Lin Yaoyue didn't go far.
Just far enough that the air felt different, and no one cared what her last name was.
She found a small seaside town barely two hours outside the city. The kind of place where taxis didn't exist, the grocery store had one aisle of snacks, and the only sound at night was the waves and the occasional dog barking at the moon.
She rented a room above a bookstore that smelled like sun-dried pages and dust. The owner didn't recognize her face. Or pretended not to. Either way, it was a gift.
She brought only one suitcase.
Left the designer shoes behind.
Left the noise behind.
Left him behind.
---
The first few days, she did nothing.
She slept with the windows open. Ate rice crackers on the porch. Avoided her phone.
But it didn't stop the questions in her head.
Did I overreact?
Did I lose control?
Was I too loud, too honest, too... me?
Some nights, she replayed the video, not the leaked one, but the interview. The one she had thought would change the narrative. She watched herself speak with conviction and pain, hoping her words would land somewhere meaningful.
They hadn't.
At least not with the world.
But maybe she needed them to land with herself first.
---
The town didn't ask questions, but it offered small kindnesses.
The bookstore owner left tea by her door.
A neighbor waved at her every morning without waiting for a response.
The café on the corner never asked for her name but always remembered her order.
There was no spotlight here. No performance.
And in the quiet, Yaoyue began to feel the shape of herself again — stripped of expectation, of image, of pressure.
She wasn't Lin Yaoyue, the scandal. Or Jiang Zeyan's girlfriend. Or the woman who lost control on camera.
She was just... a woman with chipped nails and a heavy heart, trying to remember how to breathe without being watched.
---
One night, she found herself staring at the stars from the rooftop of the bookstore.
Wrapped in a sweater. Barefoot. Quiet.
She hadn't thought about Zeyan all day. That scared her more than thinking about him ever had.
Because maybe he wasn't the anchor she thought he was.
Maybe she didn't need one at all.
But still... when the wind picked up, and the silence settled deep into her bones, she felt his absence like a shadow at her back.
Not painful.
Just there.
She missed his voice, not the cold business tone, but the quiet one he used when no one else was around.
She missed the way he never said too much, but always noticed more than he let on.
She missed tea on balconies. Accidental glances. Things unsaid.
And she wondered if he missed her too.
---
But missing someone didn't mean you had to return.
Sometimes it just meant you loved honestly… and walked away anyway.
---
Back in the city, her name had finally stopped trending.
Tang Min was making headlines again, but this time for a new philanthropic project, a very public move with very convenient timing.
Zeyan hadn't reached out. Not once.
And yet, every day she didn't hear from him…
She waited a little less.
And remembered herself a little more.