Echoes of Ambition

Chapter 1

The phone rang, breaking the silence with a familiar buzzing sound. When the video call connected, the screen filled with the faces of her parents.

"Yingying, what time is it over there? Is it colder in Shanghai or Huangshan? Can you guess how cold it is in Russia right now? What did you eat today? Are your undergarments hand-washed? Don't use the shared washing machines in the guesthouse."

Her mother's rapid-fire questions jumped from topic to topic, like an endless volley of words. Her father, as usual, didn't rush to speak first. He simply smiled warmly at the camera, his eyes crinkling in the familiar way that spoke of long years spent listening to his wife's chatter without interruption.

Jing Chunying's face mirrored her father's patient expression. But, being her mother's daughter, she knew how to skillfully redirect the conversation with one strategic question.

"Mom, that pendant on your neck looks beautiful. Did Dad buy it for you on this trip?"

As expected, her mother's attention shifted immediately.

"Oh, yes! It's Baltic amber. We went to a jewelry store after leaving Red Square this morning. Everyone in the group thought it was too expensive, but your father insisted on buying it for me because, in his words, what matters most is that I like it. I couldn't stop him! I even told the group how he's been like this since he was young..."

A wave of sweet nostalgia washed over the conversation, like an unexpected gift. Jing Chunying smiled as her mother's story filled the room, even choosing not to correct her use of "Baltic" versus its intended meaning. In her teenage years, she'd once privately mocked her mother, thinking her intelligence and looks were inversely related. Her mother had always embodied the idea of the "beautiful fool"-with limited knowledge, inconsistent logic, and a disregard for subtle nuances.

Conversations with her mother often circled back to boasting about marrying a good man or praising her "sweet and considerate" daughter. It could be tiresome. But now, ten years later, Jing Chunying realized that even a simple, naive woman could radiate positivity and share happiness.

Take the pendant incident, for example. As a professional in the jewelry industry, Jing Chunying knew the discrepancies in quality and price all too well. But did it matter? In an atmosphere free of forced purchases, her father had bought it with joy, her mother wore it with pride, the guide earned their commission with a smile-everyone won. What was wrong with that?

"Dad, Mom, have fun! The guesthouse I'm staying at is lovely, so don't worry about me."

Jing Chunying seized the moment when her mother finally paused for breath to turn her phone's camera towards the guesthouse owner, a cheerful woman stringing up colorful lights in the yard.

Her father's gentle voice, deep and calm, chimed in, "Good, stay safe when you go up the mountains. We'll be in St. Petersburg soon. If I see that Fabergé egg you mentioned, I'll take a picture for you."

Unlike her mother's outward proclamations, her father's pride in his designer daughter wasn't vocal but understated. Yet he remembered the industry icons she admired and their renowned works.

After the call ended, Jing Chunying stood up from the sofa in the guesthouse lobby, planning to make herself a cup of coffee. She turned and noticed a man standing by the coffee machine.

He looked to be in his early thirties, not tall or broad-shouldered but poised-not craning his neck or slumping his back. His face carried a quiet intellectual air.

Netizens were right: the best "cosmetic surgery" for a man was a well-fitted jacket and a clean, non-greasy appearance.

Remembering the shadow she had seen in her peripheral vision earlier, Jing Chunying spoke up, "Oh, did you hold off on using the coffee machine so the noise wouldn't disrupt my call?"

The man's lips curved slightly. "The machine is a bit loud. Go ahead, you first." He stepped aside.

Jing Chunying nodded her thanks and reached for a cup. Just then, her phone rang again. This time, the caller's voice blared so loudly that the speakerphone setting was unnecessary.

"Miss Jing, what kind of design is this? Do you know what happened today? I was playing mahjong with my friends, and they all said my ₹200,000 imperial jade pendant looked like it was worth less than ₹20,000 after your redesign. You used too few diamonds, and that enamel window-not even gold-can't emphasize the jade's luxury. I was mortified!"

Jing Chunying held the phone a bit further from her ear for the sake of her eardrums, gazing at the guesthouse's softly lit curtains as she listened in silence.

The woman on the line was Yin Lijuan, who preferred to be called by her ever-changing English names, even though she didn't speak a word of English. When they'd first been introduced, she went by "Christina." By the time Jing Chunying completed the first draft of her design, she'd already become "Isabella."

"All European queens' names," Yin had explained, sipping tea with an elegant flourish. "Because, in my husband's eyes, I am a queen."

Back then, Yin had approved of the design with the same enthusiasm she had for her grandiose names.

"Yes, go ahead with it. It's gorgeous. I love the idea of using enamel-it's so regal," she had said earnestly. "I'll have my assistant transfer your fee. I know freelance work isn't easy."

At the time, Jing Chunying hadn't expected the project to go so smoothly. Nor had she foreseen what would happen after delivering the pendant adorned with enamel and aquamarine. The "queen" had promptly returned, demanding an evening necklace be made from her collection of Colombian emeralds.

"Design something that embodies national prosperity. I trust you. Pay will be at market rate; I don't haggle, and I deeply respect artists." Yin had beamed.

Flattered by such trust, Jing Chunying dove into her work, eager and inspired. During the New Year holiday, while her parents were abroad, she had come to a village at the foot of Huangshan, hoping the stunning scenery would fuel her creativity.

But the higher the hope, the harder the fall. Her "kindred spirit" had transformed into a relentless critic on this full-moon night.

After Yin's tirade, a man's voice cut in.

"This is Mr. Liu. Margaret is my wife. She's very upset, so I'll speak with you now."

Jing Chunying paused, realizing that Yin's latest English name was "Margaret." Another queen from Europe, no doubt.

She only let her mind wander for two seconds before snapping back into the professional role of attending to her valued client.

"Hello, Mr. Liu. Go ahead, I'm listening."

"Hmm," Mr. Liu began, in a tone as grave as a news anchor reporting a disaster, "Miss Jing, let me ask you: what is the soul of design?"

Without waiting for her response, he answered his own question.

"The soul of design is to bring positive emotional value to the client. There is no objective beauty or ugliness-only the client's satisfaction or disappointment. A design that fails to please is a failed design."