The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden threads across the smooth parquet floors of the Jia residence. Jia Lan stood before her dressing mirror, her long black hair cascading down her back like ink poured over silk. Dressed in a pale lilac blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt of soft dove gray, her delicate gold earrings caught the light as she turned to examine her reflection. She looked refined, serene, and effortlessly poised.
At the breakfast table, her mother, Lin Shunhua, served warm soybean milk and fried dough twists. Her father, Jia Chenghai, flipped the newspaper with mild amusement.
"I heard the director of the Youth Arts Bureau was complaining about Wang Fei's handwriting again," he chuckled.
"Wang Fei tries his best," Jia Lan said gently, sipping her milk. "But he does write like a frightened mouse."
Her parents exchanged amused glances.
Later that morning, Jia Lan stepped out in kitten-heeled pumps, her umbrella folded neatly under one arm. The day was warm but breezy, with drifting clouds overhead. She arrived at the Youth Arts Bureau to find the usual hum of office life in motion. The building smelled faintly of old paper and ink, and the floors gleamed with fresh polish.
Sister Li had already laid out melon seeds and sweet hawthorn on her desk, chatting with Zhao Meiling about a neighbor's daughter who had eloped with a bus driver.
"Can you believe it?" Sister Li said, eyes wide. "Ran away in the middle of the night! Her mother's heart nearly stopped."
"Don't blame the girl," Zhao Meiling muttered. "I've seen that bus driver. Tall, muscles like bricks."
Jia Lan chuckled as she passed their desks. She slipped into her own seat, a polished rosewood desk with intricate carvings on the legs. Her cup of chrysanthemum tea sat steaming beside a ceramic paperweight shaped like a koi fish. The office was filled with the soft hum of fans and the occasional rustle of papers.
As the day wore on, the early hustle faded into the lazy rhythm of afternoon. The clack of typewriters slowed. Sister Li was dozing with a cloth draped over her face. The only sound was the low hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional clink of teacups.
It was in this dreamlike haze that Jia Lan was informed of unexpected guests.
Liu Fenfang and Shen Yimin entered the bureau with a guest pass, ushered in by a junior clerk who looked nervous. Jia Lan had never met them before, but she instantly recognized them from the gossip that had circulated since their visit to her grandparents. They had that air—of rural polish coated too quickly in city dust.
Shen Yimin looked quiet as ever, his brows furrowed slightly. Liu Fenfang, on the other hand, wore a bright pink blouse and mismatched pumps. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, her eyes scanning the office, trying to assess, compare, calculate.
Jia Lan stood slowly, smoothing the front of her skirt.
"Comrade Jia," the clerk said hesitantly, "they said they're… acquaintances."
Jia Lan offered a polite smile. "Of course. You can bring tea."
They sat in the small reception corner with carved wooden chairs and a lacquered tea tray. Jia Lan poured jasmine tea from a blue porcelain teapot painted with delicate lotus blossoms, her movements calm and unhurried. A small dish of osmanthus cakes and sugared peanuts sat untouched between them.
"How long have you been working here?" Liu Fenfang asked, smiling too widely.
"Nearly a year," Jia Lan replied, her voice serene.
"It must be nice," Fenfang continued, glancing around. "The desk, the curtains, even the tea smells better. Much better than the factory."
"I like the work," Jia Lan said simply. "Every place has its own challenges."
Fenfang leaned forward slightly. "You must have a lot of responsibilities, being from such a family. Your grandfather is well respected."
Jia Lan offered a neutral nod.
Fenfang's eyes drifted over Jia Lan's outfit. "You dress very elegantly. Is this imported fabric?"
"It's domestic," Jia Lan replied, then added gently, "but tailored."
Shen Yimin remained silent, taking small sips of tea, his eyes flitting between the women.
Fenfang laughed a little too loudly. "You know, I always say, one should invest in their appearance. First impressions matter, right?" Her voice was light, but her gaze was probing. "You've always looked refined… even back in the village, people said that."
Jia Lan tilted her head slightly. "I wasn't aware we had met before."
Fenfang stiffened but recovered quickly. "Oh no, not directly. But I heard… and I thought maybe, with your position, we could have lunch sometime. Share ideas. Talk about better opportunities. You know how hard it is at the factory. Maybe we can learn something from each other."
Jia Lan smiled. "That's kind of you, but I already have plans today. Maybe another time."
Inside, she knew exactly what was happening. Fenfang's thoughts were almost audible—offer a small gesture now to gain something bigger later. They saw her as a naive girl, easy to charm, easy to manipulate. But they didn't know Jia Lan had changed.
The tea cooled. The smell of chrysanthemum filled the room. Outside, a bird chirped from the tree that shaded the window.
"I should get back to my work," Jia Lan said gently, standing. "It was lovely meeting you both."
Fenfang's expression flickered—surprise, irritation—but she stood. "Yes, we should go. We won't take up more of your time."
They left quietly.
Jia Lan returned to her desk, smoothing her sleeves before settling into her chair. Sister Li, having woken up, leaned over.
"Was that the girl with the crow eyes?" she whispered.
"Crow eyes?"
"You know," Sister Li gestured vaguely. "Eyes like she's always picking for something shiny to steal."
Jia Lan laughed softly.
The day resumed its slow rhythm. The sunlight on her papers shifted from gold to amber.
And Jia Lan, calm and radiant in the afternoon light, was more prepared than ever to protect her place in this world.
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