Back at the dorm, Ye Wan was uncharacteristically carrying three shopping bags.
The other three girls in the room hurried over in surprise.
She never shops like this.
And those bags clearly belong to some clothing boutique.
Everyone had been busy with their own things.
Seeing Ye Wan like this, they put down whatever they were doing and gathered around.
One girl leaned in for a closer look and instantly spotted the brand printed on the bag.
She couldn't help gasping.
The other two rushed over as well.
One glance and their eyes went wide, faces full of shock.
A moment later they finally came back to their senses.
They surrounded Ye Wan in an instant, all talking at once.
"Ye Wan, did you strike it rich?"
"Yeah, how can you afford such expensive down jackets?"
The three of them stared at her as if she were some alien.
Ye Wan was stunned by their stares.
She stood there blankly, clutching the bags tight.
After a while she seemed to snap out of it.
Slowly she reached into a bag and pulled out the jackets.
She examined them one by one.
They felt much lighter than the cotton coats she usually wore.
She focused on the stitching and seams—
Neat, tight, exquisite workmanship.
The design was extremely simple, almost no decoration at all.
To Ye Wan, aside from being lighter and the fabric feeling a bit heavier,
she couldn't see anything special.
Baffled, her face showed helpless confusion.
She looked at her roommates, lips trembling. "Are these… expensive?"
The question left them stunned.
They exchanged a meaningful glance.
The shock in their eyes slowly turned to curiosity.
One spoke first: "Of course, it's a big brand—one jacket costs over a thousand."
Another chimed in: "My aunt has one. Whenever Mom sees it, envy drips from her eyes; she keeps saying she'll buy one when she gets her bonus."
The third leaned closer, eyes fixed on Ye Wan: "You work at a milk tea shop—how much an hour? How long to save for these? Did you win the lottery?"
Question after question shot at her like bullets,
their eyes sparkling with prying curiosity.
From the day school started they'd had a rough idea of Ye Wan's family situation.
When they'd first pooled money for a washing machine,
Ye Wan had fidgeted awkwardly.
Twisting her hands, eyes down, she whispered she probably wouldn't use it,
so maybe she needn't chip in.
The room had fallen silent,
everyone staring with faint aloofness.
After that, conversation with Ye Wan stayed minimal,
the relationship cool.
But over time they realized she was truly frugal.
She juggled part-time jobs, leaving early and returning late, hardly ever in the dorm.
Each night, while they lay in bed chasing dramas or chatting,
Ye Wan would drag herself in exhausted.
She opened the door softly, afraid to disturb them,
washed up quickly, and climbed into bed.
Though she hadn't paid for the washer
and never used it,
she never argued about the shared electricity bill.
Whenever it was due she silently handed over her share.
Her lack of resentment only deepened their guilt.
When they went shopping or eating out,
they'd bring her back snacks,
since they stayed in the dorm all day,
gadgets running non-stop.
Laptops streamed dramas, hair-dryers blew daily,
fans in summer, hotpots in winter—
power use was high and the bill steep.
Ye Wan, in contrast,
came and went in silence, living simply between classes and jobs.
Apart from charging her phone she touched none of the appliances,
so the bill had little to do with her.
Ye Wan's fingers twisted the hem of her coat,
knuckles white.
She drew a breath, steadying her voice: "Usually… eighteen yuan an hour."
"Eighteen? That beats my summer McDonald's wage by two; your shop treats you well."
"Nice, but how'd you afford these jackets?"
Watching them admire the coats, Ye Wan remembered Yang Fan's words:
"These are arranged by President Jiang."
She realized Yang Fan had carried only three bags in
and given them all to her.
Was this a benefit for everyone, or like the subsidized meal card—just for her?
Pushing the thought aside, she said: "It's our New-Year welfare."
Her roommates plainly didn't believe her.
Eyes wide, faces skeptical as if she'd spouted fairy-tales.
"Really?" one girl gaped. "A milk tea shop giving out thousand-yuan jackets? Never heard of that."
"Must be knock-offs," another muttered, inspecting the seams. "Fakes look real these days."
"No way," the third chimed in, half jealous. "Those three could pay your wages for months."
Their chatter made Ye Wan's head buzz,
a restless irritation rising.
A strange, twisted feeling surfaced as she glanced at her own cotton coat—
bought when she'd entered college, Mom scrimping for months to spare her ridicule.
That coat had been one of her few new pieces, cherished ever since.
When Yang Fan handed her the bags she'd thought them ordinary jackets,
delighted the whole way back—
she rarely bought new clothes.
Now she learned they cost thousands.
Even though they were hers, her heart ached at the price.
A poor family's instinct, she thought—
for people long deprived, clothes aren't the ultimate desire;
they've learned to endure material want.
If these costly jackets reached village families…
They might accept it with a polite smile plastered on their faces.
But in the next breath, inwardly, they could resent—even condemn—the giver for squandering so much money on what they see as "useless" things.
They can wear threadbare clothes, unbothered by whether they look clean or respectable.
They can endure hunger, just to save enough for the barest necessities—plain white rice.
Yet when help does come, what they crave most is still money.
Because money means the whole family's life can change.
Children can eat their fill and stay warm; long-overdue bills can finally be paid.
If those three down jackets were swapped for a few thousand yuan, their gratitude would be even deeper.
A few thousand is what they might spend in an entire year of back-breaking labor.
Realizing she was trapped in this exact narrow mindset, Ye Wan felt a surge of shame rise from her heart.
Pain spread through her like a slow tide.
She lowered her head slowly, as if trying to hide herself so no one could see her humiliation.
In truth, didn't she long to dress like the other girls, to be someone respectable?
She felt utterly useless.
Why these thoughts? Why couldn't she accept the gift as openly as everyone else?
She, too, wanted to be a decent, dignified person.
But the circumstances she'd been born into were an invisible shackle.
The background color of her family of origin had locked her thoughts and actions in place, forging this rigid pattern she couldn't break.
She didn't know how to change; she could only wrestle with it in silence.
Ye Wan shook her head hard, trying to fling away the stale ideas that bound her.
She lifted her head, forced a smile, and replied, "I don't really know. You all realize I never come into contact with these brands. The shop gave them out; whatever the label, I'm just happy."
None of the three girls doubted her for a second.
If a real beauty had been standing in Ye Wan's place, their imaginations would have run wild—sure there was some shady secret or trick behind such a perk.
But for an ordinary girl like Ye Wan, the first assumption was that the milk tea shop had simply bought decent knock-offs as a staff freebie.
After all, this was the fashion capital; fakes were everywhere. A counterfeit down jacket was nothing new.
In their eyes Ye Wan had always been plain and thrifty; she couldn't have special connections.
A nicer staff gift wasn't impossible—maybe the shop wanted to attract customers or boost morale.
Seeing Ye Wan so easily satisfied, the girls tried to comfort her instead.
"You're right—knock-off or not, it keeps you warm," one said, patting her shoulder. "Who cares about the brand?"
"Exactly, there's no logo on the outside; the tag's hidden. No one will know."
"Free is free—real or fake…" the third girl laughed.
Ye Wan only smiled, saying nothing.
She knew they meant well, but the jackets were definitely not fakes.
Yang Fan had said it was Jiang Cheng's arrangement.
From what she knew of Jiang Cheng, counterfeits were out of the question.
He even subsidized every student with 500 yuan for electricity; he was never stingy.
He'd never bother with fakes—certainly not over a few jackets.
Ye Wan folded the three down jackets gently, handling them like priceless treasures.
She smoothed every crease, stacked them neatly, and slipped them carefully into the bags.
After Jiang Cheng left at noon, Yang Fan posted the notice for Spring Festival part-timers.
One special condition caught Ye Wan's eye: priority given to students from low-income families.
Yang Fan had explained that Jiang Cheng had personally added that clause.
Reading it, Ye Wan felt moved—Jiang Cheng really was kind.
Yet the same line stung: it branded her self-delusion for what it was.
She'd thought the distance between her and Jiang Cheng had narrowed.
That clause snapped her awake.
All her secret glances, her tiny hopes—she felt like a clown.
How foolish, how naive to imagine Jiang Cheng might see her as special.
What made her think she meant anything more to him?
From that clause, perhaps all his help had simply been pity.
But now, looking at the three bags of jackets, her imagination flickered back to life.
Maybe—just maybe—she did matter to him, even a little.
After a moment she took out her phone.
She opened wechat and sent Jiang Cheng a message.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, a shy smile on her lips, eyes bright with anticipation.
Ye Wan: "Thank you. I've received the down jackets."
Jiang Cheng arrived at Shanghai airport in a rolls-royce.
The news of Zhou Ying's flight incident exploded across the internet, rocketing to the top of the hot search list.
Media outlets scrambled to report; netizens debated heatedly on social media.
Still, the uproar didn't disrupt normal airport operations.
As Chen Ping had said, the control-tower staff were all replaced and the rogue pilot reprimanded; the storm passed.
After all, a Chinese airport isn't a private business—daily revenue easily tops ten million yuan.
When Jiang Cheng stepped out, Zhao Qiming and Wang Qing were waiting at the entrance.
The moment he appeared they hurried forward.
Zhao Qiming's face bloomed into a smile like a chrysanthemum in full flower, crow's-feet deepening.
He leaned forward slightly, almost bowing, shuffling quickly toward Jiang Cheng, hands rubbing together in open flattery.
"President Jiang, welcome, welcome."
His voice dripped ingratiation, pitched louder than usual so everyone nearby could hear his respect.
Jiang Cheng lifted a corner of his mouth in an almost-smile, eyes flicking with mild amusement.
"Didn't expect Manager Zhao to still be here."
The teasing only widened Zhao Qiming's grin to comic proportions.
Being noticed by someone several tiers above him— even in jest—felt like an honor.
Better than being ignored entirely.
His eyes narrowed to slits, mouth gaping to show uneven teeth.
He nodded repeatedly, body swaying with each bob of his head.
"Haha, my whole future was saved by you, Jiang Cheng. Without you that day, my last dozen years of effort would've gone down the drain. You're my benefactor, truly…"