Shao Qi made a scene.
By the time Wen Yin arrived, Shao Qi had already bullied the young assistant half to tears—she’d only just started at Shaohua and hadn’t lasted a single round under his glare. The moment Wen Yin stepped into the room, the assistant wiped her eyes, steadied herself, and forced a smile.
“Designer Wen.” Her voice trembled.
Shao Qi sat upright on the sofa. At Wen Yin’s appearance he slammed his teacup down so hard the saucer rattled. He heard the assistant’s sob in her voice and felt no shame at all.
“Designer Wen really knows how to put on airs,” he said.
Wen Yin needed only one look to know the girl had been put through the wringer. She motioned the assistant out with a small, comforting nod.
“Go on,” she said. “You should leave.”
The girl nodded, swallowed whatever pride she had left, and hurried out. She couldn’t stand another minute in that atmosphere.
Wen Yin sat opposite Shao Qi as if nothing were wrong, ignoring the spill his slammed cup had left on the table. To Shao Qi it read as nothing less than arrogance.
“I just came to catch up,” he complained, frowning. “Funny—Designer Wen has become quite the name. Surprised you didn’t want to see me.”
He expected deference: a humble, grateful reply, maybe even some show of eagerness. She didn’t fit the role he’d written for her.
Wen Yin’s expression remained cool. “You picked a bad time, Mr. Shao. I was with a partner not long ago.”
He sniffed derisively. “Don’t forget who lit the way for you. Who brought you here. You owe your success to Shaohua.”
Wen Yin’s eyes lifted. “I’m not sure I follow. Who’s supposed to have ‘lit the way’ for me?”
He meant it as an insult, a reminder of his family’s power. Shao Qi’s view of her had always been flat and patronizing: small, ambitious, and unworthy of their world. He thought her fortunate to have the backing of the Wen family, and even then, no match for the Shaos.
“If it weren’t for a company like Shaohua,” he continued, “who would have known Wen Yin the designer?”
Wen Yin let a faint smile pull at one corner of her mouth—cool, disdainful. A good company helps, she would admit, but so did hard work. She wasn’t the sort to sell herself as someone who’d only gotten where she was by standing on someone else’s shoulders.
“You still think I rose by borrowing light,” she said softly. “That you’re the reason I’m here?”
Shao Qi’s sneer deepened. “You’ve got no right to talk to me like that.”
“Mr. Shao,” Wen Yin said, meeting his eyes without a flicker of humility, without fear, “there’s a lot you don’t know.”
She paused, then quoted an old saying as if testing its weight. “A cornered rabbit will bite.”
Her words hit two marks at once: the humiliation he’d just inflicted and something she’d learned the night before—the engagement between Shao Yinan and Qi Siran, arranged under the pretense of company advantage, a sacrifice of a son for the family’s standing.
“For the sake of the business, you’d sacrifice your own son without anyone knowing?” Wen Yin’s voice was flat, almost clinical. “Is that how you keep the Shao name strong?”
Shao Qi’s face tightened; the façade almost cracked. No one had called him out like that. “Nonsense!” He tried to laugh it off, but the tremor around his eyes betrayed him.
“Since we’re being frank, then,” he snapped, haughtiness bleeding into anger, “you don’t deserve Shao Yinan. We would never permit a girl from some small, modest household to marry into our family. Stop dreaming.”
“And if you keep pushing,” he threatened, venom rising, “I can make sure you can’t work in design anymore.”
Wen Yin watched him, unruffled. When he finally raised his voice, she calmly reached beneath the table and produced a slim recorder. Shao Qi’s face went pale. He lunged for it.
“You’d play dirty with me?” he barked.
Wen Yin closed her hand over the recorder as if it were nothing; her fingers were white but steady. “Mr. Shao, I don’t mean to offend. You were the one who cornered me.”
“You’ve belittled me, spoken down to me, compared me to Qi Siran as if I’m second-rate—just because my family is modest?” She enunciated each accusation like a scalpel, and each one laid bare the worst of him. “Who did you think you were protecting by arranging that engagement? The company? Or the family’s pride?”
Shao Qi’s mouth worked, but no retort came. His composure, so carefully constructed, felt suddenly thin.
Wen Yin’s voice lowered. “So let me say it plainly, one last time. A cornered rabbit will bite.”
For a long moment he only stared at her; then he laughed, dark and forced. “I underestimated you.”
He let the laugh fade, and in it was a grudging concession. “Fine. Show me your cards then. Let’s see if you’re the kind who can’t be taken onstage.”
Wen Yin slipped the recorder back into her bag without a word. Her face didn’t soften. “I will not release this recording to anyone,” she said. “I’ll keep it secure. I won’t tell a soul about today.”
She stood. “Mr. Shao, that’s all. Take your leave — I won’t see you out.”