She stared in disbelief at her father's pain-stricken face, then slowly, stiffly turned her head to fix her gaze on the woman who was already drenched in tears and trembling all over.
For the first time, she studied Ye Qingqing's face so closely.
Those familiar brows and eyes.
That similar nose.
Those lips, shaped exactly like her own...
All the "fawning" and "concern" she had once despised now had the cruelest, yet most logical explanation.
"No... it can't be..."
Song Qiuya murmured dazedly, staggering back two steps as the whole world seemed to spin.
She pointed at Ye Qingqing and screamed shrilly, "You're lying! You're all lying to me! My mother is Lin Wanrong! She's already dead!!"
The tremendous shock broke her completely.
Her beliefs, everything she had understood for more than twenty years, the very foundation of her existence-all of it came crashing down at that moment, shattering into dust.
She spun around and rushed into the room that held all her memories of girlhood, reaching back to slam the door.
Just as she closed it, Chen Lin slipped inside after her, bracing his hand against the door before she could lock it.
Bang!
The door slammed shut.
But Song Qiuya seemed to lose every last ounce of strength, sliding limply down the door to the floor.
She buried her face deep in her knees, her shoulders shaking violently.
The tears she had held back for so long finally broke free, pouring out in a silent torrent.
Chen Lin said nothing.
He simply stepped forward, crouched down, and gathered the woman before him into his arms, holding her tight, so very tight.
He let her warm tears soak his chest.
An hour later, soothed by Chen Lin's gentle comfort, Song Qiuya's sobs gradually subsided, though her body still shuddered