Seeing Yang Xueyan fall into a strange silence, Zhuang Dongping was taken aback. It took her a moment to follow her teacher’s gaze to Lin Aiyun sitting nearby. Lin Aiyun was holding her bowl, a piece of winter melon still in her mouth, her cheeks puffed out adorably.
She was beautiful too—her skin fair and glowing, clean and bright. She didn’t look like a northerner, more like a girl from the south, just like her second aunt who had come from down south.
The two shared a similar air—soft and gentle without being overly fragile. It wasn’t something just anyone could replicate. One look, and she could tell.
After her teacher’s reaction to her words, Zhuang Dongping quickly came up with a thought—but her subconscious dismissed it just as fast.
Though that embroidery piece was vastly different from her teacher’s usual style, it wasn’t impossible that the teacher was experimenting with new methods.
Yes, that had to be it. Her teacher was quietly developing new stitching techniques and styles at home, preparing to surprise everyone—hence the secrecy.
Even if she was the teacher’s favorite and only disciple, she was no exception to that rule.
That reasoning clearly convinced Zhuang Dongping herself. Still, she couldn’t resist pressing Yang Xueyan for more details.
“What did the piece you saw look like?” Yang Xueyan, equally baffled, followed along with her line of questioning.
“A blooming flower—a peony! Vivid colors, bold and striking—very impactful!” Zhuang Dongping answered without hesitation, then added more details: “The bottom-left corner isn’t finished yet—there’s a gap.”
She had stood in the studio admiring it for at least ten minutes, studying the stitching from every angle and tracing its starting points. But no matter how she looked, it didn’t match Yang Xueyan’s usual technique. Puzzled, she guessed they’d be eating at this hour and, throwing caution to the wind, rushed over to ask the teacher herself—etiquette be damned.
That was just her nature, and her teacher and master wouldn’t hold it against her. She just hadn’t expected a stranger to be there. Feeling a little awkward in hindsight, she offered Lin Aiyun an apologetic smile.
Lin Aiyun curved her eyes in return, smiling back warmly. Having heard the whole exchange and now the description, she already understood what had happened—but she didn’t speak up to clarify.
By now, Yang Xueyan had pieced it together. Her eyes went wide, and she clapped her hands in realization: “Could it be the piece Aiyun was working on today?”
“I think so.” Lin Aiyun set down her chopsticks and nodded hesitantly.
“What!” Zhuang Dongping took a step forward in disbelief, her gaze burning as she looked at Lin Aiyun. This girl looked younger than her—if she really had embroidered that piece, then she was truly gifted by the heavens!
Having studied under Yang Xueyan since childhood, Zhuang Dongping was already among the best in her age group, with few rivals. But that came from years of painstaking practice and dedication.
However, creating something on par with that peony piece—she knew she couldn’t.
For a moment, Zhuang Dongping’s emotions swirled—admiration, envy, awe… all tangled up, leaving her head spinning and at a loss for how to react.
Yang Xueyan reached out and took her hand, gently calling her back: “Xiao Ping, what’s wrong?”
“Come, let me introduce you. This is your Cheng Ge’s wife, Lin Aiyun. She just arrived in the capital a couple of days ago. I only learned yesterday that she does embroidery, so I invited her over today to try her hand. The piece you saw is hers.”
“Aiyun, this is my student, Zhuang Dongping.”
“You two are about the same age—you should get to know each other and become friends.”
Lin Aiyun was the first to extend her hand, a smile curving her lips, her eyes bright as if holding a radiant light. Having already received such praise for her work, she had a good impression of Zhuang Dongping. Learning that she was Yang Xueyan’s student made her even happier.
Though she hadn’t seen her in her previous life, nor heard Teacher Yang mention having a student before.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Zhuang Dongping paused for a moment before snapping out of it and quickly grasping Lin Aiyun’s hand. The moment she did, she noticed how smooth and soft her skin was—delicate and pleasant to the touch.
True beauties were perfect from head to toe, unlike her—her hands were chubby, short, and stubby, far from pretty.
She lowered her lashes, not daring to hold on too long, and pulled back as if startled. Her usual lively demeanor gave way to restraint. She rubbed her fingertips together, and only after a long while did she look up again. “You’re Cheng Ge’s new wife?”
Thinking of Xiao Cheng—the boy who had always been the “other family’s child”—Zhuang Dongping shuddered. He was cold, ruthless, and harsh. Even the elders in the family spoke of him with a mix of fear and admiration. Though he was of the younger generation, he commanded respect wherever he went—because ability always spoke for itself.
And this beautiful woman before her was the very woman Xiao Cheng had brought back from a faraway province!
For some reason, after thinking of Xiao Cheng, Zhuang Dongping found Lin Aiyun’s face strangely familiar, as if she had seen her somewhere before. But she couldn’t place it, so she pushed it aside for now.
There were many rumors about Lin Aiyun in their circle, but not a single one matched the person standing before her!
If they ever found out, they’d be utterly shocked—just like she was now.
“Yes…” Lin Aiyun blinked, puzzled by Zhuang Dongping’s strong reaction. She was certain this was their first meeting.
“What new wife, old wife—call her sister-in-law.” Yang Xueyan laughed at the exchange and patted Zhuang Dongping’s arm in reminder.
“Sister-in-law.” Zhuang Dongping dared not speak carelessly this time and obediently greeted her.
Lin Aiyun nodded in acknowledgment.
“Come on, sit down and eat. Why are you all standing? Xiao Ping, go get yourself a set of chopsticks and a bowl.” Zhang Boli looked at the cheerful scene and smiled.
“Yes, let’s eat first. We can discuss other things after the meal.” Though Yang Xueyan was itching to see the embroidery piece Zhuang Dongping had praised so highly—it must be extraordinary—she couldn’t just abandon everyone and run off, could she?
Driven by curiosity, even her meal was half-hearted. She picked at her food distractedly, and since she couldn’t put down her chopsticks before everyone else was done, she poured herself a bowl of soup and sipped at it absently, spending the rest of the time piling food onto the two younger ones’ plates.
Finally, when everyone had finished, Yang Xueyan couldn’t wait another moment. She left the table-clearing to Zhang Boli with a quick instruction to have the housekeeper handle it, then hurried off toward the studio with Lin Aiyun and Zhuang Dongping in tow.
Before long, she started jogging—but soon regretted it as her stomach began to protest with dull aches.
“Teacher, slow down.” Zhuang Dongping couldn’t help clutching her abdomen and slowing her pace.
“Alright, alright.” Yang Xueyan didn’t dare rush ahead. She turned around only to see Lin Aiyun gently supporting Zhuang Dongping’s arm, asking with concern: “Are you okay? Should we stop and rest for a bit?”
Hearing this, Zhuang Dongping waved her hand, a little shy as she glanced at Lin Aiyun’s profile. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Lin Aiyun nodded, a warm smile on her face. “Let’s take it slow—it’s not far.”
“It’s my fault for being impatient.” Yang Xueyan came back and took Zhuang Dongping’s other arm, smiling apologetically. But as soon as they reached the studio door, she was the first to rush in.
When she saw the embroidery, her pupils constricted sharply—her heart tightened like a fully drawn bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.
“Aiyun, come here.” After a long moment, Yang Xueyan waved excitedly at Lin Aiyun, who was still at the door. Her eyes shimmered with admiration, and if you listened closely, her voice trembled with emotion.
To an outsider, however, Yang Xueyan’s face remained expressionless, which only made Lin Aiyun’s already nervous heart beat faster. She took several deep breaths to steady herself.
Hearing the call, Lin Aiyun instinctively let go of Zhuang Dongping’s arm, stepped forward, and looked at the embroidery on the frame. A flicker of confusion crossed her face: “Auntie, what’s wrong? Is there a problem?”
Given Zhuang Dongping’s earlier reaction, her embroidery should have been quite good. So why…
Her heart was in turmoil, swinging like a pendulum with no solid footing. But thankfully, Yang Xueyan’s next words snapped her out of her anxiety.
“No, no, no—how long have you been doing embroidery? In such a short time, you finished a piece this large and detailed—a peony like this?”
“Which master did you study under? So young yet with such solid technique and skill—truly rare! And the treatment of the stamen—even I would struggle to…”
Yang Xueyan’s voice rang in her ears like a thunderclap. Her mind went blank, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall into a strange silence. Her breathing quickened, and a wave of joy at being affirmed by her mentor surged through her.
But she quickly calmed down, took a deep breath, and smiled modestly: “I just did some sewing and mending for the family as a hobby. I taught myself and embroidered flowers for fun—I’ve never had a formal teacher.”
“Huh?” Neither Yang Xueyan nor Zhuang Dongping could believe their ears. With skills like hers, and no teacher? Who would believe that! But upon reflection, they could see how it might be true.
They’d heard that Xiao Cheng’s wife came from a rural village. Finding an embroidery master in such a place would indeed be difficult. Besides, they knew every registered master in the national embroidery association by heart. There was one in Jiangming Province, but she had passed away years ago.
In her final years, she had been bedridden, barely able to hold a needle, let alone teach.
And Lin Aiyun had no reason to lie. If she truly had a great teacher, she would be proud to mention it, not hide it. Besides, she didn’t seem like the type to forget kindness or abandon her roots.
So this stunning skill—entirely self-taught?
Calling it heaven-sent talent wouldn’t be an exaggeration!
“Sister-in-law, you’re not even twenty yet, are you? To be this skilled and this fast at such a young age—you’re a genius! Even Teacher praised you! You don’t know, but she’s incredibly strict about embroidery. I’ve never heard her praise a younger person’s work in all my years—this is the first time!”
“Oh, by the way, sister-in-law, how did you stitch this? Could you give me some guidance? And can I try embroidering something similar? I really love this piece of yours!”
Zhuang Dongping hadn’t forgotten what she’d come for. Seizing the opportunity, she sang praises while also angling for some personal benefit.
Lin Aiyun let out a sheepish laugh. She wasn’t a genius at all—this was the accumulation of decades of practice in her previous life, plus the guidance she’d received from Yang Xueyan and others, gradually steering her from amateur to professional, step by step, improving her skill over time.
Still, being praised felt good—a little pride and satisfaction welled up inside her, especially after receiving recognition from Teacher Yang. That sense of fulfillment was at its peak.
Because Zhuang Dongping was right—Yang Xueyan rarely praised anyone. In her previous life, Lin Aiyun had only received two compliments from her, and that was it.
The feeling was like when you were in school—you’d poured your heart into an essay, and your Chinese teacher praised it highly, read it aloud to the whole class, and later posted it on the wall for everyone to see. Your heart would just float.
Though she was thrilled inside, she kept her composure and said humbly with a gentle smile: “No, no—my work is nothing. Auntie’s embroidery is the truly brilliant one… Miss Zhuang, of course you can embroider something similar!”
“Sister-in-law, don’t call me Miss Zhuang—just call me Xiao Ping. Otherwise, it’s too formal.” Zhuang Dongping gave Lin Aiyun a playful, reproachful look, correcting her address.
“Alright, Xiao Ping.”
Lin Aiyun obliged with a helpless laugh. The thing was, Zhuang Dongping was a few months older than her, yet she called her “sister-in-law,” which made any form of address feel awkward. Calling her “Xiao Ping” seemed too intimate for a first meeting, and she worried it might come across as trying to get too close too fast. But since the girl herself had insisted, she didn’t hold back.
“That’s more like it.” Zhuang Dongping nodded in satisfaction. Hearing that she could take the piece to study, her face bloomed with smiles, and she thanked her profusely.
Just then, Yang Xueyan—who had been silently studying the peony—turned around and spoke again: “Aiyun, I’m confident your entry into the embroidery association is all but certain.”
“I’ll bring this up with the president. I’m guessing that once she sees this piece of yours, she won’t turn you down.”
Hearing this, Zhuang Dongping’s smile faltered. She looked at Yang Xueyan in surprise. The embroidery association? Lin Aiyun could join? Even she herself hadn’t officially become a member—she was more like an assistant, doing odd jobs.
Now Lin Aiyun was going to get in, and with such high praise from her teacher—something she wouldn’t even dare to dream of.
But skill was skill. Lin Aiyun’s ability spoke for itself. Zhuang Dongping didn’t even have the courage to question it.
She unconsciously clenched her hands, not even realizing when her nails had dug deep red crescents into her palms.
As for Lin Aiyun, a flicker of joy crossed her face, her bright eyes shimmering with emotion. But before she could speak, Yang Xueyan changed tack.
“But the association isn’t just the president and me. Getting in is only the first step. To truly settle in comfortably, you’ll need the recognition of the other members.”
“To be safe, I’d like you to complete a full, substantial piece in the coming days. Since you’re young, the work itself will need to convince the other members.”
Lin Aiyun was overjoyed. Amid her excitement, she still remembered to ask: “How soon do you need it? I’ll get started right away—but what should I embroider?”
“No rush. Your wedding is the priority right now. Focus on that first, and work on the embroidery in your spare time. As for the subject—anything goes. There are no restrictions.”
Yang Xueyan smiled gently, reaching out to pat Lin Aiyun’s hand reassuringly.
“No restrictions” was itself a restriction. But Lin Aiyun understood it was another test for the embroiderer, so she didn’t press further.
They turned the conversation back to embroidery, neither noticing Zhuang Dongping’s discomfort.
After chatting for a while, Yang Xueyan led Zhuang Dongping away, leaving Lin Aiyun the space to finish the remaining part of her morning’s work.
Only when they were far away did Yang Xueyan continue praising Lin Aiyun. Initially, when she’d heard Xiao Cheng’s wife did embroidery and wanted to join the association, she hadn’t taken it seriously. She’d agreed mostly out of consideration for Xiao Cheng—after all, how good could a young girl barely in her twenties be? Surely not good enough for the association.
She’d expected the girl would need more time and practice.
But today, Lin Aiyun had given her one surprise after another—like stumbling upon a major treasure after a long expedition in the mountains.
“Looks like you can’t judge people by their appearance. Who would have guessed such a beautiful young girl could be so skilled at embroidery? Don’t you agree, Xiao Ping?” Yang Xueyan didn’t hide her admiration.
Zhuang Dongping felt a bitter taste in her mouth at the words, but she couldn’t argue, nor did she have grounds to. She forced a smile and said lightly, “Teacher, I’ve never seen you this happy—you’re practically praising sister-in-law to the skies.”
“Haha, am I?” Yang Xueyan touched her upturned lips, unbothered. “Excellent people deserve praise, or they might never realize how good they are. Aiyun keeps such a low profile—I almost missed out on such a promising talent.”
“She has no teacher. I wonder if she’d be interested in taking one.” The words were murmured, almost like an offhand thought—but they sent shockwaves through Zhuang Dongping’s mind.
Was her teacher thinking of taking Lin Aiyun on as a disciple? Making her a student too?
But hadn’t she said she would only take one student? How could she change her mind now? People changed, of course, and her teacher might have just said that casually back then, not meaning it. Now, years later, meeting such a gifted prodigy—wanting to take on a new student to carry on her legacy—was only natural.
But if Lin Aiyun did become her teacher’s disciple, how would Zhuang Dongping maintain her standing in the association? For years, everyone had known her as Teacher Yang’s only student, and they’d treated her accordingly.
Wouldn’t she lose face completely—both publicly and privately?
“Xiao Ping? Xiao Ping?” Yang Xueyan called several times before snapping Zhuang Dongping out of her daze. Seeing her blank expression, Yang Xueyan laughed and scolded: “What are you thinking about? I called you so many times and you didn’t hear a thing.”
“Nothing—I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Zhuang Dongping’s heart was racing. She didn’t dare voice her petty thoughts, and afraid Yang Xueyan might notice something amiss, she hurriedly changed the subject.
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