Lin Fen had never felt so proud in her entire life.
Wearing that sapphire-blue batwing-sleeve top, the moment she stepped out of her courtyard gate, she felt the entire compound’s gaze land on her like searchlights.
Around four in the afternoon—right when everyone was preparing dinner and the compound was at its busiest—people were coming and going everywhere.
The first to notice her was Sister Zhang from across the way.
“Oh my goodness, elder sister!” Sister Zhang still had a scallion in her hand, her eyes wide as saucers.
“What… what are you wearing? It’s so beautiful!”
Lin Fen was secretly delighted, but on the surface she forced herself to remain composed.
She cleared her throat and slowly adjusted her oversized sleeves—a “display pose” that Li Zhihuan had specially taught her before she left home.
“Nice?” she asked casually. “Just some scrap fabric. Not worth much.”
“Scrap fabric?” Sister Zhang didn’t believe her at all and stepped closer, reaching out to touch it.
Lin Fen subtly dodged her hand.
Joking aside—this was a one-of-a-kind “sample piece” designed by Zhihuan. It was precious.
“This was made from that pile of fabric Zhihuan brought back from the textile factory yesterday,” Lin Fen said lightly.
“You all saw it, didn’t you? Said she was wasteful and bought a bunch of trash.”
That one sentence immediately made the nearby military wives, who had come to watch the commotion, feel a little awkward.
They had indeed gossiped about it yesterday.
But who could have imagined that what they thought was worthless rag material would turn into something so fashionable in her hands?
They had never even seen a batwing-sleeve design like this before.
The loose sleeves perfectly covered the flabby arms of older women.
The fitted hem made the waist look slimmer, the hips more defined—instantly neat and energetic.
And the color—seen from afar it was sapphire blue, but up close it revealed subtle gradients and textures. Not only wasn’t it ugly, it had an unexpectedly fashionable charm.
“My heavens! This really came from that pile of fabric?”
“Sister Lin, your daughter-in-law is incredible!”
“This craftsmanship is even better than the skilled workers at the supply and marketing cooperative!”
Compliments came one after another, making Lin Fen feel utterly refreshed.
She straightened her back, enjoying everyone’s envious gazes, while repeating the second script Li Zhihuan had taught her.
“Oh, it’s nothing special. Our Zhihuan just thought my old clothes were too outdated and insisted on designing this for me.”
“She said my figure suits this kind of style—it hides flaws and makes me look slimmer.”
“I didn’t even want to wear it at first; I thought it was too flashy. She insisted I put it on, said it would make me look ten years younger.”
On the surface, it sounded like a complaint—but every word was pure showing off.
Showing off her daughter-in-law’s filial piety, taste, and creativity.
The military wives present were all sharp people. How could they not hear the “Versailles” tone underneath?
Each of them felt a sour pang of envy.
Looking again at Lin Fen—wearing her new outfit, looking a full decade younger—her pride was impossible to hide.
“Sister Lin, you’re so blessed!” a younger woman said enviously.
“My mother-in-law always says my clothes look bad, but she can’t even make me one like this!”
“Exactly! Your Zhihuan is so talented! Where did you buy this dress? I want to get one for my mom too.”
“Buy it?” Lin Fen lifted her chin even higher. “You can’t buy this anywhere. Our Zhihuan said it’s her exclusive design—there’s nothing like it outside.”
“Huh? Then… could you ask her to make one for us too?” someone finally got to the point.
This was exactly the “hook” Li Zhihuan had instructed Lin Fen to trigger today.
Lin Fen deliberately frowned, looking troubled.
“This… I can’t decide that. Zhihuan stayed up all night making mine, her eyes were all red. She’s not in good health—I can’t bear to let her work herself so hard.”
She spoke as if refusing, but inwardly she was reciting the third script: refuse first, then hook them deeper.
And sure enough—the more she refused, the more eager everyone became.
“Oh come on, elder sister, we won’t let her do it for free! We’ll pay! We’ll pay craftsmanship fees!”
“Yes, yes! We’ll bring our own fabric—just ask her to make it! Any price is fine!”
“Sister Lin, please, go back and ask Zhihuan for us!”
A group of women surrounded her, chattering excitedly.
The enthusiasm was even more exaggerated than during holiday meat distribution.
Lin Fen stood there like the center of attention, having never received such treatment in her life. Her vanity was completely satisfied.
At that moment, an unfriendly voice cut in.
“Aunt Lin.”
Meng Yao walked over from a distance carrying an enamel basin, wearing her signature gentle smile.
Today she had deliberately changed into a pink dacron blouse, intending to create a contrast between herself and Lin Fen wearing “rags.”
But she never expected that her carefully chosen “delicate flower” look would be completely overshadowed by Lin Fen’s so-called “scrap fabric” outfit.
Meng Yao’s heart was burning with jealousy, almost on the verge of madness, yet her expression remained gentle and refined.
“Aunt Lin, your outfit is really unique. Did Sister-in-law Zhihuan make it for you? She’s so filial.”
On the surface, it sounded like praise, but in reality she was steering the conversation back toward that “pile of junk fabric.”
She didn’t believe these people were truly blind enough to think that trash looked good.
Lin Fen glanced at her and let out a cold snort in her heart.
This Meng Yao—she used to seem quite gentle and sensible, but now the more she looked at her, the more fake she seemed.
Not as clear-sighted as her own daughter-in-law at all.
“Yes,” Lin Fen replied with a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Our Zhihuan made it. She said it looks good on me. Unlike some people—so young, yet dressing so flashy and gaudy, which only makes them look petty.”
Those words were practically pointing at Meng Yao’s nose and scolding her.
Meng Yao’s smile stiffened. The pink shirt she once took pride in now looked unbearably harsh on the eyes.
The surrounding military wives were trying hard to hold back their laughter, watching the show unfold.
“I…” Meng Yao bit her lip, her eyes turning red as if she were about to cry. “Aunt Lin, that’s not what I meant…”
“I don’t care what you meant.” Lin Fen cut her off impatiently.
“I’ve got to head back. Zhihuan is waiting for my news at home. My Weiguo will be back soon too—I need to cook for him.”
After speaking, she turned away with her head held high, walking back toward her courtyard under envious gazes.
What she left behind for Meng Yao was a proud, victorious back view.
Standing there, holding her enamel washbasin, Meng Yao’s fingers turned white from how tightly she gripped it.
She listened to the murmured discussions around her.
“See that? Meng Yao finally hit a wall today.”
“Exactly. Aunt Lin used to like her, but now she won’t even look at her.”
“If you ask me, it’s still Li Zhihuan who’s capable. Quietly won over the mother-in-law and turned scrap fabric into treasure. Way better than someone who only knows how to act pitiful.”
Each word was like a needle stabbing into Meng Yao’s ears.
Her gentle mask finally began to crack little by little.
Li Zhihuan!
Again it’s Li Zhihuan!
Why? Why did everything turn out like this?
In her previous life, Li Zhihuan had made Lin Fen so angry she suffered heart problems every day, and the entire compound called her a troublemaker.
Even Qi Weiguo had despised her to the core!
But now—it was all reversed!
No, she didn’t believe it.
This must be temporary.
Li Zhihuan’s true colors would eventually be exposed.
Qi Weiguo was a soldier, someone who valued honor and discipline above all.
He would absolutely not tolerate his wife engaging in so-called “speculative profiteering” in public!
Yes—speculative profiteering!
A malicious light flashed in Meng Yao’s eyes.
She had to tell Qi Weiguo!
She would personally tear off Li Zhihuan’s disguise and make him see exactly what kind of woman he had married.