The Heiress's Game

Dong Yuwei graduated from university almost two years ago.

She still chose the path of jewelry design, despite her parents' initial strong opposition.

In her second year of high school, she said she wanted to study jewelry design at an art academy. Her father slammed his hand on the coffee table:

"What future can you have studying art? You'll have a hard time finding a job!"

The mother chimed in, "Old Zhang's daughter next door studied accounting and got a job at a bank right after graduation. It's such a stable job."

She silently shed tears and never mentioned the words "jewelry design" in front of her parents again.

I studied financial management in college, a major my parents chose for me. I barely passed my courses and spent all my free time in the library copying jewelry design drawings.

After graduation, instead of finding a job in her field, she registered a small jewelry shop online.

They design their own styles, commission factories to manufacture them, and then sell them online and at street stalls.

Unexpectedly, the sales were quite good. Her designs follow a new Chinese style, perfectly blending traditional filigree and engraving techniques with modern minimalist aesthetics, which is very popular among young girls.

Gradually, I gained repeat customers and a loyal fan base. I could sell dozens of items a month. Although the profit wasn't high, it was more than enough to support myself.

Her proudest work is a complete set of jewelry called "Flying Apsaras"—inspired by the flying apsaras musicians in the Dunhuang murals, ranging from hairpins to earrings to bracelets to rings.

Each piece unfolds around the curve of the ribbon, light and graceful, as if the celestial music of a thousand years ago has been frozen between the gold and silver threads.

She spent more than half a year drawing this design on and off, pouring countless efforts into it, from line art to coloring to repeated revisions of details.

After the finished product was made, she took photos and posted them on Xiaohongshu (Little Red Book). The number of likes quickly exceeded 10,000, and many people asked when it would be available for purchase.

At that time, she felt that this was probably what she was meant to do for the rest of her life.

Then one day, she received a message.

The message was from the OEM shop she had been working with for a long time—the one she often commissioned to make her finished products.

The other party calmly informed her in the message: "Ms. Dong, regarding the 'Flying Apsaras' series of jewelry that you previously commissioned us to produce, our design team has compared and contrasted them."

We discovered that this design is highly similar to works created independently by our in-house designers.

To protect our original rights, our company has applied for registration of this design.

Effective immediately, the intellectual property rights to this design belong exclusively to our company.

Your previous unauthorized use of our company's designs for production and sales constitutes infringement. Please immediately cease all infringing activities.

This design may no longer be used in any form. Please contact our legal counsel if you have any questions.

Her fingers were icy cold, and her mind was buzzing.

That "Flying Apsaras" set was drawn by her stroke by stroke. From the first line to the last revision, every curve was determined by her own repeated drawing and sketching.

Now, not only did the other party steal her design, but they also brazenly warned her – you have infringed on their rights, you have broken the law, and if you use your own drawings again, you will face legal action.

What's even more ridiculous is that they claimed it was the work of their in-house designers.

Doesn't she know if there are any designers in their store? She's been working with them for so long and has never seen them create any original designs.

She replied to the other party's question, and the message showed as read, but there was no further reply.

I called, it rang twice and then got hung up. When I called again, I was blocked.

She frantically searched everywhere for answers, even contacting her former university professors, who told her that the only recourse in this situation was through legal channels.

I asked a friend who knows the law, and they said I would have to hire a lawyer to file a lawsuit, but that would take a long time and be quite expensive.

She calculated her savings—the money she earned from making jewelry over the past two years, after deducting material costs, processing fees, and rent, was almost entirely given to her boyfriend Shen Ziqian, who was pursuing a master's degree.

He is a second-year graduate student studying computer science at Yunnan University of Science and Technology. He is exceptionally handsome, the kind of campus heartthrob that would turn heads when girls walk around the campus—he is 1.85 meters tall, with striking eyebrows and bright eyes, and when he smiles, the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, as refreshing as a lemon soda in summer.

She met him at an alumni gathering. He was chatting with a group of friends when he glanced at her, and she fell for him instantly.

Shen Ziqian's family was of modest means, and the stipend for graduate studies was very small. His lab supervisor was also stingy, and the little money he received each month wasn't even enough to cover his rent.

Dong Yuwei felt sorry for him and would transfer most of the profits to him every month after shipping the goods.

He was very good to her—he would remember every anniversary and fold a box of origami cranes by hand on her birthday, with each paper filled with love words.

He said that once he gets a job at a big company and earns a million-dollar annual salary, he will definitely give her the grandest wedding.

She currently has 4,300 yuan in her bank account. Should she hire a lawyer?

That's a matter for another world; she also tried asking for help online.

I wrote a long article detailing the whole story, along with comparison images of my original design and the other party's registration information, and posted it on several platforms.

The comments section quickly responded—netizens sympathized with her, condemned the store for being unethical, and tagged various rights protection accounts on her behalf.

The video garnered nearly 10,000 views within two days, and then, like a pebble thrown into a lake, it sank after the ripples dispersed.

No influential figures shared it, no media followed up, and no platform provided traffic.

After the initial hype died down, her plea for help was completely swallowed up by the flood of information on the internet.

Someone messaged her privately saying, "You could try taking legal action." She gave a wry smile on her end of the phone—if she could afford a lawyer, she would have done so long ago.

She had read all the suggestions from those enthusiastic netizens: calling the police, filing a lawsuit, contacting the media. Every option required money and connections, and she had neither.

Dong Yuwei buried her face in her hands. On the table lay the original hand-drawn sketches of "Flying Apsaras"—every line was drawn by her own hand.

The placement of each pearl represents her painstaking effort, and now these scraps of paper have become property that does not legally belong to her.