The Mo manor study room had an elegance that whispered of heritage—deep mahogany shelves, floor-to-ceiling windows veiled with silk drapes, and a low amber glow from the chandelier above. Lu Jingyan sat on the leather couch, her posture straight, hands folded neatly on her lap, but her eyes betrayed the storm brewing within.
Mo Tianyi leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. Hua Shu sat on the armrest beside her, nursing a cup of coffee with that usual lopsided grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"So," Hua Shu said first, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "What's this plan of yours you refused to text?"
Jingyan looked between them. "I'm done waiting for someone to hand me my life back. I've decided to build something of my own."
"Fashion?" Mo Tianyi asked, though he already knew.
She nodded. "Not designing. I never needed to sketch a dress to make a statement. I was the brand. And I can be again."
Hua Shu raised a brow. "Sounds good. But what are we talking—magazine shoots? Pop-up stores?"
Jingyan looked at him, eyes focused, sharp. "An event. A launch. Something that screams I'm back before anyone can whisper otherwise."
"You want to hold an exclusive event when your name just climbed out of ashes?" Mo Tianyi asked flatly. "You'll be questioned. Mocked. Watched."
"Let them watch," she said quietly. "I want their eyes on me. That's how fashion lives—under the pressure of scrutiny. I've lived there before. I can live there again."
She stood slowly, walked to the table, and unrolled a rough blueprint. "This is my venue. I want lights, music, elegance—but not just beauty. Statement. It should burn into memory."
Mo Tianyi and Hua Shu exchanged glances.
"You thought all this through," Tianyi murmured.
"I've had nothing but time," she said. "Time to rot or rise. I chose rise."
Hua Shu smirked. "What's the plan for execution?"
"I'll need names. Influencers. Media. Sponsorships won't come easy, but we'll get them. I just need connections to push the first domino."
Mo Tianyi exhaled. "Jingli."
A soft knock on the door followed almost instantly. Jingli, dressed in a muted gray suit, stepped in. "Young Master?"
"Start contacting old PR contacts. The ones who owe us favors. Compile a list of names who'll show up just for curiosity's sake."
"Yes, sir." Jingli gave a nod toward Jingyan, then slipped out silently.
Hua Shu stood. "Ning Hua."
Another knock, quicker this time. A young woman with sharp eyes and a tablet entered.
"Contact set designers. I want someone who can deliver her aesthetic without turning it into a fashion funeral. Reach out to sound engineers and lighting techs. We're building an experience, not just a party."
"Yes, ma'am"
"Also," Jingyan added, "start tracking trending venues in Country C's fashion circuit. I want a location that's not just luxurious—but symbolic."
Ning Hua's eyes lit up with excitement. "Got it."
After both assistants exited, the room fell into a thoughtful quiet.
Mo Tianyi looked at her again. "Why now, Jingyan?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she moved back to the couch, eyes shimmering but voice steady.
"Because for once, I want to stand and not owe anyone an apology for surviving."
Hua Shu leaned back. "You still believe in yourself that much?"
She smiled faintly. "I don't need to believe in myself. I've lived the power of being me. The world just forgot. I'm going to remind them."
Mo Tianyi looked down at her with something bordering on admiration—but also worry. "And if they come for you again?"
"I'll smile in their faces," she replied. "And wear their hatred like couture."
A pause.
Then Hua Shu chuckled. "You're insane."
"No," Mo Tianyi corrected. "She's finally awake."
Lu Jingyan tilted her head. "Watch me rise. Then you'll understand why they tried to bury me."
And with that, the quiet stirrings of her rebirth began—echoing not in vengeance, but in ambition. One step. One spark. One queen, returning to reclaim her crown.