Ruoxi sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, the yellowed birth certificate spread open beside her like a landmine. Her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at the name written in uneven ink: Mo Qinghua.
Her mother's name was Liang Shuyin. But her biological father's name had always been a blank — a cruel erasure.
She had never imagined it would link her to the Mo family.
And yet, here it was.
"Why would my mother hide this?" she whispered, staring at the faded envelope. "And why would she burn the rest?"
Her mind whirled with questions. But one thought pulsed louder than the rest:
What if I was never just Liang Ruoxi?
What if she was the key to something bigger?
She turned to her laptop, logging into an old press archive database — the same one she used during her journalism internship.
Search: "Mo Family – Fire – Unsolved Death – 12 Years Ago."
The results loaded slowly, and then—
An article popped up.
"Tragedy Strikes Mo Residence: Daughter of Mo Qinghua Perishes in Mysterious Fire."
Ruoxi's breath caught.
There was a photo — old, grainy.
A girl. Long black hair. Serious eyes.
She looked exactly like Ruoxi.
No. Not exactly. But close enough to pass as her twin.
Her name had been Mo Linyue.
Zeyan's older sister.
Age at death: 15.
Cause: Fire.
Status: Unsolved.
Ruoxi stared at the girl's face. The nose was sharper, but the eyes—those haunted eyes—were identical to hers.
She scrolled down. But suddenly, the file glitched.
ACCESS DENIED. FILE SEALED BY PRIVATE ORDER.
She cursed softly. The rest of the article had been scrubbed.
"Why seal a child's death record unless there was something to hide?"
She bit her lip and whispered aloud, "Mo Linyue… who were you to me?"
Meanwhile, across the mansion…
Mo Zeyan stood in his private study, staring at the black box on his desk. No sender. No markings. Just a single red string tied around it.
He opened it.
Inside lay a single photograph.
His hands clenched.
It was Mo Linyue — his sister. Standing in front of the lake from their childhood estate.
But there was no mistaking the timestamp printed at the bottom:
Dated: Yesterday.
He flipped the photo over.
One line was written in red ink:
"She never died. You buried the wrong girl."
The room swam around him.
Zeyan dropped the photo.
"Who's playing this game?" he whispered.
His phone buzzed.
A message flashed:
"Check the north wing, Zeyan. The answers are still burning."
Back in her room…
Ruoxi paced, unable to sit still. The resemblance between herself and Mo Linyue was too uncanny to ignore.
Could she have been adopted to replace her?
Or… was it possible she had survived the fire and been passed off under a new identity?
Was her entire childhood a fabrication?
She thought of the night she saw the flicker of a shadow in the north wing.
No staff was allowed there.
It wasn't locked just for dust control.
Something — or someone — was being kept inside.
She left her room quietly, the corridor cold against her bare feet. The mansion was silent, save for the occasional creak of settling wood and distant rustle of wind.
She reached the velvet rope again.
And stepped over it.
This time, the door at the end of the north wing wasn't locked.
Her fingers wrapped around the handle. She turned it slowly, heart pounding.
The door creaked open.
And the smell of old smoke and disinfectant hit her like a wave.
Inside, the room was dark.
But she could just make out the outline of a mirror — tall, cracked, and scorched at one edge.
In front of it sat a music box. Silver. Dust-covered. But playing.
She took one hesitant step in.
And a voice whispered behind her:
"Why do you look like her?"
Ruoxi spun around.
No one.
Her breath fogged in the air.
Suddenly — a footstep behind her.
She turned again.
A girl.
Standing by the curtain.
Hair long and wild. Skin pale. Eyes hollow.
The girl stared at her as if seeing a ghost.
Ruoxi's throat tightened.
"You— You're Mo Linyue?"
But before the girl could speak, the lights cut out.
Darkness.
A scream echoed down the hall — and then, silence.
Elsewhere…
Mo Zeyan raced up the stairs two at a time.
The moment the lights went out, he knew where she'd gone.
He threw open the door to the north wing.
The smell of ash hit him hard.
"Ruoxi!" he shouted.
No answer.
He sprinted toward the back room.
But when he entered—
She was gone.
The music box still played.
But both girls were gone.