Page 27

The moment she entered the grand ballroom in the hotel that hosted the ceremony, submerged in a cloud of cigars and cologne and champagne, Anyu felt like a fish jumping into boiling water.

She could feel the heat from the golden chandelier burning like the midday sun while the tide of men and women rushing by pulled her in and pushed her out.

Violin music wafted in the air; heels clicked on the marble floor.

Everyone was talking—men gathering in groups, women in elegant dresses, and journalists holding cameras.

Journalists! Imagine a loss, in public. Anyu couldn’t breathe, sweat pooling on her skin. Esther’s dress was getting tight.

When she found Isaac at his stand, he mentioned a few designs that had enraptured the attendees.

An American jeweler at the House of Clemente had crafted a snow leopard brooch with colored diamonds, gray moonstones, black star sapphires, and white gold.

Another jeweler at Frost inside were pieces beyond her imagination: bejeweled giraffe bangles, jadeite butterfly brooches, lion’s head pins, and salamander hair clips.

The stunning gemstones were set in etched, hand-textured, and fabricated metal and embellished with diamonds, lapis lazuli, gold, coral, and any kind of gemstones she could imagine.

She saw, too, the enthralled looks of the men and women, their intense want, their naked desire.

That was the power of jewelry, its beauty and wealth provoking bright eyes, a frisson of excitement, an acute appreciation of wonder, and a primal instinct to possess.

She felt miserable.

The House of Clemente could win.

She dragged her feet to the House of Bellefeuille room, which was decorated with banners of awards and recognitions—Bellefeuille, after all, had been the winner of the competition for the previous five years.

The house’s collection was confidently unified and artistically stylized.

All the bracelets, pendants, and even rings touted a single theme of a plant that resembled an iris, etched, granulated, inlaid, and enameled in a dazzling variety of gold, mauve, and grass green.

She paused at a glass case that showed off two platinum bracelets with aquamarine irises, a simple design of a three-petal flower transformed into elegance.

It was awe striking that a single flower could be idolized and envisioned in such a variety of forms.

She fanned herself. She was going to faint. The reputation for artistry and sophistication of Bellefeuille was in plain sight. The House of Bellefeuille could win again.

A man said something to her. She looked up. Beside her was a man in his forties, about Isaac’s age, with a chiseled face, a dainty mustache, and lustrous brown eyes. He was strikingly handsome and brought a wave of spicy scent with notes of lime, nutmeg, and lavender.

“Ah, you don’t speak French. A pity. French is the most beautiful language in the world, mademoiselle, and you’re looking at the finest jewelry—French jewelry, known for its exquisite craftsmanship and superior artistry.”

“It’s beautiful.” Anyu stopped fanning herself, but sweat was pooling in her gloves, and she worried it might drip onto the floor.

“In French, we call it fleur-de-lis . The three-petal beauty is France’s national flower, a symbol of royalty, an icon associated with the king of France. And many designs here feature leaves. Bellefeuille, as you know, means ‘beautiful leaf’ in French.”

“Do you think the House of Bellefeuille will win the competition?”

He studied her. “Bellefeuille has won for the past five years.”

“I know that.”

“What kind of jewelry do you prefer, mademoiselle?”

“Russian jewelry.” To defend Isaac. She had learned everything from him.

“Russian jewelry? You must know it’s notorious among jewelers, with its barbaric colors and the obscene sizes of gemstones that require a chainsaw. The Russian jewelry, some have joked, is another form of mineralogy.”

Had she heard another man say this, she would have pointed out his arrogance, but this man had a way of expressing his confidence so even the insult sounded charismatic.

“You look familiar. Have we met?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me guess. You are a princess of a Shanghai tycoon and you order diamond necklaces and rings like men buy cigars. I have many clients like you, young and beautiful. And your dress, it’s most exquisite.”

“I borrowed it from a friend. It’s not mine.”

“Is that so? How honest of you. You look lovely. I’m Pierre Bellefeuille, a bijoutier-artiste , the owner of the House of Bellefeuille.”

“Oh.”

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“I am Anyu, from Harbin. I’m trained as a jeweler, too.”

“Are you? And which house do you work for?”

“The House of Mandelburg.”

He raised his eyebrows. “David Mandelburg is your mentor?”

“No. Isaac Mandelburg.”

“I see. The newcomer. I haven’t had a chance to meet him. He’s quite shifty, isn’t he? How does he treat you?” There was something in his tone that Anyu couldn’t figure out.

“Very well.”

He leaned over, his cologne a thick mist enveloping her. “You have a smudge on you. May I?”

His fingers touched her chin—they were clean, soft. A strange sensation ran through her. No man had ever touched her face in her eighteen years of life.

“Excuse me.”

Anyu squeezed past the crowd and rushed out. At the door, she looked back. Bellefeuille, his arm on the glass case, was watching her as if she were a newly discovered diamond.

At the end of the exhibition, Anyu thought she had something figured out.

The wealthy in Shanghai loved wealth but resented carrying it like a rock.

It was all about glamour and glory. And the jewelry on display all shared a common theme, featuring exotic animals such as panthers, salamanders, lions, giraffes, and the ubiquitous snakes, except the flowers from the House of Bellefeuille.

None of the jewelry besides hers hinted at Chinese legends or myth.

Her phoenix design was unique, rich with cultural connotations, refreshing among the Western concepts, and perfectly crafted. Would Miss Soong, a woman born in China and about to marry a Chinese leader, appreciate her reference?

“Anyu, there you are! I was looking for you.”

Isaac appeared by her side. He looked hot, his face glittering; near him was Mrs. Brown, followed by another group of journalists with cameras.

“Mrs. Brown—”

“Come, darling. I’m dying to take a picture with you.” The lady leaned over, the edge of her tiara grazing Anyu’s ear.

Anyu barely had time to say anything else before the cameras flashed, and a chorus of voices exploded.

“Miss Anyu, where did you receive your inspiration for the bird?”

“Miss Anyu? Miss Anyu, what’s your surname?”

“Miss Anyu, you’re not from Shanghai, I can tell. Where are you from?”

“Miss Anyu, you look so young. How old are you?”

She looked at Isaac, caught off guard, unsure about the attention and questions.

“It’ll be an honor, Mrs. Brown, if you could tell her personally,” Isaac said.

Mrs. Brown’s eyes widened. “Darling, I just made the announcement. Perhaps you missed it. You’re the winner of the competition.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll be in touch with Isaac about the details, but yes, darling. I’ve been notified by the generalissimo’s assistant. The generalissimo and Miss Soong have chosen your rising phoenix as their wedding gift. They have offered to purchase your brooch.”

A wave of blazing flashes blinded her. All Anyu could see were the curious looks in women’s eyes and the disbelieving stares from men.

Anyu turned to Isaac, his figure a strip of polished metal.

She began to tremble, and she wanted to ask Isaac again if this was true or if she was dreaming.

Her second design had won the top prize.

How was this real? But Mrs. Brown was still standing next to her, and the journalists were still asking her questions, and there, she saw her phoenix, displayed in a vitrine near the stage.

A round of thunderous applause burst around her, the cameras, diamonds, and colorful dresses fusing together; she felt dizzy in the spotlight.

This was not what she had imagined—it was better than she had imagined.

It was wonderful to be seen, to be recognized, to have accomplished something akin to a dream.

She couldn’t remember how she came to stand beside the vitrine, how many people congratulated her, or what she replied.

For hours, she stood in front of the cameras, facing people, smiling at the renowned jewelers whose designs she had defeated.

She thought she had seen so much, yet so little.

She felt like a fraud. Did they believe she was the jeweler? A master jeweler?

“Congratulations, master jeweler,” Isaac said.

Anyu smiled. She would have kissed him, if it weren’t for the crowd around her, the journalists, and the cameras. She was euphoric, drunk with success.

It was a moment that would change her life, a moment that cemented her new status in the city as a rising star craftsman, a moment that she’d relish and revisit countless times for many days and months.

And rightly so. But she would have felt differently had she known what was ahead of her: a new life.