Five months after I arrived in Shenzhen, Quan Chi Design received an invitation that made the entire office explode.
Qingci Cosmetics was launching its new flagship line.
The project we had worked on was only the first phase.
Now they wanted a complete visual upgrade for stores, advertising, gift boxes, and their annual launch event.
The total contract value exceeded eight million yuan.
More importantly, Qingci had invited several design companies to compete for the second phase.
Including us.
Our creative director walked into the meeting room carrying a thick stack of documents.
“This time, they’re not looking for something safe.”
His eyes swept over everyone before stopping on me.
“To Nian.”
I looked up.
“You’ll lead the proposal.”
The room went silent.
Even Zhou Wei stopped chewing her pen.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
He placed the documents in front of me.
“The client liked your first design, but they said exactly what I said before.”
His finger tapped the folder.
“You’re holding back.”
I smiled helplessly.
“My ability—”
“Don’t give me that again.”
He leaned back.
“I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. I know the difference between someone who lacks skill and someone who deliberately refuses to show it.”
Zhou Wei immediately nodded.
“Exactly!”
I turned toward her.
She raised both hands.
“I said nothing.”
The director continued.
“I don’t care why you’re hiding. But if Quan Chi wants this contract, I need your best work.”
For the first time in months, I hesitated.
I had come to Shenzhen because I wanted anonymity.
Peace.
A life that had nothing to do with Tran Duy.
At Quan Chi, no one knew I was Nian Bai.
No one treated me differently because hundreds of thousands of people followed my illustrations.
I liked that.
But perhaps hiding had slowly become another form of fear.
That night, I went home and opened a blank canvas.
For almost an hour, I didn’t draw anything.
Then I remembered what Tran Duy used to say.
“Can you really support yourself by drawing?”
I put my hand on the tablet.
And started.
This time, I didn’t hold back.
Three days later, when I placed the finished proposal on the conference table, nobody spoke.
The creative director stared at the screen.
Zhou Wei looked at me.
Then back at the screen.
Then back at me.
Finally she whispered:
“To Nian…”
“What?”
“Who exactly are you?”
I laughed.
“A graphic designer earning twelve thousand a month.”
“Bullshit.”
The director ignored us.
He slowly turned through every page.
Packaging.
Store displays.
Seasonal illustrations.
A complete visual system built around moonlight reflected in porcelain.
At the end, he closed the laptop.
“Send this.”
One of my coworkers hesitated.
“Shouldn’t we revise anything?”
The director looked at him.
“Revise what?”
No one answered.
The proposal was submitted that afternoon.
The next morning, Qingci called.
They wanted a meeting.
Not next week.
Not after another round.
That afternoon.
When we arrived at their headquarters, the brand director shook my hand personally.
“Ms. To, did you design this entire proposal?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me strangely.
“Have we worked together before?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I smiled.
“Quite sure.”
She continued studying my face.
Then she opened a folder and pulled out an old perfume gift box.
I recognized it immediately.
My fingers tightened.
It had been released two years earlier.
One of Nian Bai’s collaborations.
The director placed it next to my proposal.
“The line work.”
She pointed.
“The negative space.”
Then the small hand-painted flowers hidden inside the packaging.
“These feel very familiar.”
Zhou Wei slowly turned toward me.
I kept my expression calm.
“Many designers have similar styles.”
The director smiled.
“Of course.”
She didn’t push.
But before we left, she said:
“Qingci wants your team.”
Our director exhaled.
Then she added:
“But there is one condition.”
Everyone became tense.
She looked at me.
“Ms. To must remain the project’s chief designer.”
The news spread through Quan Chi before we even returned.
Our small company had beaten three major agencies.
My salary increased.
I received my own team.
And suddenly, people who barely spoke to me before started bringing coffee to my desk.
Zhou Wei waited until everyone left for lunch.
Then she rolled her chair over.
“Nian Bai.”
My hand stopped.
“What?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Nian. Bai.”
I continued typing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She pulled out her phone.
On the screen was one of my illustrations.
Then she placed my rough Qingci sketch beside it.
“Same way of drawing eyelashes.”
I stared at her.
She pointed again.
“Same tiny crescent moon hidden in the corner.”
I said nothing.
Zhou Wei’s mouth slowly fell open.
“Oh my God.”
“Keep your voice down.”
She covered her mouth.
“You are Nian Bai!”
I grabbed her wrist.
“Quiet.”
Her eyes became enormous.
“Three hundred thousand followers Nian Bai?”
“Three hundred and forty-two thousand.”
She almost screamed.
I glared.
She lowered her voice immediately.
“You earn half a million a year from illustration and you live on the sixth floor of a building without an elevator?”
“The rent is cheap.”
“You eat fifteen-yuan beef noodles with me!”
“They’re good.”
“You told HR your ability was only average!”
“That one was a lie.”
Zhou Wei stared at me for several seconds.
Then suddenly hugged me.
I stiffened.
“Why are you hugging me?”
“Because I’m proud of myself.”
“For what?”
“I knew you were suspicious from day one.”
I laughed for the first time in weeks.
It felt surprisingly good.
Then she became serious.
“Did your ex know?”
“No.”
Her smile disappeared.
“He didn’t know?”
“No.”
“And he still looked down on your drawings?”
I nodded.
Zhou Wei was silent for a moment.
Then she whispered:
“I almost feel sorry for him.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because one day he’s going to find out.”
She smiled.
“And that day is going to be hilarious.”
I didn’t know how soon her prediction would come true.
Tran Duy’s wedding was scheduled for Saturday.
I knew because mutual friends began posting invitations.
I muted them all.
On Friday evening, my mother called.
“To Nian.”
“Mom.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Then she said:
“Tran Duy is getting married tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Are you really not coming back?”
“No.”
“His mother asked about you.”
I smiled.
“Why?”
“She said you two were together for four years. Even if you couldn’t become husband and wife, you shouldn’t become enemies.”
“We’re not enemies.”
“Then—”
“He’s just irrelevant now.”
My mother went quiet.
After a moment, she asked gently:
“Are you doing okay there?”
I looked around my small apartment.
The old laptop.
The drawing tablet.
A pile of Qingci samples.
And the first contract offering me 1.2 million yuan for a new Nian Bai licensing project.
“Yes.”
For once, I meant it.
“I’m doing very well.”
The next afternoon, while Tran Duy was getting married in Beijing, I attended Qingci’s annual launch event in Shenzhen.
I wore a simple black dress.
No jewelry except small silver earrings.
I had planned to remain backstage.
But ten minutes before the presentation, the brand director approached me.
“To Nian, we need you on stage.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“The press wants to meet the chief designer.”
“My director can represent the team.”
She smiled.
“They specifically asked for you.”
Something felt wrong.
Then I walked into the main hall.
And understood.
Behind the stage was an enormous screen.
My Qingci artwork filled it.
Beside it was another image.
One of Nian Bai’s most famous illustrations.
The host smiled.
“Before introducing Qingci’s new visual identity, we have one small surprise.”
My stomach tightened.
Zhou Wei, sitting below the stage, covered her mouth.
The host turned toward me.
“Ms. To Nian, perhaps it’s time your fans finally knew your real name.”
The screen changed.
NIAN BAI — TO NIAN.
The hall erupted.
Cameras rose everywhere.
For four years, I had hidden behind a pen name.
That afternoon, the secret disappeared in less than ten seconds.
My phone immediately began vibrating inside my bag.
One notification.
Ten.
Fifty.
Within half an hour, my name was trending.
Nian Bai reveals identity.
Famous illustrator becomes Qingci chief designer.
Nian Bai’s annual licensing revenue exceeds seven figures.
I was still answering reporters when Zhou Wei rushed toward me.
Her expression was strange.
“What happened?”
She handed me her phone.
“Your ex’s wedding.”
On the screen was a livestream recorded by one of our mutual classmates.
Tran Duy stood beside Lam Duyet wearing a black suit.
They were about to exchange rings.
Someone at the table suddenly looked at their phone.
Then another person did the same.
Whispers spread.
Finally, one of Tran Duy’s old university friends walked over and showed him the screen.
I watched his expression change.
First confusion.
Then disbelief.
Then complete stillness.
The video on the phone showed me standing beneath the Qingci logo.
The caption read:
FAMOUS ILLUSTRATOR NIAN BAI REVEALS TRUE IDENTITY AFTER FOUR YEARS.
Tran Duy took the phone.
He zoomed in.
Once.
Twice.
As if he could somehow turn me into another person if he looked closely enough.
Lam Duyet leaned toward him.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
His friend said awkwardly:
“Isn’t that… To Nian?”
Another person exclaimed:
“Wait, Nian Bai is your ex?”
The entire wedding table became strangely quiet.
Someone else searched the name.
Then read aloud:
“Copyright collaborations… cosmetics… publishing… luxury brands…”
Another pause.
“Estimated annual income…”
Tran Duy suddenly snapped:
“Enough.”
But everyone had already heard.
Lam Duyet looked at him.
“You told me she was an ordinary designer.”
He said nothing.
“You said she couldn’t even support herself without a salary.”
Still nothing.
Then the wedding host reminded them that the ring ceremony was waiting.
Lam Duyet extended her hand.
Tran Duy looked at it.
But instead of taking the ring—
he looked down at his phone again.
At the photograph of me smiling on a stage thousands of kilometers away.
That night, at 11:12, I received a friend request from a new WeChat account.
I almost deleted it.
Then I saw the message attached.
To Nian, I didn’t know.
Another came immediately.
Why did you never tell me you were Nian Bai?
I stared at those words.
Four years together.
And the first question he asked after discovering the truth was why I had not told him.
I deleted the request.
Then another account added me.
We need to talk.
Deleted.
A third.
I’m coming to Shenzhen.
This time, I paused.
Then blocked it too.
Zhou Wei, sitting beside me eating takeout, glanced at my screen.
“Is he bothering you?”
“Apparently.”
“On his wedding night?”
I looked at her.
She froze.
Then slowly put down her chopsticks.
“No way.”
My phone rang.
Unknown Beijing number.
I rejected it.
Immediately, a text arrived.
It wasn’t from Tran Duy.
It was from Lam Duyet.
Only one sentence.
“Ms. To, Tran Duy disappeared from our wedding reception after seeing your interview.”
Then a second message appeared.
“And before he left, he asked his assistant to book the earliest flight to Shenzhen.”
I looked at the screen for several seconds.
Zhou Wei leaned over.
“Well?”
I locked my phone.
“Nothing.”
Then I picked up my chopsticks again.
Because what Tran Duy still didn’t understand was very simple.
Four months ago, I had left Beijing because of him.
Now, even if he crossed the entire country for me—
I was no longer waiting at the other end.
