Morning sunlight filtered softly through the gauzy white curtains of Jia Lan's bedroom, casting golden rectangles on the polished wood floor. Birds chirped gently outside the courtyard window, and a faint breeze stirred the tassels on the silk lantern by her vanity.
Jia Lan stirred, stretching with feline grace beneath her embroidered quilt. She reached for the carved jade comb on her nightstand, running it slowly through her long dark hair as she slipped on a soft peony-printed robe. Her slippers, warm and fur-lined, made no sound on the floor as she crossed the room to open the window.
The scent of osmanthus and distant rice porridge floated in. The household staff had already begun preparing breakfast.
She lit a slender stick of rosewood incense and placed it in the holder by the window. The thin ribbon of smoke curled upward, peaceful and meditative.
After washing up and tying her hair into a loose bun with a pearl pin, she sat at her mirrored vanity. Her morning skincare ritual began—rosewater mist, a dab of camellia balm, and finally a touch of the pine-scented cream she'd earned two days ago. It smelled faintly like a summer forest after rain.
"Let's see what today brings," she said softly, patting her cheeks.
She opened the lacquered drawer where she kept her sign-in charm—still nestled like a precious heirloom inside a red velvet pouch.
With a press of her fingertip and a whisper of intent, the charm pulsed once with golden light.
The morning sun dappled golden light across Jia Lan's dressing table as she applied a light layer of cream—the pine-scented face cream she'd received from her sign-in reward the day before. Her skin glowed with a soft radiance that even she had to admit looked nearly ethereal in the mirror.
Today's reward floated across her system screen in elegant gold:
[Day 63 Check-In Successful]
Reward: ¥5,000 cash deposited to your account.
Note: Prosperity comes to those who sip tea calmly while others choke.
Jia Lan arched a brow. "Not subtle today, are we?"
She dressed in a misty violet blouse with pearl buttons and an ink-gray pleated skirt, pairing it with soft embroidered flats. Her hair was twisted up in a graceful bun, fastened with a translucent jade pin.
Downstairs, the Jia household was already buzzing.
Xu Li had a list. Jia Wei had plans. Jia Chenghai, their father, had a few "casual reminders" lined up for certain officials who owed him favors.
After all, the family name wasn't just embroidery and social grace—it had steel beneath the silk.
But Jia Lan wasn't interested in revenge. She wasn't even angry anymore.
She was calm. Too calm, in fact—which unnerved people more than an outburst ever could.
---
At the Youth Arts Bureau, everyone was still murmuring about the charity luncheon.
"They really just brought rural guests in like honored dignitaries?"
"And tried to introduce someone to Miss Jia?"
"Bold… or foolish."
In the breakroom, Zhao Meiling whispered to Sister Li, "I heard the man they introduced to her sells machine-printed brocade. Can you imagine?"
Sister Li sipped her tea. "That's like offering dried fish to a swan."
Jia Lan walked in just then, serene as ever, and the room fell into silence like clockwork.
She smiled politely. "Morning."
People shuffled, pretending to stir sugar into already sweet tea.
Back at her desk, Jia Lan was organizing submissions for the summer poster contest when Wang Fei peeked over her cubicle wall.
"Lan Lan…" he whispered, eyes darting. "Comrade Yu is here. With someone."
She looked up, mildly curious. "Who?"
"Some woman in a velvet jacket. Expensive hair. She's waiting outside the meeting room."
Minutes later, the same woman was ushered in—looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Miss Jia," she began. "I'm—well—I'm acquainted with Comrade Liu and her husband."
Jia Lan's lips curved faintly. "How lovely."
The woman flinched at the tone.
"They may have… overstepped. I'm sure they didn't mean any harm. They're just eager to make connections and thought perhaps—well, your reputation—"
"Is mine to manage," Jia Lan finished, voice still smooth.
The woman reddened, then stiffened her shoulders. "They only meant to help."
Jia Lan rose gracefully, clasping her hands. "Help is only helpful when invited. Otherwise, it becomes interference. Or presumption."
The woman blinked. Then, with a tight nod, turned to leave.
As the door clicked shut, Wang Fei popped back in. "Was that an apology? Or a veiled threat?"
"A performance," Jia Lan replied, already turning back to her papers. "One written for the wrong audience."
She took a slow sip of chrysanthemum tea and let the warmth spread.
She didn't need to shout. She didn't need to retaliate.
She only needed to exist—quietly, confidently.
And others would adjust.
That evening, the soft amber glow of lantern light filled the living room of the Jia household. The sounds of the city had faded to a quiet hum beyond the high courtyard walls. In the corner, a bamboo wind chime tinkled gently with the evening breeze.
Jia Lan had retired to her study after dinner, a book open on her lap as she relaxed. But in the inner parlor, Jia Chenghai stood by the open window, his hands clasped behind his back, his jaw tight with restrained fury.
Lin Shunhua sat nearby on a low couch, folding a silk handkerchief in her lap.
"She told you everything?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Jia Chenghai replied, voice low but sharp. "And if she hadn't, I would have found out anyway."
His eyes darkened. "They tried to set her up—without her permission. As if she were some bargaining chip to help them curry favor. As if my daughter needs their connections."
Lin Shunhua looked up, expression calm but composed. "Perhaps they thought they were doing her a favor."
He scoffed, turning away. "It's not their place to think what Jia Lan needs. Shen Yimin is not family. Neither is that wife of his. They are country people who got lucky landing in the city—by marriage or mercy. They forget whose table they're eating at."
Lin Shunhua's lips twitched. "You always were sharp about boundaries."
"This isn't about boundaries—it's about audacity." Jia Chenghai paced slowly. "Trying to matchmake my daughter without even informing us? They underestimate her. Worse, they underestimate us."
He paused by a cabinet and took out a small carved box, opening it to reveal an old silver lighter. "Do they think the Jia family lacks connections? That we're so desperate, we'd consider alliance with their third-rate business contact?"
His wife watched him quietly. "Lan Lan wasn't angry, you know. Not visibly."
"She shouldn't have to be angry. She should never be put in that position. If it wasn't for her composure, she would've been humiliated at a public event."
He turned, eyes narrowing. "What's worse is Shen Yimin stood by Liu Fenfang. Let her carry it out. Never once thought to stop her."
Lin Shunhua's gaze turned thoughtful. "Perhaps he's not as clever as he pretends."
"Or he thinks we are fools."
There was a long silence.
Finally, Jia Chenghai straightened his collar and smoothed his cuffs.
"I'll have someone speak with the Mayor's office. Quietly. Let them know how poorly our family was treated—without causing a stir. And I'll make sure a few of Shen Yimin's so-called contacts remember where their true loyalties lie."
Lin Shunhua smiled faintly. "Revenge, husband?"
"Correction," he replied coolly. "And a reminder."
He glanced toward the corridor where Jia Lan's study light glowed softly through the screen.
"My daughter was born under a lucky star. But more than that—she's ours. And no one—no one—gets to use her like a stepping stone."