Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Did It, Yes

Ran Buyue returned home carrying a heavy cardboard box. He dropped it on the dining table with a thud, his arms sore.

As he opened the soup packaging, a wave of hot fragrance rushed out. One sniff told him it wasn’t chicken soup at all—it was pork rib soup.

A full pot of ribs, braised until tender, the ginger flavor just right. After one bowl, his chest felt warm and soothed. A deep sense of comfort settled in.

He sat alone at the table, under the soft glow of candlelight, slowly sipping the soup, lost in thought.

His gaze fell on the living room, where a Bibendum armchair, refined enough to be showcased in an art gallery, sat beside the coffee table.

If Shu Zhenshan ever brought him home again, the first thing he’d see when the door opened would be that chair.

Ran Buyue didn’t want his ex-boyfriend to know he still kept a gift from him. That might give the wrong impression—that he still wasn’t over him.

After finishing the soup, he was left with an empty ceramic pot, plump like a little chubby doll. Ran Buyue washed it thoroughly inside and out and placed it inside the transparent display cabinet next to the armchair—right beside a certain antique vase he’d bought at an auction for 200,000 euros.

On the upper shelf of the cabinet were the various design awards Ran Buyue had won over the years.

Tian Xiaozhe had originally wanted him to move all his trophies and certificates to the studio, to create a wall of accomplishments. Ran Buyue thought that was completely unnecessary and declined.

But Tian Xiaozhe was persistent, arguing that while maintaining the studio’s aesthetic was important, so were these worldly accolades. Who knows? Maybe a big client might visit, see a particular design, realize it was his, and sign a deal on the spot.

After some discussion and compromise, Ran Buyue agreed to bring only the most prestigious awards back to the studio.

The next day, he pulled a few trophies out of the box and, under Tian Xiaozhe’s starry-eyed admiration, placed them on the prominent studio display shelf.

Other designers’ awards were also displayed on that shelf—everyone’s achievements lined up like twinkling stars.

Tian Xiaozhe could recite every single one of Ran Buyue’s accolades by heart.

“Boss, I remember every single one! That’s the German award you got when you first started working, that one’s from a client project where you also won first prize, and… wait, that one’s the UDA Gold Award! The so-called Nobel Prize of the design world! Boss, when did you win that? I don’t remember at all!”

The UDA—Uncharted Design Award—was a globally prestigious prize, on par with the Red Dot and iF Design Awards.

Because of its strict selection process, only a few people won each year. Though unspoken, everyone in the industry agreed it carried more weight than the others.

Tian Xiaozhe suddenly realized, “Oh, Boss, you must have still been in university when you won that. No wonder I didn’t remember.”

Ran Buyue nodded. “Junior year.”

That rang a bell for Tian Xiaozhe. Back then, he’d still been an artsy slacker surfing the web all day, knowing every piece of gossip from the design world.

“Wasn’t that the year some rich kid got disqualified? That was the biggest drama of the year!”

Ran Buyue nodded. He remembered it well.

By then, he had been broken up with Shu Zhenshan for nearly a year and had thrown himself completely into his studies and design work. As long as he stayed busy, there was no room in his head for anything else.

At his professor’s encouragement, he applied for the competition.

The scandal broke during the evaluation period: the disqualified contestant had been reported for academic dishonesty. Contrary to his claims, the work was not done by him alone. He had a whole elite team behind him. Worse still, he had repeatedly plagiarized other people’s designs—including the very one he submitted for the competition.

Normally, scandals like this would only cause a brief uproar. People would shout “justice served!” and then move on. But this one was different.

Because the contestant was the golden boy of a powerful elite family—the youngest son of the American-based Yundian Group.

Yundian had a massive presence in entertainment and monopolized many sectors. Their industries spanned hotels, resorts, gambling, real estate—you name it. And that was just their public-facing businesses. Their influence ran deep and wide behind the scenes.

The golden boy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, raised with infinite resources. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, handsome and elegant—any casual street photo he posted would get tens of thousands of likes.

Media reports described him as a born artist who, despite having it all, pursued design purely for passion. A top graduate of a London art institute, he didn’t work for money—only to create works that pushed the boundaries of human aesthetics.

He once declared on social media that he wanted to earn the three top design awards in the world by the age of 25. His wording was confident and sincere, gaining the support of many fashion insiders and swarms of adoring fans.

At the time, he was missing only the UDA Gold Award to achieve a “grand slam.”

So that year’s competition drew enormous attention. Everyone assumed the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

No one expected such a scandal to explode.

Normally, powerful corporations would bury this kind of news before it even broke—maybe even during the investigation phase.

But the anonymous whistleblower had executed the move with surgical precision, leaving no trace until it was too late.

All the evidence was neatly organized and submitted directly to trusted members of the selection committee—and posted on social media simultaneously.

The documents included testimonies from those he plagiarized, timestamps, evidence of threats and hush attempts, a full timeline, and names of involved parties. It was airtight. Before Yundian Group could initiate any media control, the scandal was already trending at the top.

The public was shocked. So all that talent and brilliance praised in media reports were fake? His designs had been bought, copied, or stolen?

Like a golden tower collapsing in an instant.

Tian Xiaozhe recalled, “We talked about that drama for ages! Boss, he was already so rich—what couldn’t he have? Why enter a competition like that?”

Ran Buyue chuckled. “Maybe it’s because he had too much money. Money was like scrap paper to him. It couldn’t excite him anymore. He needed people to feed him emotional value.”

“He should’ve just hired people to stand by his bed and chant, ‘Your Highness, your talent is unmatched!’ every day,” Tian Xiaozhe grumbled. “Why steal someone else’s work? That’s taking opportunities from regular folks. Even if the truth comes out, the original creators already missed their best window of opportunity.”

Ran Buyue nodded. “Yeah… If he hadn’t been disqualified, I probably wouldn’t have won the gold.”

“Thank goodness justice was served!” Tian Xiaozhe put his hands together. “Even God didn’t want your brilliance buried!”

Ran Buyue smiled. “It wasn’t some divine intervention. Someone just happened to report him.”

Tian Xiaozhe perked up. “Boss, do you know who exposed him?”

Ran Buyue played along. “Who?”

The whistleblower’s identity—or rather, the force behind them—was one of the hottest gossip topics at the time.

Yundian’s reach was vast. Without serious power backing you, reporting them was a death wish. One slip-up, and you’d be crushed before you even knew what hit you.

“Rumor is it was a competitor,” Tian Xiaozhe said. “Couldn’t beat Yundian in business, so they attacked the family from within. After the scandal broke, Yundian’s stock even dipped.”

Ran Buyue sighed. “But only for a little while. It bounced back. They’re still thriving.”

“Yeah, people forget fast,” Tian Xiaozhe muttered, face darkening. “But did you hear what happened to the whistleblower?”

“Yundian allegedly tracked him down, dragged him to an underground fighting ring in Vegas, beat him half to death, tied him to a spinning wheel, and shot him full of holes until he died.”

Ran Buyue frowned. “Have you been watching too many movies?”

“My friend told me! Scared me half to death. Gave me nightmares for a week. Americans are crazy!”

“Your friend probably made that up.”

“But Boss, you know what some people guessed back then? They said the whistleblower had something to do with you.”

Ran Buyue nodded. Of course he knew.

Two major theories were floating online: One, it was a competitor. Two, the golden boy had blocked someone else’s path, and some powerful figure had stepped in to protect that person and remove the obstacle.

But when the results were announced, the second theory was instantly debunked.

Because the winner of the gold award—Ran—was just a poor Chinese junior student. No relatives in the U.S., no sugar daddies, no romantic partners. Nothing but talent.

Who would go against a powerful American family just to support a weak foreign student? No one.

And that’s exactly why the outcome felt so fairytale-like—

A privileged fraud fell, and a genuinely talented underdog triumphed.

Like Charlie inheriting the chocolate factory—not because he got a golden ticket, but because he was kind.

The gold medal alone would’ve brought Ran Buyue endless opportunities. But to stand out as a junior among veteran designers—and with a Cinderella backstory—instantly shot him to fame.

His winning piece was an exoskeletal prosthetic designed for people with disabilities. Unlike traditional bulky designs, it used a hollowed structure and lightweight flexible materials. The key innovation was its adaptive functionality it could sense the environment and adjust accordingly, drastically improving safety and convenience.

The piece was titled Xiao Xiang—literally “Little Elephant.”

Friends and reporters often asked why the name? It didn’t seem related at all.

Ran Buyue would smile and explain seriously: “Why isn’t it related? An elephant’s trunk has over 40,000 muscles. It’s incredibly flexible. Humans have only 600. The trunk helps baby elephants explore the world. I want my design to offer the same level of flexibility and adaptability.”

What he didn’t say was—he had thought of someone’s nickname “Little Spider” and lazily adopted a similar naming method.

Nor did he say that during the design process, he’d often recall past arguments. Someone once scolded his design for being too flashy—and, well, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

The judges comment on Xiao Xiang read.

“Xiao Xiang balances futuristic innovation with humanistic care. If there is a single correct path for human technology, Ran and his Little Elephant are the light illuminating it.”

Looking back on his career, Ran Buyue truly felt blessed. That award set his path for a smooth journey ahead.

Everything aligned that year—timing, luck, and people. Without any of it, he wouldn’t be where he was.

Once the “award wall” was complete, he headed upstairs to his office to begin his day’s work.

Aside from the robot project with Yanchuan Tech, ROAM had also taken on several boutique projects. Ran didn’t micromanage, but he still had to oversee the overall direction.

After a morning of back-to-back meetings, time flew by.

“Boss! Lunch is here!”

Tian Xiaozhe entered dramatically, balancing a lunchbox on his head like a foreign envoy bearing tribute.

Ran Buyue didn’t even lift his head. He just pointed vaguely. “Put it there.”

“Uh… that’s the sofa. You want me to put it on the sofa?”

He finally looked up, saw the lovely window-side sofa, and quickly said, “Not on the sofa. On the desk.”

“I knew it,” Tian Xiaozhe grumbled, placing the lunch beside him. “You better eat it! If I come back in thirty minutes and it’s untouched, I’ll be mad!”

Ran Buyue: “Got it, got it.”

An hour later, Tian Xiaozhe returned. The plastic bag and lunchbox looked completely untouched, exactly the same as when he left.

Though a few new model prototypes had appeared on the desk.

“Ran Buyue! Are you blind? Do you know irregular meals can cause stomach issues, malnutrition, even infertility—”

After his rant, Ran Buyue reluctantly opened the box and halfheartedly poked at the cold food.

“You didn’t even reheat it?!”

Tian Xiaozhe snatched it back, heated it, returned it, and demanded he eat at least 30%.

Ran Buyue sighed. “Fine, fine.”

An hour later, the scene was the same.

He was still working. The food? Barely touched.

“…”

Years later, this man could still drive Tian Xiaozhe up the wall.

He was about to unleash another verbal storm when a voice echoed from downstairs—

“Oh—hello, sir!”

Panicking, Tian Xiaozhe bolted down to personally greet the unexpected VIP.

What he saw nearly made him faint.

Shu Zhenshan, dressed in a sleek black suit, was standing with some casually dressed young people, learning how to swirl soft serve from an ice cream machine.

He produced a very poop-shaped chocolate cone.

A girl with ombré pink-blue hair burst out laughing. “Haha, that looks like poop.”

Shu Zhenshan nodded. “A bit, yeah.”

Then he calmly finished the entire cone.

Tian Xiaozhe nearly passed out.

A guy in flip-flops offered, “Mr. Shu, I’ll teach you how to make a perfect swirl!”

Under their guidance, Shu Zhenshan successfully created a beautiful vanilla cone with a perfect little curl on top.

Tian Xiaozhe rushed up. “Mr. Shu, welcome. How can I help?”

Shu Zhenshan: “I’m here to see your director.”

Tian Xiaozhe: “Director Ran is upstairs. I’ll take you.”

On the stairs, he added, “Our team’s quite young. If they were a bit out of line, please don’t mind.”

Shu Zhenshan smiled. “Not at all. They’re charming.”

Tian Xiaozhe thought—maybe Mr. Shu isn’t as scary as we thought. Or maybe I’m imagining things…