Came to the Design World to Be a Thief?
"I believe everyone should have a line they won't cross."
Wen Yin's palm came down with full force. The slap tilted Wen Zhi's head to the side; her cheek reddened instantly. Wen Yin withdrew her hand, the impact still stinging her own wrist. She looked at Wen Zhi—who clutched her face in stunned disbelief—with an expression so cool and detached it made the skin prickle.
"At the very least, you shouldn't hurt innocent people," Wen Yin said, her voice icy. The tight press of her lips let her anger show without raising it.
"Wen Yin! How dare you hit me!" Wen Zhi cried, as if humiliated by the very idea. Wen Yin had hit her—what insolence!
Around them, her friends glowered. Shen Ziying stepped forward to steady Wen Zhi and shot Wen Yin a warning look. "Wen Yin, don't go too far. Zhi Zhi is a public figure—are you not afraid of being exposed?"
Her other girlfriends nodded eagerly, voices clustering with accusations and thinly veiled threats. They assumed leverage was on their side.
Wen Yin merely smiled, facing them against the glare of the lights, unflinching.
"Fine. Expose me then," she said slowly. "Let the millions of netizens decide whether Qiu Qing's ankle was a simple misstep... or the result of someone with an agenda."
The words hit Wen Zhi like blows. She had been tilting her head, hands pressed to the swelling on her cheek, fingertips trembling. Now she lifted her eyes, and her gaze was poisoned—cold and viscous.
Shen Ziying's face went pale. How could Wen Yin possibly know about that?
The other girls fell silent. In their world, everyone was sharp-eyed; from Wen Zhi and Shen Ziying's expressions, any informed observer would guess Wen Yin was onto something that implicated them. Better to keep quiet.
"Wen Zhi," Wen Yin continued, flicking her wrist as if she had brushed something filthy away. "You'd better put away those dirty tricks. Next time it won't be just a slap."
She didn't care for the sneers from Wen Zhi and Shen Ziying—their characters were known to her. What disgusted her was discovering they'd stooped so low as to target Qiu Qing, a stranger to them. Wen Zhi, for what reason?
Wen Yin felt truly revolted. She had suspected that this so-called close friend possessed a certain cunning—enough to toy with people like Xiao Mo and the others—but she hadn't expected Wen Zhi to conspire with her clique to do such petty, ugly things.
"Wen Yin, don't go too far," someone hissed.
Backstage, the atmosphere was brittle. On the runway, the host was filling time before the results were announced, while in the wings the tension between Wen Yin and Wen Zhi crackled.
But anyone paying attention could see who held the upper hand. Wen Yin's presence, still made up and composed, was enough to silence them. Her aura had shifted; when she spoke, the others flinched.
"I almost forgot you were here, Miss Shen," Wen Yin said with a cool little smile, watching Shen Ziying's face flush red and ghost white by turns. "It really suits you to come into the design world and play thief."
Wen Yin hadn't been foolish enough to bring her full design portfolio to the event, not with Shen Ziying handing her a cup of coffee earlier—a detail that had set off alarms. The instincts gleaned from a previous lifetime—or at least, from hard experience—had taught her to be wary. That caution paid off: the file Shen Ziying had snapped a photo of was just a trivial accessory sketch. Wen Yin had already moved her real work elsewhere.
Thanks to their own arrogance and distraction—parading themselves on the runway—their inattentiveness had left her pieces safe until the last moment.
Shen Ziying shifted her gaze awkwardly, teeth gritted. She had to admit Wen Yin's taste and skill were on another level entirely.
"So, still want to 'expose' me?" Wen Yin's laugh was mild as she watched the group crumple like dogs after a storm.
Wen Zhi ground her teeth. They had slipped up—made a mistake that left an opening, and Wen Yin had exploited it. She signaled the others to leave, and they slunk away, humiliated.
Before she left, Wen Zhi cast a dark look toward Wen Yin, eyes glinting. Wen Yin, you were lucky this time. Next time you won't be so fortunate.
Something whispered in Wen Zhi's ear—words from Shen Ziying perhaps—and her face changed color.
On the runway, nine models had assembled. When Wen Yin appeared as the "Deer"—a design that mixed delicate geometry with woodland grace—heads turned. Her pieces weren't merely well-made; they carried an idea, a voice. To produce something so conceptually rich in five days showed a talent that couldn't be dismissed.
"Let's give a warm round of applause to Designer No. 9!" the host announced, and thunderous clapping filled the hall.
The spotlight found Wen Yin. Soft light haloed her, casting tiny shadows from her long lashes and lending her an almost otherworldly liveliness. Wen Zhi, one hand over an ice pack against her cheek, clenched the other into a fist. If she could, she would have leapt up and torn the woman onstage apart.
Wen Yin's eyes scanned the crowd and settled on a familiar silhouette at the back. Shao Yinan stood at the fringe of the crowd like someone ill-fitted for the gaiety around him. Black suit, broad shoulders, waist narrow—he wore clothes like a frame wears art. Tonight his bangs were swept back into a sleek style; his features had taken on a sharper, more austere look.
Even from his shadowed corner, his gaze found her. Warmth sparked in those eyes, a brightness Wen Yin felt across the room. He noticed her looking and curled the corner of his mouth into a smile, lifting his glass of red wine in salute.
Wen Yin smiled back, buoyed by his laughter and the unshared sweetness of victory. She raised her trophy in an unspoken toast toward him.
Silent, private celebration passed between them.
Jiang Shihuai stood nearby among the onlookers, watching the woman raise the trophy. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses without thinking; something unreadable flickered across his face.