At the painting competition, I publicly announced my withdrawal and stepped off the stage amid the stunned silence, calmly watching my own student win first place with a work she had copied from me, then kiss my boyfriend in front of everyone and mock me as a woman no one could ever love. They thought this was my defeat. What they did not know was that I had already been reborn. Reborn after the previous life in which she stole everything from me and ultimately caused my death. This time, I am standing below the stage only to let her climb high enough—so I can personally drag her back down. “Eliza! What are you spacing out for?” The studio door burst open as my best friend Chloe rushed in, waving her phone. I snapped my eyes open, taking in the familiar easel and the unfinished thesis project resting on it. I had been reborn. Reborn to the day before Vanessa plagiarized my graduation work and publicly exhibited it. “Quick, look at the school’s online forum! That two-faced snake Vanessa is stirring up trouble again!” My gaze fell on Chloe’s phone screen. The pinned post had an eye-catching title: “To All Fellow Art Lovers: When Your Closest Junior Steals Your Inspiration, Where Do You Go From Here?” In the post, without naming names, she told the story of a hardworking senior whose work was shamelessly copied by a genius junior. Even without explicitly stating who the genius junior was, everyone knew it was me. I was the art prodigy of our year, hailed as a genius since enrollment. Vanessa had even included comparison images in her post. One was her so-called competition entry, and the other was the archive of my thesis project that I had only submitted to the school’s online submission system yesterday. The composition, colors, brushstrokes, and even the innovative “stippling technique” I had only first proposed in my graduation thesis—everything was identical. It wasn’t just similar; it was an exact copy! The comments section below had exploded. “I always thought something was off about that Eliza, acting all high and mighty. Turns out she’s just a plagiarist!” “So much for being an art prodigy. She probably just had some shady deal with the instructors!” “Vanessa is too kind. If it were me, I’d report her and get her expelled!” “Poor Vanessa, sending hugs. People like this are a disgrace to the art world. They should just get out!” The familiar words pierced my heart like poisoned daggers. In my previous life, it was this very post that sent my life spiraling into an endless hell. I was vilified by thousands and investigated by the school. Professor Bennett’s gaze changed from initial admiration to utter disappointment. Meanwhile, Vanessa built her success on my ruin. She won the National Young Artists Gold Medal with my painting, signed with a top gallery, and enjoyed limitless glory. I was branded a plagiarist, and finally jumped from the roof of this very studio. Looking at Vanessa’s innocent face on the phone screen, I slowly clenched my fist. Seeing my expression change, Chloe was on the verge of tears: “Eliza, say something! Let’s go to the professor right now and show her all your drafts and evidence! We can’t let Vanessa bully you like this!” Evidence? In my previous life, I had presented all the evidence. From my initial inspiration notes to every compositional sketch, to detailed technical analysis. But it was useless. Vanessa always managed to produce even earlier evidence. She could even articulate my creative concepts eloquently before I did. “Eliza?” Chloe shook me anxiously. I looked up and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Chloe.” This time, I was determined to find out how she did it!
Chloe and I walked towards the school’s art gallery. From a distance, we could see Vanessa standing in front of the painting, surrounded by Professor Bennett and several other faculty members. She was passionately explaining her creative concept. “So, I used the stippling technique here to represent the moment when light and shadow break apart and recombine, symbolizing hope in the midst of despair…” Her words matched my written explanation verbatim. The surrounding professors nodded in approval, their eyes full of admiration. “This girl Vanessa not only has talent but also works hard.” “Indeed, the depth of thought in this painting surpasses many of her peers.” My arrival disrupted the harmonious scene. All eyes turned to me, and whispers broke out. “She has the nerve to show up?” “Look at her expression, not a hint of remorse.” Seeing me, Vanessa immediately stopped her explanation, her face showing surprise and sadness. “Eliza, you’re here.” She walked over, her eyes instantly reddening. “I know you’re talented and really wanted to make a breakthrough with your thesis project, but you can’t just plagiarize! If you had talked to me earlier, I could have helped you.” Her words sounded sincere, portraying herself as a betrayed yet still kind and forgiving victim. Professor Bennett looked at me with disappointment in her eyes. “Eliza, you may be naturally gifted, but that doesn’t mean you can take shortcuts. What’s this about? Have all the praises gone to your head?” “I remember you saying your dream was to hold a solo exhibition. Is this the kind of plagiarized work you want to exhibit?” She glanced at me, her tone full of frustration: “How many talented people have wasted their potential by not putting in the effort later on? Do you want to become another example of wasted talent?” I looked at Vanessa, who was smugly watching me, all traces of her previous pitiful act gone. But I ignored both the professor and Vanessa. In my previous life, I would have been angry, argued, and become hysterical. But now, I wouldn’t foolishly try to prove my innocence again. Chloe still wanted to speak up for me, but I held her back, shaking my head at her. We left the gallery, with Chloe fretting anxiously by my side. I assured her I was fine and sent her on her way. Back in my studio, I began to reflect on the whole incident and formed some suspicions. I locked all the doors and windows of the studio, drew the thickest blackout curtains, and even found a roll of packing tape to seal all the gaps. Then, I set up my easel and began to create. I painted quickly, completing the work in two hours. I didn’t leave the studio, to prevent Vanessa from sneaking in to take photos. Early the next morning, I checked my phone. Vanessa had updated her Snapchat status at 4 AM. It was an identical inspirational sketch, with core elements and techniques completely in my style! The caption read: “Pulled an all-nighter painting, felt like I was going to die, but glad the result is satisfying. Goodnight, world.” Below were rows of likes and comments like “You worked so hard” and “Even geniuses need to put in effort”. I frowned. If no one had broken into the studio, then what could it be? Could there be hidden cameras in the studio?
I bought a professional signal detector online and carefully checked every corner of the studio, even every socket. The result was nothing. But to be safe, I packed up my art supplies and took a cab to a rented study room far from the school. I chose a fully enclosed private room, ensuring there couldn’t possibly be any pre-installed monitoring devices. This time, I painted a still life titled “Broken Plaster Cast”. I deliberately used some unconventional color choices and light-shadow treatments, ideas I had only recently come up with and never mentioned to anyone. After finishing, I didn’t take it with me but locked it in the study room’s storage locker. However, that very night. In an art group chat full of industry bigwigs, Vanessa posted a more refined version of the same themed painting, under the guise of seeking advice. It was exactly “Broken Plaster Cast”. She posted the image even half an hour before I had finished my painting! The bigwigs in the group lavished praise on her, complimenting her bold ideas and mature techniques. A few sharp-eyed ones recognized my signature style and began to whisper. “This style, doesn’t it look a bit like that Eliza from the art school?” “It does look similar, but Vanessa’s version is more refined and the concept more mature. Guess Eliza is copying Vanessa again? She does have a history of it.” “Young people these days, always looking for shortcuts.” I was even more confused and bewildered. How exactly was Vanessa stealing my work? Sitting alone in the empty studio, I reviewed the entire incident. Physical isolation was ineffective, signal blocking was ineffective. This almost ruled out all conventional methods of theft. I recalled the interviews Vanessa gave after winning the gold medal in my previous life. She spoke eloquently, but whenever asked about the details of her creative process and inner journey, her answers always seemed hollow and superficial. Like a poor actor reciting lines that didn’t belong to her. Back then, I just thought she wasn’t good at expressing herself. Now I realize, perhaps she simply didn’t know what to say. Because she only had the result, not the process. A somewhat absurd idea formed in my mind. I messaged Chloe, sharing my thoughts with her, and then began to implement my plan. I sat in front of the easel, but didn’t take out my brushes or set up a canvas. I just closed my eyes and began to conceptualize a painting in my mind. I envisioned a black cat crouching on a windowsill, with a gloomy sky threatening rain behind it, and lightning breaking through the clouds in the distance. The overall tone of the image was somber, full of tension. In my mind, I also added a unique emerald green color to the cat’s eyes. The next day, Chloe burst into my studio again. Her face was full of anger, “Eliza! Look at this, Vanessa is inhuman!” She slammed her phone down on my table. On the screen was Vanessa’s latest social media post, published in the early hours of the morning. It was an exquisitely beautiful oil sketch. It depicted exactly a black cat crouching on a windowsill, with the cat’s eyes shimmering with that unmistakable emerald green I had imagined! Her caption was casual and smug: “Couldn’t sleep, just a little inspiration~ Especially love that green in the cat’s eyes, doesn’t it look like an emerald?” I stared at the painting. All the mist in my mind cleared at this moment. So that’s how it was! Chloe, seeing me actually smile, stomped her foot in frustration. “Eliza, what are you smiling about? She’s copying you! This time she’s copying from inside your head! It’s like witchcraft! What on earth are we going to do?” I shook my head: “No, Chloe.” She’s not just copying the ideas in my head. It’s more direct! I laughed freely: “It’s great that she can do this!” Vanessa, since you love copying so much. This time, I’ll let you copy to your heart’s content!
I immediately called Professor Bennett. When the call connected, her impatient voice came through. “Eliza, have you thought it through? Are you here to admit your mistake, or are you still being stubborn?” “Professor,” I said calmly, “my thesis project is ready.” Professor Bennett paused: “You’ve painted another one?” “Yes.” “I hope to hold a small personal exhibition in the school’s art gallery before the National Young Artists Gold Medal Competition starts the day after tomorrow.” Professor Bennett was silent. She probably thought I had gone mad. At a time when the plagiarism scandal was at its peak, not only was I not laying low, but I was actively stepping into the spotlight. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I’m sure,” my tone was firm, “I hope you and Vanessa will definitely attend.” The next day, my requested personal exhibition was held as scheduled in the school’s art gallery. Students and teachers who came to see the commotion packed the small exhibition hall. Vanessa stood at the front of the crowd, arm in arm with Professor Bennett, her eyes full of disdain for me. Everyone wanted to see what tricks this plagiarist would pull. Under the spotlight of all eyes, I walked onto the stage carrying a painting covered with a black cloth. I placed the painting on the easel, then lifted the black cloth. On the canvas was an exquisitely beautiful work. A low murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. This painting’s technique was masterful, the concept ingenious, far surpassing previous works. Vanessa’s expression changed slightly the moment she saw the painting. I could see the greed and jealousy flashing in her eyes. I surveyed the audience, then did something that left everyone stunned. I took out a lighter, lit it, then brought the flame close to a corner of the canvas. “Eliza! What are you doing!” Professor Bennett was the first to react, shouting at me sternly. The flame licked the canvas, quickly spreading. A masterpiece that had crystallized blood and sweat turned to ashes before everyone’s eyes. The audience was silent at first, then erupted into thunderous applause. “Holy shit! This is performance art!” “Using destruction to interpret rebirth? This concept is brilliant!” “I knew Eliza was a genius. Her mind works differently from ours!” Most people thought this was a carefully planned performance art piece, an artistic response to the plagiarism accusations. They didn’t understand it, but they were deeply shocked. Only Vanessa turned pale, screaming out: “Are you crazy? Eliza, how dare you? How dare you treat art like this!” She panicked. Because only she knew that destroying my painting was equivalent to destroying hers. The professors and classmates who had just praised me also changed their expressions, saying I was seeking attention and disrespecting art. I dusted off my hands and looked at the pale-faced Vanessa. “Why so agitated?” I curled my lips, “My painting is burned, but yours is still there, right?” “Why don’t you bring out the work you prepared for the competition now, and let everyone have a look?” Vanessa was so stunned by me that she couldn’t say a word, her eyes darting around as she stammered. “My painting… is still undergoing final adjustments, it’s not… not finished.” “Oh?” I feigned surprise, “The competition starts tomorrow, and it’s not finished? That won’t do.” Backed into a corner, Vanessa lashed out in anger: “Eliza! What are you up to? Constantly asking about my work, are you still trying to plagiarize me?!”
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