Continuing from your uploaded Part 1.

Ms. Phuong stared at me as though I had slapped her.

“Defective goods?”

Her voice rose.

“Do you understand what one meter of that silver thread costs?”

I walked toward the glass case.

“Your real silver embroidery thread probably costs a lot.”

I pointed at the crane’s tail.

“But that isn’t what was used there.”

Tham Van Y laughed.

“Sister, stop.”

She grabbed my arm.

“You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough.”

I pulled away.

“Put the dress under warm light for ten minutes.”

Ms. Phuong’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I noticed.

She knew.

A voice suddenly came from the stairs behind us.

“Do what she said.”

Everyone turned.

An elderly woman descended slowly, supported by a cane.

Ms. Phuong immediately bowed.

“Madam Van.”

Even Tham Van Y straightened.

The woman was Van Cam’s founder.

A legendary textile collector who had dressed half the important families in the capital before retiring.

Madam Van looked at me.

Then at the dress.

“Light.”

Nobody dared refuse.

A staff member brought over a professional lamp.

Five minutes passed.

Nothing.

Then ten.

A dark discoloration slowly appeared along several silver threads.

The boutique became completely silent.

Madam Van touched the embroidery.

Her expression turned icy.

“This is not the thread I approved.”

Ms. Phuong’s face went white.

“Madam, perhaps the supplier—”

“Do you think I became blind when I retired?”

She looked at the inner seam.

Then the base stitching.

“Machine foundation.”

Exactly what I had said.

Tham Van Y stopped smiling.

Madam Van turned to me.

“How did you know?”

“My appraisal teacher made me memorize old textiles.”

“Who?”

“Old Zhou from Chengnan Pawn.”

The cane in Madam Van’s hand stopped.

“Zhou Ming?”

I nodded.

She stared at me for several seconds.

“That old monster is still alive?”

“Very alive.”

I thought about it.

“He cheated me out of lunch last month.”

Madam Van suddenly laughed.

Not politely.

Actually laughed.

“Then you really are his student.”

Apparently Old Zhou had once authenticated an imperial textile collection for Madam Van.

And apparently he had also insulted three of her favorite pieces while doing it.

Madam Van turned toward Ms. Phuong.

“Close the shop.”

Ms. Phuong panicked.

“Madam!”

“Inventory audit. Supplier audit. Every custom order from the last six months.”

Then she looked at the dress again.

“If inferior material was substituted into client orders, you will explain where the difference in money went.”

Ms. Phuong nearly collapsed.

I had only wanted clothes.

Instead, I had accidentally opened an accounting investigation.

Tham Van Y looked at me differently when we walked outside.

Not respect.

Calculation.

“Sister.”

“What?”

“You knew Madam Van?”

“No.”

“You knew Zhou Ming?”

“He taught me.”

She laughed softly.

“Do you know how many collectors would pay to meet him?”

I thought about the old man who made me sweep his pawn shop every morning.

“No.”

Her expression tightened.

For the first time, she did not know whether I was pretending.

That evening, Father already knew what happened.

He called me into the study.

“Why didn’t you tell us you studied artifact appraisal?”

I sat opposite him.

“You never asked.”

His expression stiffened.

Mother tried to smooth things over.

“We thought you had just returned from the countryside and needed time to adapt.”

I nodded.

“I do.”

Brother Tham Tri Hanh adjusted his glasses.

“Old Zhou may have taught you something, but don’t become arrogant because of one coincidence.”

I looked at him.

“Okay.”

That answer somehow irritated him more than an argument would have.

Then Van Y entered.

She had already recovered her sweet smile.

“Dad, tomorrow is the match with Young Master Tan.”

She looked at me.

“Sister, remember to dress appropriately.”

I nodded.

“I will.”

The next afternoon, we arrived at a private Go club.

Tan Nghiep was already waiting.

I recognized him immediately.

He had grown taller.

His face had become sharper.

His clothes probably cost more than the entire village house where I grew up.

But the moment he frowned at the board, he looked exactly like the boy who used to lose to me and blame the stones.

Van Y bowed elegantly.

“Young Master Tan.”

He nodded.

“Miss Tham.”

She sat opposite him.

Father and Brother watched from behind.

I stood near the tea table because apparently that was still my assigned position.

The game began.

Van Y was good.

Much better than average.

After thirty moves, Father was smiling.

After fifty, his smile disappeared.

At seventy-two moves, Tan Nghiep placed a black stone.

Van Y’s entire formation collapsed.

He said:

“You lost.”

Her face went pale.

“I can continue.”

“No need.”

He stood.

Father immediately stepped forward.

“Young Master Tan, perhaps another game—”

“No.”

His eyes moved past everyone.

Then stopped on me.

The cup in his hand froze.

I lifted mine.

“Hello.”

Tan Nghiep stared.

Then:

“You.”

Van Y forced a laugh.

“Young Master Tan, this is my sister. She just returned home and doesn’t understand many rules yet.”

He ignored her completely.

“You disappeared.”

I scratched my head.

“My adoptive father moved.”

“I went looking for you three times.”

“I didn’t know.”

His voice became louder.

“Your master told me you had gone to steal food somewhere!”

“That sounds like him.”

Everyone stared at us.

Father finally asked:

“You two… know each other?”

Tan Nghiep turned toward him.

“Know each other?”

He laughed.

“This woman destroyed my confidence for ten years.”

The room froze.

I frowned.

“That sounds exaggerated.”

“You beat me twenty games consecutively.”

“Nineteen.”

His eyes widened.

“Twenty!”

“The twelfth game didn’t count. You overturned the board.”

“Because you trapped my entire center!”

“That sounds like your problem.”

Tan Nghiep pointed at me.

“Sit.”

Van Y’s face changed.

“Young Master Tan, my sister hasn’t received formal—”

“Miss Tham.”

He finally looked at her.

“Please don’t interrupt.”

She went silent.

I sat.

Tan Nghiep placed the stones.

“One game.”

“No.”

His face darkened.

“Why?”

“My master said playing weak opponents too often lowers my level.”

Behind me, someone coughed violently.

Tan Nghiep’s temple twitched.

“Three games.”

“Then I’m leaving.”

“One.”

I sighed.

“Fine.”

Thirty-one moves later, he stopped smiling.

Forty-seven moves later, Brother leaned forward.

At sixty-two, Father stood up.

At seventy-one, I placed a white stone.

Tan Nghiep stared at the board.

Then leaned back.

“I lost.”

Nobody spoke.

He reset the pieces.

“Again.”

“You said one.”

“Double or nothing.”

“There was no bet.”

“I’ll create one.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

He pointed toward Father.

“The Tham family wants Qin Capital’s participation in the land auction.”

Father’s face changed.

Tan Nghiep continued:

“If you win again, Qin Capital signs the cooperation framework today.”

Van Y stood abruptly.

“Young Master Tan!”

I looked at him.

“And if I lose?”

“You play twenty games with me during New Year.”

“That sounds worse than losing money.”

His mouth twitched.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

The second game lasted longer.

I won anyway.

Tan Nghiep stared at the board for half a minute.

Then took out his phone.

“Bring the contract.”

Father looked as though someone had struck him.

The three-billion-yuan cooperation he had spent months negotiating had just been settled over a board by the daughter he had told to pour tea.

Van Y’s fingers turned white around her handbag.

Then Tan Nghiep said something even worse for her.

“By the way, Chairman Tham.”

Father straightened.

“Yes?”

“You should investigate where the rumor about Miss Mac Luong originated.”

“What rumor?”

“That Qin Capital would withdraw cooperation because your biological daughter lacked upbringing.”

Father froze.

Tan Nghiep’s expression became cold.

“I never said that.”

My brother immediately frowned.

“But the fiance’s family told us—”

“They lied.”

Silence.

Tan Nghiep continued:

“Qin Capital evaluates assets, risk and management.”

He looked at me.

“We do not decide three-billion-yuan projects based on whether someone knows how to hold a teacup.”

Van Y’s face became pale.

Father asked:

“Then who spread it?”

Tan Nghiep glanced at his assistant.

The assistant placed several printed messages on the table.

They had traced the rumor because it had used Qin Capital’s name.

The first message came from someone attached to my fiancé’s family.

The information source inside the Tham household?

A private account registered to Van Y.

My brother snatched up the pages.

His face changed with every line.

Van Y whispered:

“Brother, I can explain.”

The messages were simple.

Mac Luong has no education worth mentioning.

She embarrasses the family.

If the engagement can be transferred to Van Y, cooperation will be smoother.

Another:

Dad already prefers me. Just keep applying pressure.

Father sat down slowly.

Mother covered her mouth.

For the first time since I returned, no one looked at me like the embarrassing child.

They looked at Van Y.

She began crying.

“I was afraid!”

Father’s voice became hoarse.

“Afraid of what?”

“That after she returned, I would lose everything!”

She pointed at me.

“Do you know what it feels like? Twenty years! I was your daughter for twenty years!”

“And then she appears and suddenly everyone starts talking about what belongs to the ‘real daughter’!”

I looked at her.

Strangely, I understood part of it.

Fear can make people ugly.

But fear does not erase responsibility.

Van Y continued:

“I only wanted the engagement!”

I finally spoke.

“You could have asked me.”

She froze.

“I don’t want it.”

“What?”

“I never wanted a fiancé I hadn’t chosen.”

The room became silent again.

Apparently that possibility had occurred to nobody.

That evening, my fiancé’s family arrived at the Tham residence.

Their attitude had completely changed.

Yesterday, I had been the country girl whose engagement needed reconsideration.

Today, with Qin Capital’s cooperation signed, I was suddenly “Miss Tham, whose hidden talents were impressive.”

My supposed fiancé, Gu Mingchen, smiled at me.

“We were misled.”

I looked at him.

“By whom?”

He hesitated.

“Our relatives received inaccurate information.”

“You spread it.”

His smile stiffened.

“The engagement was arranged by our grandfathers. We shouldn’t let misunderstandings—”

“I agree.”

Hope appeared in his eyes.

Then I continued:

“So let’s cancel it.”

The living room exploded.

Mother stood.

“Mac Luong!”

Gu Mingchen stared at me.

“You want to cancel?”

“Yes.”

“You know how many families want this marriage?”

“Then choose one of them.”

He looked insulted.

“You think Qin Capital’s support means you can look down on me?”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I looked down on this engagement before Qin Capital knew I existed.”

That was the end of it.

The next week came the three-billion-yuan land auction.

Father asked me to attend.

This time, not as an assistant.

As a representative.

I agreed under one condition.

“My name goes on the project team.”

Father looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“And if I contribute, I receive the same compensation structure as everyone else.”

His expression changed again.

I continued:

“Not daughter treatment.”

“Professional treatment.”

For once, he nodded immediately.

We won the project without exceeding the maximum price Qin Capital had set.

Tan Nghiep later claimed it was because of his strategy.

I reminded him he had lost two Go games that week.

He stopped talking.

Van Y did not disappear from the family.

Life was not that simple.

My parents had raised her for twenty years.

Love cannot be deleted like a bank account.

But Father removed her from all negotiations connected to the project.

Brother stopped covering for her.

She was required to apologize formally for spreading false information.

And for the first time in her life, being loved did not protect her from consequences.

As for me, I moved out.

Mother cried.

“You just returned.”

“I know.”

“Are you still angry with us?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

Father looked relieved too quickly.

I added:

“But I don’t want to live in a house where I have to perform a talent before someone believes I deserve respect.”

Nobody spoke.

Brother lowered his eyes.

Finally he said:

“I was wrong.”

I looked at him.

He swallowed.

“I thought because Van Y had education and connections, she naturally knew more than you.”

“Yes.”

“I never actually asked what you knew.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

That apology mattered.

It did not magically make us siblings.

But it was a beginning.

I rented a small apartment near Chengnan.

Old Zhou came to visit and insulted my furniture.

My chef teacher sent frozen dumplings.

My retired military instructor called to complain that I had gotten lazy.

My Go master sent only four words:

Tan Nghiep still terrible?

I replied:

Yes.

Tan Nghiep somehow found out.

He called me furious.

I hung up.

For the first time since being brought back to the Tham family, I laughed until my stomach hurt.

A year later, the land project officially broke ground.

At the ceremony, reporters crowded around Father.

One asked:

“Chairman Tham, is it true your biological daughter received no elite education before returning home?”

Father looked toward me.

A year earlier, he might have been embarrassed.

This time he said:

“Yes.”

The reporter waited.

Father continued:

“And that taught me a lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That education and ability are not always packaged the way people expect.”

Then he added:

“My daughter did not need the Tham family to teach her how to become valuable.”

His voice softened.

“We needed to learn how to recognize the value she already had.”

I said nothing.

That was enough.

I never married Gu Mingchen.

Van Y eventually built a career outside the family company.

We were never close sisters.

But years later, she apologized to me without tears or excuses.

I accepted it.

Not because what she did was small.

Because I no longer needed her punishment to prove I had won.

And Tan Nghiep?

He still challenged me every New Year.

He still lost.

Just fewer times.

When I first returned to the capital, everyone told me the same thing:

Learn the rules.

Speak less.

Look more.

Don’t embarrass the family.

I did learn one rule eventually.

A very useful one.

Never confuse someone else’s inability to recognize you with your lack of worth.

They called me a country girl.

They asked me to pour tea.

They dressed Van Y as the real daughter and treated me like the replacement.

Then a famous collector confirmed my eye.

A Go genius recognized my name.

A three-billion-yuan project needed my judgment.

Suddenly, everyone knew how to respect me.

But by then, I had already understood the most important thing:

Respect that appears only after powerful people approve of you is not respect you should depend on.

I had survived sixteen years away from the Tham family.

I had learned from strange teachers in stranger places.

I had found my way home without knowing whether anyone there would want me.

So when they finally asked me to stay,

I smiled.

And chose my own door instead.