Doting Marriage: Return Of The Real Miss Gu

Mianmian didn't answer immediately.

She looked past Yuying to the empty street behind her, then opened the door a little wider.

"Come in..." she said.

Yuying blinked. "What?"

"You look like you haven't eaten. And I'm boiling noodles anyway."

A tear slipped from the corner of Yuying's eye before she could stop it. "I don't deserve this."

"I know..." Mianmian said honestly. "But I'm not doing it for you."

Yuying stepped inside slowly, warmth brushing her cheeks for the first time in days.

Mianmian turned back toward the kitchen.

"You can stay until the sun rises. After that, I need to run a business. I don't have time for pity."

Yuying stood in the doorway, the scent of sesame and scallions curling into her nose.

"Thank you.."

By the time Yuying sat down, the steam from the pot had already begun to fill the kitchen, wrapping around them like a fragile kind of truce. Mianmian didn't speak for a while, just moved with practiced hands — straining the noodles, ladling in broth, scattering scallions on top.

She placed the bowl in front of Yuying without a word.

Yuying picked up the chopsticks slowly, her hands trembling.

"You're leaving after this?" Mianmian asked from the counter.

Yuying nodded. "A different city. I don't know where yet. Just far."

"What are you going to do there?"

"I don't know. Maybe find a job. Sew. Help at a shop." She paused. "Try to do something with my life."

Mianmian studied her. "You're just eighteen."

Yuying gave a bitter smile. "Old enough to mess everything up."

"Also young enough to fix it."

Yuying looked down at the bowl. "I was never really good at anything."

"You were good at copying people," Mianmian said without venom. "You just copied the wrong one."

That stung more than she expected. Yuying set her chopsticks down.

Mianmian leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"Why not go to college? Fashion school's only three years. You'd graduate while still in your early twenties. Maybe then you'd have something your aunt can't take from you."

"I don't have money."

Mianmian raised a brow. "Neither do I."

She gestured around the shop. "You think any of this was free?"

Yuying blinked.

"You work. You hustle. You eat humble pie. That's the price of having something real. Stop looking for shortcuts." Her voice softened a little. "And stop trying to be someone else. There's already a Gu Mianmian. Find out who Lin Yuying is."

Yuying's throat tightened.

"I thought if I had what you had… I'd be happy."

Mianmian shrugged. "Then go find something that's yours. You're not useless, Yuying. Just lost."

A pause.

Then Mianmian nodded at the bowl. "Finish your noodles. And leave before sunrise. I'm opening shop at six, and I don't want people thinking I let strays sleep in here."

Yuying gave a watery laugh through her nose. "You're so mean."

Yuying finished the noodles slowly, savoring each bite like it was her first real meal in days. She didn't say much after that — and neither did Mianmian. The quiet between them wasn't heavy, just full. It stretched comfortably as dawn began to press its pale light against the windows.

When she set the empty bowl aside, Yuying stood and dusted off her skirt, fingers brushing over the fabric like she could shake off the past three days with it.

"I should go."

Mianmian didn't look up right away. She was already back by the stove, prepping the broth for the early crowd.

Yuying reached the door, then paused, her hand on the frame.

"I'll come back," she said quietly. "One day, I'll come back better. With my own name. Something I built."

Mianmian turned her head slightly. "Good."

"And I'll thank you properly then."

Mianmian didn't smile, but her voice was gentler than before. "Don't thank me. Just make it count."

Yuying swallowed hard and gave a short nod.

As she turned to leave, Mianmian suddenly spoke again. "Wait."

Yuying turned back just as Mianmian walked over with a paper bag, slightly warm to the touch. "Here's some flatbread. Some pickled vegetables. It's not much, but it'll get you through today."

Yuying stared at it.

"I thought you were broke."

-_-

"I am.." Mianmian replied. "That's why you're not getting two."

A choked laugh escaped Yuying's throat as she took the bag with both hands, holding it like it was something precious.

"Thank you."

Yuying stepped out into the cold morning, her breath rising in faint clouds.

Behind her, the scent of broth and fresh noodles trailed out from the slightly cracked window.

She didn't look back. But she walked straighter this time.

She didn't have much, but she had something now.

A second chance.

Mianmian locked the door behind Yuying and stood there for a moment, her hand still resting on the knob.

The quiet settled in again, no footsteps, no sobbing girl on the threshold, just the early hush before a city begins to stir.

But Mianmian didn't move. She leaned her forehead lightly against the doorframe, eyes fluttering shut.

She had expected to feel smug. Triumphant, even.

But instead, she felt... hollow.

A lump burned quietly at the back of her throat, and she didn't know if it was from anger or something else.

The floor beneath her feet felt cold. Her fingers curled slightly against the wood.

"She ran.." she murmured under her breath. "She ran before she could rot in it."

And wasn't that what Mianmian had wanted all along?

For someone to see the truth and run. For someone to understand what it was like to wake up every day and fight for scraps, to give everything, only to be told it wasn't enough.

For someone to stop pretending the Gu house was anything other than a cage dressed like a home.

And Yuying, the pampered and spoiled one, she'd finally felt it. All of it.

But Mianmian didn't feel like she'd won.

She pressed her palm to her chest, willing the weight in there to settle. It didn't.

"I'm jealous of her..." she said quietly.

The words hung heavy in the air.

No one heard them but the walls.

"I'm jealous of the girl who has nothing."

Yuying had run away. Abandoned the name, the family, even the husband everyone said was a prize.

She had nothing to her name but a bag of food and a promise.

But she also had freedom.

Mianmian wiped her cheek quickly. She hadn't noticed when the tear fell.

She scowled at the dampness, then pushed away from the door and walked back into the kitchen.

There was broth to finish.

Eggs to boil.

Tables to wipe.

She didn't have the luxury of crying.

Not today.

Because the shop would open in a few hours and no matter what her heart felt, she had customers to feed.

~Not every lamp will light your way, but you can still kindle a fire of your own.~