The Heiress's Game

The personal assistant, Kobayashi, knocked on the door.

"Miss Gu, about Chen Cui..." She began, her lips moving a few times, but the rest of the words stuck in her throat.

Gu Mingyue had just finished yoga, and her forehead was still covered with a thin layer of sweat. She was slowly wiping her fingers with a towel.

Seeing Kobayashi's hesitant manner by the door, he frowned slightly: "What's wrong with her?"

Xiaolin handed over the tablet, on which was a video paused on a close-up of Chen Cui's profile.

She wore a simple white shirt and sat in front of a dark gray backdrop. The light came from the side, making her look clean and confident.

Gu Mingyue clicked play.

"Actually, the person I am most grateful to in my life is Miss Gu Mingyue."

Chen Cui's voice came from the tablet, clear, steady, and with just the right amount of sincerity.

Her gaze was fixed directly on the camera, without flinching or trying to be sentimental, as if she were genuinely reminiscing about someone very important to her.

"Many people know that I used to be Ms. Gu's personal assistant."

Although that period was tough, looking back, it was the most valuable lesson of my life.

Ms. Gu has very high standards for her quality of life and is also very strict with the people around her.

This taught me a very important lesson—no matter what position you're in, you must do your job to the best of your ability.

She chuckled softly as she said this, "Sometimes I feel like she's a guiding light, constantly inspiring me to work hard and strive."

Without that period of hard work and refinement, there would be no Chen Cui today.

After the video finished playing, the screen automatically redirected back to the comments section.

Gu Mingyue's gaze fell on the comments, scrolling down one by one, her fingers moving slower and slower, becoming increasingly stiff.

"Oh my god, I cried. What kind of divine grace is this? To be treated like that and still be grateful, Chen Cui, you deserve everything!"

"I've gone from hating her to liking her. I used to think she was scheming, but now I see she really has a kind heart."

"Compare this to Gu Mingyue's cold response in previous interviews, and the difference is obvious, okay?"

"I used to be a fan of Gu Mingyue... Now I feel so blind. Between a mean rich girl and a grateful, hardworking woman, it's obvious who to choose."

"Am I the only one who noticed that Chen Cui's eyes were a little red when she spoke? She must be genuinely grateful, otherwise she wouldn't be so emotional."

Gu Mingyue placed the tablet on the coffee table, her chest heaving twice before she took a deep breath. "Scheming bitch."

Xiaolin stood to the side, not daring to say anything.

"Has she become addicted to acting? Is she a guiding light? An inspiration to her?"

Gu Mingyue stood up, walked barefoot back and forth beside the yoga mat a couple of times, her voice growing louder and louder.

Why doesn't she tell the audience how I "motivated" her? Was it the kind of motivation where I made her stand at the entrance of the banquet hall for six hours without giving her water?

How dare she say such a thing! She did it on purpose, deliberately putting me in this awkward position, leaving me unable to either criticize or not!

As she continued her tirade, her choice of words became increasingly simplistic.

Kobayashi lowered his head, hoping the storm would pass quickly.

But the more Gu Mingyue cursed, the angrier she became. The higher Chen Cui adopted her attitude, the more it highlighted Gu Mingyue's narrow-mindedness and meanness.

What's most infuriating is that she knows Chen Cui did it on purpose, yet she can't produce any evidence to refute it.

The following afternoon, the launch event for a cultural fund under the Hong Sheng Group was held at the Ritz-Carlton in the city.

Gu Mingyue attended as a nominal director of the foundation, wearing a white Dior suit. She smiled throughout the entire process, from entering to the ribbon-cutting ceremony, looking as dignified as if she had stepped off a magazine cover.

In the media interview area after the event, she was standing in front of the backdrop, preparing to answer a few questions about the foundation, when a reporter holding a recording pen squeezed to the front row.

"Ms. Gu! Did you see Ms. Chen Cui's interview yesterday? She said you are her guiding light and the person she wants to thank the most. Do you have anything to say in response?"

The question was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, drawing the attention of all the surrounding reporters, who immediately turned their recorders and cell phones toward her.

Gu Mingyue's smile froze for a moment. She opened her mouth, her mind racing to find the right words, but every word she wanted to say was barbed; she wanted to say it all, but every word she uttered would be amplified infinitely.

She wasn't good at playing along under such pressure—she'd never really learned how to play along in her life.

"I..." She paused, then put on a smile again, but the smile was too tight, like an ill-fitting garment.

"What she says is not important; what matters is what she does."

As soon as he finished speaking, people around him gasped.

Several reporters typed rapidly on their phones, their movements as fast as if they were trying to snag a deal in a flash.

Xiaolin was frantically trying to signal to her from a distance, but she couldn't see it, or rather, even if she did see it, she didn't want to care.

"Do you agree with what she said? She said she learned a lot from being around you—" the reporter pressed on relentlessly.

"I have no obligation to judge everyone who uses my name to promote themselves," Gu Mingyue blurted out.

She regretted it as soon as she said it.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the reporter, like a hunter spotting its prey.

But the words have already been spoken, and there's no going back.

That evening, Haicheng Star News, the most famous gossip weekly in Haicheng, posted a tweet on social media.

The title is: "Chen Cui repays a drop of kindness with a spring of gratitude, while Gu Mingyue remains indifferent and lacks any sense of magnanimity."

The main text was even more ruthless: "In yesterday's interview with Chen Cui, this reality show queen devoted a lot of time to sincerely thanking her former employer, Ms. Gu Mingyue, even comparing her to a 'guiding light in life,' and her earnest words were very touching."

However, when our reporter sought Ms. Gu Mingyue's opinion on the matter today, this self-proclaimed "first socialite" not only refused to give a direct response without any grace, but also made sarcastic remarks such as "what she says is not important" and "I have no obligation to comment on people who use my name to promote themselves."

The difference in perspective between people in front of the camera is immediately apparent.

Gu Mingyue sat in the living room of the Zhao family villa, staring at the push notification on her phone screen, her fingers trembling.

The comment section has exploded, with the top-voted comments prominently displaying the following:

"That's the difference between a socialite and an aristocrat: one knows how to be grateful, while the other only knows how to put on airs."

"I used to think she was pretty, but now I think her face looks mean."

"She wouldn't accept Chen Cui's offer of a way out; her emotional intelligence is truly unmatched."

Her chest felt suffocated, as if someone had tightly suffocated her with a pillow.

She wanted to smash her phone and call her PR team to pay them to remove the trending topic, but reason told her that whatever she did now would be wrong—if she responded again, it would only make things worse.

She is a socialite. A socialite can be proud and aloof, but she cannot be mean or stingy.

The two sentences she said to reporters today are enough to keep them writing headlines for a month.

Xiao Lin cautiously asked from the side, "Ms. Gu, how about we issue a statement saying that your remarks were taken out of context..."

"Shut up," Gu Mingyue said.

She stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

The garden lights outside the window illuminated the lawn in a soft green glow, and the neatly trimmed roses swayed gently in the night breeze.

She looked at her reflection in the glass—wearing an expensive silk robe, a gold face mask, and living in a 300 million dollar villa, but her expression at that moment was no different from that of the shrewish women she despised who would tear each other apart in the street.

She took a deep breath and pressed her palm against her chest, as if trying to suppress the feeling of a heart attack little by little.

"Chen Cui," she whispered, her voice unusually clear in the empty living room, "you wait here."