MW CH36

Chapter 36: Gone Is Gone

The day after Mochuan returned to Cuoyansong, he sent me a new contact’s info. It was Xiong Mingjie, head of the General Affairs Section at Cuoyansong Prefecture’s Rural Revitalization Bureau. A bit older than me, in his thirties, he was sharp, capable, and easy to work with.

We’d occasionally mention Mochuan. Though a Xia person like me, Xiong Mingjie’s admiration for him rivaled any Cenglu’s.

“Thanks to Pinjia, Cuoyansong’s been getting better and better. Last year, he even negotiated an education aid project with the Shannan government—tuition waivers so Cenglu kids could join classes in better-resourced areas. Some parents balked at sending their kids so far, but he went with us, house by house, convincing them all.”

“Cenglu folks are stubborn as hell—you’ve no idea how hard it is to sway them. Get them to plant cash crops? They’d never seen blueberries, so they thought we were scammers. Pinjia had to step in, saying blueberries were a gift from the Mountain Lord, carried down from the heavens, before they’d agree. Science doesn’t always cut it…”

“This generation’s Pinjia’s got a great image—city officials love dragging him to events. This seminar too. Our prefecture chief’s thrilled, says we might lag in economy or infrastructure, but in looks, Cuoyansong’s top-tier nationwide!”

“A lot of donations come just for Pinjia—like you. Those folks don’t believe in the Mountain Lord; they believe in him.”

I actually enjoyed hearing him talk about Mochuan. Each time, it felt like the seven-year gap was slowly filling in.

The charity Xin Yin project went smoothly. Signed in February, by April we’d confirmed samples and launched pre-sales.

With Cuoyansong’s official endorsement and Huangfu Rou’s marketing tricks, “Cenglu Xin Yin” shot up the trending lists. The designs hit mainstream tastes, priced right, rich with meaning—buying one meant doing good. Online orders broke ten thousand fast.

But before we could celebrate, something unexpected hit.

[“Did people forget what this guy did so soon? Does the internet have no memory?”]

[“A man who shames women wants to profit off them? How shameless. Think charity washes you clean? I can hear your abacus clicking from here.”]

[“Bone-deep misogynist, huh? Heard he’s gay too. No oversight—who knows if this charity cash actually builds Hope Primary School? I’m not buying.”]

[“Disgusting homo—your designs aren’t for women? Taking them to your grave?”]

The mob from the Pinewood Stream fiasco smelled blood and came for me again, staging another online trial. Hype-chasing accounts piled on—dozens posting identical copy at once, sparking a storm that shoved me back onto the hot search.

“These guys are internet hyenas—latching onto whatever’s trending,” Huangfu Rou fumed, pacing the meeting room. “I contacted their MCN company. They’ll shut up for two million.”

“Two million? Why don’t they just rob us?” I leaned back, twirling a pen, scoffing.

“Official hot search removal costs more. I underestimated those fans’ power, Bai Yin. Online boycotts are starting—Vivian’s been swamped with cancellations these past two days. If we don’t handle this, ‘BY YANN’s commercial value—your value—takes a hit.” She sat across from me, serious. “You don’t want a good charity project ruined by this, right?”

My grip tightened. She knew me too well—knew exactly how to sway me.

“What do you want me to do?”

She’d clearly planned ahead. “Pay the two million hush money, then issue an apology letter for your reckless comments last time.”

My brow furrowed. No way. “Not happening.”

I cared about this charity, sure, but not enough to apologize for something I didn’t do wrong.

Tossing the pen onto the table, I stood. “Why not donate the two million straight to Cuoyansong? That’d cover the canceled orders.”

Huangfu Rou looked up, incredulous. “How’s that the same? We’re not profiting off this charity—we’re already in the red. Fame was the upside, and now we’re getting nothing and you want to sink another two million? What’s your logic? You won’t take high-end orders—we rely on the online store. If our rep tanks and it folds, are we drinking the northwest wind?”

“I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do wrong,” I said, unyielding on principle. “If the store can’t hold up, I’ll fund it myself. No one’s drinking the northwest wind on my watch—relax.”

She stared, exasperated, like I was impossible to reason with. After a moment, she turned away, rubbing her forehead, switching topics.

“Aren’t you heading to Xiangshi tomorrow?”

Xiangshi hosts an international jewelry expo every year—miners and jewelers from everywhere gather. I’d gone the past two years, scored some finds, and planned to browse again this time, hunting for gems.

“Yeah, afternoon flight.”

“Fine. Safe trip. I’ll reach out if anything comes up.” She massaged her temples, not looking at me.

Years of friendship—I knew she resented me. Seeing her like this stung, but at the meeting room door, after hesitating, I compromised. “Fine, pay the two million hush money.”

Bending to some vile force like this pissed me off. I didn’t say more to Huangfu Rou—just yanked the door open with a dark look and left.

The next few days, I was at the Xiangshi expo for a week, then flew to an overseas sapphire mine for another week of treasure hunting.

I’d ditched Weibo long ago, so online noise didn’t reach me. Huangfu Rou didn’t bring up the hate storm in our video calls about work, so I assumed the hush money worked—my heat had died down.

Then Sun Manman sent me a link with an “envy-jealousy” emoji.

[“Bro, you’re trending again—good news this time! Design me a necklace for my wedding someday, yeah?”]

I clicked it—a Weibo post, over ten thousand reposts. It was about Miss Gu, the shipping tycoon’s daughter, wearing the butterfly orchid conch pearl necklace I’d designed for her wedding. It hit foreign news, and domestic accounts picked it up.

The long post had photos: Miss Gu in a festive burgundy gown, a diamond-encrusted question-mark necklace—wide at the top, tapering down. Look close, it’s an upside-down orchid winding around her neck.

The orchid’s heart and stem base each bore a top-grade pink conch pearl. Under lights, the diamonds’ dazzle and the pearls’ soft glow balanced perfectly—not overpowering, but impossible to ignore.

Scrolling down, another photo: daytime ceremony, her in a wedding dress, beaming happily. No subtle “Butterfly Orchid” this time—her neck held a bold, eye-catching winged necklace.

I bolted upright in bed, zooming in. No mistake—it was my Feather of God.

The caption named me as designer.

My mind raced through possibilities, all pointing to one person—Huangfu Rou.

The hotel AC was on, temperature fine, but I broke out in a cold sweat.

Pacing to the floor-to-ceiling window, I called Huangfu Rou. She picked up on the second ring, like she’d expected me.

“What’s going on?” My voice shook, barely controlled.

Feather of God was finished a month ago. Huangfu Rou borrowed it for photos and certification—standard stuff, no reason to suspect her. I’d been swamped with the Cenglu charity Xin Yin and didn’t follow up, assuming she’d returned it. I’d even planned to detour to Pengge during May Day, hand it to Mochuan myself… Never imagined it’d end up on someone else’s neck.

“Sorry. Be mad if you want—it was me,” she said, no excuses, laying it out plain.

After pitching the “Butterfly Orchid” to Miss Gu, she wasn’t thrilled—thought it was too plain for daytime, accused Huangfu Rou of wasting her time, nearly canceled the commission. Desperate to keep the big client, Huangfu Rou showed her the Feather of God design without telling me. Miss Gu loved it, bought both necklaces on the spot.

“Bai Yin, you know how much we made off those two alone? Eight figures after costs. I had domestic accounts repost the foreign news about her wedding, hired bots to steer the narrative—showing your high-end pieces aren’t off-limits, just not for ‘random nobodies.’ Check Weibo—your rep’s flipped. We won.”

Were we at war? Winning what? I suddenly felt like I didn’t know her. Back when the studio started—just us two—we’d photograph pieces together, pull all-nighters on promo stuff, hire staff side by side. Exhausting, but we fought as a team, no distrust. Now? Like a past life.

“So for money, for fame, you lied to me and stole Feather of God, right?” I tore through her lofty excuses, cutting to the bone.

I didn’t care what the internet thought. I cared that she had every chance to tell me and chose to hide it till the end.

She went quiet, then snapped back, “I did it for your own good.”

For me?

If it was for me, why weren’t my feelings first?

I laughed, bitter. “Was Pinewood Stream ‘for my own good’ too?”

She faltered, her fire snuffed out. “…I didn’t think you’d destroy it.”

That was as good as admitting it.

I’d only suspected before—she’s too sharp for such rookie mistakes, not signing contracts, sending one person to watch Pinewood Stream. Testing her now, I hit the mark.

When anger peaks, it turns absurd, laughable.

If she were here, I might’ve yelled. But miles apart, I was swinging at air, wasting energy.

One hand on the window, sunshine outside, my mood a storm of clouds.

“Let’s end it,” I said, calm after a long pause.

“I—”

“I’ll have a lawyer talk to you, including buying back your shares. Tell them what you want—I’ll try to meet it. Huangfu, let’s part on good terms.” She started to speak; I cut her off.

At this point, she knew me well enough to see my mind was set—no persuading me back.

“Fine,” she said softly, hanging up.

Clutching the phone, I slid down to sit by the window, staring at the ceiling, blank.

After who-knows-how-long, my eyes stung. I blinked and dialed Mochuan.

He probably wouldn’t check his cell this late, so I called his landline—number secretly saved from before.

It rang a dozen seconds before he picked up. “Who’s this?”

Pressing the phone hard to my ear, like it’d bring him closer, I rallied, hiding the tremor in my voice. “It’s me.”

Silence for a few beats, then: “What’s up?”

Anger surged back, morphing into a tidal wave of grievance. I dug my fingers into my scalp, yanking my hair, hoping pain would distract me.

“That Feather of God I said I’d give you—it’s gone. Can’t give it to you now. Sorry,” I rasped.

“Gone is gone,” he said, uninterested. “You called just for that?”

I wondered if he even remembered what Feather of God was.

“Yeah, guess I was forcing it on you anyway,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Nothing else. Bye—” Realizing he might not want a “see you,” I switched. “Hanging up.”

I cut the call fast. Tears spilled down my cheeks the next second.

Tossing the phone, I tried to choke them back, but it was useless—they poured out like a dam burst, wiping one away just for more to follow.

“Fuck!” My head thudded against the glass. I gave up fighting, slumping there. Eventually, they stopped on their own.

Jiang Xuehan, Mochuan, Feather of God—family, love, friendship… Everything I cared about, I couldn’t hold onto.

What a damn failure of a life.