The First Step⚔️
"Charm by day, schemes by night — I multitask with lipstick and a fountain pen."
Morning in the Jia household was a quiet symphony of clinking dishes, distant radio chatter, and the gentle scent of steamed buns. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, turning everything gold.
Jia Lan sat before her vanity, brushing her long, dark hair with smooth, practiced strokes. Her reflection was calm, fresh, and devastatingly elegant.
> Meanwhile, internally:
I have twenty minutes to look flawless, plan academic domination, eat dumplings, and not accidentally spill that I'm secretly plotting Gaokao greatness.
I am a warrior in lipstick.
She reached for her rose-scented cream, smoothing it over her dewy skin with featherlight taps. Next came a dab of cherry blossom balm, a soft pink flush blooming across her cheeks. She selected delicate pearl drop earrings and fastened them with steady fingers.
Then came the uniform — her ironed blouse was ivory-white with subtle floral embroidery along the cuffs, a custom touch from her mother. Over it, she wore a tailored grey vest cinched at the waist with a jade buckle. Her high-waisted slacks were pressed to perfection, and her polished black flats gleamed with understated class.
Around her neck, she wrapped her favorite scarf — cream silk with hand-stitched plum blossoms in maroon thread. It added just the right touch of personality, fluttering like a soft whisper against her collarbones.
> Outfit: elegant. Face: composed. Inner thoughts: screaming in cursive.
She slipped on her satchel — a structured brown leather piece gifted by her grandfather — and took one final glance in the mirror.
> Today I look like someone who organizes charity galas.
But actually, I'm planning academic conquest and possibly world domination.
By the time she entered the dining room, the household was alive with energy.
Xu Li was frying turnip cakes while humming an opera tune. Yao Jing was flipping through a magazine titled Modern Youth. Jia Wei was arguing with their father about whether fried eggs counted as "political breakfast fuel."
Jia Lan sat gracefully at her seat, folding her hands like a revolutionary heroine in disguise.
"You're unusually sparkly this morning," Xu Li noted, eyeing her.
"I have a meeting later," Jia Lan replied with a faint smile. "Director Xu expects a summary of last month's theater inspections."
"Ah yes, our artistic intelligence agent," Jia Wei quipped. "Spying on ballet slippers one pirouette at a time."
"Don't mock the arts," Yao Jing warned. "Jia Lan might turn you into a tragic character in her next report."
"Too late," Jia Lan said sweetly. "You're all already supporting cast."
---
As she sipped her tea, she knew it was time to begin her real mission for the day.
> Time to mention textbooks. Casually. With the air of a girl who definitely isn't planning to secretly ace the Gaokao next year.
"Mama," she said, setting down her cup, "do we still have my old middle school books?"
Lin Shunhua blinked. "What for, darling? Want to repurpose them into drawer liners?"
Jia Lan gave a soft, modest smile. "I thought… I should refresh my memory. It's been so long since I read anything proper."
"Proper?" Jia Wei choked. "Are you sick? Who studies voluntarily in 1976?!"
"She's been abducted by scholars," Xu Li gasped. "Someone pour vinegar on her forehead."
Yao Jing leaned in. "Or… is this about love letters? Someone she likes? Oh no, it's a poetry phase."
Jia Lan narrowed her eyes. "If I were writing love poems, you'd all be tragic metaphors."
> Why is it illegal in this house to have a thought that isn't ridiculous? I should've been born in a monastery.
Lin Shunhua chuckled. "There might be some in the attic. Be careful — it's dusty."
"Of course," Jia Lan said, serene as a saint.
---
Later that evening, after her Youth Arts Bureau duties — which included listening to a retired actor passionately recite thirty lines of a revolutionary play — Jia Lan tiptoed into the attic.
Dust floated like ancient ghosts. She sneezed once, twice, then muttered:
> I risk tuberculosis for algebra. Is this dedication or madness?
She found a box marked Lanlan's Study Stuff – Proceed with Caution. Inside were faded textbooks, scribbled notes, and a long-forgotten pencil case shaped like a cat.
She took them all.
---
Back in her room, she arranged the desk like a scholar's altar: candle lit, ink pot refilled, book stack angled for aesthetic deception.
> Step One: pretend to read casually.
Step Two: memorize national policy in beautiful handwriting.
Step Three: conquer.
A soft chime echoed in her mind:
> Ding!
📝 Daily Check-in Complete
🎁 Reward: Red-thread Bookmark – Slightly improves memory and focus when used with classic texts.
She slipped the red-threaded bookmark between the pages of her history book and opened to the first chapter.
> Let the nation underestimate me. I'm just a quiet girl from the Youth Arts Bureau, right?
Wrong. I'm a well-moisturized academic assassin.
Outside her room, someone dropped a spoon.
"Jia Lan!" Yao Jing called. "Want to come help judge whose pancake is rounder?"
Jia Lan blinked.
> One moment I'm revising the rise of modern China. The next, I'm dragged into a culinary war between siblings.
She stood, adjusted her collar, and smiled.
> No one suspects the scholar fairy hiding among housewives and drama queens.
And that's exactly how I like it.
---
Just as Jia Lan finished her tea, Jia Zhe, her calm and steady eldest brother, entered the dining room holding the morning mail. His brows lifted slightly as he caught sight of her dressed immaculately, scarf fluttering like she belonged in a revolutionary film.
"You look unusually motivated," he said as he took his seat. "What's the occasion?"
"I have work," Jia Lan replied with a serene smile. "The world does not inspect theaters on its own."
"And yet you're glowing like you've been blessed by the Ministry of Enlightenment," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "What else are you plotting?"
She picked up her chopsticks. "Can't a girl be elegant and diligent at the same time?"
He leaned slightly closer. "You're not writing poetry again, are you?"
"No," she said, pausing. "I asked Mama for my old textbooks."
Jia Zhe blinked. "Textbooks? On purpose?"
She nodded, expression unbothered.
> Internally: panic. Abort. Too much honesty too fast.
He tilted his head, amused. "Well… if the scholar fairy needs stationery, let me know."
She gave him a long look. "You're mocking me."
"I'm supporting your… academic renaissance."
She rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."
He grinned. "And yet beloved."