. Usually, the only people who climbed it were neighbors—or children who had lost a ball.
That was why the figure she saw halfway up the hill made her freeze.
A man.
A very strange-looking man.
He was tall, but his posture was bent forward, as though every step required immense effort. His clothes were wrinkled and dusty, streaked with dirt that suggested he had fallen more than once. His hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles, and his face—what little she could see of it from afar—was smeared with grime.
Most alarming of all was his breathing.
It was labored and uneven, each breath dragged out with visible effort. His expression was twisted into something between pain and exhaustion, making him look far more frightening than he probably intended.
Lin Che stood perfectly still.
For a brief second, her mind went completely blank.
Then, as if sensing her gaze, the man stopped walking.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
The man's face seemed to brighten instantly, and despite his condition, he actually smiled.
That smile nearly sent Lin Che's soul flying out of her body.
Without thinking, she turned around and sprinted into the house.
Her grandmother, startled by the sudden movement, barely had time to ask what was wrong before Lin Che grabbed the nearest object she could find—a broom—and rushed back outside.
At the same time, the man, apparently encouraged by her earlier presence, had begun jogging toward the house.
The moment he saw Lin Che charging back out with a broom raised high, his expression changed dramatically.
Fear replaced relief.
He turned and ran.
"HEY!" Lin Che shouted, waving the broom threateningly. "Who are you?! Why are you coming to my house?!"
"I—I'm not—wait—don't hit me!" the man shouted back, his voice cracking as he ran.
Dust flew everywhere as the two of them tore across the small clearing, one chasing, the other fleeing. Lin Che swung the broom through the air with alarming enthusiasm, while the man zigzagged desperately, clearly running on fumes.
"Stop running!" Lin Che yelled. "If you don't stop, I'll hit you!"
"I would stop if I could!" the man gasped. "I'm already dying!"
"You don't look innocent!"
"You don't look reasonable!"
The scene was chaotic enough to resemble some kind of low-budget village comedy.
After several frantic laps around a tree and nearly tripping over a stone, the man finally staggered to a halt. He bent forward, hands on his knees, breathing so hard it sounded like his lungs were filing a formal complaint.
"Wait—wait—please—time out," he said, holding up one trembling hand.
Lin Che stopped a short distance away, broom still raised, eyes full of suspicion.
"Talk," she demanded. "Right now."
The man sucked in a few more desperate breaths. "You're… you're Miss Lin, right?"
Lin Che frowned. "How do you know my name?"
The man straightened slightly, trying very hard to look dignified despite his condition. "I am… I am…"
His eyes rolled back.
And before he could finish his sentence, his legs gave out.
With a soft thud, he collapsed onto the ground.
Lin Che stared.
She stared for a long moment, completely frozen, broom still held mid-air.
"…Hello?" she ventured cautiously.
No response.
She poked his shoulder with the tip of the broom.
"Hey. Wake up. Hey."
Nothing.
She poked him again, a little harder.
"Don't pretend. This won't work on me."
Still nothing.
Lin Che slowly lowered the broom and looked up at the sky, her face full of disbelief and exhaustion.
"Why," she asked the heavens silently, "is my life always like this