The decision on Shen Ziying came down quickly. Wen Yin learned the final outcome from the other designers: due to damaging company property, Shen was being fired.
That afternoon Shen returned to the studio. Her eyes were rimmed red, as if she had been crying. She packed her things in silence, a far cry from the haughty woman Wen had seen in the restroom earlier — now she looked every bit the drenched, disgraced animal.
The other designers kept their heads down and kept working, pretending not to notice. Shen’s abrupt departure had thrown Wen’s schedule off. The sample dress wasn’t finished; Wen would now need to spend twice as long to make it.
Shen stood in front of Wen clutching a box to her chest, her makeup still immaculate but her expression pathetically pleading.
“Wen Yin.” She spoke through gritted teeth, a snarling edge to her voice. “I’ll make you pay for this sooner or later.”
Wen had already been wrestling to catch up; hearing Shen’s threat only made her look at her more fully. Her eyes were cool and distant as they skimmed over Shen’s face.
“You should have some self-awareness,” Wen said lightly. “And the decency to admit your mistakes.”
Shen’s jaw worked. She probably hadn’t the faintest idea where she’d gone wrong — she’d only learned to toss blame onto others. The insult stung; Shen bit her lip, glared, and stalked off in her sky-high heels.
Outside the company, furious, she emptied a box of sketches into a trash bin, thinking of Wen’s calm demeanor. She pressed her lips together, rubbed her swollen eyes, and dialed a number. The voice on the other end soothed her, and Shen’s voice broke again.
“Hello? I’m telling you, today I—” Her words were swallowed by the wind as she paced and ranted.
After Shen left, Wen’s workload only increased. The next morning the team leader called her into the office.
Wen rose slowly, feeling brittle all over. Last night’s late hours had left pale shadows under her eyes.
“Wen Yin, there’s been a final decision from upstairs about the fabric issue,” the team leader said, pushing her glasses up and glancing at Wen from a heap of papers.
Wen nodded, calm and steady. Her gaze invited the rest; she looked as if she already knew what was coming.
There was a flicker of discomfort at Wen’s composure. The team leader diverted her eyes for a moment, then, under that unblinking look, pushed the words out.
“The higher-ups have decided that, like Shen Ziying, you will be dismissed as well.”
It landed like a thunderclap. Wen lifted her lids just slightly, her clear eyes unreadable.
“May I ask why?” she said, voice cool.
“So you helped the company identify the person responsible and now you’re being punished?” Wen added quietly, the question more accusation than query.
The team leader cleared her throat, surprisingly patient. “That’s the order from above. I don’t know the details.” Her expression held genuine regret. Talented rookies like Wen were rare; she would have liked to protect her. But a small team leader had no power to defy corporate commands.
“You know fabric from that supplier is in short supply,” she offered weakly, trying to explain. “That’s why the higher-ups took such a hard line.”
Wen stared until the team leader’s composure cracked and she broke off. “Understood,” Wen said simply.
She surprised the team leader by not begging or causing a scene. The leader left with a heavier head, struck by her restraint and secretly a little impressed.
Wen’s belongings in the studio were few. Even the sketches she’d recently made had been withheld under some company pretext. She shouldered her bag and left.
Before she could reach the gate, someone called her name. High heels clicked fast behind her. The voice belonged to Qin; when she saw Wen stop, she exhaled in relief.
“I heard you were implicated because of Shen,” Qin said briskly. Two new designers dismissed in under two weeks — it was rare enough to draw gossip. Qin had rushed over when she heard but had almost missed Wen.
“You’ll be a good designer,” Qin said, stepping forward to straighten Wen’s rumpled collar with the sort of practical care that spoke more of respect than condolences. She gave Wen a quick, encouraging smile. “Keep at it.”
Wen returned the small smile. “Thank you. You too.”
Qin nodded, then resumed her usual crisp expression as if nothing had happened.
Outside the building, a garish red Faralla was parked in front. Shen sat in the passenger seat and, upon seeing Wen, wolf-whistled theatrically — as brazen as a youthful socialite.
“Isn’t that our big-shot designer Wen?” Shen pretended to be shocked, covering her mouth. “Out here slacking off instead of working? Maybe she got fired?”
Her friends in the car burst into loud laughter. They’d all heard the rumor that Wen, supposedly the real daughter of the Wen family, was pitied and unloved at home. They had been eager to see this mystery girl in person; now they mocked and jeered.
Wen looked at Shen in the passenger seat. Her lips curved faintly, and the naturally upturned corners of her eyes lent her a dangerous, alluring quality. Loose black hair fell over her shoulders, making the skin at her throat look even paler and more luminous. When she wasn’t smiling she seemed aloof; when she did smile, it could steal one’s breath.
The boys fell silent. People like her, rare as they were, had a way of stopping chatter in its tracks.
“This girl could go straight into entertainment — that face is something else—” one of them started, but trailed off as Wen gave a half-smile and began walking toward them.
She had been worried she wouldn’t find Shen Ziying, and suddenly there she was, delivered right to Wen’s feet.