The call came two weeks later.
Nora stood frozen in her tiny kitchen, phone pressed to her ear.
"This is the National Crafts Committee. Your piece Rebirth has won the grand prize."
She didn't scream. Not immediately. Just stood in shocked silence.
Then she grabbed Aiden, spun him in a circle, and let out a cry that startled the birds from the osmanthus tree.
At the award ceremony, she wore a pale teal cheongsam—an heirloom from Madam Ruan's younger days. As she stepped onto the stage, applause thundered around her.
"Miss White's piece demonstrated not only exquisite technique," the judge announced, "but a deep emotional truth."
Afterward, backstage, a man approached. Tall, silver-haired, sharply dressed.
"Miss White," he said, handing her a card. "I'm George Zhao, founder of Celestial Script Group. We're interested in your work."
Nora took the card with trembling fingers.
This wasn't just a trophy.
It was a door.