Luo Siliang didn’t even dare to sleep in the next day – not even to shake off that miserable two-hour jet lag. Early in the morning, he called for a flash delivery and sent it over to the address Ying Yin had given him.
Since he had to accompany Greta’s distinguished guest to a fashion show that afternoon, Ying Yin was already at Chu Anni’s styling studio when the phone rang.
Greta came from a century-old blue-blooded brand and was extremely strict when it came to artist collaborations – her word was final. She had someone personally deliver five complete looks, saying they’d been approved by headquarters. The clothes arrived, but the person didn’t leave; she stayed right there, beaming as she offered Chu Anni suggestions on what hair color and style to go with.
“It’s nearly impossible for our Yinyin to make clothes look bad,” Chu Anni said, half-jokingly, half-deflecting.
“Of course, but it’s still best to follow the brand’s direction – nothing too out there, just elegant and appropriate.” The public relations representative, who reported directly to brand headquarters rather than an outsourced agency, wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, offering a very formulaic smile.
Chu Anni: “…”
Ying Yin looked at this new face from the mirror. “From what you’re saying, that client of yours is pretty hard to please.”
Faced with a real A-list star, the PR’s tone and demeanor were somewhat restrained, but still quite dramatic. “Not hard to please, really. It’s just that last year, during the front row of the runway show, one of our ambassadors who was in the probationary period had a…” She pinched her fingers together. “A little bit of an overstep, so…”
“What did she do?” Chu Anni asked.
“Well, our headquarters’ CEO was accompanying this guest at the show, and she shoved her aside to force a group photo with our CEO.”
“Huh? And then?” Chu Anni stopped her hair-styling hands and pressed for more.
“And then for the entire fashion week that year – haute couture, womenswear, high jewelry – she didn’t place a single order with us.” The PR half-raised her hands, still very Westernized in her mannerisms as she pursed her lips and widened her eyes, then shrugged. “By the way, don’t ask me who that probationary artist was. Because of this incident, she’s lost all cooperation with us across the board. Wish her well.”
“And you’re saying that’s not hard to please?” Chu Anni couldn’t help but furrow her brow.
“It’s got nothing to do with the guest – everyone has the right to like or dislike things. It’s just that her particular ‘dislike’ is something the brand can’t afford to bear.”
The PR leaned against the back of the chair, sighed, and stated a fair assessment of the situation. “For example, right now you could walk into our store and say you don’t care for our seasonal window display – whatever, no one cares. But if she said it, an hour later, you’d be looking at a completely new display.”
Chu Anni exchanged a look with Ying Yin in the mirror, utterly impressed.
Ying Yin gave a noncommittal smile. “Then I’ll keep my mouth shut today.”
The PR patted her shoulder. “Relax, you’re way more stable than Zhang Chengwan.”
Zhang Chengwan had a higher title than Ying Yin, but the fact that her fiancé, Zeng Meng, had been listed as a judgment debtor subject to enforcement had made headlines for quite a while. Public records showed he had over five million in unpaid debts, but the very next day, a clarification post appeared, claiming the whole thing was a misunderstanding.
The infighting among top-tier actresses was far more brutal than among the younger up-and-comers – it was a knife-in, knife-out affair, every strike drawing blood. Zhang Chengwan was ruthlessly mocked across thousands of forum posts, and black hashtags were bought on major news platforms, all with identical headlines:
[Movie Queen Turned Deadbeat? A Tragedy! Married the Wrong Man – a Generation’s National Beauty Now a Relic of History!]
Zeng Meng went into hiding, as if it were Zhang Chengwan who owed the money and hadn’t paid it back. After the storm passed, Zhang Chengwan made her first public appearance outside Paris Fashion Week, saying breezily, “There’s a lot of rumor-mongering in this circle. Everyone needn’t worry too much – Zeng Meng is a very simple person.” But the film queen, who used to dominate fashion week, this time only wore ready-to-wear, keeping a low profile. It was a bellwether, pointing to an uncertain future ahead.
Ying Yin’s feelings toward Zhang Chengwan were complicated, and she didn’t respond right away. Chu Anni busied herself as well, securing a chestnut-colored shark clip into Ying Yin’s updo.
This was Greta’s breakout hit from last year – viral because it cost 30,000 and was made of plastic. The ironic part? Haul posts kept pouring in –
[Waited two hours in line at the NYC flagship store at dawn], [This is insane, guys! I just bought Jimmy Choos yesterday and they got trampled to shreds because of this clip], [Only snagged one thanks to my good relationship with the SA – no wonder it’s the sellout king of the year!]
People love projecting an air of effortless wealth, and that effortlessness is so alluring that it easily earns hundreds of thousands of likes and followers.
Because of the Zhang Chengwan topic, the fragrance-drenched styling studio fell quiet for a good while – until the delivery guy’s call came in.
“Miss Ying? Um, I’m at Ning Ji Film right now… yeah, yeah, it’s a flash delivery… yes, I rang the doorbell, but no one answered.”
Ying Yin slapped her forehead.
Forgot. She’d remembered Luo Siliang’s letter as being sent to the villa, and had even told Junyi to be sure to wait. Turns out it was the Ningji office?
“No one’s there. I’ll give you a new address – send it over there, and I’ll add five hundred for your trouble.”
The delivery guy, of course, had no objections. “You got it!”
Ying Yin sent Chu Anni’s address via text message, but played it safe – she wrote down the name of a buyer’s boutique in the building next door instead. When the courier arrived, Chu Anni sent an intern to pick it up.
The letter was sealed in a document envelope. After confirming the seal was intact, Ying Yin tore it open and took out the letter inside.
It had really been sent from Hong Kong – judging by the postmark date, it was from shortly after she had just joined the production crew, before filming had officially started.
The pristine white envelope had changed hands several times and now bore crease marks. Its faint fragrance was nearly overpowered by the smell of livestock from the herders’ homestead.
Chu Anni glanced over and laughed. “People still write letters these days? I thought it was a bank statement.”
Ying Yin smiled, eyes lowered, her fair fingertips lightly tracing over the envelope. “Yeah, people still write letters these days.”
She already had a vague premonition. Even though there wasn’t a single detail on it related to Shang Shao – if one were to stretch it, only the signature “Lin” at the end could be tenuously linked to Uncle Kang’s surname.
He always did things like this – the fireworks announcement, borrowing Rich’s name, showing up on set in Ningxia and calling himself Ke Yu’s assistant.
“Maybe it’s a fan letter,” Chu Anni speculated reasonably. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“I’ll read it when it’s more convenient.” Ying Yin tucked the letter close to her chest.
Chu Anni, ever the perfectionist, turned the tail end of her comb around and used the pointed tip to touch up the strands of hair falling over Ying Yin’s center part one more time, then let out a relieved breath. “Done.”
She straightened up and studied Ying Yin for a moment, then turned to the brand’s emissary and raised an eyebrow. “So? Does this meet your dress code?”
Ying Yin was wearing a thin knitted maxi dress – Greta’s spring/summer hero piece for the season. The deep V-neck traced down along her collarbones, with a geometric diamond grid pattern spread across the fabric in a palette of muted Morandi tones. It wasn’t the bright, flirtatious look of spring, but rather gave off a gentle, spring-breeze feel. The dress was long, the fabric clingy – a disaster on anyone without the right figure – but Ying Yin carried it off effortlessly.
To complement the dress’s cut and vibe, she wore a French silk bralette underneath -very thin, completely forgoing any push-up effect, with the exposed straps and edges serving as tasteful accents while also preventing any wardrobe mishaps.
It struck the right balance between fashion-forward and elegant. The PR had nothing to nitpick and made the call directly. “Alright, let’s head out now.”
Ying Yin tucked the letter into her clutch and got into the brand’s business vehicle with the PR. Taking advantage of the free time during the ride, she called Junyi. “I’ve got the letter. You don’t need to wait anymore – go ahead and go out and have some fun.”
Junyi let out a long sigh of relief inwardly, but her heart immediately tightened again as she glanced over at Lin Cunkang, who was waiting nearby.
Lin Cunkang had shown up at the door, perfectly polite, saying he wanted to wait for the letter with her – and swap it out.
It had been absolute torture for Junyi.
Because Lin Cunkang and his wife had been incredibly good to her – they’d given her a set of cashmere as a New Year’s gift. Junyi had never worn anything so light and warm; walking down the street, she felt like she had a glittering price tag hovering over her head.
Besides, Lin Cunkang’s reasoning was perfectly sound: he said he’d written and sent the letter himself, and now regretted it, so he had every right to take it back. Otherwise, if Ying Yin saw it, Shang Shao would find out too – and then his meddling would come to light. He’d lose his job, and with it his social security, health insurance, and salary – dooming him to a bleak old age on the capitalist stronghold of Hong Kong Island.
In Junyi’s mind, an image had already formed of Lin Cunkang rummaging through trash in Mong Kok, getting kicked over by some triad thug. She shuddered and resolved to hand the letter over to Lin Cunkang the very instant it arrived! Now it seemed heaven wasn’t on Lin Cunkang’s side – he was done for.
“You’re done for.” Junyi said worriedly. “She’s already got the letter.”
Lin Cunkang dialed Shang Shao. “You’re done for. She’s already got the letter.”
Shang Shao: “…”
What did he write in that letter?
What was it again?
「I lie awake all night because I miss you.」
Scrape – His office chair was abruptly pushed back. Shang Shao strode toward the floor-to-ceiling window while unconsciously tugging at his tie.
「I’m someone who can’t even love without you begging for it first.」
Shang Shao: “…”
…Where’s the damn cigarette?
He patted all his pockets – nothing.
Shang Shao strode back to his desk and pressed the intercom to his secretary. “Bring me a pack of cigarettes… whatever, any brand will do.”
The secretary asked when he needed it. He held back his impatience and let out a deep, controlled breath. “Now!”
Ten seconds later, a knock came at the door. The executive secretary entered timidly. “A women’s cigarette – with a crush bead… mango-flavored.”
Under the stone-faced stare of the executive director – the crown prince – she nervously retreated. “I’ll… go ask around for you…”
You said “now” yourself…
You get paid to do the job – gripes stay in your head. The secretary obediently went off to scour the building for cigarettes.
When she came back in, their esteemed Chairman Shao was on the phone.
“On your way to the show?” He held his phone in one hand and a pen in the other, the tip tapping restlessly and helplessly against the paper.
Ying Yin gave an “Mm” in reply, her tone perfectly normal and composed, careful not to let the brand folks catch on.
Shang Shao couldn’t tell from her voice whether she’d read the letter or not. “Where are you? I’ll come find you.”
Ying Yin was taken aback, a little puzzled. “Didn’t you say you were busy today?”
Shang Shao cut it short and firm. “Miss you. Not busy.”
The secretary: “…”
Sorry to intrude. She quietly pulled the door shut and retreated.
Holy shit! The crown prince is in love! She didn’t dare say it out loud – afraid of being silenced.
“Which road? Which district? I’m coming over now. Wait for me.”
Ying Yin: “…”
That desperate?
She actually glanced at the street sign, then caught herself. “No, today’s business meeting is too important – I can’t be late. Let’s talk after the show.”
“Where’s the show?”
“Lining Mansion. In theory it ends at 2:30, but…” Ying Yin wasn’t sure. “There might be some other socializing afterward.”
Shang Shao had already risen from his desk. “I’ll come pick you up,” he said succinctly.
Get there first, find a chance to lure her out, then pull the same trick as last night in the car – make her lose herself, snatch the letter, and destroy the evidence.
Perfect. Five steps, and not a single one is difficult.
The secretary, still reeling in shock and half in a daze, saw their love-struck Chairman Shao stride briskly out the door, shrugging on his suit jacket as he walked, and give her an order. “Arrange a driver.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Shang Shao’s steps naturally paused for a moment. He glanced back at her and calmly uttered one word. “Classified.”
The secretary’s face stiffened, then flushed.
…That felt like a threat.
Lining Mansion had never seen so many Western faces before.
Though it was a private show open to only one client, the models walking the runway were all bona fide high-fashion professionals. Backstage looked like total chaos – the show director was making orderly dispatches through his earpiece, reminding his “girls” that there was a half-hour countdown.
Compared to the tension backstage, the front of house was remarkably quiet – so quiet it was almost solemn.
All the brand’s staff were on high alert. Each of them held a senior position in Greater China and was accustomed to receiving various VIPs, celebrities, or government officials – but clearly, none of them showed the slightest sign of ease.
In front of the fountain roundabout, a Bentley with dual license plates slowly cruised down the tree-lined, white-stone boulevard.
The car came to a stop. A tall, handsome male PR stepped forward and opened the rear door for the lady in the back seat, his white silk-gloved hand gallantly shielding the roof edge.
“Tanya, welcome.”
Wen Youyi, dressed in a white pantsuit, leaned forward and stepped out of the car, smiling and nodding in greeting to everyone.
