Half a month later, at the VOG Fashion Magazine editorial department.
A young man walked into the creative director’s office and said warmly, “Director Tong, you wanted to see me?”
The young man had slightly long hair, delicate and handsome features, and an artistic, rebellious vibe. Even in the fashion industry, which was full of good-looking people, he stood out the most.
This was none other than Zhu Ran, who had just started his internship.
Sitting across from him was VOG Fashion Magazine’s creative director, Wu Tong. The woman was in her early thirties, with a sharp bob haircut, tall stature, and a sturdy build. She spoke bluntly, “I read your proposal. The ideas are solid, and the client likes them too. You’ll handle the shoot this time.”
Zhu Ran nodded. “Okay.”
Seeing Zhu Ran’s innocent and obedient expression, Wu Tong hesitated for a moment before adding, “I know you have plenty of shooting experience and great ideas, but team operations are different from solo photography. It requires coordination across the board. If you run into any issues, report them right away.”
Zhu Ran nodded again, though it was unclear if he caught the subtext, and then turned to leave.
This was Zhu Ran’s first project that he was fully in charge of: a photoshoot and interview for the film actress Zhang Muyu.
Zhang Muyu was a rising young starlet who had just turned eighteen and earned a Best Actress nomination at a domestic film award. The magazine needed content, the actress needed exposure, and the brands wanted advertising—so all parties hit it off.
By rights, Zhu Ran wasn’t senior enough to lead a project like this so soon.
Though VOG Fashion Magazine had great influence, its China branch had few employees—fewer than a hundred full-timers, all elite and stretched thin.
Creative Director Wu Tong was busy preparing VOG’s annual gala, the magazine’s S-Rank project that drew international celebrities and luxury sponsors. It was what the whole year hinged on for hitting KPIs, so she had no bandwidth for other tasks and delegated the Zhang Muyu project to her team.
At first, Wu Tong hadn’t considered Zhu Ran. The reliable photographers were all booked, and another full-timer’s proposal was utter garbage—she couldn’t pick it even pinching her nose. She had Zhu Ran submit one, and unexpectedly, it turned out excellent.
After much deliberation, she handed the project to him.
But the one who didn’t get it, Zhao Luyao, probably wouldn’t let it go. He was notorious in the company as a slacker who strutted around thanks to his dad being a headquarters shareholder.
Zhao Luyao had connections, but he was just a low-level employee, so he couldn’t hassle a director like her directly. He’d likely target Zhu Ran instead.
Zhu Ran had a huge social media following, hardcore quality work, and awards under his belt, but in fashion circles, talent wasn’t always enough. Connections and resources often mattered more.
Wu Tong was a bit worried, unsure if Zhu Ran had taken her words to heart.
But she’d said her piece. Someone without backing who was also naive wouldn’t last in fashion, even if she tried to look out for him.
Zhu Ran did feel some pressure.
When shooting on his own, he followed his whims, occasionally taking client gigs where they appreciated his style and gave him free rein. But working at a fashion magazine was far more complex, involving not just the photographer but the talent being interviewed and the sponsoring brands, all of whom might meddle with his vision.
Still, it wasn’t without perks. Backed by a big company, he had access to far more resources, richer sets than solo work, and could pull off grander pieces.
Zhu Ran enjoyed the challenge.
To nail the project, over the next few days, he shuttled between departments to push things forward.
In the fashion department, a young man whispered, “How’d the Zhang Muyu flat-lay shoot go to an intern?”
A girl looked up, watching Zhu Ran as he left. “Huh? He’s shooting it? Wasn’t it Zhao Luyao’s project?”
“No,” the guy said. “Zhu Ran just came to borrow outfits from me. He’s in charge.”
The girl tsked. “Snatched by an intern—Zhao Luyao must be pissed.”
“Who can blame him for having skills?” The guy shook his head. “I’ve seen Zhu Ran’s work. It’s killer, leaves Zhao Luyao in the dust…”
A girl nearby poked his arm, and he shut up fast.
Across from them, a slim young man with dewy skin approached. He had a buzz cut, a single-sided earring, and extended his open palm toward them.
The pair didn’t react at first. Zhao Luyao pursed his lips, rolled his eyes, and repeated, “The clothes for Zhang Muyu. Hand them over.”
They hesitated. The guy tried, “Zhu Ran was just here…”
Zhao Luyao wasn’t listening, growing impatient. “I’m handling the Zhang Muyu shoot. Give me the clothes.”
The guy opened his mouth to reply, but the girl cut in quick. “Brother Luyao, the outfits are still with the brand. Not here yet.”
The guy caught on and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Zhu Ran asked too. Haven’t arrived.”
“Fine,” Zhao Luyao pulled back his hand. “Send them to me when they do.”
“Sure thing.” The girl grinned and shooed him off, then muttered once he was gone, “Asshole. Thinks his family’s hot shit?”
The guy asked, “What do we do?”
Girl: “Stay out of it. Whoever’s leading, we play dumb.”
Zhu Ran had prior brand collab experience, so he picked it up quick, but coordinating everyone was a hassle.
He was mentally prepared, but he never expected outright sabotage.
The in-house fashion editors and beauty team were fine—they wouldn’t drop the ball. But the outsourced workers? Total deadweight. VOG’s engineering department was handled by a dedicated liaison, and those guys stonewalled Zhu Ran at every turn. None were reliable. Worried about missing the shoot deadline, Zhu Ran built the set himself, working late into the night.
“Why are you doing this alone?” A young man in a suit pushed open the door, surprised. “Where’s engineering?”
