The morning after the Shanghai Fashion Showcase, the world was no longer the same.
Screens from Beijing to New York replayed Aurorris' stunning finale: ordinary employees turned runway models, walking with awkward pride and unshakable authenticity. What should have been a humiliation became a triumph, and the audience knew it.
Journalists buzzed.
"They turned seamstresses into supermodels — and it worked. Who does that?" one exclaimed on a livestream panel.
"Someone rewriting the rules," A French critic shook his head in disbelief. "Authenticity sells when the economy is hungry for it. Aurorris isn't a trend — it's a movement."
Fashion magazines splashed "Aurorris" across their covers. Netizens flooded Weibo, Instagram, and TikTok with clips of the runway, remixing them into memes and edits. The phrase "Heart over Hype" trended for days.
Memes multiplied. The "Aurorris Walk" — a shaky phone video of a warehouse manager taking the catwalk with the same dignity as models trained for years — became a viral template for every grassroots triumph. Influencers remixed the footage, adding background music and captions: "Dress like a worker, step like a king."
Stores in Seoul, Tokyo, Milan, Paris, and Singapore pinged Liang's logistics desk with tentative inquiries. International buyers who once wanted a Duan label in their boutique began calling about Aurorris Prestige and Aurorris Vibe lines. Aurorris was no longer just a scrappy Zhonghai label. It was a rising global contender. The name no longer belonged only to Zhonghai; it was echoing in shopping districts and inboxes across the continent.
Liang watched the tide with quiet satisfaction. The cheers thrilled him the way a clean balance sheet does — the tangible proof that an idea, when executed, could ripple into reality.
While the world cheered, the Duans seethed.
Behind the lacquered doors of their Shanghai estate, Duan Yifei's composure finally shattered. She slammed a porcelain teacup against the wall, shards scattering across the polished floor.
"Aurorris' growth rate is anomalous," said the analyst beside her. "Their youth line captured almost forty percent of the under-30 demographic in target neighborhoods. Their Prestige bookings tripled after the showcase. They're already dominating Beijing, Shenzhen, and Changsha. If left unchecked they will dominate entire China and soon enter Global Markets"
"An amateur brand — humiliating us on our own stage!" Her voice trembled with fury. She rounded on Alexander, her silk gown swishing with every step. "You said you could handle him."
Alexander leaned against the armrest of a velvet chair, infuriatingly calm. His blonde hair glinted in the dim light, his lips curled into that faint smirk that never seemed to leave him.
"All I said was that he was vulnerable, not invincible. That showcase was… your playground. Your defeat was unexpected"
"Unexpected?" Yifei's laugh was sharp and cold. "We are Duans! Our family built this industry while his ancestors were probably weaving homespun cloth in the countryside!"
The Harlan Group advisors seated nearby exchanged uneasy looks before one finally spoke. His accent was crisp, his tone cold.
"This is no longer a nuisance. Liang Chen is a threat. If you do not act decisively, he will swallow your dynasty whole."
Alexander's smirk deepened. "Then perhaps it's time we stop swatting at him like a mosquito… and instead set the forest around him on fire."
Mr. Laurent of the Harlan Group, velvet-voiced and precise, folded his hands. "We will not merely nudge him out. We'll close the channels that let him breathe. Suppliers, licenses, perception — leverage all. He thrives on momentum. Cut the thread and you unravel the fabric."
That night, the Duans along with Roths and Harlan Group in shadows, escalated their counterattack.
They lobbied regulators, pushing for a nationwide audit of Aurorris' factories.
They leaned on their monopolistic reach to cut Liang's suppliers. One by one, contracts dissolved under pressure.
And they prepared a new weapon: a luxury-streetwear fusion line, aiming to steal back the very youth market Aurorris had ignited.
The results hit Liang hard.
One week later in Zhonghai, the hum of his textile mills dulled to silence. Looms stood idle, workers whispered nervously. Reports piled on his desk: canceled shipments, suppliers backing out, raw material stocks dwindling.
Liang pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the empty production schedule. Aurorris' momentum, once unstoppable, had ground to a painful halt.
In his office, the atmosphere was heavy. His executives shuffled nervously, stealing glances at him.
"Boss," Liu Qiang, head of PR, finally spoke. "We traced the supplier pullouts. They all… received pressure. Some from regulators, others from higher industry players. They won't admit it outright, but…"
"The Duans again," Liang said flatly, as if he'd expected it all along.
No one contradicted him.
Another manager added softly, "Sir the factories will shut down in ten days if we can't secure new fabric. Orders are already delayed. Customers are asking questions."
Silence fell again.
Liang stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the city skyline. Neon lights still flashed Aurorris, but beneath the glow, he could feel the cracks spreading.
For the first time since the showcase, he sat in silence — not defeated, but calculating.
And then a letter came.
It was delivered in a plain envelope, no seal, no signature. Inside, a neatly folded page with a message written in a beautiful handwritting. A hand-written letter rare in iin a digital age.
Mr. Liang,
"It seems that you have hit a hard wall, one quite hard to climb. If you seek a way forward, I can provide a year-long supply of premium raw materials. Your factories need not halt, your brand need not collapse.
Meet me at Fleur de Lune Restaurant, Shanghai. Seven in the evening tomorrow."
— A Friend of the Trade
The letter smelled faintly of floral perfume, rose, jasmine, and lavender, and old paper, like something deliberate, theatrical. Liang read it twice.
Liang's eyes narrowed. It was bait — but also a lifeline.
He turned the letter over twice, expression unreadable. Around him, his executives held their breath, waiting for his reaction.
"Boss… it could be a trap," Qiang whispered.
"Of course it's a trap," Liang said. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "But sometimes… stepping into a trap is the fastest way to meet the other party. For a man of business every risk had a calculated benefit, every situation and opportunity."
Far away, in Shanghai, Lin Xinya stood on the balcony of her family's elegant villa. The twilight wrapped her in golden light as she sipped an iced frappe, the condensation dripping lazily down the glass.
She gazed toward the horizon, toward Zhonghai, as though her eyes could pierce the distance.
Her lips curved in a faint smile, half wistful, half mischievous.
"You came to Shanghai and didn't even meet me…" she murmured softly. She twirled the straw between her fingers, playful annoyance flickering in her eyes. "If you won't come to me on your own, Liang Chen, then I'll make you do."
The letter had been her doing. A calculated lure. But beneath the game, her heart thudded with something else. Excitement. Anticipation. A thrill she couldn't admit even to herself.
Her maid, a woman who had watched her grow up, approached quietly. "Young miss, you seem in high spirits. Is it… him again?"
Xinya tilted her head, hiding a blush behind her glass. "Don't talk nonsense. I'm simply… curious."
"Curious enough to orchestrate his meeting at Fleur de Lune?" the maid teased.
Xinya coughed, feigning seriousness. "Business is war. If the Duans are sharpening their blades, shouldn't I at least make sure my… acquaintance isn't walking blind?"
But as the words left her mouth, her gaze softened again. The battlefield of business was one thing. Matters of the heart… those were far more treacherous.
She leaned on the balcony railing, eyes fixed on the city lights. "Let's see, Liang Chen. Will you come to me as a businessman… or as something else?"
Back in Zhonghai, Liang set the letter aside, his mind already working through possibilities. A trap. A test. Or… an opportunity.
His phone buzzed. A message from Ming:
"Ge, don't forget to eat dinner tonight. I'll cook when you get back. Don't overwork."
For a moment, Liang's lips softened. The battlefield might be merciless, but home was still warm.
He typed back simply: "Got it. Don't stay up late."
Then he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing again, the cold fire of strategy rekindling.
"Shanghai," he murmured. "So be it. Let's see who's waiting behind that curtain."
The war with the Duans had entered its next phase. And this time, it wouldn't be whispers or rumors. It would be a clash face-to-face.