After finishing her long story to Ruo Mei, about everything that had happened during the day. And later Wei Xing freshened up, changed into her casual clothes, and neatly packed her luggage. At the door, she smiled faintly and said, "Then I'll go back home. I'll visit you later."
She placed an ATM card in Ruo Mei's hand and added with a teasing grin, "The password is my birthday."
Ruo Mei laughed, shaking her head. "Call me when you reach home, alright?"
With that, the two parted ways. Wei Xing hailed a taxi and leaned back into the seat, quietly saying, "Shunyi, please."
---
By the time she arrived in Shunyi, the night had already softened. The moonlight spilled gently over the quiet streets, carrying with it the tender breeze of late summer—as if the season itself was ready to turn a new page.
Her apartment building loomed ahead, tall and still against the night sky. Wei Xing walked inside, entered the elevator, and pressed the glowing button marked 9. The hum of the lift filled the silence until it finally opened on the ninth floor.
She stepped out, the hallway stretching quietly before her, and made her way toward her apartment.
The number 909 glowed faintly on the doorplate. Wei Xing tapped in her passcode, and with a soft click, the lock opened.
Inside, the apartment greeted her with stillness. It was spotless—almost unnervingly so, like it belonged to someone obsessed with order. Not a single speck of dust lingered on the surfaces; even the shoes by the entrance were aligned with military precision.
She dragged her bag inside, the wheels whispering against the polished floor, and glanced toward the living room. The space was bright but strangely bare, as if beauty had been traded for control. A pale gray sofa sat perfectly centered against the wall, its cushions uncreased. A low black coffee table gleamed under the warm ceiling light, holding nothing but a neatly stacked set of coasters. On the wall hung a single framed photograph—an abstract painting, muted and cold, that gave no clue of the person who lived here.
After a brief pause, she carried her luggage into the bedroom and placed it by the corner. The room was as orderly as the rest: bed sheets smooth, pillows arranged symmetrically, curtains pulled to exact lengths.
Then, as though pulled by instinct, Wei Xing walked towards a room beside the kitchen and opened the door to a different room.
This room was nothing like the others. The air itself felt heavier. The curtains were drawn, leaving it in a half-shadow, and the faint scent of old paper and dust lingered. A desk stood in the middle, covered with scattered notebooks and photographs, untouched for a long time. A violin case rested against the wall, closed but worn at the edges. Unlike the pristine neatness outside, here was a kind of quiet chaos—alive with memories, yet wrapped in sadness.
Wei Xing stepped inside, her chest tightening. This was the room she rarely entered, the one that seemed to hold a piece of her heart she couldn't easily face.
She crossed the dim room and stopped before a single framed photograph propped on a low shelf: a man in a navy uniform, face set against a distant sea. Dust had gathered at the corners as if time itself had forgotten this image. Wei Xing reached out on trembling hands and wiped the glass until the face shone through. The motion felt like clearing a window into the past.
Slowly, almost ritualistically, she lit a stick of incense and placed it in the little holder beside the photo. The smoke curled upward and the warm, faint scent filled the shadowed room. She whispered into the quiet, voice breaking: "Dad… I'm home. How are you?" Tears pricked at her eyes and threatened to spill. She kept talking as if the photograph could answer — words tumbling out of loneliness and longing. "I thought I was one step closer… but that step only opened another path. This time I'll find out the truth." A small, hard smile touched her lips — not quite peace, not quite sorrow, but something fierce and determined.
When the incense had burned low she turned the frame and pressed at a seam in the wall she'd known about for years but never dared open. A hidden door clicked, and darkness swallowed the space behind it. She switched on the light. The room was a secret room: the wall was papered with clippings, notes, and a large map centered on Unique Media. Red string and pins traced lines outward; photographs and headlines were connected like constellations. In the center, her father's picture was pinned and linked by an arrow to Unique Media — a line that made her stomach drop. Around it, question marks and hastily written notes hovered like accusations: names, dates, meetings she did not yet understand.
Her hand paused over the map. Instinct pulled her to the stack of loose photos on the table; almost without thinking she found a small, recent print of Zhou Yu and added it to the wall, pinning it near the network of lines. The motion made the connections look more ominous, as if another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Why would Mrs. Zhao want her to watch Zhou Yu? Was he connected to this web? Or was he the web's target? Questions crowded her mind, each one more urgent than the last.
She stood back and let the dim light fall across the map and the pinned photographs. For a long moment she only breathed. Then she closed her fists until her nails left pale crescents in her palms. There was no map clear enough to hand her answers; there was only work to be done. I have to find out, she told herself. If there's any link between him and my father — or any secret hidden in his world — I will uncover it.
And with that small, dangerous promise, she switched off the lamp and carried the night's resolve with her into the quiet flat.
Wei Xing sat slumped on the couch, her spirits low, when suddenly her phone buzzed. Ruo Mei calling…
The moment she answered, her tone shifted back to normal, hiding her mood.
"Hmm, I'm home… hmmm… I'll step out to buy some groceries."
Ruo Mei responded briefly, then hung up.
Wei Xing sighed, changed into something casual, and went out to grab groceries. By the time she returned, she was too tired to think further. She tossed the bags onto the counter, showered, and lay down. Just as she was about to drift off, her phone lit up — a message from Zhou Yu's agent, outlining the next day's schedule.
She read it once, muttered a small "okay," and finally surrendered to sleep.
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Zhou Yu leaned back against his pillows, his long legs stretched out, nearly covering the width of the bed. In his hands was a photo frame.
The picture inside was old: a boy with long bangs that hid most of his face, his head lowered shyly, and beside him a girl—bright, fierce, and joyous—standing on a bench so she could rest her hand firmly on his shoulder. They looked like students at a school event, caught in a fleeting, youthful moment.
Zhou Yu's gaze softened as he traced the image with his fingers.
"Finally… you showed up," he murmured. "Why are you pretending like that? Don't want me to recognize you? Or… is there another reason?"
His lips curved into a faint smile, a low chuckle escaping.
"But why go so far as to make yourself look… ugly? Wei Xing… whatever it is, I'll play along. I'll wait until you want me to see you."
He rubbed the back of his head, laughing faintly as he set the photo on his nightstand. Still smiling, he drifted into sleep, the memories of that photo lingering in his mind.