Jiang Muyun leaned sideways on the velvet sofa, her fingertips idly twisting a strand of hair that fell across her chest.
Only a few wall sconces were lit in the living room, casting a cold-toned light over her striking profile.
Song Jie and Juanmao sat on the armchairs opposite her, one on each side, and had been chattering away for nearly fifteen minutes.
Their words all circled back to the same point: Su Qinghan didn’t know what was good for her. They urged Jiang Muyun not to waste her energy on such a “pretentious” woman—with her looks, she could snap her fingers and find anyone she wanted.
Jiang Muyun didn’t respond the whole time. She only tapped her fingernails, painted in a nude polish, against the delicate texture of the sofa armrest from time to time, her gaze drifting toward the heavy night outside the window, looking distracted.
Finally, just as Juanmao was saying, “Su Qinghan is probably trying to play hard to get, make you work harder to win her over,” Jiang Muyun’s movements stopped.
“That’s enough.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it instantly cut through all the noise.
Song Jie and Juanmao both fell silent, looking at her nervously.
Jiang Muyun slowly turned her face, her gaze sweeping lightly over their expressions.
Those eyes that always seemed filled with affection and laughter in front of others were now like a frozen lake surface—only cold irritation remained.
“Don’t say anything else.” Her tone was flat but brooked no argument.
“Muyun, we’re just worried about you…” Song Jie tried to smooth things over.
“I don’t need it.” Jiang Muyun cut her off, the corners of her lips curling into a smile that held no warmth. “And besides, my mood is bad, and it’s not just because of Su Qinghan.”
Song Jie and Juanmao exchanged glances, both confused.
“Then… what else could it be?” Juanmao asked cautiously.
Jiang Muyun didn’t answer right away. She stood up, stepped onto the soft, thick wool carpet, and slowly paced back and forth in the spacious, luxurious living room. The hem of her expensive silk robe swayed gently with the movement, like flowing water in the dark night. There was no sound of footsteps, only the faint rustle of fabric.
“That art exhibition,” she finally said.
“Art exhibition?” Song Jie blinked, not following.
“If I remember correctly…” Jiang Muyun stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Her blurred reflection was visible on the glass. “Yan Yu’s paintings were never this good before. How did she manage to get selected for the exhibition?”
She turned around, facing the two on the sofa head-on, her gaze sharp as ice. “In class, her assignments were always those childish compositions with muddy colors—obviously lacking any foundation. You could tell at a glance.”
She paused, as if recalling a specific detail, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
“But later, I don’t know which day it started. Suddenly, her paintings looked like someone had cast a spell on them… The improvement in technique was way too fast.”
Jiang Muyun’s eyes swept over Song Jie’s bewildered face and Juanmao’s thoughtful expression. She enunciated each word clearly: “Tell me, how could someone’s painting level change so… fundamentally in such a short time?”
The living room fell silent. Only the low hum of the air conditioner’s vent could be heard.
Song Jie’s mouth hung open. It took her a while to find her voice: “So… so Muyun, you mean…?”
“What I mean,” Jiang Muyun said, stepping closer and looking down at them, lowering her voice, “is that the painting Yan Yu submitted for the exhibition—the one that got her foot in the door—might not even be her own work.”
“No way!” Song Jie was so shocked she nearly bounced off the chair. “But… but we all watched her do the classroom assignments in class! Even the teacher praised her for improving so fast! She painted those stroke by stroke in front of everyone. How could she cheat?”
Juanmao frowned and nodded beside her, also finding it suspicious. “Yeah, Muyun. We all saw it. Even if the speed of her improvement was a bit freaky, to say it wasn’t her painting at all is too…”
“I know!” Song Jie slapped her thigh, convinced she’d figured it out. “Could she have been ‘playing weak’ this whole time? Intentionally painting like crap to mess with us?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she received two icy stares.
Jiang Muyun let out a cold laugh, her eyes full of sarcasm that screamed “Did you get hit in the head?”
Juanmao rolled her eyes outright and snapped back impatiently, “What nonsense are you talking? Yan Yu pretending to be weak in front of us? On what basis? What does she have to pretend with? Even if she tried her hardest, she couldn’t even touch Muyun’s shadow before!”
The words were harsh, but they reflected an unspoken understanding within their little clique.
Yan Yu—that sickly, quiet, disabled girl who had nothing going for her except a somewhat pleasant, delicate face—could only ever serve as a foil to Jiang Muyun in every way.
“But… but she used to be so bad, and suddenly she got good. Doesn’t that mean she was ‘playing weak’?” Song Jie shrunk her neck under the glares, but she still clung to her logic, scratching her hair. “I know I’m not as smart as you two, but even if I rack my brains, I can’t come up with another reason.”
“Enough, say less.” Juanmao waved her hand impatiently, cutting off her muttering. She turned to Jiang Muyun, her tone more cautious. “Muyun, then what do you think…?”
Jiang Muyun didn’t answer immediately. She walked back to the sofa but didn’t sit down, her eyes dark and unreadable.
“I’m just speculating,” she said finally, her voice flat. “Without solid evidence, even if I talked until the sky fell, it wouldn’t matter. Even if the organizers are covering for her on purpose, or she used some method we don’t know about… without a smoking gun, barging in to make a scene will only alert her. And we might end up splashed with mud ourselves.”
She gave a cold laugh. “Those old art types put on a facade of being above it all, but they’re up to plenty of dirty tricks behind the scenes. You think they’re pushovers?”
The words sounded like she was giving up on the idea, but Song Jie and Juanmao exchanged glances, both sensing something odd about Jiang Muyun’s attitude.
When she brought it up, that deliberate emphasis wasn’t just idle talk.
In truth, Jiang Muyun wasn’t sure herself.
Her suspicion that Yan Yu might have “cheated” or pulled strings to get the exhibition opportunity was only a vague guess based on unusual phenomena.
She knew too well that plunging into action without certainty would only invite unexpected trouble.
Instead of charging in like a headless fly, reporting her, making a scene, and coming out looking a mess… A cold, calculating glint flashed in her eyes.
Better to whisper in Su Qinghan’s ear.
Wasn’t Su Qinghan always harboring some lingering “pity” for that sickly one? Didn’t she think Yan Yu “needed protection”?
If she were to “accidentally” learn that the ex-girlfriend she felt so sorry for, thought was “not easy,” might not be as innocent as she seemed—might even have used underhanded methods—what would Su Qinghan think?
That proud, stubborn woman had zero tolerance for anything that dirtied her eyes. Especially when she felt she’d been fooled by a facade of “innocence.”
At that thought, the tightness in Jiang Muyun’s chest seemed to ease just a little.
She sat back down on the sofa, resuming her usual languid, seductive posture.
“Let’s put the exhibition aside for now.” She waved her hand, as if she truly didn’t care anymore, then let out a soft sigh. “Right now, I only want to figure out how to win Qinghan back.”
The topic suddenly swung back to Su Qinghan. Song Jie and Juanmao perked up immediately.
“Muyun, don’t be too upset. Su Qinghan must have been bewitched…” Song Jie hurried to console her.
Jiang Muyun raised her slender, fair hand to stop her.
“Since Su Qinghan won’t come to me,” she said softly, “I plan to take the initiative to find Qinghan and ask her out.”
“Huh?” Even the usually more composed Juanmao showed surprise. “But didn’t we agree earlier to give her the cold shoulder for a few days? Make her anxious so she’d treasure you more and not want to lose you.”
“Cold shoulder?” Jiang Muyun twitched the corner of her mouth, revealing a bitter, helpless smile. “If I keep playing cold, she’ll run off with someone else.”
She looked up at the two puzzled faces.
“Besides, giving her the silent treatment for these few days has already achieved the goal—making her anxious inside. A string pulled too tight will snap. When you’re fishing, you have to reel in the line at the right time… or even add a more tempting bait.”
She extended a finger with its delicate nail polish, lightly stroking her own smooth cheek, then pausing on her full lips.
The dim light in the living room played across her perfect profile, outlining a stunning silhouette.
“Doesn’t Su Qinghan like me?” Jiang Muyun’s voice was very soft. “Doesn’t she like this face, this look of mine?”
She was smiling.
It was absolute confidence in her own beauty and charm.
Since childhood, she had known too well what kind of effortless favor and indulgence this face, this figure, this allure could bring.
Su Qinghan was a woman, perhaps a bit special, a bit difficult, but in the end, just one of the masses—unable to escape instinctive attraction.
“To catch a fish, you have to cast bait first.” She lowered her hand, her gaze drifting toward the heavy night outside the window as if she could already see the romantic scene she had planned. “I’ll take the initiative to ask Qinghan out. I’ll invite her properly, thoughtfully. I’ll pick a place with atmosphere, set the mood to be ambiguous, and then…” She glanced at Song Jie and Juanmao.
A meaningful gleam flashed at the corner of her eye. “…’accidentally’ give her a little taste of sweetness, a little stimulation that only I can provide.
“That woman Su Qinghan, don’t be fooled by her usual aloof, icy, untouchable lady act, like she’s above everything. But I know… I know too well what she likes and what works on her.”
She didn’t specify exactly what that “works” was, but her confident tone said it all.
Leaving behind that suggestive but vague remark, Jiang Muyun didn’t explain further.
She rose gracefully, then took languid steps toward the spiral staircase, leaving Song Jie and Juanmao still sitting on the sofa behind her.
Song Jie and Juanmao looked at each other, neither speaking for a moment.
Song Jie opened her mouth but only let out a silent sigh, her eyes sparkling with excitement and curiosity.
Juanmao furrowed her brow, staring at the direction Jiang Muyun had gone, a faint, inexplicable unease stirring in her heart.
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