The car pulls through the estate gates.

I watch the main house come into view, every window lit. It’s late, later than I’ve ever come home before, and I’m suddenly aware that people might be waiting up.

Liang Feng opens the door and I step out, my feet aching after hours in these heels.

The front entrance is unlocked.

I push through and sure enough, Grandmother is in the sitting room, still dressed, tea in hand like it’s the middle of the afternoon instead of nearly midnight.

She looks up when I enter. "You’re back."

"Yes, Grandmother."

Her eyes track over my face, reading something I’m not saying. "The gala went well?"

"It was fine."

"Good." She sets down her teacup with a precise click. "The Li family merger is finalized, but cordial relations remain important. I trust you handled yourself appropriately."

"I did."

She studies me for another moment, then nods. "Get some rest. You look tired."

I am.

In ways that have nothing to do with standing in heels.

"Goodnight, Grandmother."

I head upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

When I push open the bedroom door, Bael is already in bed, laptop balanced on his knees, working.

He glances up when I enter.

"You’re back late," he observes.

"The gala ran long."

"How was it?"

The question is casual, polite, exactly the kind of thing someone asks when they’re supposed to care but don’t really.

"Fine," I say. "Met some people. Networked."

"Good."

That’s it.

That’s the entire extent of his interest.

He’s already looking back at his laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard like I’ve been dismissed.

I grab my things and head to the bathroom without another word.

The navy suit comes off, the careful styling gets undone, and by the time I emerge in soft clothes, I feel slightly more human.

Bael has closed the laptop.

His light is off, and he’s already turned away, facing the window.

I slide into my side of the bed, keeping distance between us.

The silence stretches.

Feifei’s words loop through my head.

*It was that my brother didn’t trust me enough to tell me.*

I close my eyes and try to make my brain stop.

Sleep comes eventually, broken and restless.

***

Sunday morning, I wake up alone.

Bael’s side is already cold, like he left hours ago.

I grab my phone and pull up the browser before I’m fully awake.

"DingShan Real Estate master-planned community competition."

The page loads.

Information is live.

**Master-Planned Community Design Competition**

**Registration Open - Closes in Two Weeks**

So it’s already open.

I scan through the details, my brain lighting up at the scope.

Community-scale residential design, sustainability integration, innovative planning concepts. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Then I hit the requirements.

**Submission Requirements:**

- Portfolio (minimum 3 completed projects)

- Design proposal addressing sustainability, community integration, and innovative residential planning

- Proof of architectural education OR professional licensure

I stare at that last line.

Read it again.

Fuck.

I don’t have either.

Original Runze dropped out third year. Never finished, never got licensed.

And I can’t exactly claim credentials from another universe.

The frustration builds sharp and hot in my chest.

The talent is there, the sketches in my study prove it.

But without the right piece of paper, I can’t even get through the door.

I close the laptop before I get too angry to think clearly.

There has to be a workaround.

I just need to find it.

***

The week passes.

Bael leaves early, comes home late, works through meals when he bothers showing up.

We talk, but only in the mechanical way people do when they’re going through motions.

"How was your day?"

"Fine. Yours?"

"Busy."

"I see."

End of conversation.

He asks because he’s supposed to, I answer because it’s easier than not.

But I’m mostly the one who keeps it surface-level, who doesn’t elaborate, who changes the subject or excuses myself before things can go deeper.

Because I don’t want to believe whatever he says anymore, don’t want to read meaning into polite questions or think his concern is real when it’s probably just habit.

Safer this way.

Less chance of getting hurt when he inevitably pulls away again.

I spend most of my time in the study, sketching preliminary concepts even though I can’t register yet.

Sustainable residential clusters, green corridors, pedestrian-priority layouts.

The ideas flow, and I let them, because at least this feels like something I can control.

Wednesday afternoon, my phone buzzes.

**Mrs. Zhou:** *Runze! Tea tomorrow at 2? The usual place. Mr. Kim and Mr. Wei will be there, and Ling Yue mentioned he might stop by.*

I stare at the message, then at the sketches spread across my desk.

Ling Yue.

Jin Hao’s boyfriend.

Jin Hao, who chairs the selection committee for the DingShan competition.

This could be an opportunity.

If I play it right.

**Me:** *I’ll be there.*

***

Thursday at 2 PM, I’m at the tea house.

Mrs. Zhou is already at the corner table with Mr. Kim and Mr. Wei, and they light up when they see me.

"Runze! So glad you could make it."

I slide into the empty seat and let the conversation flow around me, half-listening while I plan.

I can’t seem too eager, can’t make it obvious I’m here for a specific reason, just... casual. Natural. Let it come up organically.

Ling Yue arrives about twenty minutes in, apologizing for being late, something about Jin Hao’s schedule.

He drops into the seat beside me with an easy smile. "How’ve you been?"

"Good. Busy."

The conversation shifts through topics, charity events, social obligations, the usual spouse circle talk.

Then Mrs. Zhou mentions she’s been trying to get back into painting.

Perfect.

"I’ve been doing something similar," I say, keeping my tone light. "Picked up sketching again. Architecture stuff, mostly."

Mr. Kim perks up immediately. "Architecture? I didn’t know you studied that!"

"For a while. I didn’t finish, but I still enjoy it."

"Do you have any work to show?" Mrs. Zhou asks warmly.

I pull out my phone like it’s a casual thing, not something I planned. "Some. Just exercises, really."

I scroll to the photos I took specifically for this, my best residential layouts, the mixed-use concepts that show actual understanding.

I hand the phone to Ling Yue first.

Strategic.

He’s the one who matters here.

He studies the screen quietly, scrolling through, and I watch his expression shift from polite interest to genuine attention.

"Runze." He looks up. "These are really good."

"Thanks. Like I said, just exercises."

"No, seriously." He scrolls again. "This spatial planning, the way you’ve integrated green corridors here, this shows real understanding."

Mr. Kim leans over to look, making impressed noises.

Ling Yue is still studying my phone. "You should submit these somewhere. Actually..." He pauses, like the thought just occurred to him. "DingShan is running a design competition right now. Master-planned community. This would be perfect for it."

I take a sip of tea, carefully neutral. "I saw that, actually."

"You should enter."

"I thought about it." I pause, like I’m reluctant to admit the problem. "There’s a credential requirement though. Education or licensure."

"You didn’t finish your degree?"

"Third year dropout."

"Ah." He’s quiet for a moment, still looking at my sketches. "That’s unfortunate. Jin Hao would love this kind of work in the competition."

I don’t jump on it, don’t ask the obvious question.

I just let the silence sit there, like I’m accepting the disappointment.

Ling Yue sets my phone down carefully. "You know... the selection committee has discretion for exceptional cases. If the work is strong enough, they can waive requirements."

I look up, careful not to seem too eager. "Really?"

"Jin Hao chairs the committee. If he saw your full portfolio and thought it warranted inclusion..." He trails off, letting the implication hang.

"Would he be willing to look at it?"

"I could show him." His smile is easy. "No guarantees, obviously. But if your portfolio is as strong as these sketches, I think there’s a decent chance."

I keep my expression professional, grateful but not desperate. "I’d appreciate that. Thank you."

"Send it over when you’re ready. I’ll make sure he sees it."

***

Two days later, Saturday afternoon, my phone rings.

Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Runze? It’s Ling Yue."

My grip tightens on the phone. "Hey."

"Jin Hao reviewed your portfolio. He was impressed, wanted me to tell you that directly. He spoke with the selection committee this morning and they’ve agreed to waive the credential requirement."

The relief hits hard.

I close my eyes, letting it sink in.

"You’re serious."

"Completely. You’re registered. Should have confirmation in your email already."

I’m already pulling it up.

**Registration Confirmed: DingShan Master-Planned Community Design Competition**

"Runze?"

"Yeah. I’m here. Just, thank you for making that happen."

"Jin Hao made it happen. Just make sure what you submit is worth it."

"I will."

We talk for another minute before hanging up.

I sit there staring at the confirmation email.

Registered.

Actually registered.

Two months to design something that could win.

Two months to prove this is real.

I don’t tell Bael.

The thought doesn’t even cross my mind.

We’ve barely had real conversations all week, and this feels separate from all of that anyway.

Something that’s entirely mine.

Something he doesn’t get to turn into another move in whatever game he’s playing with Xue Lian.

Just mine.

I pull out fresh paper and start sketching with actual purpose.

Two months.

I can do this.