Wen Zhi's mouth twitched for a heartbeat. A vein throbbed hard at her temple; a flash of anger passed through her eyes.
What is she scheming now?
Wen Yin's face stayed calm, cool as a practiced hunter. She watched Wen Zhi's agitation like a cat that toyed with a trapped mouse—keeping it from fleeing only to prolong the torment. Her long, pale fingers lifted the sash on the table, fingers lingering over the fabric as if weighing a choice.
Wen Zhi wanted nothing more than to glare a hole through her.
If Wen Yin picked it, she’d be the one left with nothing—biting into trouble in silence.
“I’ll take this set,” Wen Yin said.
After watching Wen Zhi flail like an ant on hot coals, Wen Yin didn't bother to argue. The outfit had Xiaomo’s fingerprints all over it—Xiao-dog's handiwork—so Wen Zhi would rather not touch it. Don't you dare, she thought.
Wen Zhi forced a small frown, then halfheartedly stepped forward and claimed the mismatched costume.
Dressing in hanfu was fiddly; after everyone finished, the guests returned to their rooms to complete makeup and hair. The livestream audience, meanwhile, had already lost their patience and bubbled into a cacophony of guesses.
“Who’s Wenzhi paired with? I can’t stand this suspense—I’m literally rolling on my bed!”
“The production team has outdone themselves. Even after watching the separate male and female feeds, I still can’t tell who’ll be with who. One more theory coming up.”
“Shipper confession: I desperately want Wen Yin and Shao Yinan paired together. Aesthetic match, I swear.”
“Keep your hands off our Nannan, please. Nobody kidnap him.”
“Wen Yin? Please. Shao Yinan is on another level—this is not even a fair match.”
“CP shippers, get a grip. Our Shao Yinan is not available.”
Half an hour crept by in tedious speculation until one by one, the doors downstairs opened. To keep the reveal mysterious, the cameras stayed fixed on the costumes rather than faces. The fan barrage held its breath—then erupted.
The makeover had been tight on time, but the production team had prepared well. Makeup and styling were neat; particular care had gone into the outfit Xiao Mo had chosen for Wen Zhi. The ornate, playful qixiong ruqun seemed made for her—youthful and lively, it accentuated her features in a way that made the chat flood with praise.
Qian Shuzhi kept glancing at her with envy. “Wenzhi, that dress is perfect on you. You look so poised.”
Wen Zhi pressed her lips into a modest smile, shooting a quick wink at Xiao Mo. The man’s cold expression softened for a moment—his Wenzhi deserved everything best.
“That set on Ah-Yin is lovely too,” Wen Zhi said casually, steering the conversation toward Wen Yin in the corner.
Wen Yin wore white. Her long black hair had been fashioned into an elegant style by the stylist; her makeup was light, and paired with the white robe she looked ethereal and distant. When Wen Yin met Wen Zhi’s gaze for a split second she saw the familiar mixture of showy pride and barely concealed scorn, but it passed in an instant—Wen Yin was practiced at masking such flashes.
She only nodded once, a gesture that showed she had no interest in entertaining Wen Zhi’s petty games.
Qian Shuzhi chimed in, “Also, Wen — that coat you’re wearing is so exquisite.”
Wen Yin’s brow twitched. She shot a glance at Qian and Wen Zhi, who were chatting and laughing, then smoothed a fold of fabric with an almost imperceptible motion. Her voice was cool and clear. “That’s not a coat. It’s a bijia.”
The single, simple correction drew puzzled looks—especially from Wen Zhi, who had just been flaunting her outfit without a second thought. Shao Yinan watched Wen Yin with interest; her calm, sculpted features softened in his view.
“A bijia?” Qian sounded baffled. Wen Yin’s firm tone landed like a slap that snapped the chatter quiet.
Qian gave an annoyed half-smile. “It’s fine—we’re not experts. Why split hairs over a name?”
Wen Zhi snorted softly but maintained the petulant, pleasant expression. With Qian on her side, she felt the scorn for Wen Yin grow.
Wen Yin smiled—an elegant curve that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her dark pupils flashed like crushed starlight. “But these costumes were all painstakingly prepared by the production team. We shouldn’t diminish their work over a label. For example, Qian’s ensemble follows Song-era hanfu conventions: the pleated skirt and long tunic were reconstructed to match the period. The mass-produced, simplified hanfu you find online can’t achieve this level of detail. The team put a lot of effort into altering them.”
The director, watching the exchange, couldn’t help but nod. Indeed, he’d hired professional designers to remodel the pieces for authenticity—he’d wanted the garments to fit the classical style of Luocheng.
Qian barely listened, giving a dismissive nod. “Oh, I see.”
The chat couldn’t resist piling on.
“LOL, Qian Shuzhi can’t even spark a controversy—guess she’s never taken hanfu seriously.”
“Wen Yin’s explanation is right. A third-year costume design student would back her up—this is not a coat.”
“Wife knows her stuff. Love her more!”
“One small history lesson a day keeps the ignoramuses away.”
“But come on, is Wen Yin trying to show off or something?”
Wen Zhi hadn’t expected Wen Yin to get so particular. She scoffed inwardly at what she thought was over-earnestness, but then put on a conciliatory smile. “Bookie didn’t mean anything, Wen. You do know a lot.”
She tilted her head at Wen Yin with a mocking half-smile. “Is what I’m wearing…a Tang-style qixiong ruqun, right?”
Wen Yin’s gaze shifted to Wen Zhi. She’d felt, the moment she first saw Wen Zhi upstairs, that something wasn’t right. Now, examining the construction of the garment more closely, her suspicion was confirmed: the outfit was flawed.