The main pavilion of the Louvre was transformed into an ocean of blinding camera flashes, clinking crystal flutes, and the sharp, calculating whispers of the global fashion elite. Sitting in the velvet-lined front row were the legendary "Three Czars" of the European Luxury Cartel: editors from Milan, royal boutique buyers from London, and the absolute arbiters of Paris fashion.
Among them sat Song Meili and a pale Pierre Dupont, their eyes hollowly tracking the sleek, glass runway. They were waiting for a catastrophe.
"She is insane," an Italian designer sneered from the second row, adjusting his silk cravat. "I heard a rumor she uses pressed bamboo fibers instead of mulberry silk. The line will look like cheap structural linen. The Western media will tear her to pieces within three minutes."
The grand house lights suddenly plunged into absolute pitch darkness.
A heavy, industrial drumbeat detonated through the premium German sound system, vibrating through the marble floors of the ancient palace. It wasn't the traditional, soft classical orchestra the European elite expected; it was an aggressive, driving tempo that signaled a declaration of war.
A brilliant, vertical shaft of ice-blue spotlight cut through the dark, illuminating the entrance of the central runway.
The first model stepped out. The entire ballroom let out a collective, synchronized gasp that seemed to suck the very oxygen from the pavilion rafters.
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[Ding! 'Deconstructed Phoenix' Runway Premiere Initiated!]
[Active Attribute: Level 4 'Vogue Vision' Environmental Aura.]
[System Effect: 150% Visual Shock multiplier applied to all high-status NPCs.]
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The model glided down the glass lane wearing the signature piece of the collection—a stark, structured trench coat crafted entirely from midnight-black Li-Steel fabric. The architecture of the garment was mesmerizing: the shoulders were wide and razor-sharp, but the left lapel and hem were completely asymmetrical and raw, intentionally frayed into wild, chaotic borders that shimmered under the stage lights with interwoven gold threads.
It was the ultimate embodiment of the mid-90s Parisian underground "grunge-chic" rebellion, but elevated to a standard of supreme luxury.
"Look at the frayed edges!" a prominent fashion editor from Milan gasped, leaning so far forward her pearl necklace strained. "They are raw... they are completely unhemmed! Yet... my God, the fibers are not running! The fabric isn't unspooling! How is that structurally possible with a woven textile?"
"It's the bamboo-steel alloy," a British buyer whispered, his eyes wide with absolute professional greed. "The material carries an unyielding tensile strength. You can slash it with a blade, and the border holds its integrity. It's an impossible contradiction... it's absolute genius!"
Before the crowd could recover from the structural shock, the model paced turned at the edge of the runway, her movement releasing a sudden, powerful wave of Li Hua's proprietary Imperial Phoenix alchemy solution into the air.
The hypnotic, deeply intoxicating aroma of rare white jasmine, warm sandalwood, and cold industrial steel instantly washed over the front row. The scent was addictive, rich, and carried the unmistakable aura of supreme old-money sovereignty.
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[Ding! S-Tier 'Perfume Alchemy' effect successfully triggered!]
[Target Psychological Status: The 'Three Czars' of the European Cartel are experiencing total sensory capitulation!]
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"What is that magnificent fragrance?" an aristocratic French Countess breathed, closing her eyes in pure ecstasy as the model walked past her seat. "It isn't a surface perfume... it's emanating directly from the molecular structure of the textile itself! It's alive!"
One by one, the subsequent models flooded the runway, each carrying a different variation of the Deconstructed Phoenix. Emerald wrap-dresses with compression waistlines that artificially contoured their natural frames, lavender tailored blazers with asymmetrical slits, and the final, jaw-dropping 'Midnight-Gold' gown that captured every fragment of light in the Louvre pavilion.
The traditional, stiff, boxy silhouettes that the European Cartel had spent decades monopolizing were rendered completely obsolete in twenty minutes. Her line didn't look like a provincial import; it looked like the future of global fashion had just violently broken its cage.
When the final model retreated into the backstage wings, the entire grand hall fell into a stunned, absolute, pin-drop silence. For three agonizing seconds, no one moved. No one spoke.
Then, the Italian fashion editor stood up.
She began to clap—a slow, thunderous rhythm that instantly triggered a domino effect across the entire pavilion. The entire room erupted into a deafening, standing ovation. The flashbulbs of hundreds of international media reporters went off like wildfire, the blinding light turning the glass runway into a shimmering diamond matrix.
"Masterpiece!" a buyer shouted. "A retail miracle!"
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[Ding! Main Quest: The Coronation of the Louvre fully successful!]
[Milestone Achieved: Three primary European Luxury Cartel buying houses have surrendered their commercial market autonomy to your brand!]
[Grand Rewards Issued: S-Tier 'International Supply Chain' Blueprint unlocked, +10,000 Global Reputation Points, S-Tier 'Sovereign Brand' Title activated!]
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A sudden, deep current of system energy consolidated Li Hua's consciousness, her mind flooding with the supreme international trade logistics of every shipping dock and textile hub from Rotterdam to Shanghai.
She stepped out onto the center runway to accept her ovation, her 59-kilogram Imperial silhouette completely framed by the blinding camera flashes. Her porcelain-white skin glowed under the stage arrays, her sharp jawline and cold, diamond-brilliant eyes commanding absolute, unyielding respect from the very elites who had called her a bumpkin hours prior.
Across the room, standing in the dim shadows of the exit terminal, Song Meili watched her triumph. Her face was completely hollow, her body trembling so violently she had to lean against the marble pillar to avoid collapsing into the dust. The Song family name was dead. Their credit line was gone. Li Hua had officially built her throne over their graves.
Ye Feng stepped onto the glass runway from the opposite wing, his long charcoal coat open, his obsidian eyes burning behind his spectacles with a dark, terrifyingly intense possessiveness. He walked straight to her side, completely ignoring the international media, and clasped her long, elegant fingers in his.
"You didn't just paralyze Europe, Boss Li," Ye Feng murmured, his low baritone a thrilling, vibrating frequency against the roar of the applause. "You have completely annexed their entire industry. Every major buying house in the West is currently scrambling to execute purchase contracts with your workshop."
Li Hua looked out at the cheering crowd of international aristocrats, her eyes flashing with the pure, unyielding fire of a global monarch.
"The runway was merely the exhibition, Ye Feng," she whispered back, her smile cold and magnificently beautiful. "Now that the 'Sovereign Brand' title is unlocked... tell Director Chen to prepare the shipping vessels. We are about to monopolize the entire transatlantic export trade."