Chapter 348: Class above all
Two days later, the long-anticipated event finally arrived.
From early morning, the entire entertainment circle seemed to be quietly buzzing. Invitations had long been sent out, and as dusk approached, celebrities began posting subtle glimpses on their feeds—delicate corners of gowns, blurred floral arrangements, crystal chandeliers reflected in champagne glasses. No one said it outright, yet everyone understood what this night truly meant.
Indigo Beauty.
A name that carried weight.
As one of the most revered luxury beauty empires in the East, Indigo Beauty rarely held public events. When they did, it was never merely a dinner. This so-called "minimalist ball" was, in truth, a carefully curated battlefield—one where elegance, influence, and unspoken ambition collided. Beneath the polished surface lay the real focus of the night: the future ambassador who would represent Indigo Beauty in the East.
The theme for the evening was "Flora Nocturne"—a tribute to flowers that bloomed in darkness, understated yet intoxicating, resilient yet breathtaking.
By the time night fell, the venue was already glowing.
The entrance was lined with an intimate red carpet, bordered by cascading florals in muted ivory, blush, and deep emerald green. Soft lights filtered through translucent petals, creating an illusion of walking through a midnight garden. Along the sides, sleek screens silently looped Indigo Beauty’s newest campaigns—perfume lines captured in slow motion, velvet-matte lipsticks gliding across porcelain skin, couture-inspired beauty collections displayed with restrained opulence.
Class above all.
That had always been Indigo Beauty’s standard.
The celebrities who arrived understood this unspoken rule. Though each interpreted the floral theme differently, none strayed too far from its essence. Flowing silhouettes, petal-inspired embroidery, subtle botanical motifs woven into fabrics—every look was refined, deliberate, and flawlessly executed. This was not a place for loud extravagance. This was a stage for those who understood restraint.
Reporters crowded the red carpet, cameras clicking in relentless rhythm. There was no fixed order, no hierarchy of arrival. Whoever stepped onto the carpet was photographed immediately. Indigo Beauty had imposed strict time limits—no interviews, no questions, only visuals. Efficiency and professionalism reigned supreme.
"Please turn this way."
"Just one more look, thank you!"
"Eyes here—perfect!"
Flash after flash lit up the night.
Then, Hua Jing arrived.
The moment she stepped onto the carpet, the air subtly shifted.
She wore a simple yet breathtaking gown, its fabric catching the light with every step, shimmering softly like dew on moonlit petals. There were no excessive embellishments, no exaggerated silhouettes—just clean lines and impeccable tailoring that hugged her figure with effortless grace. The simplicity made her stand out even more.
She wore almost no makeup.
Her skin was luminous, fresh, the result of meticulous care rather than layers of cosmetics. Her lips carried only a hint of natural color, her lashes untouched by mascara. It was a bold choice—one that spoke of absolute confidence.
Her heels drew attention next.
They were unmistakably from Indigo Beauty’s latest "Iris Veil" line—delicate pumps with floral-inspired curves, refined yet striking. As she walked, her slim legs were accentuated perfectly, the shoes glinting subtly beneath the hem of her dress.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Whispers followed.
This was only the second time Hua Jing had appeared publicly since her return. Many had speculated she would avoid events altogether, especially one as politically charged as this. Yet here she was—calm, composed, radiant.
And because this was an invite-only event, her presence alone spoke volumes.
Many people in the industry did not want her to show up today and even Blue Entertainment had been sending a water army to try and dissolve her presence so many people thought she would not come today but here she was!
Cameras went wild.
"Hua Jing, please turn!"
"Over here—just one more!"
"Hua Jing—look this way!"
She paused when required, turned when asked, her expression serene, her smile gentle but distant. She lifted a hand in a brief wave before moving forward, unhurried, unbothered.
No interviews.
No explanations.
Only presence.
As she stepped off the red carpet and entered the venue, Hua Jing felt something sharp drilling her back.
That gaze.
Cold. Sharp. Filled with resentment so intense it seemed tangible.
If gazes could drill holes, then Hua Jing’s back would have already been riddled with countless tiny, invisible wounds.
She didn’t turn around.
She didn’t need to.
She knew exactly who it was.
A faint smile curved her lips as she continued walking, her posture unbroken, her steps steady. To any onlooker, she appeared completely unaffected.
Behind her, Hua Ling stood frozen.
Her nails dug into her palms as she watched Hua Jing disappear into the venue, her carefully maintained expression cracking for just a second. Rage surged, thick and bitter—but she swallowed it down.
Then, as if remembering something, her eyes flickered.
A slow, calculated smile spread across her face.
Just you wait!
She sneered after remembering the trap she had set, I want to see if you will still be this high and mighty when you fall into my hands!
She adjusted her dress and turned away.
At that moment, businessman Zhou approached from the opposite direction.
Their eyes met briefly.
No greeting.
No acknowledgment.
Just a fleeting exchange of understanding before they walked past each other, heading in separate directions—as if they had never met, as if they had never been involved.
Inside the venue, the atmosphere grew even more refined.
Dignitaries mingled quietly, executives exchanged polite smiles, and even government officials were present—clear proof that Indigo Beauty’s expansion into the capital was no small matter. Crystal glasses clinked softly, low conversations filled the air, and a sense of anticipation settled over the room.
Hua Jing took her seat with effortless composure.
Not far away, Fu Jingrong was already present, his presence understated yet commanding, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the stage.
Gradually, the guests settled.
The lights dimmed slightly.
The murmur of voices faded.
A host stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, smiling as they surveyed the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the host began warmly, "thank you for joining us tonight. Welcome to Indigo Beauty’s annual gala..."
