Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

Milan, La Scala Opera House.

This art palace, originally built in 1778, has been completely transformed into a fashion battleground tonight. A massive crystal chandelier casts a dazzling light, illuminating the wealthy and powerful figures lining both sides of the runway. The air is thick with the scents of expensive perfumes, the rich aroma of champagne, and a palpable sense of ambition.

As the host delivered his opening remarks in the distinctive intonation of Italian, the lights suddenly changed and rousing music began to play.

The Milan International Fashion Awards (MIFA) officially began in 1981.

Antonio Rossi sat expressionless in the very center of the judges' panel.

This man, over sixty years old and hailed as the "Godfather of Italian Fashion," was not in a good mood at the moment.

As a little old man who considers fashion his life, Antonio is deeply disappointed with the fashion industry in the past two years.

On the runway, models walked by like a revolving lantern.

"Extravagant," Antonio thought to himself.

This is a French brand that, in an attempt to grab attention, padded the shoulders like an American football player and piled the skirt with gaudy lace and sequins.

"Boring."

This is a long-established local brand with a conservative and predictable design. It's just relying on its past achievements and has no soul whatsoever.

"Completely incomprehensible."

This is a new British brand that tried to be avant-garde, but ended up cutting the clothes into shreds and making the models look like beggars who had just crawled out of a garbage dump.

Time ticked by, and Antonio's brow furrowed deeper and deeper, his pen still clutched in his hand.

He rubbed his temples in frustration.

"It seems the Golden Needle Award will be vacant again this year."

"Mediocre. Utterly mediocre."

Antonio took off his glasses and rubbed his throbbing temples.

The Golden Needle Award represents the highest honor in design, requiring flawless works of art. He has left the award vacant for two whole years, and if the level remains the same this year, he would rather leave it vacant than lower the standards even slightly.

The judges sitting next to him—the fashion editors and design directors whom Lu Chen had "lobbyed"—were also feeling extremely uncomfortable.

They kept glancing at Antonio's expression, secretly groaning inwardly.

They did want to help the generous Eastern tycoon, but Antonio had absolute veto power. Even though the organizers repeatedly hinted that he should award the prize "for commercial reasons," he remained as stubborn as a rock.

Just then, the host's voice rang out:

"The next brand we'll be showcasing is Garreau."

As the host announced the program, the stage lighting changed.

The originally restless and glaring disco-style lights dimmed, and were replaced by a soft, warm tone, like the afternoon sun.

The soothing sound of a cello filled the air, replacing the noisy electronic music.

Garreau's first four collections were launched in turn.

No logo, no sequins, no exaggerated shoulder pads.

First, let's talk about men's clothing.

Instead of the oversized silhouettes popular in this era, it features a slim-fit Italian cut, with clean lines that accentuate a man's upright posture, and the fabric has a subtle matte finish under the light.

Next up is women's clothing.

It was an extremely minimalist business suit, stripped of elaborate embellishments, using sophisticated gray and beige to showcase a woman's capable yet elegant side.

"Oh?"

Antonio, who had been leaning back in his chair and dozing off, suddenly sat up straight.

He put his glasses back on and stared sharply at the catwalk.

"A clever cut," Antonio murmured to himself, "removing unnecessary structure and letting the fabric speak for itself. This drape... was it made from Peruvian alpaca wool? And the treatment of the shoulder line, so understated in the East, yet with a touch of Western elegance."

"Great. Really great."

Antonio's pen moved, and he began to write comments in his notebook: "Elegant, restrained, sophisticated. This is a rebellion against the current superficiality."

Maria and Pierre, seeing this, breathed a sigh of relief and quickly pressed their advantage: "Yes, Chairman, the designer of this brand has a great vision; this minimalist style is simply a masterpiece!"

However, after writing a few lines, Antonio stopped writing.

Although the light in his eyes was bright, it did not have the kind of fanaticism of someone who had been completely "struck".

"He's a shrewd businessman and an excellent designer," Antonio concluded in his mind, "but that's about it. These clothes can sell for a lot of money, but this golden needle... I still can't give it to him."

He sighed with some regret and prepared to close the score sheet.

Maria, noticing Antonio's thoughts, leaned closer and whispered anxiously, "Chairman, this Eastern brand's design concept is very novel, that 'Quiet Luxury' concept..."

"A concept is a concept, and a work is a work," Antonio interrupted her bluntly. "Maria, if it were an award for 'Best Commercial Value,' I would give it to them without hesitation. But the Golden Needle Award? It's a little short of that."

Upon hearing this comment, Maria and the others felt their hearts sink.

Almost.

For a fanatic like Antonio, a slight difference can mean the difference between life and death.

By this time, the runway show was nearing its end. All the models for the first four collections had walked the runway, and the lights were gradually dimming.

The audience began to whisper among themselves. They spoke highly of Garreau, but their opinion was limited to "it's a very tasteful new brand."

Antonio shook his head and prepared to get up.

He had made his decision; the Golden Needle Award would remain vacant this year. He even felt a touch of self-mockery: he had actually harbored a somewhat unrealistic expectation of that young man from the East.

After all, Asia is a well-known fashion wasteland. It's already a miracle that they were able to produce such excellent works in the first four series. How could they expect perfection?

Just then.

"Thump—"

A heavy, resonant drumbeat seemed to strike directly into everyone's heart.

All the lights in the stadium went out instantly.

dark.

Utter darkness enveloped the La Scala opera house.

The noise stopped abruptly. Everyone held their breath, wondering what had happened.

Immediately afterwards, a cold, lonely, yet fatally attractive spotlight shone directly on the entrance to the catwalk.

A person walked out from that beam of light.

No, that's not walking.

That was an inspection.

Sofia was barefoot, and every step she took was in time with the drumbeats.

She was wearing the dress called "Dark Forest".

The minimalist V-neck halter design, like a sharp blade, cuts through the light and shadow, revealing her perfect right-angled shoulders and deep collarbones. Under the spotlight, the heavy black silk fabric unexpectedly shimmered with an eerie and captivating dark green sheen, like a tranquil yet deadly primeval forest in the dead of night.

The gathered waist accentuated her slender figure, and with each step, the daring side slit of her skirt flowed out like water, revealing glimpses of her long, straight, and powerful legs.

"hiss--"

Antonio heard a unified inhale from those around him.

His own pupils dilated instantly, and his body, which had been leaning back in the chair, suddenly leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table tightly with both hands.

What an amazing piece of clothing!

Mysterious, profound, dangerous, yet so noble that one wants to worship it.

But this is not all.

What truly brings this garment to life is the person wearing it.

Sofia.

She held her head slightly high, her deep, sculpted face adorned with a cold, glamorous makeup. Her eyes were no longer filled with the trepidation of before, but with a wildness and arrogance. It was the soul Lu Chen had bestowed upon her backstage—a queenly aura that came from the bottom and disdained to flatter anyone.

She wasn't walking a runway; she was conquering.

The wildness she possessed contrasted sharply and dramatically with the tranquil luxury of the "Dark Forest" outfit.

Like a thorny rose blooming on the edge of a cliff in the dark night.

"My God..."

Antonio felt as if he had been shot in the heart.

This is the work he waited three years for!

This is the "spiritual energy" he has been dreaming of!

This is art!

He began frantically writing on the paper with his pen, and in his excitement, the pen tip even tore through the paper.

"Perfect tailoring! Ingenious use of fabric! The ultimate fusion of Eastern and Western aesthetics! And this model...where did she come from as a muse? She is simply the soul of this garment!"

"Bravo! Magnifico! Capolavoro! (Masterpiece!)"

Not only Antonio, but the entire stadium fell into an eerie silence, followed by a commotion of whispers.

Those buyers who were originally nonchalant and those picky editors were now staring wide-eyed, their eyes glued to the figure on the stage, afraid of missing any detail.

When Sofia walked to the very front of the runway, paused, turned around, and her skirt drew a perfect arc, leaving everyone with a proud and aloof silhouette.

Antonio put down his pen and let out a long sigh.

In this war without gunfire, he was completely conquered.

……

Backstage.

The moment Sofia stepped off the runway, she seemed completely exhausted; her legs went weak, and she almost fell.

"Be careful!"

Tian Yangen, who had been watching over her, reacted quickly and caught her.

"Did I...did I do it?" Sophia gripped Tian Yang'en's arm, her eyes unfocused, her voice trembling as she asked. On stage, she had completely lost herself, oblivious to the reactions of the audience.

"We did it!"

With tears welling up in her eyes, Ruan Mei rushed over, not caring how expensive the dress was, and hugged Sophia tightly. "Sophia, you're amazing! Didn't you see the expressions on those foreigners' faces? Their mouths were agape! It was so satisfying!"

Lu Chen also came over.

He looked at Sofia, who was covered in sweat but whose beauty was undeniable, and smiled as he handed her a towel.

"You've worked hard, my queen." Lu Chen's voice was full of affirmation. "You are the brightest star tonight."

Sofia took the towel and looked into Lu Chen's smiling eyes, a weight finally lifted from her heart. A smile appeared on her lips, a radiant smile of relief.

"As long as I didn't embarrass the BOSS."

……

Half an hour later. The awards ceremony.

The stage of La Scala is brightly lit.

Antonio stood in front of the microphone, holding several envelopes in his hand. His expression remained serious, but a glimmer of light appeared in his eyes.

"Tonight, we have witnessed many outstanding works."

Antonio's voice echoed throughout the arena, "Before we present the grand prize, we'll first present a few individual awards."

"The recipient of the 'Most Commercially Promising Award' is—Garreau!"

A thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Lu Chen smiled as he went on stage to accept the award. This was expected; after all, the judges had received money, so they had to give him this much face.

"The winner of the 'Best Fabric Innovation Award' is—Garreau!"

Another trophy.

Ruan Mei clapped her hands until they were red, muttering to herself, "Two trophies! By the way, are they solid gold? I wish they were solid gold..."

However, as the awards were presented one by one, the atmosphere at the scene began to become subtle.

Garreau won three individual awards, making him the big winner of the night. However, the most prestigious and highest honor, the "Golden Needle Award," remained unanimously awarded.

Lu Chen sat calmly in the audience. Ruan Mei and Sophia, however, held hands tightly, their palms sweaty.

In previous years, Antonio would have simply announced the end of the party.

But today, the old man did not step down.

He took out the last gold envelope from the inside pocket of his suit.

The entire room fell silent instantly; you could hear a pin drop. Everyone held their breath.

Antonio surveyed the entire arena, his gaze finally settling on the corner where Lu Chen was. A rare smile appeared on his lips—a recognition of genius and a tribute to art.

"After this award has been vacant for two years, I am so happy that tonight I have finally found the work that makes my soul tremble."

Antonio slowly opened the envelope, his voice loud and firm:

The recipient of the 1981 MIFA Golden Needle Award was—

"From Garreau—the 'Dark Forest' series!"

"boom--!"

The scene was instantly filled with applause and cheers, and all the lights were focused on Lu Chen.

"We won! We won!"

Ruan Mei screamed, no longer caring about her image, and jumped up to hug Lu Chen.

Sofia also stood up, her eyes glistening with tears—tears of joy, and even more so, the excitement of rebirth.

Looking at the man Ruan Mei was holding, the man who had pulled her out of the mire and lifted her to the clouds, she could no longer control her emotions and opened her arms to hug Lu Chen tightly.

He was held tightly by two stunning beauties—one pure and ethereal, the other cold and wild—and felt the joy emanating from their warm and soft bodies. A genuine smile appeared on Lu Chen's face.

He reached out and gently patted the two of them on the back.

At this moment, he finally won over Milan.

"Calm down, calm down," Lu Chen whispered in the two women's ears. "This is just the beginning. We'll be winning these kinds of trophies until our hands are sore."

On stage, Antonio watched this scene, clapping softly and muttering to himself:

"The East... is truly a magical place."