Rose Thorn

Chapter 5 · Rumor Storm

The moment Lin Wanqing stepped into the studio, the receptionist rushed over with a phone: "Sister Lin, look at the trending searches!"

On the screen, the hashtag "Lin Wanqing plagiarized Su Manni's designs" surged at a thousand posts per minute. The accompanying images showed Su Manni's "Pink Diamond Rose" brooch displayed beside Lin Wanqing's "Black Diamond Thorns"—identical in thorn vine curves, rose stamen cutouts, even petal-edge serrations.

"Impossible." Lin Wanqing's fingers whitened. "My design draft was locked in the safe last week."

"But Miss Su said..." The receptionist swallowed. "She claims you begged her to 'borrow' ideas and have a recording."

As the office door opened, Lin Wanqing stared at the security footage: late at night three days ago, Su Manni wore white gloves to unlock the safe with a master key, photographed the draft, and replaced it—all in under three minutes.

"So she didn't plagiarize; she stole the draft in advance," assistant Xia Xia said angrily. "Now she's accusing you of copying."

Lin Wanqing's finger paused on the timestamp: 23:47. At that hour, she had been at the hospital with her father, with complete nurse handover records.

"Xia Xia, contact legal," she grabbed her coat. "I'm suing Su Manni for defamation."

At 2 PM in Gu Group's penthouse office, Gu Chengyan leaned in his leather chair, twirling a pen as he scanned documents—bank statements showing Su Manni and Shen Yanzhi had a 2-million-yuan transfer three days ago, memo: "hush money".

"Mr. Gu, Miss Lin is here," the secretary announced.

Lin Wanqing stood at the door, black diamond ring glinting: "What needs my signature, Mr. Gu?"

He set down the pen, knuckles under his chin: "How will you respond?"

"Sue Su Manni." She slapped her phone's security screenshot on his desk. "I also have Shen Yanzhi's transfer records to her."

Gu Chengyan suddenly laughed, pulling her into his arms. His warmth seeped through his suit, carrying cedar cologne: "You think Su Manni is the mastermind?"

Lin Wanqing started, recalling Su Manni's words: "Shen Yanzhi said a parasite like you doesn't deserve original designs."

"The real puppet master is Chen Zhengxiong," Gu Chengyan pulled up another file. "Su Manni's uncle, vice president of the Jewelry Association. He approached me last week to 'negotiate Stellar project profits'."

"Seeking revenge for losing the bid?"

"More than that." His thumb brushed her nape. "He also obtained Shen Yanzhi's company financials—Shen embezzled 30 million yuan to buy Su jewelry."

Lin Wanqing's phone vibrated. Shen Yanzhi's message: "Wanqing, those photos are fake. I only wanted to help you..."

She opened it to a transfer record: 2 million yuan from Shen's account to Su's, memo: "design draft compensation".

"He's lying," Lin Wanqing's voice chilled. "It was for money."

Gu Chengyan's hand settled on her waist: "Now you see why I wanted you to handle this?"

She looked up, his eyes mirroring her more earnestly than ever: "Because I needed to understand—the real enemy isn't the obvious Su Manni, but Chen Zhengxiong, who hides in the shadows waiting for me to fall."

At 6 PM, reporters swarmed the studio. Lin Wanqing, in a beige suit, climbed the steps with files, surrounded by flashing cameras.

"Miss Lin, what evidence supports your lawsuit against Su Manni?"

"I have safe security footage from three days ago proving Su Manni broke in to steal the design," she held up a tablet, playing the video. "Additionally, Shen Yanzhi's transfer records show he paid Su 2 million yuan for 'design work'—is this the 'compensation' for plagiarism?"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Su Manni's assistant charged forward, waving a paper: "Miss Lin, here's the 'design copyright transfer agreement' you signed three years ago! You assigned all work copyrights to Gu Group to win international awards!"

Lin Wanqing's pupils contracted, recalling Gu Chengyan's offer three years ago: "I'll help you with judges"—so "help" meant trading her copyrights for resources.

"Did Gu Group know about your plagiarism?" a reporter pressed.

"I did not plagiarize," Lin Wanqing's voice steadied. "As for the copyright agreement..." She turned to Gu Chengyan beyond the crowd. "Mr. Gu, you promised to help me seek justice. Will you explain now?"

Gu Chengyan parted the reporters, standing beside her. He took her hand, inserting a USB into a nearby laptop.

"Three years ago, Miss Lin did sign a copyright agreement," his voice echoed through the mic. "But it states: 'If works are independently completed and win international awards, copyrights revert automatically'."

The scanned agreement appeared, the final clause circled in red: "International awards include but are not limited to Paris Design Week Gold Prize."

"Miss Lin won Paris Design Week Gold last year," Gu Chengyan scanned the crowd. "By agreement, 'Stellar' series copyrights have always belonged to Miss Lin Wanqing."

Su Manni shrieked: "Liar! The agreement is fake!"

"Legal experts will verify that," Gu Chengyan handed documents to a lawyer. "Additionally, Vice President Chen Zhengxiong is suspected of commercial bribery and forgery; we've reported him to the Economic Crime Bureau."

That night in the studio, Lin Wanqing watched police cars depart below. Turning, she saw Gu Chengyan leaning on the doorframe with two red wines.

"You knew about the copyright?" she asked.

"Yes." He offered a glass. "When you said 'I'll win on my own' three years ago, I wanted to clear your path."

She sipped, the wine burning her throat: "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Because you didn't want charity." His finger traced her ring. "You wanted to tear down lies yourself and prove your worth."

Moonlight spilled over their joined hands. Lin Wanqing recalled the royal advisor's words: "Black diamonds mean tenacity, thorns mean protection."

"Gu Chengyan." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thank you—for not pulling me up when I fell, but teaching me to stand on my own."

His Adam's apple bobbed. He tilted her chin, kissing her deeply. As police sirens faded, only their heartbeats remained, syncopating in the quiet night.