If Wen Zhi knew how hesitant Xiao Mo actually was, she'd have been furious enough to wrinkle her nose.
Xiao Mo had just finished warning Wen Zhi with a ferocity that left no doubt. Then he turned and caught Wen Yin with a look—one of those incredulous, almost hostile stares people reserve for monsters—as if to ask: Are you all right?
“If you hurt Zhi again, the consequences won’t be so simple.” Xiao Mo’s eyes were utterly cold.
Wen Yin knew that look too well. Any matter involving Wen Zhi drew that exact expression out of him. Wen Zhi was his line in the sand.
In a previous life, after Wen Yin’d finally fought back against Wen Zhi’s small, poisonous tricks, she’d been bitten back—framed and left standing in the rain of accusations. She remembered the way Xiao Mo had looked then: ice that could pierce bone, needles at her heart.
Now, though, she couldn’t be bothered with old fears.
“I have something to remind you too, Mr. Xiao.” Wen Yin lifted her chin slightly; sunlight caught the black of her eyes, giving them a bright, clear ring. “Next time you put your hands on a woman, the outcome won’t be simple either.” She spoke each word cleanly, and they sank like stones into his chest.
For a moment, the man faltered. He drew a few hard breaths, then—whether from anger or humiliation—turned and walked off without looking back.
Unreasonable, she thought. Impossible.
Wen Yin arched a brow. That was it? He just left?
A little further away, Shao Yinan, dragging a suitcase, happened to see Xiao Mo storm off and the brief tableau Wen Yin had made. A faint flash crossed his dark eyes. Qian Shuzhi, who had just finished packing, stood frozen—ashamed. The spectacle from last night had made her a laughingstock; she didn’t have the face to speak to Shao Yinan right now.
An hour later the plane landed. The guests boarded their vans and dispersed. Li Xiangwei lingered in sunglasses, waiting for her manager.
Something blocked her path.
“Move.” She didn’t bother to look; her lips parted and the word came out like a chill.
The scent of cologne was familiar.
“No one to pick you up?” Xiang Zhou looked down at her. Li Xiangwei refused to give him even a passing glance, but he still tried a cheeky suggestion—an idea hatched in the brother group chat last night.
“Why don’t you beg my brother? He can drive you back.”
Li Xiangwei finally turned. A flicker of something crossed Xiang Zhou’s face. Could their ridiculous scheme have actually worked?
Her expression was complicated. “Has the Xiang family gone bankrupt?” she asked, rare venom in her voice.
Xiang Zhou blinked.
“Did you already send the little master of the Xiang family out to squeeze oil by himself?” she continued, mocking. Xiang Zhou did not take offense—he’d long ago grown used to her barbs, and this level of insult was par for the course.
After mentally scolding his absurd friends a few hundred times, Xiang Zhou stood obediently by her side, determined not to leave—an attitude clearly saying he’d wait until she did.
Li Xiangwei couldn’t be bothered with him. She turned, expression neutral. “Do you even know how to write the word ‘idiot’?” she asked.
Xiang Zhou blinked, perplexed. At that moment her manager arrived. Li Xiangwei slid into the car and, as the door shut, added without looking back, “Those two letters are written all over your face.”
He wasn’t angry; he pressed his tongue to his cheek and smiled faintly. She was still as sharp-tongued as ever.
—–
Wen Yin only saw the email when she got home. A submission she’d sent days ago had a reply. Her hands trembled a little.
It had been a long time since she’d drawn. She didn’t know how the work would be judged. If Wen Zhi liked monopolizing the Wen family, let her have it. Wen Yin felt no attachment to that pale, indifferent “family” warmth. She’d been given one good second chance—she intended to spend it living the life she actually wanted.
She opened the email.
“Congratulations. You have been accepted. Please report to the office on Monday to complete onboarding.”
Wen Yin couldn’t hide her joy; the corners of her mouth rose. She grabbed a quick lunch and curled back into bed with a tablet, studying recent collections and brands.
LeR wasn’t huge, but it had a solid reputation in the industry—perfect for a beginner. And it had Qin, a prominent designer whose work Wen Yin had been poring over.
She woke early the next morning, put on minimal makeup, and went in. After a brief registration, Wen Yin and two other new hires were led to the chief designer’s office. Along the way the other employees shot them curious looks. Because LeR sometimes had celebrities doing endorsements, nobody assumed the new recruits would be ordinary designers.
LeR had taken nine junior designers this time. As Wen Yin’s gaze slid to the woman beside her, she noticed the same scrutiny directed back.
“Hi, I’m Shen Ziying,” the woman offered without embarrassment, having been caught staring.
Wen Yin nodded politely. Shen Ziying’s makeup was immaculate; every piece she wore—the clothes, the bag, the accessories—was plastered with designer logos. The look was so over-the-top it made Wen Yin think: which heiress was out for a little ‘experience of life’ tour today?
Shen edged a bit closer. “I know you—‘Heartbeat, Lover’ is really popular right now. I love it.”
“Really? Thanks for reading.” Wen Yin kept her answers short. Shen’s sudden closeness made her uncomfortable.
Shen chattered the whole way, jumping from gossip about the entertainment industry to topics about space exploration in the span of a few minutes. Wen Yin felt glad when they reached Qin’s office doorway.
“We’re here.” Wen Yin said, and stepped inside before Shen had a chance to continue.
Shen Ziying’s smile stayed sweet and innocent, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible sharpness in the way she looked at Wen Yin. She smoothed the expression and followed.
The person leading them gave a quick rundown and left. “Each batch of new designers will receive one-on-one mentorship. One of the mentors this time is Qin.”
Wen Yin glanced at the woman behind the desk. Short chestnut hair framed a clean, efficient face. Her makeup was impeccable; a white suit tailored to balance authority with a softened elegance.
“I won’t waste time,” Qin said. “I will take only one apprentice from this cohort—my personal protégé. You understand?”