IDEI CH63

Qi Yanning led the model over to a vanity table. Before picking up a single brush, he carefully studied her features.

She was a classic blonde-haired, blue-eyed sweetheart type: snow-white skin dotted with faint, barely visible freckles, and eyes as clear and azure as the open sky.

Her features aligned seamlessly with a spark of inspiration already forming in Qi Yanning’s mind.

Unlike his usual sequence, because this particular gown made walking rather cumbersome once put on, Qi Yanning opted to apply her makeup first.

Beginning at once, he first concealed her eyebrows entirely before laying down a flawless, seamless base.

The foundation covered both her brows and her lips, transforming her entire face into an even, blank canvas.

Only then did Qi Yanning introduce color. He swept varying shades of icy blue around her eye sockets—blending blue and white with subtle hints of gray to sculpt realistic light and shadow across her skin.

Next, with extreme restraint, he layered in iridescent prism hues within the contours of light and shadow, accenting the edges with tiny dabs of silver glitter to infuse the look with fine-art dimensionality.

The model’s hair was combed sleek and flat against her scalp into a low ponytail, ensuring every ounce of visual focus rested squarely on her face.

Finally, Qi Yanning uncapped a high-shine lip gloss, dabbing the crystal-clear glaze across her cheekbones, brow bones, and temples.

In an instant, the entire look took on a fresh, dewy, wet-skin luster.

Right now, the model looked as if she were standing behind a waterfall cascading down a cliffside. It was a bright, clear day; sunlight refracting through the rushing water cast enchanting, kaleidoscopic patterns across her skin, while fine mist coated her cheeks in delicate droplets.

The interplay of light and shadow was rendered with breathtaking realism, immediately evoking images of a clear, flowing mountain stream.

Only afterward did the model slip into the gown. It was a conceptual haute couture piece: over a completely sheer base, silver threads cascaded down from the collarbones before fanning out at the hem, refracting rainbow halos under the studio lights. The silver strands hugged her silhouette closely, sculpting graceful feminine lines like pouring water splashing across stone.

The gown was astonishingly beautiful—a seamless marriage of high fashion, fine art, and pure aesthetics. Trend had desperately wanted to feature it in the editorial spread, yet because pairing makeup with such a conceptual dress proved extraordinarily tricky, the editorial team had reluctantly shelved it after several failed trials by their resident stylist.

Pairing imperfect makeup with a gown of this caliber was nothing short of desecration.

Moments earlier, seeing Qi Yanning select this very gown, the burly makeup artist had let out a loud, derisive sneer.

“Jules, please show at least a shred of respect for your profession,” the Deputy Creative Director frowned sternly. Jules was a longtime collaborator with the magazine; while his technical skill ranked near the top, his character was atrocious.

Short-tempered and arrogant, he showed respect to virtually no one outside major celebrities.

Yet this was the first time he had openly displayed such blatant racial bigotry. The Deputy Director’s expression turned grave.

He had no idea who had signed off on Jules’s initial concept, but he dared not imagine the public backlash if such overt discrimination ever went to print.

After all, the fashion world was simultaneously the most rebellious and the most hyper-vigilant circle regarding social lines; crossing that red line would invite rivals to tear them off their pedestal overnight.

Having silently resolved to report today’s incident to the board of directors for strict disciplinary action, the Deputy Director kept an impassive eye on Jules.

“Fine, let’s see what earth-shattering look this ‘Qi’ nobody has ever heard of can conjure up!” Jules let out a fake laugh, curled his lip, and turned back toward his own station.

Dipping his brush into black and charcoal pigments, he darkened his model’s eye sockets even further…

Pushing the look into deeper, gloomier territory.

Having vented his spite, he lifted his eyes toward Qi Yanning’s station.

The smug grin on his face gradually vanished. Damn it—this “Qi” actually had real skill!

Examining the work more closely, Jules’s face darkened. He abruptly shoved the Asian model aside and pulled over another model whose makeup he had already completed earlier.

Jules had zero intention of entering a head-to-head showdown with Qi Yanning using that caricatured, baboon-cheeked monstrosity; he knew full well it wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, even if spun as “dramatic friction.”

He scrutinized the makeup on his second model. This was his proudest creation of the day, paying homage to the signature glamour of the 1920s.

Pencil-thin, steeply arched brows paired with dramatic deep-violet shadow evoked decadent, Jazz-Age luxury, while thick, clumpy lashes captured the vintage spirit authentically.

As for the theme of “Fluidity,” he had expressed it through two elements: wavy, undulating eyeliner, and a dripping, melted makeup effect.

It looked as though a glass of water had been splashed across the model’s face, rich pigments running downward in streaked rivulets.

The model happened to wear a violet, sculptural vase-shaped couture gown that harmonized nicely with the cosmetics.

There was no denying Jules possessed genuine technical chops; the look fused vintage decadence with eerie, melancholic gloom.

Inspecting the face from left to right, Jules picked up a fine brush to refine the minute details.

His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes burning with arrogant fury.

He would not lose.

Especially not to a half-evolved yellow-skinned monkey!

Qi Yanning was completely unaware of Jules’s competitive hostility. Never having spared Jules a second thought, he immersed himself wholly in his craft.

His hands were rock-steady, his movements swift; once the model changed into the gown, he made a few subtle final adjustments.

With that, the entire look was complete.

Qi Yanning courteously helped the model to her feet and guided her toward the Deputy Director and Alaric.

Neither man had left the room, having watched Qi Yanning’s process from start to finish. Over the past hour, the Deputy Director’s emotions had ridden a rollercoaster—from anxiety, to bewilderment, to sheer awe.

He had already resolved beforehand that as long as Qi Yanning performed on par with Jules, he would declare Qi the winner and hand him the editorial assignment; he had never imagined Qi Yanning’s mastery would be this staggering!

Jules’s face was dark as thunder. Rising to his feet, completely ignoring the model struggling to walk in her restrictive gown, he strode aggressively toward them.

His model only managed to limp over with the interpreter’s steady support.

“I am finished. Would the two of you care to take a look?” Qi Yanning stepped aside to give them an unobstructed view.

The Deputy Director and Alaric stepped forward involuntarily, murmurs of amazement spilling from their lips.

Setting aside the breathtaking creativity, the sheer technical mastery of the base application alone ranked among the finest they had ever witnessed.

Generally speaking, Caucasian models rarely possessed fine-pored skin; almost none had the porcelain, virtually poreless texture often seen in Asian or Black models.

Yet right now, this blonde, blue-eyed model’s complexion appeared utterly flawless, like smooth, luminous white porcelain.

Against this pristine “canvas,” the sculpted play of light and shadow across her features looked heart-stoppingly vivid.

Even the model’s sky-blue eyes seemed absorbed into the refracted light, adding a spark of ethereal vitality.

“Perfection!” Alaric gasped in delight, tinged with sudden regret. “Why didn’t I meet Qi sooner?”

The corners of Qi Yanning’s lips curved upward. “Mr. Alaric, as long as two people cross paths, it is never too late, is it?”

“Besides, as you know, makeup like this is hardly suited for a red carpet.”

Alaric shrugged, visibly consoled by the logic.

Meanwhile, the Deputy Director continued studying the look intently through the lens of high-fashion editorial photography. For a magazine spread, makeup, model, and garment formed the three pillars of a photograph; only when all three harmonized could true high fashion emerge.

Clearly, Qi Yanning had nailed every element. The liquid-like gown, the refracted-light makeup, and the model’s bright, ethereal aura combined to conjure a clean, weightless, dreamlike atmosphere.

“Let’s head out to the studio floor and see how it reads through the camera lens,” the Deputy Director decided briskly.

“Mr. Edward!” Having been ignored for ages, Jules’s face twisted with rage. “Are you just going to brush me aside and declare me the loser without looking? This is rigged!”

Oh?

Deputy Director Edward acted as though he had just noticed Jules standing there. “So, you believe you’ve won?”

Choking on his fury, Jules’s face swelled like an overinflated crimson balloon, unable to utter a coherent retort.

He possessed basic professional judgment; technically, the two stood on comparable footing, yet in terms of aesthetic vision, he had clearly been outclassed.

“Tell you what,” Edward offered a calculated concession, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s test both under the studio lights on camera, inspect the final frames, and then make our call.”

With that, he shot an apologetic glance at Qi Yanning, who merely arched an eyebrow in indifference.

Swallowing his rage, Jules agreed tightly.

The group filed out onto the main soundstage, where the photographer had been idly calibrating his gear.

He should have started shooting ages ago, forced onto standby by the unexpected commotion.

Seeing everyone emerge at last, he perked up immediately.

His eyes locked first onto Qi Yanning’s model.

“Oh, my God!” the photographer gasped, staring in spellbound fascination for several seconds before barking instructions to adjust the lighting rigs.

Throughout the entire session, he was electrified—climbing onto chairs one second, dropping flat onto his stomach the next in pursuit of transcendent angles.

The shutter clicked in rapid-fire bursts as the model flowed effortlessly from pose to pose under his direction.

When Jules’s model stepped onto the set, however, the photographer’s demeanor shifted dramatically. While remaining professional and thorough, his excitement cooled visibly.

Watching the contrast, Jules’s complexion darkened further, his eyes glaring daggers of resentment at Qi Yanning.

Qi Yanning paid zero mind to the man’s tantrum; wearing a single wireless earbud, he seemed to be listening closely to something, his lips moving silently.

The digital proofs were pulled up swiftly. Selecting two standout frames from each look, the photographer projected them onto the large reference monitor.

Displayed side by side in pairs, the disparity between the four frames was unmistakable at a single glance.

Jules had lost.

Viewed in isolation, his styling carried a certain moody allure, yet placed directly beside Qi Yanning’s work, it appeared muddy and heavy-handed—blocks of pigment smeared together like a puddle of murky runoff.

Qi Yanning’s creation, by contrast, was weightless, pristine, razor-sharp, and utterly harmonious.

Bitterness churned violently in Jules’s chest. Earlier, he had dared bark back at Deputy Director Edward solely on the strength of his technical reputation; stripped of that leverage now, all his humiliation and fury had nowhere to vent.

He hurled his touch-up kit violently against the floor, the loud crash echoing across the enclosed soundstage and startling everyone present.

Spinning on his heel, he stormed furiously toward the exit.

Qi Yanning made no move to stop him, merely speaking softly as the man brushed past:

“How does it feel, losing to a yellow-skinned monkey?”

Spoken in Jules’s native tongue.

Moments earlier, while fiddling with his phone, Qi Yanning had been learning that exact phrase. Though naturally gifted with languages, the sentence carried a distinct Chinese accent.

Jules whipped his head toward Qi Yanning, his eyes turning bloodshot in an instant as the last thread of self-control snapped.

“You damned inferior insect! Filthy yellow-skinned monkey!” Jules roared, swinging a heavy fist straight toward Qi Yanning’s face.

“Qi!”

“Mr. Qi!”

Hearing the bellow, Alaric and Edward spun around in horror.

How had a brawl broken out out of nowhere? Looking as lean and sculpted as a runway model without an ounce of bulk, how could Qi possibly withstand a punch from the towering, heavy-set Jules!

Standing too far away to intervene in time, Alaric and Edward winced and squeezed their eyes shut.

Yet following the heavy thud of a body slamming into the floor, the agonizing wail that rang out… belonged to Jules?

Both men blinked open their eyes in shock. Sprawled flat on the studio floor lay Jules, clutching his chest with a face etched in sheer terror, faint motes of dust rising around him to hint at what had just transpired.

Qi Yanning hadn’t even shifted his stance, calmly pulling a tissue from his pocket to wipe his fingertips.

His gaze swept briefly over Jules on the floor without lingering for even a heartbeat, as if the man weren’t worthy of his eyes.

“Overestimating yourself,” Qi Yanning murmured, leaving the cool remark hanging in the air as he walked toward Alaric and Edward.

“It appears I’ve won. Shall we resume our work now?” Qi Yanning asked casually.

Alaric dared not dwell on which particular victory Qi was referring to, nodding dazedly as he walked beside him back toward the styling room.

Edward remained rooted in place for a long moment before finally muttering under his breath, “Oh, Chinese kung fu…”

While Edward stepped out to handle the aftermath with Jules, operations inside the styling suite finally got back on track.

The editorial spread required five models in total, with Qi Yanning’s first model already wrapped.

First, he removed the makeup from the two models Jules had worked on, applying soothing skincare to restore their skin before starting fresh.

“Teacher Qi,” the Asian model looked at Qi Yanning with sparkling eyes. “You are so amazing!”

Qi Yanning arched an eyebrow. “You’re Chinese?”

“Yes,” the model blinked brightly. “Honestly, before Alaric walked in, I was ready to risk losing my job rather than shoot those offensive photos—it was straight-up bullying!”

A shimmer of unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

Qi Yanning smiled faintly. Though she had already reached a tier high enough to shoot for a top global fashion magazine, she looked barely under twenty—still just a kid.

“Then you won’t have to lose your job,” Qi Yanning said with a reassuring smile. “You’ll definitely love this new look.”

With her face gently cradled in his hands, the model nodded eagerly. “I trust Teacher Qi!”

Qi Yanning set to work.

Her gown featured a loose, sculptural silhouette billowing outward from the underarms before tapering cleanly at mid-thigh. Irregular splashes of pigment danced across the fabric like spilled paint, lending the impression of wearing an iridescent soap bubble caught in sunlight.

Initially, Qi Yanning’s application was remarkably restrained—painting a near-bare earthy eye look that preserved her natural skin texture, paired with nude-lined lips coated in sheer gloss.

It looked almost indistinguishable from a bare face, leaving the model slightly anxious.

Suddenly, however, his brushwork turned bold and expressive.

Crimson, yellow, azure, emerald, violet… irregular washes of color swept across her cheeks from left to right in varying densities, forming an asymmetrical, kaleidoscopic blush.

The blending was seamless: deeper pigments concentrated along the upper cheekbones, fading softly as they angled slightly toward the right, as though swept across her skin by a passing breeze.

Even more breathtaking were the twin strokes of eyeliner: a white line gliding smoothly from above her left brow down beneath her right eye, intersected by a sharp black line sweeping from the inner corner of her left eye across the bridge of her nose to merge with the white beneath her right eye.

Executed in a single, fluid motion, the intersecting lines injected the face with unmatched kinetic energy.

With that, the styling was complete.

Qi Yanning had the model stand up for a final inspection right as Edward walked back into the room.

Edward’s eyes locked immediately onto the model standing in the center of the room.

“Oh, it’s the wind!” he gasped in delight. “It is the spring breeze drifting through a blooming garden!”

“I can feel the breath of the wind brushing past, and catch the faint fragrance of flowers…”

Edward’s expression grew utterly intoxicated as he stepped quickly closer, drinking in the artistry with greedy eyes.

After a long pause, he finally snapped out of his trance.

“Qi, you are truly blessed with rare genius,” Edward sighed in admiration. “I am even more excited for the remaining concepts—you won’t disappoint me, will you?”

Qi Yanning arched an eyebrow, his posture relaxed and radiating effortless, supreme confidence.

“Of course, Mr. Edward,” he chuckled softly. “I have never disappointed anyone.”