Hua Jing's smile was soft — so soft it almost seemed to melt into the night itself. Light, feather-like, yet so radiant that it drew every gaze toward her. Under the endless flashes of cameras, her already delicate features appeared even sharper, her porcelain skin glowing against the deep crimson of her dress. She looked untouchable, ethereal, like a vision that had descended straight from the heavens.
The reporters had long abandoned their posts inside the grand Blue Awards ceremony. Whatever trophies were being handed out, whatever speeches were being given on stage — none of it mattered anymore. Their lenses were focused entirely on one figure: Hua Jing.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of camera shutters filled the night, almost as deafening as the fans themselves. Every movement of hers was captured, every tilt of her head, every curve of her lips. The more they photographed her, the more unreal she seemed, like a painting that breathed.
