Chapter 38: Ren Yishan Actually Lacked Confidence

Li Jingche had left early. When Jian Qing woke up, there was no one by her bedside; instead, a maid stood respectfully at her side.

“Miss Jian, Butler Qian asked me to help you get dressed. The welcome banquet is at noon, so we need to leave in advance.”

A glance at the clock by the bed told her it was already ten o’clock; time was indeed tight.

The maid carefully avoided Jian Qing’s injured hand as she helped her clean up, then opened the wardrobe to reveal a selection of haute couture gowns, freshly delivered from the boutique the day before.

“Miss Jian, yesterday Butler Qian had us buy ten gowns for you. Would you like to choose the one you prefer?”

Each of the ten dresses had its own distinct style, all chosen to complement Jian Qing’s striking features. She was naturally beautiful, and the more luxurious and vibrant the dress, the more her elegance stood out.

Her eyes settled on a cerulean gown with trailing butterfly-wing sleeves that fluttered with the slightest movement.

“This one,” she said.

But as soon as she spoke, the door was pushed open. It was hard not to suspect someone had been eavesdropping outside.

Jian Qing turned and saw Ren Yishan standing in the doorway, dressed in a shimmering princess dress.

Ren Yishan was of a delicate, demure beauty, better suited to satin fabrics; this dazzling gown only served to overshadow her own presence.

“Sister, since it’s hard for you to walk, there’s no need to be so particular. Father has already frozen your credit cards. If you keep spending so recklessly, you’re only going to upset him again.”

Ren Yishan’s tone was sweet, calling “Father” so affectionately with every sentence. Jian Qing could only watch as she brought two bodyguards to take away all ten of her dresses. The maid wanted to intervene, but Jian Qing stopped her.

“So you know your own taste isn’t up to par and came to copy mine?”

Jian Qing knew how to hit a nerve.

Seeing Ren Yishan’s posture falter, Jian Qing became even bolder.

“It’s no wonder, really. The whole point of this welcome banquet is to outshine me, right? But you can’t compete with me in any way. What will you do? You must be so anxious…”

Jian Qing laughed, as if she were lounging on a chaise longue rather than a wheelchair. If it weren’t for her injured legs, she would have crossed them and reclined with ease.

“Jian Qing, you little wretch!”

Struck at her most sensitive spot, Ren Yishan’s nerves snapped. She grabbed a knife from the serving cart and shredded the ten gowns, leaving only strips of fabric in her wake.

Childish.

That was the only thought in Jian Qing’s mind.

She had thought this woman might have some clever strategy to seize her place in the Jian family, but it turned out to be nothing more than a fishwife’s tantrum.

Money was the last thing they lacked. A few ruined dresses could easily be replaced.

Jian Qing clapped her hands as if encouraging a child.

“Careful not to hurt yourself, dear sister.”

Ren Yishan glared at her menacingly.

“Jian Qing, just you wait!”

With that, she slammed the door behind her. The maid didn’t rush to clean up the ruined gowns, but instead asked anxiously,

“Miss Jian, should I go out and pick two more dresses for you now?”

“No need.”

Jian Qing waved her off, her gaze falling on a simple white gown in the dressing room.

She’d only worn it once; its plain design had convinced her to keep it tucked away. But now she recalled something Number 33 had once said—

“Dressed like this, you look like Snow White.”

She’d scoffed at him then, but now her eyes softened.

“This one will do.”

Though Number 33 wouldn’t be coming today, somehow wearing this dress gave her more confidence.

To say Jian Qing wasn’t afraid would have been a lie. For her, this welcome banquet was nothing short of a trap.

Other than Yan Jin, everyone present would be on Ren Yishan’s side—including the man she had called “Father” for over twenty years, and the childhood friend she’d grown up with.

After the maid helped her finish her toilette, Jian Qing offered a quiet thanks before Uncle Qian wheeled her to the car.

By the time they arrived, some guests had already gathered.

Ren Yishan wore a pale blue gown, almost identical in style to one of the dresses she’d destroyed earlier, though the color differed.

A few young ladies clustered around her, admiring her dress.

“The eldest Miss really is extraordinary—even though she didn’t grow up in the Jian family, her taste is unmatched.”

“That gown looks stunning on Sister Shan. Jian Qing could never pull it off like this!”

With such flattery, Ren Yishan became visibly pleased.

“This was designed by a Parisian designer for next year’s early spring collection; it hasn’t even appeared on the runway yet. Money alone can’t buy it. Now that Father is displeased with Qingqing, sometimes I feel guilty wearing such beautiful things.”

Jian Qing stifled a yawn behind her hand, and when she noticed someone else standing by Ren Yishan’s side, she had herself wheeled over, smiling sweetly.

“Sister, your dress is beautiful—except for being a high-quality imitation, everything about it is perfect.”

The comment brought color to Ren Yishan’s cheeks. She glared at Jian Qing, gritting her teeth.

“Qingqing, what are you talking about? I’m your sister—how could I wear a fake?”

Two socialites exchanged glances, clearly unwilling to get involved, preferring to spectate from the sidelines. But one young lady stepped up to defend Ren Yishan.

“Jian Qing, considering your current status in the family, if anyone were to wear a knockoff, it would be you—not Miss Ren.”

Jian Qing didn’t bother to argue. Instead, she pinched the fabric at Ren Yishan’s sleeve.

“The designer always stitches her name into the sleeve. Do you see it on yours?”

“O-of course!”

Ren Yishan yanked her sleeve away, but Jian Qing turned her head slightly, gazing at the woman who had been standing quietly beside Ren Yishan.

“Did you design this dress, madam?”

At the sound of her voice, Ren Yishan looked up in panic and saw a face she’d only ever seen on fashion websites during her morning crash course in couture.

How could it be?

Why was the designer herself here?

She’d only memorized the name, hoping to show off at the banquet. How had she stumbled upon the real person?

The designer didn’t spare Ren Yishan a glance. She shook Jian Qing’s hand lightly and replied in French,

“From the moment I saw her, I knew Miss Jian was the only one who could do justice to my creation.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll take my leave.”

Jian Qing watched the designer depart, then turned back to Ren Yishan before she could react.

“I didn’t invite her. Father, you, and Xiao Yuncheng brought all the guests. So think carefully—who has such valuable connections but kept you in the dark?”

Jian Qing’s voice was barely above a whisper, but to Ren Yishan, it was as heavy as a mountain.

“Uncle Qian, please wheel me to the dessert table. I’d like some cake.”

Uncle Qian, seeing Ren Yishan’s furious reaction, advised gently,

“Qingqing, don’t provoke her here. She’ll make trouble for you.”

Jian Qing nodded. Before she could reply, Ren Yishan had already ordered Uncle Qian away, leaving Jian Qing alone.

Sitting solitary in her wheelchair, Jian Qing remembered how, at similar gatherings in the past, people had flocked to her side, eager to curry favor—who wouldn’t want to befriend a beautiful, wealthy woman with a pleasant temperament?

But now, with Ren Yishan and Ren Tianchuan making their positions clear, no one dared come close.

Jian Qing even overheard whispers:

“The Jian family found their eldest daughter, and they still keep the crippled younger one—such kindness!”

“They probably just want to use her looks for some lucrative marriage alliance. That’s how businessmen think.”

“If only I’d spent my tuition on plastic surgery, knowing looks matter this much!”

“You couldn’t get a face like Jian Qing’s even if you tried.”

…and so on.

In the past, such compliments would have pleased her.

Now, she found no joy in them at all.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

As the clock struck twelve, Ren Tianchuan took the stage, microphone in hand.

Bored, Jian Qing took out her phone, snapped a photo of her little cake, and sent it to Number 33.

“What are you doing? Why did you leave so early this morning?”

But there was no reply from the other end.