“Okay, team leader, please calm down—” Shen Ziying edged the words out, footsteps softening as she moved toward the doorway.
Wen Yin pushed the door open and slipped in, brushing past Shen as if she weren’t there. She didn’t bother to hide her greeting as she stopped in front of the team leader’s desk.
“You called for me?” she asked.
“Why are you so late?” the team leader shot back, glancing at Shen with thinly veiled disapproval. Her eyes then settled on Wen with a more scrutinizing look.
“I came as soon as Lulu said you needed me,” Wen answered coolly, her gaze flicking once toward Shen. “As for whatever notice she claims she gave—that didn’t happen.”
Shen’s face drained of color. “You’re lying… I told you—” she started, but the lie collapsed under Wen’s calm.
Wen wanted to laugh. Should she call Shen stupid, or just plain clueless? To drag kindergarten-level tricks up to the boss’s office… Had Shen’s emotional intelligence been fed to the dogs?
The team leader’s expression hardened. Wen didn’t press it; she folded her hands and asked, “Is there something you need me to do?”
The leader slapped a rough sketch down in front of Wen. “Is this the draft you two turned in?”
“This looks worse than something my three-year-old niece would draw—no taste at all!” she scoffed. “Is this the best our rookie designers can do?”
Wen picked the paper up and examined it carefully. She’d only just started in the industry; critique was part of the job. But as she studied the sketch she felt her mouth tighten. The original lines had been ruined—someone had added an ugly, tawdry bow and a pile of pointless details that did nothing but cheapen the whole thing. What had been subtle and elegant had been dragged to a lower league.
She could hardly believe Shen had done such a self-sabotaging thing.
“Team leader, you’ve got the wrong idea. That ruined draft is Shen Ziying’s,” Wen said, fishing her phone out and tapping a couple of times. “These are my ideas from before she messed with it.”
The leader’s scowl eased a fraction when she saw the images on Wen’s screen. Years in this office had taught her how petty quarrels between juniors looked; she guessed Shen had tried to outshine Wen and ended up doing harm to both of them.
“You’re partners. You’ll both gain experience, but remember: collaboration comes first. Don’t let selfishness ruin a design,” the leader warned, glancing pointedly at the sulking Shen.
Then she turned to Wen in a different tone. Wen’s skill showed. “Go back and refine it based on the design on Wen Yin’s phone. Show me the revised version.”
Shen’s face fell. The leader’s words were an implicit verdict—Wen’s design was better. She glared at Wen in a way that was almost comical; bitterness curdled into her expression as she left the office with a huff.
Wen tore the defaced sketch into pieces and dropped it in the trash. Anyone who called that mess a design had insulted the profession.
After that incident, Shen kept her head down for a couple of days. The team’s work resumed its steady rhythm, and the drafts passed the leader’s preliminary review—strictly speaking, it was Wen’s work that moved forward, though Shen was quick to bask in any reflected praise. The leader had noticed Shen’s earlier maneuvering but chose not to call her out again.
When work began in earnest on the final pieces, Shen became intent on outdoing Wen. She prowled around Wen’s workspace, offering suggestions that were more interruptions than help. Wen, meanwhile, spent her time observing other designers’ techniques and didn’t rush into cutting or sewing.
At some point Shen, tired of watching, slapped her own draft onto the table and sneered, “Oh, look who finally remembered she has things to do—Miss Privileged herself.”
Wen had her head down, busy organizing notes. This week’s task list was long; she had no appetite for Shen’s barbs. As long as Shen didn’t obstruct her, Wen could tolerate a certain entitlement.
Annoyed that Wen ignored her, Shen stomped closer and, without ceremony, reached for Wen’s notebook. A pale hand pressed down on the center of the book—Wen had sensed the move and held it firmly in place.
Shen grabbed at a corner, attempting to wrench it free. To her astonishment, the notebook didn't budge. Wen looked up, unfazed; her lip barely curved.
“Is there a problem?” Wen asked, voice low and cool.
“If not, let go of my notebook,” she added after a beat.
Unable to pull and out-argued, Shen let go. She retreated to her own station, cheeks flushed with rage, her eyes like sharpened needles. She wanted to see what, if anything, Wen might produce that would wow the team.
Wen worked quickly and with quiet precision. By afternoon she’d started constructing the first sample. Her pieces had a clean, considered quality; nothing rushed or sloppy.
“Wen Yin, could I have the fabric you borrowed back? I need it,” another designer called over.
Wen’s smile was small and genuine. “Of course—thank you.”
The designer’s face warmed at her tone; Wen’s kindness had that effect. She explained, a little apologetically, that the fabric was rare and the company had only bought a small amount.
Wen reached to the shelf where the material had been stored—and her hand met empty air. The bolt of fabric was gone.