The days following Aurorris' northern expansion were different from before.
The nights in Zhonghai glittered brighter than ever. Billboards along the skyline screamed Aurorris in bold fonts, their light cascading down on bustling streets where young people wore the brand as if it were a badge of honor.
In just weeks, Liang Chen's creation had evolved from a fledgling label to a storm sweeping the market.
But success attracted enemies, and enemies revealed themselves through shadows and whispers.
The whispers began like a low hum—subtle, insidious, and almost invisible to the untrained ear. At first, Liang Chen barely noticed. He was too busy overseeing the rollout of Aurorris' new fall line to bother with gossip. But soon, the tone shifted.
At first, it was the media. Anonymous blogs claimed Aurorris' dyes were unsafe, tabloids accused the brand of exploiting labor, and fashion critics mocked Liang Chen as a "provincial upstart."
"Did you hear? Aurorris is cutting corners with materials. That's why they're so cheap."
"I heard their factories overwork staff. They say Liang Chen doesn't even pay overtime."
"They'll collapse within the year. Just another bubble brand."
The words spread across forums, fashion blogs, and even the occasional news column. A lesser man might have panicked. But Liang merely raised an eyebrow when his PR team nervously presented the reports.
"Boss," said Liu Qiang, his head of PR, rushing into the room. "We've traced the blogs. They're anonymous but well-funded. Ads placed everywhere at once—this isn't random gossip. Someone's pushing it hard."
Liang leaned back in his chair. "The Duan family?"
Qiang hesitated, then nodded. "Most likely. Only they have the money and reach."
Liang's fingers tapped against the desk. He wasn't surprised. The Duans had been kings of China's fashion for decades. His rise was a threat to them.
"Don't worry. Let them bark. With time it will all be gone in air."
By the following week, sales figures spoke louder than headlines—the supposed scandal barely dented demand. Shoppers judged with their wallets, and Aurorris garments flew off racks faster than they could be stocked.
Next came the rumors. Rivals circulated tales that Aurorris was collapsing under debt, that suppliers were abandoning him, that Liang himself was nothing more than a figurehead propped up by unseen backers. In Zhonghai cafés and Shenzhen bars, people repeated the gossip with smirks. Yet when the latest Aurorris Everyday collection dropped—affordable, durable, and stylish—consumers laughed off the talk. "If this is collapse," one customer joked on social media, "then give me more of it."
The most direct strike, however, was an attempt to poach Liang's people. Head-hunters whispered promises of higher salaries, cushier benefits, and even apartments in prime districts. But each time, his designers, engineers, and marketers gave the same answer: No.
One senior designer confronted a recruiter openly. "You don't understand," she said, folding her arms. "At Aurorris, I don't just work. I create. Mr. Liang trusts us. That's worth more than your offers."
The recruiter slunk away empty-handed. Word spread quickly: Liang's team was unshakable.
"They think we'll leave? Mr. Liang gave us things the Wangs and other never dreamed of. He listens to our suggestion, considers our problems, and supports us in time of need. Do you think money buys that?"
Their loyalty wasn't bought by money, but bound by belief.
Liang should have been pleased, but instead, a faint irritation grew in him.
One night, standing on the balcony of his penthouse, he watched the Zhonghai skyline blaze with Aurorris ads. Ming was asleep; the city hummed below. Still, he muttered:
"They swarm like flies. I swat one away, three more buzz near my ear."
It wasn't the damage—there was little—but the principle. These tactics were clumsy, like gnats buzzing at his ears. He knew the source—the Duan family—but knowing and proving were two different things. The Duans struck from shadows, untouchable, insulated by their ancient roots. In frustration Liang clenched the railing.
"Power," Liang muttered, staring out at the lights of Zhonghai. "They move through channels I can't touch yet. Their roots go deeper than mine."
His fists tightened. He hated fighting shadows. He wanted to fight in open. Fair and square where the entire world could witness the showdown.
And God or Fate, in its strange way, offered him light. The very chance he wanted. An open battlefield.
The announcement came suddenly: The Shanghai Fashion Showcase — Asia's Premier Stage for Design..
A grand event, it was the stage where the world's fashion giants unveiled bold visions for the future. Designers from Milan, Paris, New York, and Tokyo would attend, alongside China's most venerable houses. And the Duans, naturally, would stand at the center, their dominance unchallenged for decades.
He read the announcement twice before leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting. "Shanghai… their stronghold." His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Perfect. If they want to play in the shadows, then I'll drag them into the light."
To others, the Showcase was prestige. To Liang, it was an opportunity, A Perfect Chance. An open battlefield.
He called his inner circle. The decision was swift. Aurorris would enter.
The Duans responded the very next day.
Duan Yifei herself gave an interview. Her tone was soft, her smile practiced, but her words cut sharp.
"Aurorris? A young brand. We welcome fresh voices, but fashion is not a playground. Let us see if they can withstand the weight of the true stage."
The interviewer eager to please the Duan family followed the queue. "Aurorris? That the brand that was popular in news lately, though mostly were bad reviews."
"Yeah. We look forward to showing the world the difference between amateurs and professionals." Duan Yifei said laughing.
Her confidence was not empty. Behind the scenes, Alexander Roth and the Harlan Group tightened their net. They whispered to judges, pressured organizers, and seeded saboteurs into Liang's supply chain.
The weeks leading to the Showcase were chaos.
First, a delivery "accidentally" overturned, soaking half of Aurorris' presentation dresses in dirty water. Liang inspected the ruined fabric in silence before turning to his team.
"Prototype rack," he ordered calmly. "We'll polish what we have left. Adapt, don't panic."
Then the models mysteriously canceled on the eve of the event. Some said Family Emergencies other made excuse of Visa issues. Liang stood unmoving as panic spread among his staff. But before despair rooted, a voice rose. One of his employees, a logistics supervisor named Meilin, stepped forward.
"Boss… we'll do it."
Liang blinked. "Do what?"
"Walk the runway. We know the clothes better than anyone. Maybe we're not professionals, but we won't let Aurorris down."
The room fell silent, then erupted in agreement. Men and women who had never imagined stepping on a stage suddenly volunteered. Seamstresses, warehouse managers, interns—they all stood tall, determination blazing in their eyes.
For a rare moment, Liang felt a lump in his throat. He covered it with a firm nod. "Very well. If the world wants to see Aurorris, then they'll see us—all of us."
The day of the Showcase arrived.
The grand hall glittered under crystal chandeliers, rows of fashion elites dressed in velvet, silk, and jewels. Cameras flashed, pens scribbled, whispers filled the air. The Duans unveiled their collection first: elegant, meticulously crafted, the kind of refinement that came from decades of legacy. Applause thundered.
Then came Aurorris.
The audience gasped—not at flaws, but at shock. Ordinary employees walked the runway, their steps unpolished, yet their pride unmistakable. Each garment told a story: streetwear fused with elegance, affordable fabrics elevated by bold design, modern silhouettes born from grassroots energy. What should have been weakness became authenticity. The crowd leaned forward, murmuring, cameras snapping furiously.
In the judges' panel, Alexander whispered to Yifei, "They're improvising. But it's sloppy."
But one judge—a silver-haired veteran from Paris, famed for his incorruptible integrity—shook his head slowly. "No," he said aloud, his voice carrying over the panel. "This… is vision."
The words cut like lightning through the hall.
Every attempt at sabotage had failed. Every shadow tactic was undone by resourcefulness and loyalty. The Showcase ended with Aurorris receiving not just applause, but a standing ovation from sections of the audience.
Backstage, Liang removed his jacket, sweat glistening on his brow. His employees laughed and cried together, clutching each other's hands. The atmosphere was electric with triumph.
Liang simply smiled faintly, though his eyes burned with fire. He knew this was more than a victory. It was a declaration.
The Duans could no longer dismiss him as a nuisance. He had forced their hand, on their home ground, under the eyes of the world. And the war that had been fought in whispers was now fully in the open.
The Shanghai Fashion Showcase had ended, but the battle for China's fashion empire had only just begun.