Three days after Luminar's name first appeared in the headlines, the city learned how to hold its breath.
Markets steadied on the surface. Commentators repeated the same cautious phrases. Regulators remained silent. But beneath it all, tension threaded through every conversation, every phone call that went unanswered.
Gu Ze Yan did not respond.
And because he did not respond, speculation multiplied.
That afternoon, while news tickers continued looping the same restrained accusations, Lin Qing Yun returned to Jiù Mèng Xuān as if nothing in the outside world had shifted. The studio remained unchanged—light filtered through gauze curtains, the air faintly scented with old paper and incense, the slow hiss of the humidifier breathing life into fragile fibers.
Here, time obeyed different rules.
She bent over a thousand-year-old sutra, gold thread steady between her fingers, sealing a fracture that history itself had failed to erase. The scandal surrounding Luminar felt distant, unreal—like a storm observed through thick glass.
It was in this stillness that the knock came.
Her assistant appeared in the doorway, hesitant. "Miss Lin, a visitor."
"I'm not expecting anyone."
"She said she knows you. Miss Jiang."
The brush stilled. Gold dust settled silently back into its dish.
"Show her in," Qing Yun said.
⸻
Jiang Yi Rong entered with the composure of someone stepping onto a stage. Ivory suit, hair twisted low, a smile balanced perfectly between warmth and distance.
"Miss Lin," she greeted. "It's good to see you again—without the noise of a banquet."
Qing Yun rose, wiping her hands with a cloth. "Miss Jiang. Welcome."
Her tone was polite, cool, unbothered.
Yi Rong's gaze drifted over the studio—old scrolls, pressed flowers, sunlight sliding across lacquered shelves. "So this is where you hide. It's beautiful. Quiet. I can see why Gu Ze Yan is drawn to it."
Qing Yun smiled faintly. "Peace is underrated."
Yi Rong's lips curved. "Peace is for those who've already won."
⸻
They sat by the low window table. Steam curled from a clay teapot.
Yi Rong poured for both, hands graceful and deliberate.
"I hope you don't mind my dropping by," she began lightly. "I thought we could talk—woman to woman. After all, you've become quite the topic this week."
Qing Yun tilted her head. "Topic?"
"Oh, just the usual idle talk." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "High society can be vicious. They're saying you've… found a clever way to climb. That you caught Gu Ze Yan's heart the same way you restore antiques—patiently, layer by layer."
A soft laugh, almost sisterly. "You know how they are. I thought it was cruel, so I wanted you to hear it from someone friendly."
Qing Yun lifted her cup, blew on the steam. "Then I'm grateful for the kindness."
Yi Rong leaned forward. "Don't take it to heart. Envy always dresses itself as judgment. But still, you should be careful. People love to call sincerity manipulation when they can't understand it."
Her tone was honeyed, but the sweetness stuck to the air like sap.
⸻
Qing Yun's gaze met hers—steady, unreadable. "Clever, you said? I'll take it as a compliment."
Yi Rong blinked, smile tightening. "I doubt they meant it that way."
"Intent doesn't change meaning." She set the cup down. "And if everything they say revolves around money, then perhaps that's all they value."
The faintest pause.
"If I wanted wealth," Qing Yun continued softly, "I would have stayed with him five years ago. Leaving cost nothing. I can leave again whenever I wish."
The room hushed. Even the teapot stopped steaming.
Yi Rong's painted nails tapped once against porcelain. "You speak so easily about leaving."
"I've practiced," Qing Yun said.
⸻
The smile on Yi Rong's lips froze, then reshaped itself—still polite, sharper at the edges.
"Then perhaps Gu Ze Yan doesn't know everything you've left behind."
Qing Yun arched a brow. "Such as?"
"Your years with Xu Wei Ran, for instance." Her tone stayed soft, but the words cut clean. "People talk. They remember when you lived together in Guangjing. And your mother…" She paused, feigning regret. "I hear she had difficulties. Debts. Certain … stories. I'd hate for careless gossip to reopen them."
Qing Yun placed her cup down, aligning it perfectly with its saucer. "Ah. Now we've arrived at the real reason you came."
"I only thought you deserved a warning," Yi Rong murmured. "Reputation is fragile. A single spark—"
"Then burn it," Qing Yun said.
Yi Rong blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Burn it all. The rumors, the truths, whatever makes you feel alive again." Her voice remained calm, almost gentle. "You can't destroy what never belonged to you."
Yi Rong stared, caught between disbelief and irritation.
Qing Yun turned slightly, glancing toward the half-mended manuscript on her desk.
"See that sutra? Torn, burned, soaked. Yet the meaning survived. You can try again, Miss Jiang—the fire will only leave gold where the cracks used to be."
⸻
The mask slipped. Yi Rong's tone cooled to glass. "Arrogance is a dangerous perfume, Miss Lin. The world doesn't forgive women who forget their place."
Qing Yun met her eyes. "Then perhaps the world needs a better memory."
Silence flooded the room. Only the slow tick of the clock broke it.
Yi Rong rose abruptly. Her chair legs scraped the floor, too loud for such a refined space. "You'll regret this composure."
"Only if I waste it on the wrong person."
The older woman's jaw tightened. She clutched her purse like a weapon, turned, and walked out—the rhythm of her heels echoing down the marble hall until it vanished.
⸻
Qing Yun stood for a moment, breathing in the silence she'd reclaimed.
Outside, a bell rang in some distant temple; the sound drifted faintly through the air.
She went back to her desk, picking up the fine gold thread again. Under her steady hand, the tear in the sutra closed millimeter by millimeter.
"Some people fear cracks," she whispered, a small smile ghosting her lips. "I just make them shine."
⸻
In the car, the city blurred into streaks of light.
Yi Rong sat stiffly in the back seat, fingers white around her phone. Her assistant waited for instructions.
"She wasn't afraid," Yi Rong said at last, voice flat.
"No, ma'am."
"She should have been."
Her reflection in the tinted glass looked unfamiliar—eyes too bright, lips too tight.
"Find every record of Lin Qing Yun and Xu Wei Ran," she said. "Old photos, school registrations, anything. If it's buried, dig it up."
The assistant hesitated. "Understood."
Yi Rong leaned back, letting out a small, humorless laugh. "She thinks she can stay untouched."
Her gaze sharpened, voice low. "Let's see how calm she is when the past starts breathing again."