October 15, 2034, Shanghai.
Behind the scenes at Jin Xiu's 2034 Autumn/Winter haute couture show was orderly chaos.
Song Jinhua stood in front of the full-length mirror, her fingers lightly brushing across "Dawn"—the show's finale piece, three months in the making and adorned with over fifty thousand Swarovski crystals. The pale gold silk gleamed beneath the lights, every fold meticulously calculated, reminiscent of dawn clouds across the sky.
"President Song, fifteen minutes till showtime," her assistant Xiaoya said, barely hiding her excitement. "The crowd outside is overflowing—there's no space left in the aisles."
Jinhua nodded, her gaze flicking past her own reflection. At thirty, her naivety had faded, replaced in her features by steadiness and confidence. Yet a fleeting weariness sometimes betrayed itself in her eyes—a sign only she knew.
Ten years. From the bankruptcy heiress to independent designer and founder of a billion-dollar fashion group, she'd taken ten years.
"President Song!" Zhou Zhiruo burst in, face full of urgency. "Just got word—the chief editor of VOGUE China came herself, plus heads of three top overseas buyer stores! If this show succeeds, our overseas orders could triple!"
A faint curve appeared at Jinhua's lips. She'd waited too long for this.
Once, she'd given up her chance to study abroad for a boyfriend, watched the family business collapse, clawed her way up the lowest rungs of the fashion world. Now, she was at the very top.
If she could do it all over again, would she make the same choices?
The thought made her smile. Life doesn't let you start over.
"Let's begin." She turned and strode confidently toward the runway.
Music began.
The first model stepped onto the runway and an awed murmur swept the room. Jinhua watched from the wings, peeking through the curtains—international buyers, fashion editors, influencers, all with eyes lit by amazement and admiration.
Her heart raced—not with nerves, but the thrill she hadn't felt in years.
Finally, "Dawn" made its entrance.
The model walked slowly, every step refracting thousands of beams of light. Silence fell, then thunderous applause erupted.
Success.
Jinhua closed her eyes and drew a long breath. She'd waited a decade for this moment.
The post-show celebration was held at a Michelin three-star restaurant on the Bund. Jinhua socialized till late, rejected countless business meals and interviews, at last slumping into her car for the ride home.
October nights in Shanghai carried a chill. She leaned back, eyes closed in exhaustion.
Suddenly, a memory flashed—ten years ago, a summer day. She was twenty, sitting in her dorm room, reading a message from her boyfriend Lin Yixuan: "Huahua, I got a job in Beijing as a photography assistant! The pay's low, rent is expensive, can you not go to London? Your parents' factory is failing, going abroad is a waste of money…"
At the time, she'd actually hesitated.
For a boyfriend of less than a year, she'd nearly given up London Fashion College's admission, a full-ride scholarship, her dream destination.
"President Song? We're here." The driver's voice interrupted her reverie.
Jinhua opened her eyes—the car had stopped at her apartment building. She thanked the driver, got out, and entered the elevator.
Just as the doors were about to close, someone rushed in.
"Sorry!" It was a food delivery guy, thermal bag in hand, panting.
Jinhua nodded and pressed the button for the 28th floor.
The elevator rose slowly.
The delivery guy, visibly nervous, kept checking his phone and muttering, "What am I going to do, late delivery will cost me…"
22nd floor.
23rd floor.
As the elevator neared the 28th floor—suddenly, a violent bang.
The elevator shook violently, then the screech of snapping metal. Before Jinhua could react, her body was falling—weightless.
The delivery man's scream, blaring alarms, her pounding heartbeat—all sounds mixed together.
The elevator was falling.
Images flashed through Jinhua's mind: her parents' hopeful gaze, Zhou Zhiruo's smile, countless nights working late, models on the runway…
And that summer day ten years ago, at the crossroads of her life.
If only she could do it over…
If she could do it over, she'd say "no" without hesitation.
She wouldn't give up her dream for anyone, wouldn't let her parents down, wouldn't compromise at the age she should have fought hardest.
Boom—
Darkness claimed everything.