The following morning, Song Mei arrived at the sleek, glass-fronted Wei Corporation headquarters, her portfolio clutched tightly in her hands. The lobby was a flurry of activity—employees scurrying between offices, designers showing samples to executives, and the soft hum of printing machines creating new prototypes. The atmosphere was sharp, professional, and brimming with opportunity.
A receptionist glanced up at her and said politely, "Miss Song Mei, please follow me. The management is expecting you."
Song Mei followed silently, her steps measured, her gaze unwavering. Every sound in the building—the click of heels, the whisper of conversation, the quiet hum of machines—felt like a countdown to her future. She was nervous, yes, but only in the sense that a predator is cautious before striking.
The door to the executive meeting room slid open, revealing three senior officials seated behind a polished oak table. Their expressions were professional but curious, sizing her up at a glance.
"Good morning, Miss Song Mei. Please, have a seat," one of them said. His voice was calm but carried authority. "We understand you're interested in participating in our upcoming annual youth design competition. You also mentioned potential support for your projects?"
Song Mei nodded, her voice steady and clear. "Yes, sir. I've prepared my portfolio of designs, and I would like to discuss not only my competition entry but also the possibility of financial and logistical support for my ongoing projects."
One of the executives raised an eyebrow. "Financial support is not guaranteed. Any assistance we provide is entirely dependent on talent and merit. We do not fund projects arbitrarily."
Song Mei leaned forward slightly, her tone calm but firm. "I understand. I am not here to request handouts. I am confident in my work, and I am prepared to prove that my designs have merit. I do not require charity, only the opportunity to show my capability."
A moment of silence fell over the room as the executives exchanged glances. One of them finally spoke, a slight smile breaking the rigid expression on his face.
"Very well. We will review your portfolio carefully. If your work meets the standards of our competition, there may be opportunities for sponsorship or project funding. However, you should be aware that this process is competitive, and we will judge all candidates rigorously."
Song Mei nodded again, her eyes never wavering. "I expected nothing less. I am ready to meet the challenge."
One of the officials gestured toward a large display screen at the end of the room. "Please, present your portfolio and explain your concepts. We will evaluate based on originality, technical skill, and practicality. Take your time."
Song Mei carefully opened her portfolio, revealing sketches of dresses that were daring yet elegant, bold yet functional. Each design was a statement—an expression of her independence, her defiance, and her creativity.
She spoke confidently as she presented, her words precise and calculated: "This collection draws inspiration from movement and light, emphasizing silhouettes that empower the wearer. Every piece is designed to balance aesthetic beauty with functional wearability. My goal is to challenge traditional conventions and bring a new voice to modern fashion."
The executives leaned forward, scrutinizing each page, murmuring among themselves. One of them paused at a particularly bold design. "This shows a lot of originality. However, how would you suggest marketing this line? Who is your target audience?"
Song Mei's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "The designs are meant for independent, confident individuals—those unafraid to express themselves and stand out. The marketing strategy would leverage social media platforms, fashion forums, and collaborations with established influencers to reach this demographic efficiently."
Another executive tapped his pen against the table, clearly impressed. "And your long-term goal?"
Song Mei's voice was steady, almost cold in its clarity. "To establish my own design identity, independent of my family name. I want to be recognized for my skill, my creativity, and my vision, not my lineage or wealth. If I succeed, I will inspire others who are trapped by circumstances to pursue their dreams."
The room was quiet for a few seconds. Then the first executive spoke again, nodding slowly. "We appreciate your clarity and determination. We will review your designs thoroughly and determine if you meet the standard required for project sponsorship. Understand that this is entirely performance-based—no consideration will be given to your family background or personal connections."
Song Mei rose from her chair, closing her portfolio with deliberate precision. "I understand completely. Thank you for your time and consideration."
As she walked out of the meeting room, her heart was pounding—not with fear, but with exhilaration. She had made her intentions clear, proven her vision, and taken the first step toward true independence.
Even if the Song family discovered her meeting, even if they tried to cut her financial ties or undermine her, Song Mei had established a foothold in a world where merit mattered more than bloodlines.
Her thoughts drifted for a moment. This is just the beginning. The Wei Corporation will see what I'm capable of. And no one—neither my family nor anyone else—can stop me now.
After leaving the Wei Corporation, Song Mei walked briskly through the bustling streets of the city, her portfolio safely tucked under her arm. The sun glinted off the glass towers, but the brightness couldn't reach the shadows that lingered in her mind. She thought about the meeting, about the officials' subtle nods of approval, and about the first steps she had just taken toward true independence.
As she approached the familiar gates of the Sun City Villa, a chill ran down her spine. Something felt… off. The bodyguards who normally saluted her and opened the gates were standing stiffly, expressionless, their hands folded behind their backs.
"Miss Song Mei, please stop here," one of them said flatly, blocking her entry.
"What—what's going on?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.
The lead guard shook his head. "The Song family has revoked your residency in this villa. Effective immediately. You are no longer to enter the premises."
Song Mei froze, disbelief flashing across her face. "What?"
Another guard stepped forward, handing her an official-looking document. The words were cruelly formal: "All financial support has been suspended. Residency privileges revoked. The possibility of disownment is under consideration."
For a moment, everything blurred. The familiar halls, the warm lights of her room, even the soft clatter of the city seemed to vanish. And then… she laughed.
It started as a low chuckle, sharp and cutting, and quickly escalated into hysterical laughter. She clutched her head, spinning slightly as the words tumbled out, almost as if speaking them would release the fury building inside her.
"They're so cruel," she whispered to herself. "Even now, they want to abandon me, leave me to fend for myself on the streets… just like last life. Just to protect their precious reputation… without a shred of love or loyalty."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Song Mei didn't care. She had faced worse. This was nothing she hadn't prepared herself for in her mind a thousand times over.
"And my grandfather… that moron," she spat, her voice rising with venom. "He thinks I will kneel, act like a dog for the Song family again. Not this time. Never again."
The neighbors, drawn by the sound of her laughter and shouting, peeked through their windows and doorways. Whispers of shock and concern filled the air as they watched a seemingly small, fragile girl stand there, shaking with fury yet exuding a terrifying calmness.
Song Mei didn't flinch. With deliberate precision, she turned to the maids who had quietly packed her belongings and nodded. "Take it all. Every last thing."
The maids obeyed silently, laying her possessions in neat piles, ready to be taken away. Song Mei stepped over the threshold one last time. Her heels clicked on the marble floors as she walked out of the villa, her hair whipping slightly in the breeze.
Neighbors murmured among themselves, some pitying her, others shaking their heads. "Such a small girl… where could she possibly go alone?"
Song Mei's lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile. Let them think her pitiful. They couldn't see the fire burning inside her—the one that no family, no wealth, and no betrayal could ever extinguish.
She walked past the gates, past the lawns, past the curious gazes, and disappeared into the streets of the city. Behind her, the Sun City Villa stood silent, but in her mind, a storm raged. She had nothing now—no home, no financial backing from the Song family—but she had her talent, her will, and the knowledge that she could rise again on her own terms.
This time, Song Mei would not be a pawn. This time, she would build her empire—not for the Song family, not for recognition, but for herself.
And as she disappeared into the night, the neighbors whispered among themselves, some fearful, some sympathetic, but all silently watching: this small girl, alone and defiant, was not to be underestimated.