Three days later, the Moda China Fashion Gala unfolded as scheduled by the seaside in Ning City.
The red carpet was set up outdoors. A giant stage shaped like pink and white petals stretched nearly thirty meters long, culminating in the Moda lettering made of white fiberglass, slanting into the pale sandy beach – an arrangement full of sculptural drama and visual intensity.
The signature backdrop in the middle of the red carpet was about eight meters long, covered with sponsor logos. Opposite it lay the media photography area, where the host waited to guide each guest through photo ops and brief interviews.
The red carpet was scheduled to start at 3 p.m., but just after 1 p.m., all the cranes, track cameras, and live-streaming equipment from various platforms were already in place. The photo area buzzed with crowds and a forest of camera lenses, all eager for this fashion extravaganza.
“Which slot is Ying Yin walking?” asked a journalist adjusting their Steadicam.
“Probably around five?” a colleague replied.
The official event would release the red carpet order to the media in advance, allowing journalists to prepare accordingly.
The red carpet order was anything but arbitrary – it reflected a complex calculus of status, star power, awards, mainstream popularity, hit works, whether one was a film actor, TV actor, or variety star, whether one had a luxury endorsement or ambassador title, whether one was a red carpet regular or a rare presence, one’s closeness to the fashion circle, even personal relationships with the editor-in-chief, and fashion influence. All of these factors were taken into consideration.
Some actresses had neither awards nor major box-office hits, yet graced the covers of women’s fashion magazines as easily as strolling through their own backyard, wearing couture with the casualness of ready-to-wear – their red carpet placement would be later in the lineup.
Conversely, if an actress dominated in awards and enjoyed immense mainstream popularity but fell short in other respects for reasons left unspoken, she could very well be relegated to an awkward spot.
Ying Yin was that “converse.”
Her initial placement was a little after five o’clock – slightly toward the back but not quite at the end, an awkward middle ground that felt somewhat stifling. Yet if anyone tried to object, the organizers could, with a smug smile and a saccharine “sweetie,” rattle off a perfectly reasonable list of justifications.
Mai Anyan had gone to negotiate on her behalf, but the magazine brushed it off lightly. “So, Mr. Mai, who further down do you think Ms. Ying should replace? Or which other talent should she go ahead of?”
Behind her were veteran A-listers like Zhang Chengwan and Yu Wang, established TV drama stars with two massive hits under their belts, and a male actor who had skyrocketed to A-list fame and landed a top luxury endorsement fresh off a breakout role. Among actresses of the same generation, order was typically less rigid – more about alternating and interweaving – but now every single one of them was placed after Ying Yin, with an innocuous boy band heartthrob deliberately inserted in between. That, to say the least, was telling.
The photojournalists were keeping an eye on Ying Yin’s placement largely because of the yacht trending topic from a couple of days earlier. The domestic fashion circle had been buzzing with excitement, and as a result, Becca’s profile in China had skyrocketed.
“Hey! Didn’t you see the latest notice? They’ve moved Ms. Ying to six o’clock – she’s closing the show!”
“No kidding? For real?” asked the Steadicam operator filming the venue.
“For real. I mean, she’s a Best Actress winner – she ought to close the show anyway. Putting her at five earlier was kind of a slap in the face,” said a seasoned photographer with a thick Beijing accent.
“Mr. Ma, are you a die-hard Ying Yin fan? The rest of us wouldn’t dare say that.” Everyone laughed.
“Let me tell you, there’s more drama to come. Just wait!”
At Chu Anni’s studio, Ying Yin had just finished her hair and makeup.
The dress that Jeffrey, the design director of Musel, had personally torn apart the other day had been meticulously restored by the brand’s artisan tailors. The repair was seamless, as if the dress had originally been designed with that high slit. Her shoes had also been swapped for a pair from a more prestigious brand, similar in style but from the spring/summer runway collection.
To accentuate the overall look, Ying Yin’s hair had been dyed a pale blonde and styled into soft, voluminous waves, each curl radiating a gentle luster. Her accessories – lapis lazuli earrings and a choker – were provided by Jeffrey himself, from Musel’s accessories line. They were vintage pieces with some age, classic examples of 1970s Italian style.
“Jeffrey really is…” Chu Anni was full of praise. “Only the designer himself truly knows how to make this dress shine.”
“Sis, you look like…” Cheng Junyi racked her brain, but her vocabulary failed her just when she needed it most.
“Athena coming back for revenge,” Zhuang Tiwen said without hesitation. “The upper half is pure white, sacred and untouchable. The lower half is a warrior goddess who says, ‘I don’t give a shit.’ That camellia is the finishing touch – holy yet mournful. Paired with this hair color, this makeup, and the cold lapis lazuli accessories, you’re radiating the kind of killing intent that says you’re already mourning your opponents in advance.”
Ying Yin said, “…Tiwen, maybe cut back on the fashion bloggers for a while.”
Zhuang Tiwen bowed. “Sorry!”
Chu Anni laughed so hard her shoulders shook. “That was spot on, though. This dress was originally a goddess dress, very Athenian in style, but wearing it like this is way more interesting. My only concern is that today’s red carpet and venue are truly massive – a thirty-meter stage. That kind of scale can easily overwhelm a look.”
“It’s fine. I’ve already made my decision,” Ying Yin reassured her. “I’ll be counting on you even more for the Starlight Diamond Award and the Galaxy Film Festival later.”
She then called Junyi over. “Take a couple of photos of me.”
Junyi walked over and took her phone, hearing Ying Yin murmur in her ear, “These are for Mr. Shang. Make them look good… and don’t show my legs!”
Junyi’s eyebrows danced and the corners of her mouth twitched as she gave an exaggerated “OK.”
Ying Yin struck a pose and arranged her expression. Junyi said, “You’re the queen of posing – why are you so stiff all of a sudden?”
Ying Yin: “…”
“Look at you. Your arms, your legs, everything’s wrong. You’ve even forgotten how to smile.” Junyi showed her the preview on the phone.
Ying Yin covered her face with both hands. “Wah…”
Even though Junyi was the one taking the pictures, just knowing they were meant for Shang Shao made her mind go completely blank.
After sulking for a moment, she lifted her face, now flushed crimson. “Never mind. No photos. He’s not getting any!”
“Isn’t he watching your red carpet?” asked Zhuang Tiwen.
Although she felt that not watching the red carpet would be far more typical of Shang Shao, given how many times he had defied expectations lately…
“He said he doesn’t have time,” Ying Yin replied. She took a deep breath, trying to will away the heat of her embarrassment.
“It’s okay – the studio will put out finely edited photos anyway,” Junyi reassured her. “Mr. Mai says he’s almost here and wants you to get ready to leave.”
Mai Anyan had been eager to fast-track Ruan Ye, the young girl, so most of his attention had been on her lately. It had been a long time since he’d personally accompanied Ying Yin to an event.
Speak of the devil. The roar of a BMW sports car grew from distant to near, and in the blink of an eye, it pulled over to the curb. The door opened, and Mai Anyan stepped out in high spirits, wearing a printed shirt and sunglasses.
“Baby, baby, my baby!” He pulled her into a hug, then took off his sunglasses and pointed at Ying Yin. “I’ve got some great news that’ll make you feel vindicated.”
“Oh?”
“The red carpet order – you’re closing the show, right after Zhang Chengwan. You’ll walk with the editor-in-chief of Moda. The only person after you is Yu Wang. How’s that for a spot?”
Even Ying Yin herself was surprised, let alone the others. “A last-minute change?”
“Last-minute?” Mai Anyan let out a cold laugh. “That trending topic has been up for three days now. What’s last-minute about it?”
For a moment, Ying Yin found it all absurd. Twelve years in the industry, and she had always thought she understood this circle well enough. But time and again, reality proved she still didn’t know enough.
Since they needed to leave time to shoot promotional materials, the group got into the Alphard minivan and set off for the venue. When they arrived, Ying Yin would walk the red carpet while Tiwen and Mai Anyan waited for her inside the venue. Junyi wouldn’t go in – she was heading home to catch up on sleep while keeping an eye on the livestream and trending topics on social media.
At 3 o’clock sharp, the red carpet began on time.
Mai Anyan had secured the opening slot for Ruan Ye – a pretty good spot. But as everyone had feared, the venue was just too large and overwhelming. Ruan Ye, wearing a long train made of petal-like layers, walked with extreme caution, her eyes full of nerves.
After finishing her photo shoot, Ying Yin sat in the minivan waiting, watching the live broadcast of the red carpet.
“Ruan Ye’s doing pretty well, getting the opening slot. I remember even after I won the Best Newcomer Award, I was still only placed in the early-middle section.”
Mai Anyan sounded a bit guilty. “Times are different now. Besides, she has some talent.”
Ying Yin didn’t catch his meaning.
After Ruan Ye came the group of Chinese supermodels. Most of them dressed very sharply – after all, at 5’11”, they had no reason to be intimidated by any occasion.
With about twenty minutes to go before her turn, an event staff member came to knock on the car window. “Ms. Ying, are you ready? We can head to the holding area now.”
The automatic sliding door slowly opened. A long, slender, perfectly rounded leg in a boot stepped out of the car with steady poise.
The staff member offered a hand, and Ying Yin rested her arm on theirs. The moment the staff member saw her in person, whatever they had been about to say suddenly slipped their mind – they could only swallow hard.
“What’s wrong?”
“So… so beautiful,” the young woman said honestly.
Working at a top publication like Moda, even a lowly intern assistant might be a fashion blogger with hundreds of thousands of followers, a wealthy heiress who shops nonstop, a fashion buyer, or an overseas returnee with a degree in arts management. These people all had incredibly high standards. They were used to seeing handsome actors, beautiful actresses, supermodels, and celebrities. They could talk endlessly about taste and style. For one of them to be genuinely stunned at first sight – that was rare.
Ying Yin smiled and glanced at her. “Sweet talker.”
Tiwen followed her to the holding area, planning to head into the venue after Ying Yin hit the red carpet.
In the holding area, celebrities stood in small groups, making small talk with varying degrees of familiarity. When Ying Yin appeared, no one stopped talking – that would have been beneath them. But everyone’s pace slowed noticeably, their eyes drifting along with their distracted thoughts as they gave her a lingering, meaningful once-over from head to toe.
At an event like this, the actresses’ dramatic trains were puffier than the last, like massive semi-trailers. Turning around was a struggle, and four staff members had to trail behind each dress just to keep it in order. When they saw Ying Yin, none of them said a word out loud, but inside, a storm of mixed emotions churned.
One moment they’d think: She came dressed that simply? The red carpet will eat her alive.
The next moment they’d think: Dressed that simply, she makes me look like I’m trying too hard.
No one had to make the first move. Feng Xingxue, the editor-in-chief of Moda, was the first to approach. “Yinyin, long time no see.”
And it really had been a long time. The last time they met was exactly a year ago, on this very day.
Ying Yin put on a smile. “How have you been? This is your show – you must be so busy you haven’t even had time for a sip of water, right?”
“Oh, don’t even get me started.” Feng Xingxue gave her a mock glare. “That outfit today is really something. Is it Musel? I can hardly tell. I saw Jeffrey recently – wanted to do an interview with him while he’s in China. He’s thinking about adding a few more pages for Musel.” She winked. “It takes you to be faster than me. You know how to pick them.”
The two of them exchanged a heap of saccharine, plastic small talk as the host’s warm-up voice continued in the distance.
A few of the younger actresses who were scheduled to go on before Ying Yin came over to greet her.
They didn’t really know each other, but that didn’t stop them from throwing around “sweetie” and “darling” left and right. And don’t think the male stars were any different – they went with a stream of “sorry,” “thanks,” “ah, it’s so great to see you today,” and “we really must get together sometime.”
Ying Yin’s attention drifted as she listened, her smile growing half-hearted. Inside her clutch, her phone buzzed.
She had a feeling about who it might be, and her lips curved upward before she could stop them.
Muttering an “excuse me,” she stepped over to a slightly quieter corner and opened WeChat.
Shang Shao was in Tanzania, genuinely busy. He hadn’t reached out to Ying Yin in three days.
When he finally had a moment, he found himself inexplicably pulling up the selfie she’d sent him the other day. He looked at it for a moment, then realized he must have lost his mind.
It wasn’t like he couldn’t just contact her. What was he doing staring at a photo?
By the time Shang Shao asked if it was convenient to call, Ying Yin had already put on her earbuds.
She lowered her voice. “I’m about to go on the red carpet.”
Shang Shao hadn’t heard her voice in days. He listened intently – to every word, even to the sound of her breathing.
After a moment, his low voice came through the line. “Why didn’t you address me?”
“I wouldn’t dare. There are people nearby.” Ying Yin pressed her lips together. In just a few short sentences, a faint flush had crept into her eyes.
She wasn’t supposed to be this bad at pretending. Pretending was her forte – she could nail it in any setting, with any person.
But hearing his voice, she felt as if his deep, misty gaze had locked onto her, leaving her no room to fake anything.
Her long legs pressed tightly together, wave after wave of heat rising through her body – she felt like a little girl who couldn’t catch her breath.
“Worried about something?”
“Worried about causing you trouble.”
Shang Shao interrupted her lightly. “Say it.”
Ying Yin’s heart tightened. She turned around, pressing her forehead against the stark white wall, backing herself into the corner.
A long moment passed.
Then, in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum. “Brother Ah-Shao… .”
Shang Shao’s breathing on the other end suddenly grew shallow. After a long pause, he spoke, sounding almost composed. “What did you call me?”
“I can’t say it again.” Ying Yin was absolutely not opening her mouth a second time. “It’s just – this way, it’s harder to put two and two together…”
Otherwise, if someone with ill intent overheard “Mr. Shang” and connected it to the yacht incident, it would be all too easy to guess his true identity.
Ying Yin heard a swallowing sound on the other end of the line – it seemed Shang Shao was drinking water.
It was tea leaves steeped so long the water had gone cold and bitter – not even a dog would drink it. But he drank it slowly, feeling the icy liquid slide down his throat, extinguishing the heat in his body.
The water wasn’t enough. He slipped his long, bony fingers into his tie and loosened it.
“Is it time for your red carpet?” he asked, all business.
“Yes.” Ying Yin glanced back over her shoulder. “I should hang up.”
She wanted to ask if he’d missed her these past few days, but the question felt like pushing her luck.
If Shang Shao hadn’t reached out to her, then he hadn’t thought of her. He was buried in work, with no time for trivial matters of the heart.
Before she could hang up, a cough came through the line.
Ying Yin’s nerves jumped. “Do you have a cold?”
“A little.”
“Did I give it to you?”
Shang Shao let out a soft chuckle. “That’s a stretch.”
“What do you mean, a stretch? I just meant…” Ying Yin stopped herself.
Her mind went to the kisses they’d shared in France.
Every time he kissed her, he went deep. That day she’d been hanging out with Becca, and they’d run into each other at the cinema on the yacht at noon. He’d pressed her into a dark corner and kissed her for ten minutes. The theater’s air conditioning had been chilling, the gray-white screen blank. In the darkness, all she could hear was the wet sound of their kisses.
“That’s not what I meant…” Ying Yin protested, giving herself away.
Shang Shao’s voice came slow and deep. “What did you mean?”
A staff member called out to her from behind. On pure reflex, Ying Yin hung up the phone. When she turned around, her face was flushed crimson. Forget that “murderous Athena” nonsense – she looked more like a Venus who’d just been teased.
“Ms. Ying, there are three more people ahead of you.”
Ying Yin nodded, took a deep breath, and said, with an air of trying too hard to explain. “It’s very hot.”
“It might be because you’re wearing boots,” the staff member offered helpfully.
Ying Yin nodded. In just a few steps, she had already calmed down and returned to her flawless, impenetrable state.
Feng Xingxue was just greeting the major A-lister Yu Wang when a staff member hurried over and whispered in her ear, “Zhang Chengwan won’t get out of the car.”
Feng Xingxue’s delicate brows knitted. “I’ll go take a look.”
Zhang Chengwan had originally been scheduled second-to-last, but Ying Yin had been inserted ahead of her. Now she was sulking in her minivan. Whatever tactics Feng Xingxue used, after two or three minutes of coaxing, she finally managed to get her to the holding area.
There was no live broadcast here, but the sound of camera shutters never ceased. Zhang Chengwan’s expression was sour; she barely managed to force a smile.
When she saw Ying Yin, she curled her lips with extreme reluctance. When she saw Yu Wang, her demeanor finally cooled down a bit, and she greeted her with a “Sister Wang.”
Going third-to-last wasn’t shameful, but she couldn’t stomach this kind of slight. Two days earlier, during the trending topic, her fiancé Zeng Meng had seen the yacht news and asked, “Why isn’t that Becca your fan? You went international way earlier than Ying Yin. How is it you still can’t measure up?”
Zeng Meng had half-lifted his eyes and added, “Zhang Chengwan, that Best Actress title of yours – doesn’t seem to carry much weight.”
The host was already announcing.
“Next up on our red carpet is the renowned actress and Galaxy Award Best Actress winner, Zhang Chengwan. Chengwan is also an old friend of Moda, having been the first Chinese actress to grace our cover…”
In that instant, Zhang Chengwan made her decision.
She stopped, standing arrogantly, not moving an inch.
Feng Xingxue’s face stiffened. “Chengwan?”
The host finished the script. The start of the red carpet remained empty.
A power play for the closing spot.
In that moment, the same thought flashed through everyone’s mind, both inside and outside the venue.
The livestream comments exploded:
[Where is she? Where is she?]
[Why is no one coming out?]
[Is Zhang Chengwan late?]
This wasn’t exactly new. Scenes like this could happen at any runway show, brand event, or red carpet, because in some people’s minds, order and status were everything.
But the problem was, today the announcement came before the appearance – meaning the audience already knew the order. Delaying the walk to hijack the closing spot at this point was basically telling the world outright that she was throwing a diva tantrum.
The host, to their credit, remained unflappable. Smiling broadly at the camera, they began reciting Zhang Chengwan’s fashion résumé all over again.
Backstage.
Yu Wang said nothing. Feng Xingxue was frantic. The importance of this night went without saying – the entire Moda team had been preparing for it for six months. There was no room for someone to start trouble here!
“Sister Wan, if you’re not feeling well…” Feng Xingxue said, forcing a smile.
She wasn’t afraid of offending Zhang Chengwan. And after tonight, Zhang Chengwan could forget about ever appearing on any Moda cover, back cover, or even a single interior page – not even a tiny filler square.
Ying Yin walked over and took Zhang Chengwan’s arm. “Sister Wan, is your old problem acting up again? Is your lower back hurting? Let me walk with you.”
Zhang Chengwan’s arm was cold. She shivered slightly when Ying Yin took it.
Ying Yin didn’t give her a chance to refuse. She crouched down, adjusted Zhang Chengwan’s hem, and said, “Let’s go.”
After a three-minute pause, the red carpet finally welcomed two figures.
Zhang Chengwan held her evening clutch in front of her waist and walked with grace and poise. But when she heard Ying Yin murmur the word “childish,” her nose stung, and she nearly burst into tears.
The crane camera swept across the enormous thirty-meter red carpet. Zhang Chengwan wore a black velvet evening gown – a straight silhouette cinched at the waist, with two straps over the shoulders and a large expanse of skin exposed from the chest up.
She stood tall and elegant, like a black candlestick – “A candle burns until its tears are dry and turns to ash” – as if already half-consumed.
It was six in the evening in China, and one in the afternoon in Tanzania.
Shang Shao had asked Tiwen for help and finally found the correct livestream link.
The host’s voice buzzed in the background as he lit a cigarette.
No other reason – he just wanted to see her at work.
The internet in Tanzania was poor, and the stream kept buffering. By the time it loaded, Ying Yin had already finished walking the red carpet and was posing in front of the backdrop.
The cameraman, almost perversely, slowly panned up from her feet – inch by inch, lingering meaningfully at her thighs, then moving to the gathered folds at her waist, the camellia, shifting horizontally to the small V-shaped cut of her bustier, pausing there for several seconds, before finally reaching her breathtakingly beautiful face.
Not many in the domestic entertainment industry could pull off blonde hair. Ying Yin was the exception.
Her features were sharp, with just the right hint of sweet fragility beyond her stubbornness. Her eyes were as pure as ice.
The livestream comments went wild:
[Ying Yin Ying Yin Ying Yin!!!]
[My baby is so gorgeous today – what divine goddess descended to slay me???]
[Whoa, the only interesting look on today’s red carpet. Princess dresses are so boring, let’s be real]
[She’s going viral!!!!]
[I’m speechless, my baby looks like a statue – so cold, so noble, so holy, so sacred and untouchable]
[Step on me, please step on me]
Amid the flood of comments, a few oddly out-of-place ones stubbornly inserted themselves:
[Not really that bold and revealing, though.]
[Not really that makes-you-want-to-bully-her, though.]
[The dress is just okay…]
[Her chest isn’t really that noticeable, is it…]
[Who actually saw the top of her thighs? You can’t see it, right? ^^]
Zhuang Tiwen, diligently typing away to cool down the comments, thought to herself: Brother Shao! God, please tell me you’re not watching this!!!
Little did she know, Shang Shao was half-squinting his eyes, watching the camera pan over Ying Yin from head to toe, again and again.
She was confident. She was outstanding. She was completely at ease – nothing like the way she blushed so easily around him.
Shang Shao pinched the cigarette between his fingers, sank into a deep, brooding silence, and then stubbed it out.
So then… what was the meaning of sending him that fairy-tale dress photo the other day?
A delaying tactic?
