Chapter 57: The Genius Is Still on the Move
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s first reaction was: “An investor? Where did this fool come from? Why would someone invest in us for no reason?”
Jiang Bo: “Can you speak properly?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan was on the verge of losing it because Jiang Bo’s decision to “move the studio” was even more hasty than deciding to have an egg-filled pancake the next morning[mfn]In the phrase “明早吃鸡蛋灌饼” (eating egg-filled pancakes tomorrow morning), “鸡蛋灌饼” refers to a popular Chinese street food, an egg-filled pancake that is simple, fast, and casual. [/mfn].
She pressed on: “Move where?”
“To the capital. I refuse to believe anyone’s reach extends that far,” Jiang Bo said. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. Just focus on your work, pass the certification exam next spring, and learn more when you have time. Don’t ruin my reputation in the future.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan coldly replied: “Does this half-dead studio even count as ‘open’? Where is the signboard?”
“I’ve put up with you long enough, you know that?” Jiang Bo pointed at Jiang Xiaoyuan. “Be careful, or I’ll hire a professional team and fire an annoying employee like you who constantly burdens their boss. Why shouldn’t we move? The world outside is wide and vast. I couldn’t leave because I didn’t have money before, but now that we have an investor, why stay in this small place?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “What about our current client resources?”
“Advertise,” Jiang Bo said. “Online, posters, hire professional marketers. As long as our core competencies are solid, this isn’t a problem—core competency means your skills have to be top-notch and not fall short. Got it?”
After saying this, Jiang Bo hurriedly prepared to leave. Jiang Xiaoyuan quickly stopped him. “Wait!”
Empress Dowager Jiang turned back, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous grin, signaling for her to hurry up and speak.
Jiang Xiaoyuan hesitated: “About the preliminaries today, I…”
“I heard about it,” Jiang Bo, for once, didn’t lose his temper at her frustration. His hands in his pockets, he lowered his eyes for a moment, looking a bit lost. After a pause, he said quietly, “I really didn’t expect her to go this far. In this competition, there’s no way through. It seems like all your efforts were in vain. I’m sorry.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan couldn’t respond. Every time Jiang Bo apologized to her, it was always related to Ms. Fan.
But what had he done wrong?
Jiang Bo’s expression softened as he told her, “Even though we’re moving, don’t slack off on the work these next few days. I might go out of town soon. If clients come by, don’t mess up.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…You still haven’t told me who the investor is!”
Jiang Bo pretended not to hear, waved his hand, and walked away, clearly unwilling to tell her.
Jiang Xiaoyuan paced around the studio alone, and suddenly a thought popped into her head—why was Qi Lian near the preliminaries venue today? Could he be the so-called investor?
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Who else would be so rich and foolish to invest in such a small, hopeless studio?
Jiang Xiaoyuan immediately took out her phone, typed out a text message, and wanted to ask Qi Lian about it.
But after writing it, she hesitated and didn’t send it.
Jiang Xiaoyuan wavered, thinking: “Wouldn’t that make me seem a bit full of myself?”
If it really was Qi Lian, was he just rich and foolish, or was it because of her?
This kind of question couldn’t be analyzed rationally. Jiang Xiaoyuan’s “rationality” was limited, only screaming hysterically in her ear: “Look in the mirror more and stop being so self-centered.”
As time passed, whenever she faced difficulties, she found it increasingly hard to open up to Qi Lian.
Staring at the unsent message, Jiang Xiaoyuan felt a bit stifled. In this lonely space and time, she had no one to confide her tangled emotions in.
Then again, in her original world, she also had no one to confide in—her best friend was Feng Ruixue, who was nominally her close friend but in reality played the role of a little servant or follower. Their relationship was entirely unequal, and with Jiang Xiaoyuan’s personality—hard where she should be soft and soft where she should be hard—there was no way she could share her innermost thoughts with Feng Ruixue.
In interpersonal relationships, she appeared strong, but was actually very weak. The more she liked someone, the less she wanted to reveal any vulnerabilities, wishing she could present herself as an invincible queen.
She could never speak to others without standing on a pedestal, even if she was bluffing.
She was always insecure in this regard.
That evening, after Jiang Bo hurriedly dealt with Jiang Xiaoyuan and left the studio, he didn’t go far. He went to a quiet restaurant nearby to meet the “fool” who invested in them—Qi Lian.
Jiang Bo looked at the teapot on the table, clearly refilled with water, and asked in surprise, “Have you been waiting long?”
“I haven’t left,” Qi Lian said. “Please sit. I asked you here mainly because I want to ask you about your competition this time. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Jiang Bo didn’t answer directly. After sitting down across from him and pausing, he asked: “There are at least eight thousand studios like ours, unknown and without a future. Why did you agree to invest? Why bother helping?”
Qi Lian: “Because of Jiang Xiaoyuan…”
Jiang Bo: “She didn’t even ask you herself.”
Although Jiang Bo had been certain when speaking to Jiang Xiaoyuan, as if they were about to pack up and move right away, he was still full of doubts about this investor who had suddenly appeared.
Jiang Bo pressed on: “From what I know, she’s just an ordinary rural girl who dropped out of high school to work in the city—though it’s not obvious from the outside—but I really can’t imagine what kind of connection someone like you would have with her.”
Qi Lian: “…”
He poured himself a cup of bland tea, then after a pause, chuckled. “It’s the first time I’ve seen someone so wary of the person providing the money. You’re really protective of her.”
Jiang Bo smiled lightly. “We’re facing some difficulties, but not to that extent.”
“To what extent?” Qi Lian asked mildly. Then, more seriously, he added, “Mr. Jiang, you’re being too cautious. I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you. Frankly speaking, I understand her better than you do—very few things in this world can truly move her. At least, I don’t have what it takes. Even if I had ulterior motives, it wouldn’t matter unless she cared. I’m investing because I believe she’ll make it worthwhile in the future.”
Everyone loves money, but money is external. Regardless of one’s wisdom or morality, no one places material wealth above themselves—unless they equate it with something else, like life, security, dignity, or self-worth.
This was perhaps Jiang Xiaoyuan’s only advantage that set her apart from others: she never confused these things.
Jiang Bo stared at him for a moment, as if trying to see through his eyes and determine how much truth there was in his words. After a long while, the tension in Jiang Bo’s shoulders and face relaxed a little, seemingly accepting the explanation.
Qi Lian: “So what’s the trouble with your preliminaries?”
Jiang Bo sighed lightly and explained in a few words.
Preliminaries are usually registered by schools or studios. Organizations or schools with good relationships with the organizing committee can get more spots. Jiang Bo had already resigned from the school, and the studio wasn’t established enough. His personal connections were no match for Fan Xiaoxiao’s, and all the paths to the second round were blocked.
After hearing this, Qi Lian realized there wasn’t much he could do. He had little connection with the fashion or styling industries, aside from a half-hearted acquaintance with hairstylist Chen Fangzhou. He didn’t know anyone else.
But he didn’t show his difficulty, idly spinning the cup in his hand as he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll see what I can do.”
Jiang Bo: “Fan Xiaoxiao may have started in mining, but she’s been in fashion and cosmetics for a long time. Many makeup and styling schools still get supplies from her. The chairperson of this competition’s organizing committee knows her too. People may not want to offend her for the sake of an unrelated young person. Are you sure?”
Qi Lian: “No, I’m just going to try. It might not work. Can I see her submission? She wouldn’t show it to me.”
Jiang Bo pulled out his phone. Unbeknownst to Jiang Xiaoyuan, he had saved her presentation video on it.
With some amusement, Qi Lian said: “You really do care about her.”
Jiang Bo pretended not to understand the implication. “This could barely count as the studio’s signature work. It would be a shame if it went to waste.”
Qi Lian quickly copied the video, paid the bill, and left.
That night, he watched Jiang Xiaoyuan’s “Spring Bride,” which had been overlooked by the judges, over and over again. Being a complete outsider, he couldn’t make sense of the technical details, but he could feel an inexplicable happiness radiating from the model—an unyielding sense of hope in every detail.
Whether it was encountering Fan Xiaoxiao at the preliminaries or the shady dealings surrounding the event, Jiang Xiaoyuan hadn’t mentioned a single thing to Qi Lian. It seemed like she had been deliberately distancing herself from him. Suddenly, Qi Lian closed his phone, deciding that he shouldn’t keep waiting in the same place.
That very night, he found out who the sponsors of the regional preliminaries were. Qi Lian made several phone calls, eventually connecting with one of the investors. That same night, he arranged for an introduction, bringing gifts for a visit.
The investor’s wife happened to be one of the preliminaries’ judges. However, this judge didn’t seem to have much passion for the styling business, her true love being hand-weaving. From the moment Qi Lian entered the room, her hands, which were busy weaving, didn’t stop moving.
After explaining the reason for his visit, before the investor could respond, his wife, the judge, spoke first. “The preliminaries’ spots are all allocated to the schools and studios that nominated candidates. As for the quality of those candidates, the nominating institutions ensure their standards. They can’t be too far off—otherwise, even if they pass the interview, they’ll be eliminated in the written test or public voting rounds. It’s pointless.”
Qi Lian quickly interjected: “I don’t think my friend will have much of an issue. How about I show you some of her work?”
The judge gave a faint smile, and, out of courtesy, reluctantly accepted. She didn’t believe an outsider could really discern the quality of the work.
She flipped through it casually, dragging the video to the end, and suddenly let out a surprised “Oh!” “It’s her. I actually remember this girl.”
The investor beside her asked, “Didn’t you say you reviewed over a hundred bridal looks in a day, and by the end, you couldn’t tell who was who?”
The judge adjusted her glasses. “This one left a particularly strong impression on me. For one, she didn’t list out a bunch of elements or refer to any classic designs. She used an unusual warm color palette as a base, which was quite innovative, and the result was unexpectedly good.”
Qi Lian’s spirits lifted—there was hope.
But in the next moment, the judge gave him a polite smile and said, “I’m really sorry, though. Even if you’ve come to us now, there’s nothing we can do. It’s far too late. The spots for the written test were decided long ago. How could we possibly add someone at the last minute?”
Qi Lian refused to give up: “Is there any chance to add just one more spot?”
The judge replied: “The written test only selects the top thirty candidates, and the notifications have already been sent out. If we suddenly add one more, people might notice and accuse the preliminaries’ committee of shady dealings. What do you think?”
Qi Lian had nothing left to say.
At this point, the judge added, with a pointed remark, “Also, I think that ‘Nirvana Studio’ isn’t a very good name. It sounds hysterical, not positive. The next time your friend registers, she’d do better not to sign up under these random small studios. If she could register with a major institution or a famous styling academy, it would be much easier for me to help her.”
How could she have only a vague memory of Jiang Xiaoyuan’s work but know the name of her studio so clearly?
Qi Lian wasn’t clueless. He understood the judge’s implication—someone had spoken to the judging panel and blocked all entries from ‘Nirvana Studio.’
The judge: “I noticed that girl is still quite young. It wouldn’t hurt for her to gain more experience. After all, good things come with patience—being famous too young isn’t always a good thing. A few more years of maturing could open endless opportunities for her in the future.”
Her words were as worthless as air. Opportunities are fleeting, and who knows when the next chance will come?
The conversation had reached its end, and Qi Lian knew it was useless to continue. He took his leave.
This matter clearly had nothing to do with him, but Qi Lian still felt an inexplicable sense of defeat. Standing in front of his car in the chilly autumn night, he lit a cigarette, using the dim light from the streetlamp to watch Jiang Xiaoyuan’s video from start to finish again.
He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually, the frustration in his expression began to ease. Rubbing his chin, Qi Lian started scrolling through his contacts. Since the official route was blocked, he would have to take an unconventional approach.
At Nirvana Studio, Jiang Bo gave a quick notice and went off to another city to scout for a suitable location for the new studio.
All the work at home was casually handed over to Jiang Xiaoyuan.
Jiang Xiaoyuan was still deeply upset over her failure in the preliminaries and had no heart for work, let alone preparing for her exam.
For days, she didn’t even update the marketing accounts she used to run like clockwork. She spent her time idling at the studio, playing games, watching dramas, browsing forums—she even cleaned up when she had nothing better to do. Basically, anything but working.
She cleaned the floors twice a day. Thanks to her ‘sudden-onset cleaning obsession,’ the floors were polished to a mirror-like shine.
Then, one day, karma caught up to her—while she was aimlessly wandering around, she slipped and nearly took a hard fall. Instinctively, she grabbed onto a nearby small cabinet, causing it to topple over, spilling out a pile of folders.
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Oh no.”
Underneath one of the fallen folders, she saw Jiang Bo’s handwriting. The floor was still wet from being freshly mopped, and a large patch of the paper was soaked. Jiang Xiaoyuan’s heart raced with fear—what if these were important documents?
Jiang Bo would claw her face off!
She hurriedly moved the folders onto the desk, carefully wiping them with paper towels. As she opened one up, she realized it was full of hand-drawn designs.
In the bottom right corner, there was a signature and date, and many of the drawings seemed recent.
From overall concepts to detailed hairstyles, makeup, and accessories, Jiang Bo had meticulously broken everything down. Even though the sketches were simple, they had a striking impact.
His theme was: Spring Bride.
It wasn’t even a single design; Jiang Bo had outlined four themes: “River Thaw,” “Early Warmth,” “Flourishing Spring,” and “Late Spring.” The colors transitioned from soft to rich, fresh to intense, and ended with large blooms cleverly creating an atmosphere of grandeur fading to decay, as if time itself had been woven into the folds of his lines.
In comparison, Jiang Xiaoyuan felt that her own project—her sleepless nights drafting plans, printing designs, and recording videos, which she thought would astonish everyone—was utterly weak.
Her fog of lethargy suddenly lifted, as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head.
Even knowing he wouldn’t pass the preliminaries and hadn’t bothered to enter, what kind of mindset did Jiang Bo have when he completed four full design concepts?
Where did his inspiration come from? How did he come up with something so beautiful?
It was as if God had planted a lush garden of vibrant blooms in Jiang Bo’s soul. With a casual flick of his hand, he could instantly capture everyone’s attention.
Jiang Xiaoyuan could no longer wallow in self-pity. After kneeling down in awe over Teacher Jiang’s sketches, she meticulously copied all his notes into her own notebook. Her bitterness over the competition vanished without a trace.
She guiltily shouldered the responsibilities she had abandoned and hurried to catch up.
Even geniuses keep pushing forward, so what excuse does an ordinary person have to complain?
Just before noon, the office phone rang. Jiang Xiaoyuan picked it up. “Hello, this is Nirvana Studio. How can we assist you today?”
On the other end of the line, a woman politely asked: “Hello, is there a stylist named Jiang Xiaoyuan at your studio?”
“Oh… yes, that’s me.”
A few minutes later, Jiang Xiaoyuan hung up, looking confused, and turned on her computer.
To attract followers, she ran her Nirvana marketing account by regularly posting everyday makeup tips. Some fans would save useful tips to their own pages, tagging her in the process. But since most were meaningless reposts, Jiang Xiaoyuan had turned off notifications for mentions and direct messages from people she wasn’t following. As a result, she hadn’t noticed she had suddenly been tagged countless times.
She scrolled through and found that someone had taken screenshots of the entry she had uploaded that day, created a set of photos, and skillfully enhanced them to the point that the model in the pictures probably wouldn’t even recognize herself. Then, they crudely compared these photos with some of the preliminary entries released by the official account of the preliminary competition committee, tagging a bunch of beauty and makeup influencers.
The title of the long post was: “Rejected Work vs. High-Scoring Work, haha.”
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