Dual Fans Rejoice
As soon as Wen Yin finished speaking, the silence in the live stream froze—fans in the chatroom went slack-jawed, and even the other side’s supporters were caught off guard. Question marks flooded the scrolling comments.
[??? What’s happening?]
[That’s Shaohua, right?! Are you telling me Wen Yin is the new designer they just announced today?!]
[OMG—when did Wen Yin become a designer?!]
[I just dug through Shaohua’s Weibo. The new designer’s name is Jinjin!]
[You’re not saying Jinjin is actually Wen Yin!!]
[Wen Yin, how many more surprises are you hiding from us?!]
[I feel like I stanbed a whole new level of celebrity!!]
[No way—Jinjin was the one who did that deer-themed collection last time!!]
[Yeah! I remember that look. I thought Wen Yin only modeled for Jinjin—didn’t expect she was the designer herself!!]
[Jinjin’s designs were literally my heart, okay?!]
More and more people piled into the discussion. Shaohua’s name carried weight in the industry; once Wen Yin and Jinjin appeared in the same breath, the topic shot onto the trending list.
Over at the date venue, Xiao Mo still had no idea what was happening. He’d been dismissive when he agreed to Wen Zhi’s plan that morning and hadn’t bothered to check anything about the new designer. He was running around the venue frantically, oblivious to the social-media storm.
Back in the stream, Wen Zhi’s face collapsed. She stared at Wen Yin, unable to wrap her head around what she’d just heard. “You… what did you say?” she managed.
“You said you’re the new designer Shaohua poached? Show us the proof,” Wen Zhi demanded, nostrils flaring with indignation. She hadn’t landed the Shaohua endorsement yet—she’d practically assumed it was hers—and now the designer turned out to be Wen Yin? It felt like a deliberate slap.
Wen Yin works at a small firm, didn’t she? How on earth could she suddenly become Shaohua’s new designer? Was this some kind of setup? Wen Zhi’s disbelief painted her features sharp.
She blinked, then offered a syrupy smile that dripped contempt. “Ms. Wen, you must be upset with me about something, but you don’t need to sabotage your own reputation over it. Lying isn’t a good habit, you know.”
Every word was a barb. She was accusing Wen Yin of fabricating the whole thing just to undermine her. Wen Zhi’s fans pounced.
[Totally—some people will say anything to get famous.]
[Are you kidding? That’s Shaohua, one of the top design houses in the industry. They wouldn’t take Wen Yin seriously.]
[Why is this woman always lying to target Zhi Zhi? So manipulative.]
[No wonder someone’s jealous after Zhi Zhi landed that massive endorsement.]
[Can we stop with the Wen Yin hate? Let Zhi Zhi breathe.]
[Wen Yin is disgusting.]
Wen Zhi’s expression slid from stunned to imperious. She made a show of angling the camera and lifted her chin toward Wen Yin. “Where’s your proof, then?”
Wen Yin stood with her arms folded, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t resist the amusement on her face. “Me, standing here—that’s proof enough.”
For a beat Wen Zhi was taken aback, then her indignation flared into aggressive sarcasm. “That’s awfully vague. Are you dismissing the viewers in our chat?”
She forced a friendly laugh and suggested, “Why don’t you show us the sketches you’ve done?”
Wen Yin let the lids of her eyes droop. A short, almost playful snort escaped her. “Those designs are company property. Why should I show them to you?”
She took a couple steps forward, close enough that Wen Zhi could feel her presence, and reached to pat the other woman on the shoulder. “Or,” she added in a low voice—deliberately avoiding the mics between them, as if speaking off the record, “you can wait until the next ambassador selection event. Then you’ll see whether I need to prove anything.”
The confidence in her words sent a chill through Wen Zhi. The hand on her shoulder felt firm, as if it could squeeze the breath from her, yet not a flicker of vulnerability crossed her face on camera. Behind that steady composure, Wen Zhi’s resentment only intensified. If Wen Yin knew enough of her backstage machinations, it explained a lot.
Her mind raced—she’d engineered Wen Yin’s firing, after all. Keeping it quiet would have kept Wen Yin boxed in as a junior designer at some small shop indefinitely. Why had Wen Yin lucked into Shaohua now? The thought made her cheeks burn.
On Weibo, the skeptical fans had finally been pushed into the open. Someone had already pieced together a timeline and posted it under a trending tag: #WenYinIsJinJin# went viral.
Fans had done the legwork, aligning posts, photos, timestamps—the proof was startlingly neat. The comment threads exploded.
[Is my sister a superhero or what? How is she this good!!]
[Wen Yin ahhhhhh I can’t handle this!!]
[Both fanbases are losing it—who even understands!!]
Wen Zhi’s supporters, who’d migrated to Weibo to argue, suddenly found themselves confounded. Everything that had once looked like petty bragging now suggested something far greater about Wen Yin.
Back at the date livestream—
The man’s tall silhouette lurked half-hidden in shadow, the floor strewn with roses. He plucked one up as if it were a common thing, dew still clinging to its petals, bright and trembling. He held the bloom between his fingers with a kind of careless tenderness, a touch that felt utterly indifferent to fragility, as if neither thorns nor bloom could cause him pain.