A Hundred Eyes and Still the Brightest Star
The golden morning light poured over the city like warm tea, casting soft shadows on the tiled roofs. Jia Lan stepped out of the car in front of the Youth Arts Bureau, her silk scarf fluttering as she adjusted her pearl clip in the mirror. Her second brother had insisted on dropping her off again — something about a "suspicious brat" riding a bicycle near their neighborhood. Probably a mosquito, knowing him.
Inside the Bureau, a few early birds turned their heads as Jia Lan walked in, her high-heeled clogs tapping gracefully against the polished linoleum floor.
"Morning, Comrade Jia," called Wang Fei from the logistics desk, nearly dropping his teacup.
"Morning, Comrade Wang," Jia Lan greeted with a soft smile. "Didn't sleep well? You're looking as pale as a steamed bun."
He flushed and almost choked on his tea.
Before she could reach her office, Sister Li popped out of nowhere like a spring-loaded dumpling.
"Jia Lan!" she hissed, waving a red envelope. "Come, come—I need your tastebuds."
Jia Lan blinked. "You're getting married?"
Sister Li rolled her eyes. "Don't be cheeky! It's my niece's engagement candies. Try them and tell me if they're too sweet. I suspect they're using cheap syrup again!"
Dragging her into the break room, Sister Li presented a small tray of red-wrapped sweets. Jia Lan nibbled one, tilted her head thoughtfully, and declared, "Mm… too much saccharin. It tastes like heartbreak in sugar form."
Sister Li burst into laughter, causing Zhao Meiling, already sipping her tea in the corner, to raise an eyebrow.
"Comrade Jia seems to have an opinion about everything these days," she said dryly.
Jia Lan turned to her with a polite smile. "And Comrade Zhao still manages to have none, even about her own outfit. Shall I send a telegram to the Fashion Bureau?"
Sister Li choked, and Zhao Meiling's ears turned pink.
By the time Jia Lan settled at her desk, a few peals of laughter from other rooms told her the candy-tasting scene had already spread like wildfire. She opened her files calmly, pen in hand, as though she hadn't just caused a minor comedic riot before 9 AM.
---
In their modest apartment in the city's teacher housing block, the smell of cabbage soup filled the room. Liu Fenfang sat by the sewing machine in the corner, threading a new spool, her face tight with frustration.
Shen Yimin flipped through the evening paper, trying to ignore the tension in the air — but it was too thick. She'd been irritated ever since they passed by the Youth Arts Bureau that afternoon and saw Jia Lan stepping into a car that looked expensive enough to transport provincial officials.
"She's always dressed like she's walking into a movie scene," Fenfang said abruptly, breaking the silence. "You'd think she was a foreign diplomat, not just some Bureau girl."
Shen Yimin didn't look up. "We don't even work in the same building as her. Why let it bother you?"
"I just…" she snapped the thread with more force than necessary, "I just don't get why everyone keeps talking about her. It's always Jia Lan this, Jia Lan that. I heard even Director Xu mentioned her to the city committee last week. Why?"
Shen Yimin folded the newspaper and sighed. "She's got presence. And talent. And her family... well, you know how powerful they are. Even after we tried to clear things up after that misunderstanding —"
"Tried? We apologized!" she interrupted. "We went to their house with gifts, bowed our heads, said all the right things."
He looked at her, voice calm but firm. "And yet not one of them accepted the apology. Her second brother didn't even look at me. Jia Lan acted like we didn't exist."
"She's arrogant," Fenfang muttered.
"No," Shen Yimin said slowly. "She has the power to be. That's different."
That silenced the room.
Liu Fenfang stared down at the tangled bobbin in her lap, her fingers trembling slightly.
"She's not even smarter than me," she mumbled. "If I keep working, keep pushing forward, I'll be better than her. I have to be."
Shen Yimin didn't say anything at first. He got up, walked over to the thermos, and poured himself a glass of water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
"She's not ahead of you because of luck, Fenfang. She's ahead because she walks into a room and changes the air in it. Whether it's her family, her upbringing, or just her... even if no one says it, everyone feels it."
Liu Fenfang swallowed hard.
"That's the problem," she whispered. "Even when she does nothing, she wins."
Outside, a chilly wind rustled the laundry hanging on their small balcony.
Inside, a quiet war burned beneath the soft hum of the sewing machine.
"She's being spoiled by that family of hers. You know her second brother visited again yesterday?"
"She's polite. That's more than I can say for most here," muttered Shen Yimin.
Liu Fenfang narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me you're falling for those looks. Pretty faces fade."
He didn't answer. He was too busy recalling the way Jia Lan had flicked her scarf with practiced elegance — like a heroine in a calendar painting come to life.
---
Around lunch, as Jia Lan sat in the staff courtyard beneath the mulberry tree, sipping soup brought from home in a thermos decorated with pandas, two young typists from the office next door passed by whispering loudly enough for her to hear.
"Have you seen her shoes? Imported rubber soles. I swear her blouse is real Hong Kong silk."
"She talks like she's in a movie."
Jia Lan looked up lazily. "You're both quite observant. Do continue — I want to know how the script ends."
The two girls fled with bright red faces.
Sister Li waddled over, balancing her own soup. "Child, you're going to give half this Bureau indigestion."
Jia Lan smiled, lifting her spoon like a toast. "Then I've done my civic duty."
---
That afternoon, even Director Xu seemed to be in a better mood as he passed her in the hallway and grunted what might have been a "Good work."
By the time the day ended, the entire Bureau was abuzz with the same conclusion: Jia Lan was too beautiful, too sharp, too quick, too much. But also… too fascinating to ignore.
As she walked out the Bureau's main gate, the sun dipped behind her like a spotlight, and even the wind seemed to slow down to admire her exit.