First meeting Murong Bai
After the ruffians fled in disgrace, the oppressive atmosphere in the porridge stall suddenly relaxed. A few waiters dared to come over and ask Ah Xiu about her well-being with a look of fear in their eyes.
Ling Xiuqing simply responded with a few words, her eyes falling on the man in front of her who claimed to be a reporter.
Murong Bai.
She remembered the name. In her previous life, when she was still unmarried, she had occasionally heard it from her father. The youngest and most famous reporter at Shenbao, with a sharp writing style and avant-garde thinking, was said to have offended many powerful figures, yet always managed to escape unscathed. His background was mysterious.
I didn't expect that after my rebirth, I would have an encounter with him in this way.
"Mr. Murong." Ling Xiuqing stood up and looked at him neither servile nor arrogant. "Thank you for what you did just now."
"It's just a piece of cake." Murong Bai waved his hand, and his peach blossom eyes looked at her with interest.
The woman before him was clearly as thin as a reed, her complexion sallow from long-term malnutrition. Yet, her eyes were startlingly bright. There was no timidity or numbness often seen in girls from lower classes, only a calmness and... indifference beyond her years.
The image of her just now, holding scissors and confronting the thugs, was still clearly imprinted in his mind. That ruthlessness was not something an ordinary woman could possess.
"I'm curious," Murong Bai said, breaking the silence. "Aren't you afraid they'll actually take action?"
"I'm afraid," Ling Xiuqing answered honestly, "but fear is useless. Here, the weaker you are, the easier it is for you to be devoured without a bone left."
This was the realization she gained after her rebirth, paid for with blood and hunger.
Murong Bai was slightly startled, then burst into laughter. His laughter was hearty and tinged with appreciation.
"Well said." He put away his camera and pulled out an exquisite silver cigarette case from his suit pocket. He popped out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and then slowly said, "I first noticed you half a month ago, on that street corner in the south of the city."
He paused and recalled, "It was a cold day, and I was doing an in-depth report on the slums. Then, I saw a very strange scene—a ragged girl, concentrating on embroidering an exquisite 'Mandarin Ducks Playing in the Water' pattern on a patched old dress."
His eyes fell on Ling Xiuqing's slightly rough hands. "That kind of environment, that kind of focus, and that kind of skill... the contrast was so great that it was unforgettable. I thought at the time, this must be someone with a story."
It turned out that he had noticed me a long time ago.
Ling Xiuqing understood. She didn't respond, but just listened quietly.
"Later, I wrote that report 'Strange Woman in the Lane,' originally intending to draw some attention to low-income artists." Murong Bai blew out a puff of smoke, his eyes becoming somewhat profound. "But I didn't expect your story to be even more fascinating than I imagined. From 'The Dignity of a Bowl of Porridge,' to 'The Beggar's New Clothes,' to just now 'Drawing the Sword to Repel the Enemy'... Miss Ah Xiu, you've made me more and more interested in your 'story.'"
His words sounded like praise, but were actually full of inquiry.
Ling Xiuqing's heart sank with alarm. She knew the man before her was far from the cynical man he appeared. His sharp insight, like a scalpel, could slice through her disguise at any moment.
She couldn't reveal her true identity, at least not now.
Then, she lowered her eyes, her voice raspy and tired, as befitted an orphan. "Mr. Murong, you're joking. I don't have much of a story. I'm just struggling to survive."
Murong Bai was surprised again by her impeccable and unyielding demeanor.
He stubbed out his cigarette and suddenly changed the subject: "I came here today not only to see you, but also for another matter. Have you heard of Mrs. Jin in the west of the city?"
Mrs. Jin?
Ling Xiuqing's memory quickly flashed to a name: Jin Meiling. A renowned Shanghai socialite and the favored mistress of rising shipping tycoon Mr. Du. Known for her fashionable clothes and lavish spending...
"What's wrong with her?" Ling Xiuqing asked.
"She had a top-notch lace evening gown custom-made in France, and a few days ago, it was accidentally scratched by the champagne tower's frame while she was at a ball." Murong Bai's lips curled up with a playful smile. "It's said that she's searched all the most famous tailors in Shanghai, but they all said it couldn't be repaired. A friend of mine recommended you to her, saying there's an 'embroidery fairy' in the south of the city who can turn decayed things into something magical."
Ling Xiuqing's heart skipped a beat.
She knew that the opportunity she had been waiting for had come.
From the slums in the south of the city to the wealthy areas in the west; from worthless rags to a priceless French lace dress. This is not just the restoration of a piece of clothing, but also the first step for her to cross the social class and return to the vision of the upper class!
"So," Murong Bai's peach blossom eyes narrowed slightly, like a cunning fox, "Madam Jin's housekeeper asked me to ask you if you dare to take on this job?"
Do you dare?
Ling Xiuqing slowly raised her head, and for the first time, a raging fire ignited in her calm eyes.
She looked at Murong Bai and said clearly and firmly, word by word:
"There's no piece of clothing in the world that I, Ling... Ah Xiu, can't mend."
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