Kelly sprang forward, eager to defend Feng Yu.
Feng Yu stopped her with a cool hand and replied lightly, “Sorry—I really wouldn’t know what it’s like to claw my way up from the bottom.”
“You—you’ve been with top-tier people, but you still have the nerve to say something like that?” Zhang Xi’s assistant bristled, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Miss Xi worked so hard for this endorsement. She made it to the final audition, and you—”
Kelly jumped in to protect her talent. “Listen, I recorded everything. Do you have any proof for what you’re saying? Don’t smear Xiaoyu like this. Are you picking on her because she’s young?”
The two sides’ assistants started bickering.
“Enough!” Zhang Xi cut them off, stopping her assistant. She swept a cold look across Feng Yu and Kelly and said with quiet certainty, “Whatever you are, I won’t lose this endorsement to you.”
The Voa staff murmured among themselves; nobody dared step in. Zhang Xi’s star power was obvious, and Feng Yu had an influential tycoon standing behind her. Picking a side could easily offend the other—no one wanted that kind of trouble.
“Hmph. Miss Xi will win this by merit,” the assistant added, following Zhang Xi out of the dressing room.
“Xiaoyu, are you okay?” Kelly asked, seeing Feng Yu still composed and silent. She worried Zhang Xi’s blow had rattled her.
Feng Yu only smiled faintly, slid into her seat, and asked, “Can you check—did Miss Xi meet anyone before coming to the show?”
Kelly’s look held meaning. Feng Yu nodded.
“All right. I’ll check right away.”
She left, and not long after returned with a sober expression. “Xiaoyu’s guess was right. Miss Xi met with Feng Yayin before she came.”
“I know.” Feng Yu’s voice was steady, no surprise in it. Right now, the most important thing was to secure Voa’s endorsement; the situation couldn’t be allowed to escalate.
She turned to Kelly. “Keep this quiet. Don’t let it spread.”
Kelly understood the stakes and immediately ordered people to monitor any online chatter and suppress the story before it got traction.
After Kelly handled that, she checked her watch and snapped, “Where are the outfits? If they don’t arrive soon, there won’t be enough time to prepare!”
A staffer blinked, then said, “We hung all the gowns here. Isn’t there a rolling rack in the dressing room?”
Kelly’s face went pale. She stormed back into the dressing room and found a mobile rack covered with a black cloth in a corner. She yanked the cover away—and discovered a red gown with its fabric maliciously slashed.
Feng Yu scanned the dressing room. It was a shared space; staff and assistants came and went all the time. There was no way to tell who had done it.
“What do we do?” Kelly panicked.
A nearby staffer, sweating, blurted, “We—what now? Should I call the manager?”
“No.” It was too late for that. Feng Yu lifted the torn red dress and handed a scissor to a staffer, then asked for red thread.
Kelly grabbed her arm. “Boss, think about this! If you cut it now, we won’t have any proof—”
Feng Yu didn’t hesitate. She worked along the damaged edge with brisk, confident cuts, then took the red thread and began sewing. In minutes she’d transformed the ruined dress into something new.
The original Voa classic—a long red evening gown—had been remodeled into a bold, modern piece: long sleeves turned into off-the-shoulder straps, the long skirt reshaped into an asymmetrical short hem.
“Wow—it's surprisingly beautiful!” someone murmured.
“But she doesn't have time for a full redo of her makeup, right? The current look might not fit the new dress,” another voice said.
“We’ll redo her makeup.” Kelly looked to the makeup artist waiting at the station.
The artist nodded and reached for the brushes.
“Miss Feng, you have five minutes.” A stagehand outside warned evenly. “Rules say if you can’t be out in five minutes, it counts as voluntarily withdrawing.”
Inside, the makeup artist hesitated. “Maybe we should tell the manager—”
Feng Yu glanced at the bottle of makeup remover on the table and, without another word, poured it onto a tissue and wiped her face clean.
At the audition hall, the atmosphere had grown heavy. Zhang Xi sat in a corner, lips pressed thin.
“She’s probably too embarrassed to show up now. The Voa endorsement is yours, Miss Xi,” her assistant whispered, fawning.
Zhang Xi showed no satisfaction. Instead she kept glancing at the doorway as if waiting.
Lin Fengmian checked his watch and rose. “Since Miss Feng hasn’t appeared, we’ll consider her to have forfeited. As Voa’s chairman, I declare the endorsement—”
“Wait!” Feng Yu pushed open the audition room door.
The room fell into stunned silence.
Zhang Xi’s assistant snapped, “You were late for the final audition and you went and altered Voa’s design on your own? You have no right to stand here and audition!”
Feng Yu shot her a look and replied coolly, “When did small assistants like you get to decide who belongs here?”
The assistant went silent. Zhang Xi bit back her anger and shot a look at her assistant, who promptly fell back into place, clamming up.
“It’s exactly five minutes,” Fu Qianchen remarked, lifting his eyes to Chairman Lin, as if asking him for his ruling. “Technically she’s not late. If she’s not late, she should be allowed to audition.”
Lin Fengmian’s face betrayed no emotion. “Naturally,” he said. Then his gaze flicked back to Feng Yu, and his tone tightened with a hint of challenge. “Tell me—are you attending as Miss Feng, or as Mrs. Fu?”