The next morning dawned misty, the city veiled in a thin haze as if holding its breath.
Jia Lan awoke early, as always. The delicate aroma of chrysanthemum tea drifted from her windowsill kettle, and she sat cross-legged on her floor cushion, brushing her hair in long, languid strokes. Her maid had already laid out her morning outfit—a silk blouse the color of clouds and a pale gold skirt embroidered with ivy threads. Nothing ostentatious, but refined to the point that no one could look upon her and think of anything but grace.
She tied her sash slowly, then rang the bell for breakfast. The usual spread appeared: soft millet porridge, preserved plum slices, steamed dumplings in a bamboo basket, and a warm soy milk bowl.
At the breakfast table, her second elder brother Jia Wei joined her, still in a vest, reading the newspaper. He didn't say much until the third page.
"Looks like the mayor's wife has suspended her weekend 'literary salons' for a while," he remarked, raising a brow. "Overwhelmed by 'inappropriate guests' last time. Tsk."
Jia Lan smiled faintly as she spooned some porridge. "Oh dear. What a shame."
Jia Wei smirked. "You didn't do anything… right?"
"I didn't have to," she replied serenely. "Some people dig their own graves. I simply lit a lantern so everyone could see where they fell."
Down the corridor, their father's voice could be heard speaking quietly into the phone. His tone was polite, clipped—dangerously so.
"No need to blacklist him," Jia Chenghai was saying. "But we don't extend invitations again. That door is closed. If others ask, let them draw their own conclusions."
Jia Wei snorted behind his newspaper. "Dad's in his correctional diplomacy mode."
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Liu Fenfang sat at her small dining table frowning at her untouched toast. Shen Yimin had already left early for work, mumbling something about meetings.
But the mood had shifted.
One of the friends she had proudly name-dropped during the luncheon hadn't returned her call. Another excused themselves from meeting her later that week. She wasn't sure how or why, but there was a strange chill in the air whenever she mentioned Jia Lan's name.
At the same time, Shen Yimin sat in his office nervously adjusting his tie. He had expected praise, some benefit from his appearance at the charity event. Instead, his department supervisor had mentioned in passing, "You should be careful who you associate with at public functions. Some families value discretion."
Back at the Jia residence, Jia Lan had finished her breakfast and was arranging flower stems in a jade vase. Her mother entered with a serene expression and a fan in hand.
"You should wear something red tomorrow," Lin Shunhua said gently.
Jia Lan blinked. "Why?"
Her mother smiled. "Just a suggestion. You're attending the Art Exchange Council's tea symposium. A little red will remind people you're not just elegant—you're auspicious."
Jia Lan laughed softly. "You think people need reminding?"
Lin Shunhua leaned in, brushing a stray strand of hair from her daughter's face.
"Darling," she said, "sometimes the world forgets. And sometimes, it needs a gentle reminder that our Jia Lan doesn't need to climb any ladders. She owns the building."
That evening, Jia Chenghai received a discreet visit from Director Xu of the Cultural Committee. Over tea, Director Xu chuckled, "That little mix-up at the luncheon? You handled it beautifully. Never said a word, but everyone noticed who kept their composure—and who didn't."
"I believe people reveal themselves best when they think they're winning," Jia Chenghai replied calmly.
Director Xu tapped his cup. "Indeed. That Shen fellow and his wife… a bit overeager. They may learn in time, or they may not. Either way, they won't be invited again."
The two men exchanged a silent nod.
Later that night, Jia Lan sat by the open window with a book, the breeze lifting the pages gently. A jasmine-scented candle flickered beside her.
She thought briefly of Liu Fenfang—her stiff smile, her desperation beneath a borrowed layer of foundation.
Then she turned the page and didn't think of her again.
…Then she turned the page and didn't think of her again.
But others did.
Later that week, whispers circulated in certain circles—the kind of conversations that never reached newspapers but spread like incense smoke at elite salons and calligraphy clubs.
"They say the Mayor's wife wasn't pleased with the guest list. Apparently someone slipped in two nobodies under false pretenses."
"Wasn't one of them a relative of some provincial clerk?"
"Not quite. I heard they used a minor connection to the Youth Arts Bureau."
"Ah, poor judgment. That girl—what's her name? Jia Lan? She handled it gracefully."
"Indeed. A shame for the other one… what was it, Liu Fen… something?"
"Oh, yes. Dressed like a summer melon and talked like she owned the place."
These murmurs drifted like perfume into places Liu Fenfang and Shen Yimin had hoped to ascend. At a meeting of a small literary fellowship, Liu Fenfang's invitation was quietly revoked. Shen Yimin's application to a civic development workshop was marked as "pending indefinite review."
In their modest flat, tension simmered.
"Maybe… maybe Jia Lan said something," Liu Fenfang whispered one night, pacing their cramped living room. "To the Mayor's wife, or to someone at the Bureau."
Shen Yimin, exhausted and tight-lipped, stared at his work folders. "She didn't have to. People talk."
Liu Fenfang looked betrayed. "I only tried to help her! That man we introduced her to—he owns a logistics firm. He could've—"
"She doesn't need help," he snapped. "And you went about it like we were trying to barter her off."
Fenfang flinched, wrapping her arms around herself. "I didn't mean it that way."
But she had. And worse, she had never asked Jia Lan what she wanted.
Back at the Jia residence, the mood was warm and calm. Jia Lan was in her garden courtyard under the lanterns, trimming her bonsai tree.
Xu Li, her eldest sister-in-law, walked over holding a tray of osmanthus pastries. "Still awake, Lan Lan?"
"Couldn't sleep. The moon's nice tonight."
Xu Li sat beside her, breaking off a piece of the soft cake. "I heard that little wife tried to set you up with a businessman."
Jia Lan smiled faintly. "Apparently she thought I lacked direction."
Xu Li chuckled. "Oh darling, people always think still water is shallow. Until they fall in."
Jia Lan tilted her head. "Would it be petty if I made sure she didn't get invited to the Dragon Boat gala?"
Xu Li raised an elegant brow. "Not petty. Strategic."
They laughed together quietly, the kind of rich, knowing laughter shared between women raised with steel in silk.
When Jia Lan finally returned to her study, she picked up her fountain pen and turned to her journal.
Sign-In Successful.
Reward: 10000 yuan deposited in your private fund account.
A slow, pleased smile curled her lips.
She tapped the pen on the corner of her desk thoughtfully, then wrote one clean line beneath the date:
Let them chase borrowed light. I was born with the moon in my palm.
And then, with a calm heart and the hush of rising power, she blew out the candle and went to sleep.