The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 212

Lin Zhen changed into the haute couture outfit prepared by the event organizers, spreading his arms so the tailor could take measurements.

Tailor: “I’ll take in the waist a bit; it’s a little loose. The rest is fine.”

Lin Zhen: “I think the jacket feels a bit baggy too.”

Tailor: “You’re right, but there’s no time to alter the jacket. I’ll use a clip inside—it won’t show.”

As soon as the tailor put away the measuring tape, Jian Fu came over. “How big is it? Let me see.”

He reached out and felt Lin Zhen’s waist, noting how his entire palm could cover it. The waistband was indeed too loose, though the length of the pants fit perfectly.

Lin Zhen lifted his jacket for Jian Fu to get a better look. “Lots of celebrities have their waists taken in—it’s not just me.”

Jian Fu ran his hand around Lin Zhen’s waist again and again, clearly reluctant to stop. “Yeah, it’s really slim.”

Feeling his cheeks flush, Lin Zhen dropped his jacket. “Alright, I need to get my makeup done. Take a break over there.”

Jian Fu’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he rubbed his fingers absentmindedly. “Okay.”

He didn’t dare say it out loud, but he wanted to touch Lin Zhen again, to stay close to him. He found Lin Zhen’s shallow waistline and narrow curves irresistibly attractive.

Inwardly, he lamented, This is bad. My feelings for my best buddy are getting worse. Yet, he couldn’t stop his imagination from running wild.

About an hour later, Lin Zhen’s makeup and hairstyle were complete, and the altered outfit was returned.

The clothes were perfectly pressed. With the help of two staff members, Lin Zhen carefully put them on and stood still, not daring to move.

The more expensive the outfit, the more delicate it was. Even a moment of relaxation could cause wrinkles that would require endless fixing.

Lin Zhen was used to standing for long periods while working.

A staff member informed him that he would be among the first to view the exhibition. The elevator was currently being used by actress Qing Li, and it would be his turn in about ten minutes.

After standing for a few minutes, Lin Zhen beckoned to Jian Fu. “Jian Fu, scratch the back of my neck for me—it’s itchy.”

He tilted his head slightly, squinting his eyes, careful not to raise his hands too high.

Jian Fu hurried over and used the pads of his fingers to lightly scratch the back of Lin Zhen’s neck. “Here?”

Lin Zhen: “A little lower.”

Jian Fu moved his hand lower. “Better?”

Lin Zhen nodded gently.

This kind of favor was something Lin Zhen would never dare to ask of anyone else in public. Someone might catch it on camera and twist the narrative into accusations of him acting high-maintenance or mistreating staff.

In truth, staying as still as possible was the kindest thing a celebrity could do for the staff. Otherwise, wrinkled clothes would require constant fixing.

Finally, it was Lin Zhen’s turn. He entered the elevator with Jian Fu and Sister Mei.

The moment the elevator doors closed, his “performance” began, as the elite onlookers eagerly awaited his appearance.

Lin Zhen smiled, waved at the camera, and then, under the flash of magnesium lights, walked into the exhibition hall.

The hall was dimly lit, with only the artworks illuminated by various lighting setups.

Aside from a small selection of clothing, the exhibition primarily featured avant-garde art, performance art, and modern art pieces.

In truth, Lin Zhen didn’t fully understand these works. Growing up, he hadn’t had the opportunity to be exposed to such things. However, in front of the media and other staff, he had to appear deeply appreciative and enthusiastic.

This was a matter of respect—and part of the job.

But Jian Fu understood.

Although Jian Fu didn’t particularly like these kinds of exhibitions, having grown up in that environment, he couldn’t help but develop an eye for them.

He noticed that while the displayed works were decent, many were evidently hastily created this year for the exhibition. To claim they were profoundly meaningful or deeply insightful would be an exaggeration, but they were certainly sufficient for the art and fashion circles to mutually flatter each other.

Many of the creators’ names were familiar to him—people he had encountered at various salons and gatherings, taken photos with, or received autographs from. Some of them had good relationships with his parents and had even gifted paintings to his family, which his father had stashed away in the basement.

Events like this always came with unpredictable situations. For instance, as Lin Zhen admired the artworks in the exhibition hall, veterans of the fashion world would sometimes strike up a conversation.

Some approached with good intentions; others, with malice.

After Lin Zhen debuted through a talent show, he once rejected a collaboration with a fashion magazine called Elite i, notorious for exploiting fans for profit. It was such a minor incident that Lin Zhen had almost forgotten about it.

But Elite i’s fashion director, Qing Lee, was someone who held grudges. She had spread plenty of baseless rumors about artists she disliked in the past.

With her senior status in the industry, she managed to convince a good number of gossip enthusiasts that certain celebrities were extremely difficult to work with and had arrogant, rude teams.

As luck would have it, Qing Lee had also been invited to the event by the brand.

The moment she spotted Lin Zhen, she remembered the rejection.

Not getting the deal was one thing, but the fact that Lin Zhen had accepted an invitation from a rival magazine stung even more. Qing Lee saw it as a direct slap in the face.

Some industry big shots were beyond her reach, but a newly popular, inexperienced rookie like Lin Zhen? She could easily toy with him.

Holding a champagne glass, Qing Lee walked toward Lin Zhen with a stiff smile accentuated by her overly heavy makeup.

Qing Lee: “Lin Zhen, isn’t it? It’s rare to run into you. I’m the director of Elite i.”

Lin Zhen had just finished posing for a few photos and was about to speak to Jian Fu.

He didn’t recognize Qing Lee at first, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes. But he quickly extended his hand politely. “Hello, I’m Lin Zhen.”

Qing Lee glanced at his hand, barely touched his fingertips with hers, and then casually turned her head toward an artwork made of plastic bags and old newspapers. “You’ve been standing here for quite a while. You must really like this piece. Coincidentally, I quite like it too. But this isn’t Kyle’s best work. Which of Kyle’s pieces is your favorite?”

Lin Zhen felt completely wronged.

He was standing there solely to cooperate with the media for photos; he hadn’t even looked closely at the artwork beside him.

Of course, he didn’t know this “Kyle” either, let alone like the piece.

He hesitated for a moment. “I…”

Just as he was about to say he wasn’t familiar with the artist, Sister Mei lightly poked him in the back.

In situations like this, surrounded by big names from the fashion and art worlds, admitting ignorance would leave a bad impression and make future collaborations difficult.

Sister Mei smiled. “Zhenbao was just cooperating with the media and hasn’t had a chance to take a closer look. We’ll appreciate it properly in a bit.”

Qing Lee shrugged, swirling her champagne glass. The rim still bore traces of her lipstick. “No need to wait—how about now? Honestly, I’ve been quite disappointed with today’s influencers. Many know nothing about art, don’t enjoy reading, and are empty-headed with zero aesthetic sense. Yet they love to criticize professionals. So, seeing Lin Zhen take an interest in modern art today is surprising. I’m genuinely curious to hear his thoughts.”

Hearing her words, Lin Zhen immediately understood her intent.

He couldn’t recall offending this person, but she was clearly here to stir trouble.

His expression cooled slightly.

Sister Mei, however, remained calm. People in the fashion world were notoriously petty and grudge-holding, often forming cliques. Unless it was a serious matter, it was best to avoid unnecessary conflict.

At most, Qing Lee likely had some bias against influencers. Since Lin Zhen had never even met her before, there was no reason to think he had offended her.

Sister Mei responded warmly. “Director Lee, actually…”

Jian Fu chuckled softly, his lips curling into a smirk. “What’s there to analyze? It’s just a simple landscape composition. Kyle doesn’t like waste, so he uses newspapers and plastic bags because his parents struggled financially in the past. They hoarded these things, filling the house. With no choice, Kyle started using them in his creations, which are mostly products of spur-of-the-moment inspiration.”

Qing Lee let out a cold laugh, glancing disdainfully at Jian Fu.

Noticing his lack of designer attire and his proximity to Lin Zhen, she assumed he was one of Lin Zhen’s staff members.

Qing Lee sneered, “A staff member daring to speak so boldly? Clearly, it’s the empty vessels that make the most noise. That interpretation is far too shallow. Don’t tell me Lin Zhen thinks the same way?”

She redirected her attack toward Lin Zhen.

Conventionally, works displayed at exhibitions were the masterpieces of seasoned artists. Even if one didn’t understand them, the default response was blind praise. Jian Fu’s explanation was undeniably too casual.

But Jian Fu remained unfazed. “Yep, that’s exactly how Lin Zhen understands it.”

Qing Lee feigned a stifled laugh and rolled her eyes. “Alright then. Clearly, I shouldn’t have expected too much from an influencer. Still, I hope Mr. Lin can deepen his understanding of art and fashion in the future.”

Jian Fu grinned. “I also hope this lady can read more and meet more people. Otherwise, why not consult the original artist directly? Don’t claim to admire someone’s work without understanding their creative intent—it risks turning scholarly pretension into mere bluffing.”

Qing Lee’s finely arched brows furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Jian Fu looked innocent but remained polite. “I didn’t mean anything. That’s just what Kyle said when he gifted a painting to my father. If you don’t believe me, you can call him—he’d say the same thing. Why are you upset about me sharing the artist’s philosophy?”

Qing Lee, clearly hitting a sore spot, immediately grew defensive, her voice rising. “Are you kidding me? He said that to you personally?”

Jian Fu shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? Surely a fashion director like you can get in touch with an artist, right?”

Qing Lee scoffed. “You’re quite the amusing staff member. I’ve never seen someone cover for their boss so brazenly—making up lies about an artist.”

Lin Zhen said coolly, “He’s not my staff member. He’s the son of the president of Blue Pivot District One. He has no need to joke with you.”

Qing Lee: “???”

She had no idea who Jian Fu was but was well aware of Blue Pivot’s reputation.

If he really was the son of Blue Pivot District One’s president, it wasn’t far-fetched for him to have heard Kyle explain his creative philosophy personally.

Jian Fu straightened Lin Zhen’s haute couture suit, holding Lin Zhen’s invitation with pride. “Exactly. I’m not some big star’s staff member—I’m his best friend.”

Qing Lee: “…”

Though her face maintained its icy composure, inwardly, her thoughts churned in turmoil.

The son of Blue Pivot District One’s president following Lin Zhen to events, helping him hold things and adjust his clothes? What kind of background did Lin Zhen have?

Now it made sense. When Lin Zhen tore into Wajing Entertainment and clashed with the four mentors on the finale stage, it wasn’t a momentary impulse.

He was a resource-backed star! Absolutely backed by connections!

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