WHEN THE FOG CLEARS

The moment my plane touched down, I stepped back onto my native soil.

Seven years had passed; old stories felt like a gust of wind that scattered in the blink of an eye.

Except for Julian’s mother, I blocked everyone connected to Julian on my phone.

All the social networks and resources built over seven years in London were left behind, but I had nothing to fear. In the social sphere, human connections are one asset, while capital is another—and I had plenty of ways to leverage both.

Though I didn’t urgently need to embark on a new chapter right away, I was never one to sit idle. The moment I stepped off the plane, my mind was already racing with future business plans.

The driver respectfully took my luggage. Just as I was about to get into the car, a loud voice shouted from behind: “Evelyn sister!”

I turned around to see her darting toward me like a gust of wind, burying herself straight into my arms.

I pulled her out: “Chloe, why on earth are you here?”

I met Chloe when she was seventeen. At the time, her mother was hopelessly addicted to gambling. Seeing her daughter blossom into a beauty, the mother tricked her into signing a contract for an adult art film, trying to force her into instant exposure.

Facing massive breach-of-contract penalties and maternal coercion, Chloe almost gave in at the final doorstep before snapping back to reality. She bolted out the door and literally crashed straight into my car.

That was my second year in London—hardships were everywhere. But seeing this flower-like young girl, I couldn’t bear to watch her wither, so I gritted my teeth and bought out her contract.

She looked up: “Evelyn sister, you ran off without telling me! I couldn’t get your flight info, so I’ve been staking it out at the airport for ages waiting for you.”

I reminded her of her luggage: “I’m not planning to go back to London.”

Chloe later entered the entertainment industry—partly because she loved acting, partly to earn money to pay me back. But minor artists in London were treated like dirt, earning pitifully low pay, and she remained knee-deep in debt.

“I know! As I said, wherever you go, I go. You stay in London, I stay in London; you go back to the capital, I go back to the capital. As for work, we’ll start over from scratch! Anyway, I’m sticking with you, and one day I’m even going to take care of you in your old age!”

I couldn’t help laughing, though a sudden flash of inspiration struck me.

Recalling Chloe’s face—her features weren’t aggressively sharp, but sweet and pure. If she had tried to compete with classic beauties of the past century, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

But economic trends shift. Nowadays, everyone talks about consumption downgrade, and aesthetic preferences have moved away from hyper-aggressive perfection toward girls with a fresh, healing, slice-of-life look.

While working at the conglomerate, I had briefly managed an entertainment subsidiary, so I knew the ropes.

As the sunset painted the sky in magnificent strokes of gold and orange:

“Chloe——”

“Hmm?”

I turned against the sunset, my hair tipped with amber light: “How about I start a company and make you a star?”