Reflection

He Chuan raised an eyebrow, said nothing more, and with wine glass in hand, turned to merge into another group of people.

The moment he left, that inescapable, scrutinizing gaze returned. Like countless cold, sticky spider threads, it came wrapping around from all directions, tightly clinging to Shen Zhi's skin. Lu Jingnian's departure had left her stranded alone in the center of this enormous, dazzling hunting ground, making her the most conspicuous live target.

She could feel those glances—sympathetic, anticipating a spectacle, gloating. Those lowered voices buzzed like annoying mosquitoes on a summer night, drilling into her ears.

"...Mr. Lu just left like that? Left her here alone?"

"You don't know yet? Old Zhang's face just now looked like he was going to a funeral. Something big must have happened."

"My guess is, that woman is about to come back."

The hand holding her wine glass was steady, without a single ripple. She could even muster a perfectly appropriate smile for a passing guest. The curve of that smile, the angle of her raised lips, had all been personally trained by Lu Jingnian—the one that most resembled Lin Shi.

She was like a fully wound, exquisite puppet, step by step, gracefully threading through the crowd toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the banquet hall. Her high heels struck the polished marble floor, producing crisp and lonely echoes. Every step felt like treading on knife blades—painful, but she couldn't cry out.

Outside the window was the city's dazzling nightscape, lights stretching like a flowing river of stars. But Shen Zhi saw nothing. Her eyes only had the reflection of herself in the glass.

An ivory-white gown, an immaculate bun, and that carefully sculpted face—gentle, serene, and refined. She had spent three whole years, over a thousand days and nights, molding herself into this. A perfect substitute for Lu Jingnian's Lin Shi.

But now, the reflection in the glass looked terrifyingly unfamiliar. Like a forgery painted with too much effort, having lost its spirit. One gust of wind, and it would scatter at any moment.

"Mrs. Lu, enjoying the view alone?" a gentle female voice sounded beside her.

Shen Zhi snapped back to reality. It was Mrs. Zhang. Her husband's company had business dealings with the Lu Corporation, and they had crossed paths at several banquets before. A woman who seemed very kind, but whose eyes always carried shrewd calculation.

"Yes, it's a bit stuffy inside." Shen Zhi still wore that standard smile, her tone perfectly measured. "Isn't Mrs. Zhang also out for some air?"

"Indeed." Mrs. Zhang held her champagne glass, casting a seemingly casual glance toward the main entrance. "Just now, I saw Mr. Lu leave in such a hurry. Something urgent at the company? Oh dear, your Jingnian really is too devoted to his work. On such an important wedding anniversary, he can't even properly spend time with you."

The words sounded like concern, but every syllable was like a needle wrapped in sugar coating.

Shen Zhi lowered her eyes, watching the swaying liquid in her glass, her voice as light as a feather: "He has his matters to attend to. I understand."

She had delivered this line hundreds of times. Once, she thought it was considerate. Now, it just felt like a joke.

Mrs. Zhang clicked her tongue, leaned in closer, lowering her voice with an air of sharing secrets: "Sister, don't blame me for being nosy. For men, career is just an excuse. The only thing that can make him drop everything like this is the woman in his heart."

Shen Zhi's heart felt as if it had been pinched by an icy hand.

Mrs. Zhang, seeing her instantly pale face, curled her lips in satisfaction, believing her words had hit their mark. She patted Shen Zhi's arm, as if comforting, or perhaps gloating: "Alright, don't overthink it. We women, sometimes we need to be a little oblivious to get by. I have friends over there. I'll be going now."

She turned and walked away, gracefully. Just as she brushed past Shen Zhi and merged into her own circle, Shen Zhi clearly heard her say, in a voice so light yet deliberately loud enough for her to hear, to her companion:

"Look at her, acting like she's the real madam. The real deal is coming back. Time for the counterfeit to make room."

"Counterfeit."

Those two words, like a poisoned iron hammer, slammed Shen Zhi to the spot. The three years of elegant composure she had maintained shattered in that instant. Those invisible shards of what was called "shame" pierced deep into her flesh and blood.

The churning pain in her stomach, which the "Water of Truth" had temporarily suppressed, surged back like rolling waves. With even fiercer acidity and burning sensation.

Just then, a strange, synchronized buzz rang through the hall.

It wasn't just one person's phone—it was almost everyone's, all lighting up at the exact same second. The cold glow of the screens illuminated faces of shock, disbelief, excitement, and amusement.

"Holy shit! Is this for real?!"

"Oh my god! Lin Shi is back in the country! Just now, her private plane just landed!"

"Exclusive news! Look at this photo—damn, she's still so beautiful!"

The murmurs exploded like a pot coming to a boil, instantly filling the entire banquet hall. Everyone held up their phones, whispering and buzzing, their faces showing the feverish excitement of peeking into the secrets of the ultra-wealthy. No one looked at Shen Zhi anymore—or rather, they used a crueler method, treating her as the living footnote to this earth-shattering gossip.

Shen Zhi didn't look down at her own phone.

She didn't need to.

She closed her eyes.

The浓郁的 Tuberose fragrance that filled the banquet hall—the scent she had carefully chosen, the one Lin Shi loved most—now, that cloying, overbearing aroma felt like an invisible hand, strangling her throat.

So thick it was nauseating.

With one hand steadying herself against the cold glass, the other pressed tightly against her stomach. The surging nausea could no longer be suppressed—mixed with fear, humiliation, and a twisted, impending sense of relief—it rushed straight to her throat.

Three years.

Like a ghost trapped inside a glass jar, she had been performing a life that wasn't her own.

Now, the jar was about to shatter.

The "real deal" she had been imitating for three years had returned.

Good.

The corner of Shen Zhi's mouth uncontrollably curled into a strange arc. Leaning against the cold glass, she slowly, slowly slid down to sit on the floor, curling into a ball.

She thought, finally, she no longer had to smile.