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All her colleagues turned to her with wide eyes, then back to the uniformed chefs in utter disbelief.
"What the hell…?" Du Liyao gaped. "Lin Yue, what is going on?"
Ma Zhen blinked hard as if trying to reset his brain. "Are these… private chefs?"
"I—I think so," someone muttered behind them.
"Lin Yue, be honest," someone from the back said, eyes flicking between her and the chefs. "What's happening?"
Song Ziyan couldn't contain herself. Her mouth opened, but no words came for a moment.
Then, with disbelief dripping from her voice, she snapped, "Are you serious right now? Are we on a prank show or something?"
Lin Yue's face flushed slightly. She hadn't expected this.
What were these men doing here? Weren't they supposed to cook quietly and leave?
But she knew—they wouldn't have done this without Mo Yuwei's instructions.
What exactly had she told them?
The head chef stepped forward, polite and poised. "Miss Lin, are your colleagues ready? The dishes are almost prepared. We've arranged the garden for the meal."
He turned, signaling to the others. The chefs returned inside.
Lin Yue cleared her throat and smiled softly. "Let's go inside first."
Still reeling, they followed her, whispering among themselves.
"Who even is she?" someone murmured.
"Am I dreaming?"
"I swear this has to be a prank."
The moment they stepped inside, the murmurs turned into open awe.
The living room, at a glance, looked simple and clean, but to anyone with eyes—it was the type of understated luxury money couldn't fake.
"This couch… Isn't that an imported Italian brand?" someone asked.
"The lights… are those vintage crystals?"
"Yueyue," Du Liyao said, spinning slowly on her heel. "What is this place?"
"There's even central climate control and a smart panel for the lights…"
One of their colleagues, Luo Yuting, stopped beside an easel. "Guys… come look at this."
A few people gathered around. The sketch on the easel was breathtaking—a blend of emotion and elegance in every pencil stroke.
Nearby, a small stool sat with charcoal dust and scraps of draft paper.
Someone beside her blinked. "Wait—doesn't this style look familiar? That artist who trended in Zhongwen district sometime ago… they vanished, only her manager is selling her work now. Could it be…"
Before the thought took root, Lin Yue smiled lightly. "Maybe it just looks familiar. Artists tend to overlap styles."
Everyone nodded, dismissing it easily, but inside, Lin Yue's stomach twisted slightly. She hadn't expected anyone to recognize her work. She needed to be more careful.
However inside, Lin Yue was uneasy.
This house, this decor… it was all arranged by Mo Yuwei. At the time, she hadn't thought too much about it.
But now, watching her coworkers walk through the space with widened eyes, she realized just how expensive everything must be.
What would they think of her now?
Would they believe she was secretly wealthy?
That she was pretending?
Song Ziyan, meanwhile, was seething.
Her eyes swept over the sofas, the pristine marble counters, the chandeliers.
This wasn't fair.
This couldn't be real.
Lin Yue? In Yunhe Garden? With chefs and a designer house?
Even her parents, who'd worked for decades in finance, couldn't afford this neighborhood.
Before Lin Yue came to the department, Song Ziyan was the queen.
Admired. Envied. Desired.
Now?
Lin Yue didn't even try, and she had the entire office wrapped around her delicate little fingers.
Just then, the head chef reappeared.
"Miss Lin," he said respectfully, "the table is set. You may come to the garden whenever you're ready."
Lin Yue nodded. "Thank you."
She turned to her colleagues. "Let's head to the garden."
—
They followed her outside through the sliding glass doors, only to be met with another breathtaking scene.
The garden was bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. A long table had been laid out under a white canopy surrounded by blooming flowers.
Wisteria hung delicately from pergolas, and ornamental lanterns swayed gently in the breeze.
Elegant tableware sparkled on the linen tablecloth, and soft classical music played from hidden speakers.
Lin Yue stopped in her tracks.
Her lips parted slightly, eyes widening.
This… was her garden?
It had always been simple—a stone path, a few potted flowers, a wooden bench under the peach tree.
A quiet place to think, to sketch, to sit with a cup of tea.
Now it looked like it had been lifted straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
Satin ribbon-bound chairs. An ivory canopy trimmed with lace. Crystalline wine flutes, silver-tiered dessert trays, porcelain plates rimmed in gold.
Even the flowers had been trimmed and arranged into perfect symmetrical clusters around the seating area.
Her feet didn't move for a full five seconds.
She blinked rapidly, almost wondering if she was in the wrong house.
What… how…?
As one of the chefs passed by with a tray of champagne glasses, she stepped forward quickly and tugged his sleeve.
"Wait… where did all this come from?"
The chef smiled politely, balancing the tray with ease. "Young Madam sent them, Miss Lin. She wanted your garden to look perfect for your gathering."
Lin Yue's breath caught for a second.
Mo Yuwei.
Of course.
She should've known.
She whispered a quiet, "Thank you," and stepped back, eyes scanning the soft glow of the entire scene again.
It didn't look like a small get-together—it looked like an engagement dinner.
She hadn't told her colleagues anything about this. She hadn't even known herself.
But no one noticed her pause. All eyes were on the transformed garden.
The chefs were already lined up with trays—silver domes covering luxurious dishes, juices in tall crystal glasses, and wine being poured with graceful finesse.
"Oh my god," someone whispered.
"This is insane…"
"Is that… steamed sea bass?"
"Oh my god, look at the shrimp dumplings. They're gold-brushed."
"It's like a five-star resort…"
The laughter was light, but the awe was heavy.
Du Liyao looked at Lin Yue and grinned. "Yueyue, how come you never told us you lived like this? We feel like country bumpkins now."
More laughter followed, and the mood warmed.
Lin Yue smiled again. "Everyone, sit down. Let's eat."
Juices and sparkling water were served first, followed by appetizers.
—
Song Ziyan sat stiffly. No one was paying attention to her.
They were all talking to Lin Yue. Complimenting her. Laughing with her.
She watched as Lin Yue sat down slowly, the sunlight falling across her face.
It made her look like a painting. Skin glowing, lashes casting soft shadows. Her smile was calm, reserved, perfect.
Song Ziyan's fists curled in her lap.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Lin Yue was supposed to be embarrassed. Poor. Desperate.
Instead, she lived in Yunhe Garden.
A male colleague raised his glass. "To our artist and hostess, Miss Lin!"
Everyone laughed and echoed, "To Miss Lin!"
The chefs began to serve the main course.
Roast turkey with rosemary glaze.
Stuffed prawns in white wine sauce.
Sweet and sour chicken with golden sesame.
Sichuan-style mapo tofu.
Grilled lamb skewers with mint.
Steamed sea bass wrapped in lotus leaf.
Delicate dim sum platters with shrimp, pork, and vegetables.
The air was filled with spice and warmth.
"This… is like a palace feast," someone murmured.
"I've never eaten turkey before…"
"Lin Yue, if you keep feeding us like this, we'll never leave."
"Can I move in?"
Lin Yue laughed softly, sipping her juice.
Song Ziyan stared at her. That wasn't a soft laugh.
That was smugness.
Wasn't it?
She stabbed a shrimp with her fork.
When they visited her house, she'd hired a Michelin chef.
The food had been exquisite. But no one praised her like this.
Now, it was all about Lin Yue.
Lin Yue, Lin Yue, Lin Yue.
She pressed her lips into a thin line and looked down at her plate.
Her appetite was gone.
But the others? They were having the time of their lives.
And Lin Yue… was glowing.
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