Early winter, Shanghai. The rain fell without end.
Ning Pingping stood before the office window, staring blankly outside. Her heart felt like the winter rain beyond the glass—cold, damp, without a trace of warmth.
She and Wen Guohua had been out of contact for three months.
When Ning Pingping had resigned from Fenghua Apparel, Wen Guohua had not flown into a rage. He had merely lectured her coldly a few times and stopped contacting her proactively. But he still answered when she called, and they had not completely cut ties.
After all, they had spent several years leaning on and holding each other. It was impossible to simply sever that bond at the drop of a hat.
Moreover, Wen Guohua had never explicitly stopped Ning Pingping from pursuing her wish to "realize her own value." He neither supported nor opposed her, giving her the greatest freedom.
But after Ning Pingping's first commercial aired, she could no longer reach Wen Guohua.
Whenever she called, there was only silence before he hung up. He never replied to her pager messages. Unable to hold it in any longer, Ning Pingping wrote him letters, but they vanished like a clay ox entering the sea, without even a ripple of response.
"I'm not trying to cling to you. I just want to tell you. I succeeded. I only wanted to prove to you... that I was right."
Ning Pingping sniffed and muttered that resentful confession.
Three months earlier, Ning Pingping's first commercial had been released. Baolier Apparel had exploded across the mainland overnight. Within a month, dozens of distributors had arrived carrying cases full of cash to sign contracts, hoping to make a fortune alongside the "United States luxury brand."
Two months earlier, Ning Pingping's second commercial had been released. Baolier's orders had erupted, and