Song Yan has been dealt the worst cards since he was born.
The second oldest child in the family, there is an eldest brother who has high hopes for him, and two younger sisters below him. He lived in the basement and slept in the kitchen. From the age of eight, he knew that wine bottles should be handled with care - if he made any noise, he would be beaten.
When I was fourteen years old, the only quota in the county for admission was given to someone else. The reason is that "boys have great stamina".
She didn't cry or fuss. She just took a photo, saved it on her phone, and waited quietly.
Three days later, the boy transferred to another school. The spot is hers.
That was her first victory.
From that day on, she understood a truth: everything in this world can be exchanged. Whatever you want, use what you have in exchange for it. If you can't change it, go get it. If you can't get it, wait.
At the age of eighteen, she changed her name. My name is not Song Erni, but Song Yan. The inkstone of the inkstone. What is grinding is the ink, what is hurting is oneself.
At the age of twenty-five, she was sitting at the end of a Japanese restaurant in Guomao, pouring wine for Zhao Qiming, who had a net worth of one billion. He looked at her hand when pouring wine and said one word: steady.
He said there was a dinner party next Friday and asked her to come alone.
Song Yan said yes.
This is what she was waiting for.
From the basement to the office building, from Song Erni to Song Yan, from the selected person to the person sitting on the card table - it took her twenty-five years.
Next, it was her turn to take charge.
But Zhao Qiming was not the only one sitting at the card table. The woman named Shen Ruotan, who had been drawing the back of her father all her life, held the key to an old case in her hand. The sister Zhou who brought her into the game had something hidden under her smile that no one could see clearly. And Zhao Qiming himself - the way he looked at her, was he looking at a chess piece, or at another himself?
On the way up, every step counts.
Every step comes with a price.
Song Yan knows it better than anyone else. She was just not sure whether she would be able to recognize the person in the mirror when she climbed to the top.
After all, she had long been accustomed to practicing smiling in front of the mirror. She practiced until the curvature of the corners of her mouth was just right, practiced until everyone thought she looked good, and practiced until she even forgot that it was not a smile.
That's just another card
Intention: No intention, just telling stories