The television studio blazed with light as bright as midday.

Sophia Laurent stood at the center of the stage, her fingertips lightly tracing the program schedule. Just a week ago, she had been an unknown supporting player—now she was the undisputed star of the show.

"Miss Laurent, your requested paints." A crew member carefully handed her the specialized art supplies.

As she accepted them, her fingers paused briefly at the palette's edge.

The director hurried over. "We've got a full house—ten times more attendees than expected."

Sophia glanced toward the entrance. Amid the sea of faces, clusters of young audience members held up their phones in eager anticipation. The corner of her mouth lifted. This comeback battle was already won.

The program began.

Under the spotlight, Sophia calmly appraised each antique with practiced ease. When her fingers traced the intricate patterns of a Ming Dynasty blue-and-white porcelain, gasps rippled through the audience.

"The underglaze cobalt exhibits pure coloration with refined clay texture," she remarked in a cool, measured tone. "But the base joint shows traces of modern mechanical tools."

The veteran experts exchanged approving glances.

During the intermission, the stage was swiftly cleared. Crew members wheeled out a specialized easel as projectors readied to display the artwork on a massive screen.

Sophia rolled up her sleeves and dipped her brush into ink.

The room fell utterly silent.

The moment bristles touched silk, her entire demeanor transformed. Her slender wrist guided the brush with fluid grace as twenty crane silhouettes gradually took shape before the audience's eyes.

"My God..." someone in the front row breathed.

When the mineral blue pigment bloomed across the silk, waves of astonished inhales swept through the crowd. With the final dot of a crane's eye, the completed "Auspicious Cranes" glowed under the lights with the patina of a millennium-old masterpiece.

Dead silence.

Then thunderous applause erupted.

"This can't be faked!" a viewer shouted, leaping to their feet.

A shrill female voice cut through the noise: "A fifteen-year-old brat painting like this? Don't insult our intelligence!"

Sophia's gaze sharpened like a blade toward the source—a sharp-featured young woman defiantly tilting her chin.

The giant screen flickered to life.

"Mr. Hansen," Sophia seamlessly switched to fluent English, "examine the leftmost crane's tail feathers with your magnifier."

On screen, the foreign collector leaned closer. Hidden between feather strokes, microscopic characters emerged—

Sophia Laurent.

The studio exploded.

The sharp-faced woman paled and fled under the crowd's scorn. The applause swelled, some viewers even wiping their eyes.

"Ratings just shattered records!" the director exclaimed, rushing onstage.

Sophia exhaled softly as she surveyed the electrified audience. The seeds planted eight years ago had finally borne fruit—a masterstroke of vindication.