The hall shimmered under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, their light scattering like fragments of stars across the pristine white walls and muted blue drapes. The delicate notes of a grand piano danced through the air, weaving with the soft clinking of champagne flutes and low murmurs of conversation.
Guests leaned closer to one another, their voices hushed yet brimming with awe.
"Who would have thought…" one businessman whispered, swirling the golden liquid in his flute, "luxury without red or gold. No dragons, no velvet curtains—and yet…"
"It feels more extravagant than any gilded hall I've ever entered," another replied, shaking his head in disbelief.
Indeed, the décor defied every convention. White-linen tables stretched elegantly across the room, each draped with navy-blue runners. Crystal vases stood at their centers, each cradling a stem of white orchids, their petals luminous under the lights. At the far end, a stage framed by soft sapphire curtains stood in elegant restraint. It bore no ostentation—no heavy gilding or showy symbols—yet its minimalism commanded reverence.
"This…" a woman in a silver gown murmured, "this isn't just luxury. It's a statement. A revolution."
The crowd buzzed with speculation, curiosity mounting as they waited for the true centerpiece of the evening—the distinguished guests whose presence lent the event its weight.
Then, suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the entrance swung open. A ripple of commotion spread instantly through the hall, silencing laughter mid-breath, champagne paused halfway to lips.
A waiter rushed in, breathless. "Mayor Han… Mayor Han has arrived!"
Gasps erupted, a wave of whispers crashing from one end of the hall to the other.
Another voice followed quickly, firmer, louder:
"Mayor Han… and Mr. Shen Waiyuan are here!"
The hall erupted into restrained chaos. The piano faltered for the briefest heartbeat before recovering, as though even the musician had been shaken by the announcement. Heads craned toward the entrance, eyes alight with anticipation.
The doors opened wider. Shen Waiyuan entered first, his presence commanding silence without a word. Beside him walked his wife, Han Jingxian, serene yet poised like a queen. Close behind came Han Zhiyuan with his wife, Xu Shuhua, their elegance only deepening the sense of grandeur.
The atmosphere thickened; this was no ordinary arrival.
Zhou Yichen immediately stepped forward, his movements smooth, practiced—his demeanor reflecting the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to navigating the upper echelons of power. His smile was gracious, measured, neither obsequious nor cold.
"Mayor Han, Mrs. Han. Mr. Shen, Mrs. Shen," he greeted warmly, his voice carrying clear across the hall. He inclined his head in a respectful bow. "Your presence tonight is the greatest honor. Please forgive me for not receiving you on the carpet myself."
Han Zhiyuan returned the smile faintly, his tone light yet dignified. "Director Zhou, you are far too courteous. With an event of this scale, it is only natural you must divide your attention."
Zhou let out a soft chuckle, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate yet still audible. "You are generous, Mayor Han. Even so, President Li feels that such esteemed guests deserve nothing less than the grandest welcome. She is preparing to greet you personally and will join us shortly."
Xu Shuhua inclined her head gracefully, her eyes gentle. "Madam Jianfang is very thoughtful. We are in no hurry. Simply being here is already a delight."
Throughout the exchange, Shen Waiyuan had remained quiet, his sharp gaze sweeping over the hall. At last, he spoke, his voice calm yet commanding, carrying the weight of authority. "The arrangement is… refreshing. Quite unlike the usual gatherings."
Zhou's smile deepened, pride flickering in his eyes though his tone remained humble. "Mr. Shen's observation is as precise. President Li wished for elegance without excess—an atmosphere where conversations may shine brighter than decoration. It seems her intention has reached your discerning eye."
Han Jingxian, standing slightly behind, allowed a faint smile to surface as she glanced toward her husband. "It is indeed different. Not ostentatious, yet the atmosphere… it compels respect."
Zhou inclined his head. "I am most grateful for your words. I shall ensure President Li hears them herself. Please, allow me to escort you to your seats. She will be joining you momentarily."
With a slight gesture of his hand, Zhou guided the distinguished guests into the heart of the hall. The crowd instinctively parted to make way, heads bowing slightly, whispers trailing in their wake. Every eye followed their steps with reverence—and envy.
As they moved deeper inside, many sought to approach them, eager to exchange a word, a greeting, anything that might leave an impression. Shen Waiyuan, seasoned and unflappable, glided through these conversations with ease, each nod and word precise, his aura subtly dominating the space.
Han Zhiyuan and Xu Shuhua, meanwhile, were gently ushered toward the center seating. Xu Shuhua's gaze lingered, flitting quietly around the hall, as though searching for something—or someone.
Noticing her distraction, Han Zhiyuan leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You seem preoccupied. Are you expecting someone?"
Xu Shuhua turned her head toward him, her expression soft but earnest. "Yes. I was hoping to see Li Ziqing. The last time I met her, she left a remarkable impression. Such a beautiful, polite girl…" She sighed faintly. "Perhaps she is busy with the arrangements tonight."
Han Zhiyuan chuckled quietly, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Be patient. She will come."
Reassured, Xu Shuhua offered a faint smile. Together, they settled into their seats at the very center of the hall—an unspoken signal of their status.
Almost instantly, waves of people began approaching, eager to pay their respects, each introduction more deferential than the last.
The crowd was still buzzing with lively conversations, champagne flutes clinking under the soft piano notes that drifted through the hall.
Then, the sound of a microphone being adjusted cut through the chatter. The spotlight shifted toward the small stage at the far end of the hall, drawing everyone's attention. Zhou Yichen, in a perfectly tailored navy suit, stepped forward with composed confidence, a faint yet commanding smile curving his lips.
He waited a moment, allowing the room to fall into an expectant hush. When he spoke, his voice carried warmth, clarity, and just the right touch of authority.
"Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen," Zhou Yichen began, his tone smooth yet resonant, "good evening. I am Zhou Yichen, the General Manager of Huiheng Group. On behalf of our group, I extend to you our deepest gratitude for gracing us with your presence tonight."
His words were measured, respectful but not obsequious, polished but not hollow. The crowd listened intently.
"This evening marks the grand opening of Qianyan Pavilion. Many of you may have wondered about this name," Zhou Yichen continued, pausing deliberately. "Qianyan—'a thousand faces.' It reflects our belief that dining is not merely about taste, but about experience, atmosphere, and culture. Just as every guest brings their own unique presence, every dish here has a thousand subtleties waiting to be discovered."
A faint ripple of appreciation passed through the audience—some nodding in agreement, others exchanging curious glances. Zhou Yichen's eyes swept across the room, catching the expressions of both businessmen and politicians alike.
"We are not here to replicate the standards of luxury that you may already know," he said with quiet conviction. "Instead, Qianyan Pavilion seeks to redefine it. To bring something refined, something elegant, something that harmonizes tradition with innovation. That is what this hall, this décor, and this evening symbolize."
There was a light murmur of approval—several guests glanced around, as if only now realizing the hidden thought behind the understated yet striking design of the hall.
Zhou Yichen allowed the moment to settle before his smile deepened slightly. His next words carried a hint of anticipation.
"Of course," he said, lowering his voice just enough to make the crowd lean in, "the true heart of Huiheng Group, and the visionary behind Qianyan Pavilion, is someone far more worthy of your attention than myself. A leader whose foresight and determination brought this dream into reality. Tonight, it is my honor to invite this person to the stage."
The crowd shifted in their seats, curiosity flaring in every pair of eyes. Whispers spread like sparks in the quiet hall—who could it be? Who had the power to summon Mayor Han, Shen Waiyuan, and so many business magnates under one roof for something as seemingly simple as a restaurant?
Zhou Yichen stepped slightly to the side, his posture graceful and respectful, as he announced firmly:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming the President of Huiheng Group."
The entire hall erupted into applause, not out of politeness, but out of sheer intrigue.
And then—
A sound, subtle yet distinct, rippled through the vast silence. Light footsteps, steady, unhurried, deliberate, echoing softly against the polished marble floor. The guests turned instinctively, as though compelled by an unseen force. Conversations halted mid-sentence, champagne flutes frozen halfway to lips. Even the pianist's fingers, poised above ivory keys, faltered into stillness.
From the arched entryway, a figure emerged.
The woman who stepped into view was like nothing the hall—or even this city—had ever witnessed. She wore a qipao of pure white, embroidered with delicate threads of sky-blue that swirled in patterns reminiscent of drifting clouds and flowing water. The fabric clung with subtle grace to her form, neither ostentatious nor simple, but an impeccable harmony of tradition and elegance. A faint shimmer caught the light each time she moved, as though the gown itself had been spun from moonlight.
Her steps were slow, yet every movement held a quiet authority. With each glide forward, the hem of her qipao whispered against the floor, the faint rustle adding to the rhythm of her entrance. Her hands rested gently at her sides, fingers curved with the practiced grace of someone who needed no adornment to command a room.
But it was her face—
That face, refined beyond mortal measure, seemed untouched by the dust of the mundane world. Skin pale as porcelain, lips tinted with the faintest rose, eyes deep yet clear, as though they carried a hidden cosmos. The soft light of the chandeliers fell upon her like a benediction, crowning her in radiance.
The collective breath of the hall caught, suspended.
Men stared, unable to disguise their awe; women, though shocked into silence, could not help but feel a pull—an admiration tinged with disbelief. This was not merely beauty. This was something celestial, something untouchable, as though a goddess from a painted scroll had stepped down from her silken clouds to walk among mortals.
Zhou Yichen, already standing on stage, found himself instinctively straightening his posture, something about madam Li felt different today.
By the time she reached the stage, the atmosphere had transformed entirely. With a serene nod to Zhou Yichen, she accepted the microphone, her fingers steady, her poise unwavering.
"Good evening, everyone," she began, her voice calm yet commanding, carrying through the hall with a resonance that made every guest focus solely on her. "On behalf of the Huiheng Group, I, Li Jianfang welcome you all to the opening of Qianyan Pavilion. Tonight, this place is not merely a restaurant—it is the beginning of a dream we have nurtured, and it is my greatest honor to share it with all of you."
The applause that followed was restrained at first, almost hesitant, as if everyone still lingered in awe. Slowly, it swelled, echoing across the marble hall.
Down below, Song Yuerong's painted lips parted slightly, her eyes unable to tear away from the stage. A murmur escaped her, tinged with disbelief.
"Her presence… it's different today. Just two weeks ago, I met her at Central Shopping Plaza—she was elegant, yes, but not like this. Tonight, standing there, she's transformed. Her aura commands respect. She can rival many aristocrats here."
Fang Zhaotian, seated beside her, nodded slowly, his sharp features set with thought. "You're right. She's not just standing on that stage—she's owning it."
A deep, authoritative voice joined their hushed exchange. "Which family does she belong to?"
Both turned toward the man beside them—a tall figure in his early forties, his presence sharp, like a drawn blade. His eyes, dark and discerning, scanned Li Jianfang from head to toe. There was no vulgarity in his gaze—only a keen curiosity, a measured admiration.
Song Yuerong's lips curved slightly as she looked at him. "Cousin, would you believe me if I told you this woman rose from the slums?"
The man—Song Renshu, head of the Song family, one of Beijing's four great clans—frowned, disbelief hardening his features. His brows knit, and he shook his head firmly.
"Impossible. Just the way she walks speaks of years of rigorous etiquette training. And that presence—" his gaze sharpened, "—only the heiresses of the great families are molded to carry such dominance. No woman from the slums could learn this on her own. She must belong to one of the old houses—Shanghai, Shenzhen, Guangzhou perhaps. Certainly not Beijing—I would have remembered her."
A low chuckle came from Fang Zhaotian, who leaned back in his seat, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Then, Cousin-in-law, I'm afraid you're mistaken. She is, in fact, from Wuhan. A self-made woman."
Song Yuerong added with a smile, her voice edged with pride, "Exactly. And everything she has today—her status, her wealth, her influence—she carved out with her own two hands. You will know shortly, Cousin. Her story… speaks louder than any family name."
Song Renshu fell silent, his expression unreadable, yet his gaze lingered on Li Jianfang commanding the stage. The crease between his brows deepened, his thoughts shifting into something far more complex than simple curiosity.
To be honest, the only reason for his presence at this banquet was Shen Waiyuan.
As the head of the Song family, he rarely attended social gatherings outside Beijing, and certainly not in Wuhan of all places. But Shen Waiyuan was different—one of the country's top industrial forces, is now handling a government-backed energy projects that could reshape the sector. Song Renshu had been striving to establish collaboration, but Shen Waiyuan had recently been busy with some private matters, never making time for him. When Renshu learned that Shen would be attending tonight, he wasted no time. He called in a favor from his cousin Song Yuerong, insisting she arrange an invitation, whatever the cost.
And so here he was—though he had little intention of mingling with Wuhan's society or lingering beyond a short introduction. His original plan was simple: greet Shen Waiyuan, arrange a meeting, and leave.
But fate had shifted the stage tonight.
Instead of Shen Waiyuan, it was this woman—Li Jianfang—who now held his attention.
Her presence unsettled him. His cousin claimed she was self-made, that she had risen from nothing, but everything about her contradicted that notion. The way she walked, the poise in her movements, the effortless grace with which she acknowledged the applause—it was not something money alone could buy. It was training, years of refinement, the kind passed down in aristocratic households from generation to generation.
"Impossible," he muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes narrowing.
On stage, Li Jianfang had just taken the hand of a tall, sharply dressed foreigner and welcomed him with an elegant smile. The emcee announced him as the general manager of Prada's China region, and a ripple of admiration swept through the hall. Yet Song Renshu's gaze was fixed on the woman herself, not the man beside her.
What was this woman's true origin?
The same unspoken question seemed to gnaw at every guest present in the grand banquet hall. Even those on Shen Waiyuan and Han Zhiyuan's side were left stunned.
Shen Waiyuan, in particular, felt a jolt of disbelief as his gaze lingered on the woman standing beneath the dazzling lights. His brows furrowed, and he murmured under his breath, "Don't you think… she looks familiar?"
Han Zhiyuan frowned, following his line of sight. "Familiar?" he echoed, his tone doubtful. "I don't think so." Yet, despite his denial, he studied Li Jianfang carefully once more. He had seen her before—had already been startled once by her striking beauty—but tonight, there was something entirely different about her presence. She seemed transformed, as if cloaked in a quiet authority that demanded attention. For a moment, he tried to place what Shen Waiyuan had sensed, but no matter how he searched, nothing in her face sparked recognition.
Shen Waiyuan himself was troubled. The nagging sense of familiarity refused to leave him, but the answer remained elusive. Finally, he set the thought aside and turned to his wife, whose expression mirrored his astonishment.
"What do you think?" he asked softly.
Han Jingxian opened her mouth, intending to reply, but as her gaze swept the hall, her words caught in her throat. Instead, her eyes widened in surprise, and she grasped her husband's arm. "Master?" she whispered urgently. "Husband, look—Master is here. He's attending the banquet!"
Shen Waiyuan's head snapped toward the direction she pointed. For a moment, he stood rooted in place, stunned beyond measure. His master—whom he had revered for over twenty-five years—was a man of rare presence, someone who had never once concerned himself with the glittering affairs of the wealthy. In fact, the last grand event he could recall his master attending was his own wedding.
"That's… him," Shen Waiyuan breathed, his voice tinged with awe. Without hesitation, he straightened his posture. "Come, we must greet him."
---
Elsewhere in the banquet hall, another pair of eyes followed the scene.
Li Ziqing stood quietly with her uncle Li Jianping, her brother Li Zian, and the elderly couple Mu. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on the stage where her mother, Li Jianfang, stood beneath the brilliant lights. A soft smile curved her lips as she whispered to herself, Mother has never looked so radiant…
"Little Fang is truly remarkable today," Grandma Mu sighed, her tone filled with admiration.
Grandpa Mu gave a slow nod, his weathered eyes gleaming with pride. "Her once-gentle spirit… it has hardened into steel. The edges are sharp now."
Both elders were visibly astonished, and yet, pride overflowed in their eyes. They had once been disheartened when Li Jianfang told them she had decided to close her food stall. But they had not interfered—after all, it was her life to choose. Then, only days later, she had visited them again, sharing her bold decision to step into the world of hospitality. That day, they finally understood the reason behind closing the food stall she has been running for more than a decade, and it was understandable, with such a culinary skills she was bound to sore high. They were happy for her.
They had offered her financial help, of course. But she had only smiled, shaking her head, and said vaguely, "Everything has already been arranged." Tonight, watching her commanding presence, they finally understood the confidence in her voice.
When the invitation for this grand opening ceremony arrived, they had accepted without hesitation. After all, who would pass up the chance to taste the food that people were already whispering of as "divine"?
Li Ziqing's smile deepened at the Mu couple's remarks. She herself had noticed the change in her mother, but to hear it acknowledged by others—by those who had known Li Jianfang for nearly a decade—struck her heart with warmth. Of course, she knew the truth. The Overlord's Edge Coupon from the mysterious system was working its magic.
Their quiet admiration was suddenly interrupted.
A startled voice rang out across the hall: "Master Mu?"
All five turned in unison, their eyes landing on a distinguished couple who had just approached. Refined, elegant, and commanding, the pair carried an aura that drew the attention of everyone around them. Whispers rippled through the guests, yet in the eyes of this striking couple was something far greater than curiosity—it was reverence.
Li Ziqing's breath caught in her throat. She recognized them instantly. Zhou Yichen had already pointed them out to her earlier: the legendary Shen couple. Their appearance alone set them apart, magnetic and dazzling, with admirers flocking around them as if drawn to a flame.
So this is the richest man in Asia… Li Ziqing thought, her heart pounding in disbelief. She unconsciously straightened her posture, bracing herself in their presence.
But what shocked her most was not their wealth or their reputation—it was the way they looked at the old Mu couple, their gazes tinged with awe, almost… worshipful.
Li Ziqing's mind reeled. This can't be real. The Old Mu couple are from the same northern district of Wuhan as us. Simple people, my mother always said. Professors once in a prestigious university, before they retired, yes—but never in my wildest dreams did she imagine… that they would be connected, in any way, to the richest man in Asia.
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Thank you so much and IRENE_MBELA for three Powerstones🤗❤️
Today I woke up to see the notification and it really brightened my day😅