The Heiress's Game

Dong Yuwei's peripheral vision was suddenly caught by a passing figure.

She was a neighbor who lived in the same building. She was about the same age as her mother. Dong Yuwei remembered that her surname was Zhang. She had run into her a few times in the elevator before. Every time, Sister Zhang would compliment her on her bag.

Once, Sister Zhang even stopped her and looked at the handmade leather bag she was carrying over and over again, asking her where she bought it. She said she made it herself, and Sister Zhang was so surprised that she exclaimed "Incredible!" three times.

At that moment, Sister Zhang was coming out of the convenience store, carrying a bag of laundry detergent in her hand and the bag slung over her shoulder.

Dong Yuwei recognized it at a glance; the leather of that bag was vegetable-tanned leather that she had chosen after visiting the leather market three times.

She sourced the hardware piece by piece online, and the bag strap is stitched with a double-needle technique, a method unlike any mass-produced product on the market.

There will never be another bag exactly the same in the world.

Sister Zhang recognized her too. She was stunned for a moment, then a surprised smile appeared on her face, and she walked quickly towards her.

"Yuwei? Didn't you go back to your hometown? Why are you back again?"

Dong Yuwei tightened her grip on the suitcase handle slightly. "Sister Zhang, who told you I went back to my hometown?"

"Your Shen Ziqian," Sister Zhang said matter-of-factly, while touching the leather of the bag on her shoulder.

He said you were going back to your hometown and had too much stuff to carry, so he disposed of it all.

I saw this bag was the prettiest among your pile of things, so I quickly grabbed it—it cost me five hundred yuan!

Five hundred yuan.

The leather alone cost more than two thousand yuan to make that bag. She drew five patterns and sewed it stitch by stitch for almost a month. Shen Ziqian sold it for five hundred yuan.

"Sister Zhang," Dong Yuwei's voice was a little dry, "what else did he sell?"

"Oh my, that's a lot." Sister Zhang switched the laundry detergent in her hand and counted it on her fingers for her.

"Clothes, shoes, that thing—the little cabinet next to the TV, and all your bottles and jars of cosmetics, and all the jewelry you made yourself, earrings, necklaces and such."

He sold them for a really low price; Aunt Li from the next building bought three of your coats in one go.

And your brown boots, Aunt Li's daughter wears the same size as you—by the way.

"And that little bedside lamp you had on your bed, Sister Zhou, who was playing mahjong, took it. She said her granddaughter needed a bedside lamp, and she took it for fifteen yuan."

You know what, those little pieces of jewelry you make are quite popular. Sister Zhang from the building next to mine managed to snag a pair of earrings.

I wear it to work every day, telling everyone it's a one-of-a-kind handmade piece—"Hey, Xiaoyu, why do you look so pale?"

"Yuwei, you don't look well. Are you alright?" Sister Zhang asked hesitantly.

"If you didn't go back to your hometown, where did you go?"

"I went to Milan on a business trip, arranged by the company. I didn't go back to my hometown, nor did I ever say I wanted to go back."

Sister Zhang's smile froze. Her hand unconsciously touched the strap of the bag on her shoulder, as if she suddenly realized that what she bought for five hundred yuan might not have been a bargain, but stolen goods.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say. Finally, she managed to stammer out, "Then what about your Shen Ziqian—"

"Sister Zhang," Dong Yuwei interrupted her.

"Don't worry about it, the bag is fine for you to carry, it's perfect for you. I have something to do, I'll be going now."

After saying that, she dragged her suitcase and turned to leave, her steps so fast it was almost like she was running away.

She was afraid that if she stood there for even a second longer, she would burst into tears.

I could faintly hear Sister Zhang's voice behind me—"What's wrong with this child?"

She walked all the way to the row of shared bicycles at the entrance of the residential area before stopping.

The traces of her life that she had accumulated over four years were dismantled, priced, and sold off by Shen Ziqian in just one month, disposed of like waste.

She suddenly realized that thinking about making him pork rib soup on the plane was an incredibly stupid thing to do.