Chapter Thirty-Four: The Sinister Smile

With a playful air, Jin Yuan set down the knife and fork, both already missing two bites, and with evident distaste, he produced two napkins, placing them near the edge of the table to support his wrists.

“What kind of designer could inspire such thoughts in you? That’s truly something. Perhaps you should tell me, so I can hide them away for you.”

Such a provocative remark did not anger Wu Wentao in the least.

He consumed the simplest set menu with such grace that it seemed transformed into the finest wagyu beef, giving everyone dining nearby the illusion that this was not a cheap street-side stall, but a five-star restaurant.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Wu Wentao asked.

Jin Yuan was indifferent. If not for the efforts of the company's employees, he would never have come, no matter how talented this man was.

He’s as arrogant as ever, Wu Wentao thought.

For once, Jin Yuan paused before shoveling in another piece of steak tough as hide, elegantly picking up the napkin by the riverside to dab at his lips. After finally swallowing the last bite, he nearly choked.

“Why don’t I take you somewhere? This time, my visit to China is also in search of a place from my memories.”

There was such a story? Jin Yuan hadn’t seen anything of the sort in the files.

Perhaps this was a whim—maybe this man was not quite as difficult as people claimed.

“It would be my honor.”

They drove to the edge of a garden, already in the outskirts. This time, the man behind the wheel was not the usual chauffeur, but Master Xu himself, insisting on making the trip personally.

In the distance, flecks of light glimmered on the river—moonlight reflecting off the rippling surface.

Neither man moved to get out. Jin Yuan found himself thinking that this person was far from ordinary.

From his briefcase, Wu Wentao drew a stack of sketch paper, covered with familiar drafts.

Jin Yuan’s memory was always exceptional. Unless there was some major accident, he rarely forgot anything he had seen.

“These sketches, I found elsewhere. But I will never publish them—they’re someone else’s work.”

He rambled on, as though grateful to have a listener. Jin Yuan examined the drafts attentively. Yuan Xiangdie, he recalled, had been making revisions on her panel lately.

Not just because of the company’s New Year project, but also because her little shop needed new items to attract business.

A brand’s birth is nothing more than starting from scratch, or finding investors.

Jin Yuan knew whom the master was seeking, but decided not to mention it. He absolutely couldn’t let that woman get into trouble. The thought startled him.

He wasn’t exactly surprised. Unknowingly, this person who could soothe his heart had gradually found their way into it.

“What kind of angel must a woman be to create such sketches? I wish to pursue the light she exudes and shelter beneath her wings.”

“Mr. Wu, are you telling me this because you want my help finding her?”

Jin Yuan had no patience for beating around the bush. He was certain Master Xu had already asked others, quietly, to look. But until Situ’s fashion show, no one could have known.

So, this was all because of Situ’s show. It seemed Yuan Xiangdie was indeed his lucky star.

“My meaning is clear. I said before: whoever finds this artist and brings her to me, I will collaborate with them.”

Jin Yuan’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. What was this feeling? Was his joy because Master Xu was so determined, or because he was sure Yuan Xiangdie would be found?

“I know I’m asking a lot, but it’s truly important to me. Bringing you here was my offer of an exchange. I know you lack nothing, but I’m willing to trade all my precious childhood memories. I believe your child would be deeply interested.”

Hearing this, Jin Yuan’s expression chilled. He recognized this place. There had been a child next door, the two acquainted since childhood, though that family later moved abroad.

“Are you going to tell me you had a childhood friend, and when you were very little, you moved abroad with your parents, leaving behind a promise, and buried a tin box under a tree?”

Oh, how trite.

To his surprise, Master Xu’s expression shifted, his whole being coming alive, full of disbelief, like a fool.

Jin Yuan could hardly stand it. He didn’t mind maintaining his composure in front of others, but his hand, resting on his leg, had already clenched into a fist. He grabbed Master Xu by the collar, nearly punching him.

“Amazing, really. So my child is only worthy of these second-rate relics from a decade ago?”

During her training in this field, Yuan Xiangdie had used a pen name—Journey Through Time—since her training was brief and she wanted to catch up on the basics.

The most ridiculous thing was that Yuan Yao’er had appeared there as well.

“All right, that’s it for today’s basic class. Tomorrow at this time, someone else will notify you regarding the next tuition payment. If you choose not to pay, it means you intend to graduate immediately. Those with such plans, please submit your work as soon as possible so we can upload it to the official website and help you with reasonable career planning.”

A stir passed through the group, many wavering in indecision. But Yuan Xiangdie already had her answer. She flipped open a small notebook she always carried.

In it were moments of inspiration from daily life, each with a little doodle attached.

She was confident that her graduation piece would dazzle everyone tomorrow.

The crowd poured out of the office building in a rush, but Yuan Xiangdie walked slowly—no need to fight for time. The work assigned by Jin Yuan was nearly done; she only needed to hand her piece to the copy department for publicity.

Elated, Yuan Yao’er was loath to see Yuan Xiangdie rise from the mud.

“You should never have stood before me. You ought to be on your knees. I won’t give you another chance to face me. Be grateful your hands are still intact.”

Passing by, Yuan Yao’er spat out these venomous words. If it had been someone else, Yuan Xiangdie might have reflected on them, resolving to be more cautious.

But coming from this bully, Yuan Yao’er, Yuan Xiangdie simply stopped in her tracks. Thankfully, there was no one behind to make her seem odd.

“Then I should thank you for the warning. I’ll stay home and not go out for a while.”

Her words were quiet, but easily heard.

Yuan Yao’er’s steps pounded louder and louder as she went, as if she could vent all her anger into the very ground.

But there was no sense of victory. Yuan Xiangdie was lost in thought. Yuan Yao’er always had to compete with her, so surely, in the time Yuan Xiangdie had left her seat, her notebook had been rifled through.

How else to explain the strange looks from those around her when she returned?

“Childish. That trick was obsolete two years ago.”

Back in prison, Yuan Xiangdie had been passionate about painting and drawing. In the relative freedom of the women’s prison, the warden personally selected pieces for the mural privileges.

Someone had stolen her first draft and won, but ultimately lost to Yuan Xiangdie’s creativity.

This time, Yuan Yao’er would fail again. Theft is theft—one can never make it their own.

She hailed a taxi and headed home.

By the time she arrived, it was already mid-afternoon. She collapsed onto the sofa—the place was empty and silent.

She reflected on how long she’d been out of prison; five years had left an indelible mark on her.

Gurgle—

The silence was broken by her stomach growling. There was a bowl of instant noodles just pressed and waiting. She always kept plenty at home, for convenience.

“Oh, God, I never want to eat instant noodles again, but I’m broke! Great God of Instant Noodles, have mercy on me, I beg you!”

Nearly every time before eating them, Yuan Xiangdie had a near-breakdown.

But in the end, she resigned herself, made the noodles, and was—despite everything—strangely satisfied.

Returning home, Yuan Yao’er looked at the old house, now half its former size, and began to throw a tantrum for no reason.

Every bottle and jar, expensive or cheap, was hurled to the ground as if money meant nothing to her.

The housekeeper dared not say a word, afraid of being caught in the crossfire. This was already the third time this month. Before, with heavy coats, there was less risk.

But now, with the cold and the heating on, the servants wore only short sleeves, and a single scratch would be unbearable.

“Why? Why? Why can’t that wretched woman just stay at the bottom where she belongs? Why must she compete with me? Does she really think she can win?”

Her eyes were bloodshot, her demeanor unhinged.

It seemed the only way to regain calm was to exhaust her rage, but even that was failing.

Suddenly, seeing a maid trying to bury her head in the floor, Yuan Yao’er’s lips curled into a wicked smile.