The black dress was cut just to the shoulders, patterned with faint embossed motifs that shimmered under the light—
subtle yet expensive.
At the hem, delicate lacework opened into a playful hollowed pattern, balancing sophistication with charm.
Her hair was braided neatly into a single plait and pinned at the back of her head,
giving her a fresh, sweet, and quietly confident air.
Chunky round-toed heels completed the look—no sharp glamour, no deliberate seduction,
but a serenity that drew the eye all the same.
“Mr. Min… this must’ve cost a fortune, right?”
Vivian asked nervously, glancing down at the exquisite fabric.
“Don’t worry. Not expensive,” Simon replied, casting a cool glance at the long-haired stylist behind her.
The man instantly forced a smile.
“Of course not, miss. Entire outfit and styling—barely a thousand RMB.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Vivian exhaled in relief, stroking the skirt.
“For a moment I thought it would be sky-high.”
The stylist almost choked.
He—one of the nation’s most renowned image designers, the man behind countless movie-queen looks—charging a thousand?
But if Mr. Min told him to lie, he lied.
“Perfect,” Simon said, satisfied, taking Vivian’s hand and leading her out.
He hailed a cab, dropped her at the entrance of the grand hotel where the gala was held—
and then quietly slipped in through a side door himself, heading for the mezzanine on the second floor.

Inside, crystal chandeliers cast golden light across the crowded ballroom.
“Vivian Wen!”
Sister Liang waved from across the hall.
Vivian smiled and hurried toward her.
Nearby, Summer Wen—draped in sequins, laughing too loudly beside a film producer—
caught sight of the subtle black figure gliding past.
The producer’s eyes drifted, following the newcomer.
Jealousy flared in Summer’s chest like acid.
She’d spent hours perfecting her outfit, yet a woman in a simple black dress stole the attention with a single glance.
Sister Liang took Vivian’s arm, beaming.
“You look perfect tonight—elegant but not showy. I was worried you might overdress and draw the wrong kind of attention.”
In that moment, Vivian understood Simon Min’s intention completely.
He’d protected her again—
because in this circle, one wrong impression could ruin a career.
“Tonight you’ll meet some top-tier figures,” Sister Liang said, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Remember their faces. Opportunities in this industry come only once.”
She guided Vivian through introductions—directors, producers, investors.
Vivian handled each with poised warmth, her thoughtful remarks earning quiet nods of approval.
Around them, the real power brokers were already encircled by hungry artists and agents,
each conversation a silent battle for favor.
After a while, Sister Liang drew Vivian aside.
She tilted her chin toward the far end of the room.
“That’s all the people I can introduce. The rest is up to you.
See that elegant woman over there? That’s Mrs. Li—Director Yunye Li’s wife.”
Vivian’s eyes widened.
“Yunye Li? The Yunye Li—the genius who created China’s box-office legend?”
Sister Liang nodded with a wistful smile.
“The very same.”
“Oh my God…” Vivian breathed, straightening instinctively.
“Everyone dreams of working with him. He doesn’t care about fame—he only looks at acting.
Anyone who lands a role in his films skyrockets. Even our company’s top stars rarely make his cut.”
Her eyes glimmered with both admiration and regret.
“He’s every actor’s dream—and every agent’s miracle.
If you can connect with Mrs. Li, maybe you’ll achieve what I never could.”
Vivian’s heart pounded.
Determination sparked in her gaze.
She nodded firmly, then took a steady breath and began walking toward Mrs. Li.