Chapter 683

Evelyn Carter hesitated, words caught in her throat.

In the end, she remained silent.

They stepped over the temple threshold together, returning to the bustling streets.

The festival procession had dispersed, but crowds still thronged the lanes. Vendors occupied every inch of space, their cries weaving through the air. This year's tourist surge had overflowed even the designated market area.

Amidst this vibrant chaos, Evelyn's tension finally eased.

Alexander Hamilton had explored night markets in Hudson City, but never one so rustic. His gaze darted between stalls overflowing with wares. "If Lily's father set up shop here, his woven grass crafts would sell like hotcakes. Pity I bought his entire stock."

"That's not the real issue." Evelyn's voice darkened, recalling the village's plight. "Until Leonard Laurent faces justice, no one dares celebrate. Setting up stalls is the least of their worries."

Alexander stiffened.

The gulf between his world and theirs yawned wide before him.

Evelyn studied his profile.

The carefree lightness had vanished from his features, replaced by solemn contemplation.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her.

Once, she'd been the outsider navigating his gilded world. Now their roles reversed, and Alexander was tasting that same alienation.

"I didn't think you'd last three days," she murmured. "I concede."

"Then stop trying to banish me." His demand came with distracted charm as a candied hawthorn stall caught his eye. "Are these... sanitary?"

Her fastidiousness still occupied his thoughts.

Evelyn laughed. "Vivian and I lived on street food in college. Never had issues."

Those were simpler days.

Alexander's eyes shadowed briefly before he embarked on a buying spree. Candied fruits, lotus seed sweets, dried persimmons—each treat found its way into Evelyn's hands.

"Planning to feed an army?" She held up a sticky lotus sweet helplessly.

"Just one of each." His tone brooked no argument.

As Evelyn prepared to protest, movement at the periphery silenced her.

A hunched elderly woman crouched in the shadows. Before her sat a battered bamboo basket, its contents ignored. Clouded eyes held only bewilderment.

"Grandmother, how much for the duck eggs?" Evelyn knelt.

The woman responded slowly. "Home-pickled... one yuan each."

The price was shockingly low.

Understanding flashed between them. Alexander produced a hundred-yuan note. "We'll take everything—basket included."

"This is too much—" The old woman fumbled for change she clearly didn't possess.

Evelyn's gaze landed on wildflowers woven through the basket's rim. "These blossoms are lovely."

"Just mountain weeds. Worthless." Trembling fingers offered the stems. "Take them."

"Then we insist on paying properly." Her gentleness held steel.

Alexander's attention sharpened. "You came from the mountains?"

Three hours by car—an impossible journey on foot.

A sigh weighted with decades. "Waiting for my son to finish business before heading back."

Grief lived in the creases of her face.

"Does your son... treat you well?"

"Good sons, both." She shook her head. "But peasant lives are cheap... Fish stocks died. Debts remain. These old bones can only sell a few eggs..."

Their eyes met across the basket.

The unspoken name hung between them.