Chapter 17: The Strange Designer

The newcomer caught sight of Xu Yan’s icy expression and her utter disregard, his face twisting in displeasure. His gaze shifted, landing on Chen Yi, and he forced a smile back onto his features.

“Hey, is this the new assistant?”

Chen Yi wasn’t familiar with the man, but from the very first glance, she’d felt utterly incompatible with him—like oil and water. Just seeing him irritated her. If this hadn’t been work hours, she would’ve rolled her eyes at him without hesitation, but it was. She plastered on a fake smile and stayed silent.

Suddenly, the intrusive gaze before her was blocked.

Xu Yan took a sidestep, positioning herself squarely in front of Chen Yi, having previously stood just to her right front.

“Scram,” Xu Yan said.

It was the first time Chen Yi had heard Xu Yan speak to anyone so bluntly. Since starting at the company, she’d never caught Xu Yan uttering words like that. Clearly, Xu Yan despised the man.

“Chief Editor Xu certainly has presence,” the man replied, unfazed and feigning nonchalance even after the rebuke. “I wonder if you’ll carry that same attitude when we meet Designer Zhou in a bit.”

“I’m off first.” He waved casually and headed toward the luxury car.

Chen Yi’s eyes flicked to the license plate.

Only after the car’s obnoxiously loud roar faded into the distance did Chen Yi ask, “Chief Editor Xu, who was that just now?”

Xu Yan frowned. “You don’t need to know.”

Chen Yi pouted inwardly but kept smiling outwardly. “Got it, got it.”

“So, Chief Editor Xu, should we head in now?”

Xu Yan checked her wristwatch. “No rush.”

“I’ll take a stroll nearby. You two go ahead without me.”

The “you two” meant Chen Yi and the driver.

Chen Yi agreed readily.

Of course she was eager for some time apart from Xu Yan.

She watched Xu Yan’s figure vanish down the rural road, then turned back to the car and asked the driver uncle for a bottle of water. While she drank, the driver uncle grumbled indignantly, “How did that son of a bitch show up again?”

The sip of water in Chen Yi’s mouth caught in her throat, nearly choking her at his colorful language.

“Uncle, what’s the story?” Chen Yi asked.

The driver uncle let out a scoff. “That guy from earlier—Liu, the photographer. Couple years back, he worked with the magazine, shooting photos all the time. Wasn’t me driving back then; it was my wife. Word is, he pestered Chief Editor Xu every few days, stuck to her like a bad Band-Aid, and eventually started stalking her.”

“That’s why they switched drivers to me.”

Chen Yi hadn’t expected such a backstory.

“What a piece of trash,” Chen Yi muttered.

The driver uncle nodded vigorously. “Tell me about it. Seeing him just ticks me off!”

“Uncle, what’s his full name? Liu who?”

The driver uncle racked his brain for a moment before supplying it.

Chen Yi pulled out her phone and searched online, discovering he was actually a fairly prominent photographer. He’d long been the go-to for a certain female celebrity, with a solid reputation in the industry. Nothing negative turned up in the results—probably scrubbed by PR.

Chen Yi immediately messaged Yu You’an: Do you know Liu Lingfeng?

Yu You’an: Know him? Yeah, infamous scumbag in the circle. Couple years ago, he used work gigs to aggressively chase Chief Editor Xu, so the magazine dropped him cold. What’s up—did you run into him?

Chen Yi: Everyone knows he’s trash, so how’s he still booking jobs?

Yu You’an: Little Yi~ You’re so naive~~

Yu You’an: In this world, guys get a free pass on stuff like that as long as they’ve got talent. No big deal.

Chen Yi pursed her lips, displeasure clear.

She had zero doubt that if the genders were flipped, some female scumbag photographer wouldn’t get half the leeway Liu Lingfeng enjoyed. Society always cut men extra slack. Even in her gaming streams, she’d seen plenty of male streamers outed for cheating and closet cases—ugly mugs, all of them—yet after the scandals broke, fans still rallied to whitewash them, calling it “just human nature.”

How on earth could Xu Yan stomach this?

Thinking back, Xu Yan’s frosty attitude on their first meeting—was it because of this creep? Had she mistaken Chen Yi for his type, someone scheming to turn a work connection into some passionate pursuit?

Heaven forbid!

She wasn’t cut from the same cloth as that jerk!

Chen Yi glanced out the car window. Xu Yan still hadn’t returned.

Her fingertips drummed lightly on the edge of her phone. Moments later, an idea struck. She opened her messaging app’s group list and tapped into one called “Youth Without Squandering is Wasted.” It was a small group, just thirteen members.

Chen Yi shared the license plate number she’d glimpsed and memorized.

Chen Yi: Brothers and sisters, we’ve got work.

Chen Yi: Anyone able to run this plate?

Her messages had barely landed before replies poured in.

As the group chat buzzed with activity, the driver uncle patted the back of her seat.

“Little Chen, Little Chen—Chief Editor Xu’s back.”

Chen Yi shoved her phone in her pocket, thanked the driver, and hopped out to greet her.

“Chief Editor!”

Xu Yan inclined her head. “Time’s about right. Let’s go in.”

They’d arrived a touch early and bumped into Liu Lingfeng on his way out. Xu Yan hadn’t wanted to dive straight into the visit, so she’d stalled outside. Now the timing was spot-on, just five minutes ahead of schedule.

Chen Yi walked alongside Xu Yan.

The place was a quaint old courtyard house in the countryside. From the outside, only the recently added perimeter wall and iron gate looked new; everything else blended seamlessly with the neighboring village homes.

Chen Yi rang the doorbell. After a prolonged ding-dong, the gate creaked open.

They stepped inside together.

The yard was overgrown and untended, flowers and weeds sprawling wildly—some weeds nearly as tall as a person. A winding path of smooth pebbles led toward the house. Keeping Xu Yan’s high heels in mind, Chen Yi stayed close beside her and murmured, “Chief Editor Xu, watch your step—slow and steady.”

She didn’t dare offer a supporting arm; that would’ve felt too presumptuous.

Xu Yan nodded, utterly undaunted. She strode forward with her head high and chest out, moving briskly yet surely, as if the uneven ground were perfectly flat.

For a fleeting moment, Chen Yi thought Xu Yan would make a fantastic model.

She’d reviewed the background materials on the drive over.

She knew the designer they were visiting was in a creative slump, but she hadn’t imagined it would be quite this dire.

The house was a chaos of strewn design sketches, unfinished garments, and fabric scraps piled haphazardly in every corner. Worst of all, an overpowering stench of instant noodles hung in the air the moment they stepped inside.

Zhouyu emerged from an inner room, her hair a wild, unkempt tangle.

She was painfully thin—far too thin, really. Her long hair rivaled the yard’s weeds in disarray, while the dark circles under her eyes and her pallid complexion spoke volumes about her unhealthy recent habits.

“Chief Editor Xu.” Zhouyu yawned mid-sentence. “You really didn’t need to make this trip. I was crystal clear on the phone: I’m not making a comeback, and I’m not doing any interviews.”

“Besides, take one look around—you can see I have nothing new to offer.”

“Water?”

Xu Yan: “Any hot water?”

Zhouyu paused to think. “Yeah, I’ll go boil some.”

Chen Yi jumped in. “Teacher Zhou, let me handle it.”

Zhouyu finally noticed her. “And who’s this?”

Xu Yan: “My assistant.”

Zhouyu got straight to it. “Kettle’s in the kitchen. No bottled water—just tap. Make do.”

Chen Yi shot a glance at Xu Yan upon hearing that.

Xu Yan gave a subtle nod.

“Got it,” Chen Yi said, heading to the kitchen.

The house’s walls were thin; from the kitchen, Chen Yi could easily overhear Xu Yan and Zhouyu talking.

Zhouyu had burst onto the scene two years ago, making her name with innovative Chinese-style designs. She’d been a prodigy, hailed by insiders as fashion’s once-in-a-generation star. But her output dried up almost immediately after. Geniuses rose fast—and fell just as quickly.

She shunned interviews and refused to let celebrities wear her creations.

In short, she was a total recluse, indifferent to the world’s buzz.

Shine’s current theme was Chinese elegance, so Xu Yan was dead set on securing an interview with her—ideally, along with rights to a few designs. After all, Zhouyu’s debut collection was still the white whale many dreamed of.

Chen Yi had figured the assignment would be tricky even before they arrived.

Trickier than she’d bargained for.

In the handful of minutes it took to boil water, Zhouyu shot down Xu Yan’s overtures at least ten times.

No wonder Liu Lingfeng had thrown that jab at Xu Yan earlier.

This Zhouyu was no pushover.

Chen Yi debated whether to linger over the water or slip back out at the right moment to avoid interrupting their conversation. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned out and called, “Teacher Zhou, where are the cups?”

Zhouyu: “Oh, right—here.”

She rose and crossed to the dining table, picking up an upside-down glass. The instant she lifted it, a small dark-brown shape scurried out. Zhouyu let out a shriek, the glass shattering on the floor as she stumbled backward in panic, knocking over a jumble of nearby objects.

Chen Yi rushed forward, snatching an empty bowl from the kitchen counter and slamming it down over the intruder.

“You okay?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

Zhouyu shook her head, eyes fixed on the bowl in terror. “That thing… Little Assistant, be careful—there’s—”

“I know, cockroach.” Chen Yi wasn’t fazed. “Want me to deal with it?”

Zhouyu nodded.

Chen Yi poured scalding water over it to kill it, then scooped it up with a paper towel, flushed it down the toilet, wiped down the table, and bent to sweep up the glass shards.

“Chen Yi, don’t touch it,” Xu Yan said, her voice edged with coldness. “Zhouyu, the broom.”

Zhouyu shivered all over. “Right, right, the broom.”

She snapped out of her panic and handed Chen Yi a broom.

“Actually, using a cloth wouldn’t—” Chen Yi began.

But the words died on her lips, Xu Yan’s gaze too sharp to ignore.

“The broom’s good, the broom’s good.” Chen Yi took it with a quick word of thanks and set about tidying the mess.

Zhouyu let out a sigh, grumbling about how the bug just wouldn’t budge no matter what.

Chen Yi thought for a moment. “Teacher Zhou, why don’t you try mixing boric acid into some mashed potatoes? I hear it works pretty well.”

Zhouyu’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Thanks to that little mishap, Chen Yi felt herself drawing a bit closer to Zhouyu. The three of them pitched in together, cleaning up the things Zhouyu had knocked over in her frantic dodge.

As Chen Yi gathered up the discarded draft papers and notebooks from the floor, a small Polaroid photo slipped free from between the sheets.

She snatched it midair with quick reflexes, then froze on the spot.

The photo showed Zhouyu.

In it, she smiled with gentle warmth while another woman lunged at her, planting a kiss on her cheek. Zhouyu’s arm was wrapped around the woman’s waist in an intimate hold, the strength of her embrace plain to see. Zhouyu cradled her as if she were the whole world.

One glance was all it took. Chen Yi suddenly understood why Zhouyu had run dry on inspiration.

Even geniuses couldn’t escape the bitter sting of love, it seemed.