The rain thinned into a mist.
Mud clung to Lu Jianfeng's boots as he walked back toward the house.
The courtyard lights reflected against the wet ground, turning everything silver and cold.
Liu Meilin was still standing in the doorway.
Watching him.
Measuring him.
Understanding him.
The guards dragged the last attacker into the convoy. Engines started. Headlights cut through the darkness. Then silence returned.
Lu Jianfeng stopped a few steps in front of her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Water dripped from his hair down his jaw.
You should be inside, he said calmly.
"You escalated it," she replied just as calmly.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
You think I shouldn't have?
I think, she said slowly, stepping forward, if you move too openly, they'll stop hiding.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"And if they stop hiding?"
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Then I can see who funds them."
That made him pause.
Not because he disagreed.
But because he saw it.
She wasn't reacting emotionally.
She was planning.
Inside the house, the family gathered again.
Nobody returned to sleep.
Liu Qiang leaned against the table.
"This isn't random," he said.
"No," Liu Meilin agreed. "It's organized."
Liu Daqiang crossed his arms.
Liu Meilin turned to Lu Jianfeng
I need information.
You'll have it.
Quietly.
His gaze held hers for a long second.
Then he nodded once.
The next morning, the sun rose on a village that pretended nothing had happened.
But inside the Lui's home, strategy was unfolding.
Liu Meilin sat at the table with a stack of newspapers Lu Jianfeng had delivered from the city..
Business sections.
Trade columns.
Event announcements.
She wasn't looking for criminals.
She was looking for patterns.
Her fingers stopped on a familiar name.
National Youth Fashion Entrepreneur Competition : Beijing.
Her heartbeat slowed.
In her previous life, before transmigration…
She had entered similar competition.
She didn't win.
Not because her designs were weak.
But because she didn't have backing.
Sponsors controlled judges. Investors controlled exposure. Influence controlled outcomes.
And one of the primary sponsors…
She flipped the page.
There.
A trading conglomerate.
The same one currently pressuring rural suppliers.
The same one linked indirectly to last night's attackers.
Her eyes darkened.
Lu Jianfeng noticed immediately.
"What did you find?"
She slid the paper across the table.
They don't just control trade routes.
He scanned it quickly.
"They control platforms."
"Yes."
Liu Cheng frowned. "What does a fashion contest have to do with armed men?
"Reputation," Liu Meilin answered.
She stood slowly.
"In the 90s, influence doesn't come from the internet. It comes from stage presence. Newspapers. Investors."
She tapped the page.
"They launder legitimacy through public events."
The second sister in law blinked. You're saying…?
"I'm saying if I step onto that stage and win under my own name, I don't just gain business."
She looked up.
"I gain visibility they can't quietly erase."
Silence filled the room.
Lu Jianfeng leaned back slightly.
"You want to enter."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Zhao Lihua hesitated. "After everything that happened… now?"
Liu Meilin's voice was steady.
"Especially now."
That afternoon, she stood in her old storage room.
The one she converted months ago into a small design studio.
Fabric rolls lined the wall.
Sketchbooks stacked neatly.
She ran her fingers across silk.
In her last life, fashion had been her escape.
In this life, it would be her strategy.
Lu Jianfeng appeared at the doorway.
"You'll need security in Beijing."
I know.
You'll have guards.
Hidden, she replied immediately.
He studied her face carefully.
You don't want them visible.
I don't want to look protected.
He stepped inside.
"You are protected."
She met his gaze.
"I know."
She wasn't rejecting his strength.
She was integrating it into her own.Two days later, training began.
Not starvation.
Not desperate glow-up attempts.
She was already transformed.
This was refinement.
Morning:
Posture drills. Walk stability. Breath control.
Afternoon:
Private self defense sessions.
Because elegance without survival was decoration.
The instructor lunged suddenly.
She sidestepped.
Not perfectly.
But not clumsily.
"Again," she said.
Lu Jianfeng watched from the shadows of the training hall.
Assessing.
Every improvement.
Every weakness.
That night, alone in her studio, she began sketching.
From memory.
She remembered 1998's rise of structured feminine silhouettes.
She remembered 2001's obsession with clean minimalism.
She remembered what would sell before it became a trend.
Her pencil moved confidently.
High collar.
Modern cut.
Sharp waistline.
Subtle authority in fabric.
Not flashy.
Powerful.
She stepped back from the desk.
In the mirror, she didn't see a victim of an attack.
She saw a strategist.
The battlefield was shifting.
From guns in the dark
To lights on a stage.
And she intended to dominate both.
Meanwhile, in Beijing.
Inside a polished office.
A man flipped through a preliminary participant list.
His assistant spoke carefully.
"There's a new entrant from the rural region."
He barely looked up.Unaware
Is she funded?
"Unknown."
"Then she won't matter."
He signed the document casually.
Unaware
That the woman he dismissed had already survived death once.
And this time…
She wasn't playing to participate.
She was playing to win.