A soft curtain of fabric fell over Wen Yin before she could fully take in the scene.
A heavy velvet red dress covered her head. Jiu Jiu—always quick—snatched it off with the careful reverence one gives a fragile work of art. She’d already seen it; this was one of the new pieces for the show. The moment the dress was freed, Wen Yin signaled for her to put it away. The two of them carried it by opposite hems and laid it down as if setting a sleeping thing to rest.
The woman across from them went pale, mouth forming a perfect O. “Wen… Wen Yin?”
Wen Yin frowned and looked at the model. She didn’t recognize her. The model, however, behaved as if she did.
“What are you doing here? Are you some guest model now?” she sneered.
Since Heartbeat, Lover exploded in popularity, Wen Yin’s name had begun to circulate in the industry. Not on the same feverish level as Wen Zhi, perhaps, but enough that people no longer only associated her with scandal. She had reinvented herself, and fans were flocking in. She’d turned down film offers one after another, leaving even her agency in the dark about what she was quietly up to.
Wen Yin said nothing. Cool and distant, she asked instead, “Why dump a new piece like that?”
The model, seeing Wen Yin ignore her, gave a derisive little laugh. “Why? Because this is a small brand. I only came because my agent insisted—I wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.” She gave Wen Yin a dismissive once-over. “And you—when did you sink so low as to do cameos?”
Jiu Jiu bristled. “Qi Li is a household name in this industry—more so than you in the modeling world.”
The model’s smile twisted into a snarl. “What did your little assistant say?”
“She called you out,” Jiu Jiu shot back. “Classy, aren’t you?”
Hearing the string of insults, Jiu Jiu’s face flushed. She’d never faced language so crude from another woman; her lips moved, searching for an answer, but nothing clever came. “Vulgar,” she managed through clenched teeth.
The model, enjoying the upper hand, picked at the makeup artist standing nearby. “If you don’t redo this to suit me, I’m not walking the show,” she announced. “If the collection can’t be shown on time because of me, that’s on you, not me.”
Her tone was sharp, self-righteous as if she had every right to dictate terms.
Wen Yin beckoned the makeup artist over. She wanted to know exactly what the uproar was about. The artist’s face twisted with discomfort as she repeated, word for word, the model’s impossible demands. Wen Yin’s eyes went colder with each sentence. So this was the stunt.
“It’s company policy,” the makeup artist said haltingly. “This isn’t a variety show. We can’t do permanent or semi-permanent makeup on the fly. Fashion and entertainment are different beasts.”
At that moment Director Wu arrived backstage. He paused, puzzled at the standoff. “Wen Yin? Why are you still here?” he asked. At this hour the designers should be at the front—I why was she in the model room?
Wen Yin stepped back, motioning to the model who’d been acting like royalty on her chair. “You can explain your requests to our director,” she said evenly.
The model blinked and, with a sniff, looked over at Wu as if to size him up. “Who is he? Don’t tell me he’s just some plant to trick me.”
“Meet Director Wu of our design department.” Jiu Jiu couldn’t help herself; she snapped the introduction out sharply. The woman had been insufferable and needed to be put in her place.
At the mention of his name the model’s expression shifted; she fell silent. Wen Yin summarized the situation in a few measured sentences. Wu’s face darkened.
“This was agreed on before you signed with us,” he said, voice hard. “If you refuse now, you’re breaching your contract.”
Wen Yin met the model’s gaze. “If you’re unwilling to cooperate, we have the right to replace you.”
For a moment the woman looked as if she might faint. She had not expected the matter to be escalated.
Wen Yin didn’t give her time to recover. Instead she reached out and drew forward a familiar face from the side.
The model’s mockery resurfaced. “Her? Why should she go on stage? She’s a newcomer.”
Qiu Qing went beet-red and waved her hands frantically. “Wen Yin—no, I can’t—”
Wen Yin knew Qiu Qing. Their histories brushed—last time Qiu Qing had been poised to model a design Wen Yin had created, but an interference had cost her the chance. Seeing her reluctant, Wen Yin gave her a gentle push.
“Director Wu, Qiu Qing can stand in for her. She’s every bit as professional,” Wen Yin said without a flicker. Then, softer, “She has class.”
The insulted model went white. Obviously she hadn’t expected her tantrum to end in her own humiliation.
Wu nodded. There was no time to waste. Wen Yin turned to the makeup artist. “Get her ready. Now.”
The three of them hurried to work. Under skillful hands, Qiu Qing’s features sharpened and transformed—the makeup, the hair, the posture—she became someone entirely different. When she stood before them at last, she looked like a woman made for a runway.
There was a flicker of confusion in her eyes; she wondered why Wen Yin had chosen her. Wen Yin stepped closer and lowered her voice.
“Go out there and do your best. Don’t be nervous. Last time was just bad luck—this is your debut.”
Qiu Qing’s eyes brimmed. She had been a background figure for so long; a door had finally opened. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying and managed, “Thank you, Wen Yin.”
“Go on. Break a leg.”
Wen Yin smoothed the dress at the shoulders once more, offering a small, encouraging smile. The three of them moved toward the front row. Wen Yin and Jiu Jiu took their seats reserved for the designers and watched, intent, as each new piece paraded past.
At last, it was Qiu Qing’s turn.