The room smelled of luxury—amberwood, rose oil, and silent secrets. Velvet-draped walls soaked in the dim golden light, casting everything in warm deceit. Seated elegantly on the tufted chaise, Bai Lanyue sipped her tea, eyes calm but unreadable, as always.
Across from her, Wen Qing leaned back in her chair, a smile lingering on her glossy lips, though it never reached her eyes.
"I met her again today," Wen Qing said casually, crossing one leg over the other. "The veiled musician."
Bai Lanyue's hand paused slightly over her porcelain teacup. "Oh?" she asked, voice light. "By chance?"
Wen Qing's smirk deepened. "Nothing's ever by chance, Lanyue. Especially not when it comes to her."
Bai Lanyue put her cup down with grace. "And?"
"She didn't speak, of course. As expected. But I could see it." Wen Qing leaned forward, voice like silk hiding knives. "There's something about her. Something familiar. And Xiao Lin is always guarding her like a loyal dog. Suspiciously loyal."
There was a beat of silence.
"And you still believe she's… her?" Bai Lanyue's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I don't believe," Wen Qing said, brushing an imaginary speck from her lap. "I know."
Another pause. Then Bai Lanyue let out a soft chuckle. "Even if she is… what are you planning, Qingqing?"
Wen Qing's eyes gleamed. "Simple. We invite her."
"To my birthday?" Bai Lanyue asked, brow arching.
Wen Qing smiled sweetly. "Exactly. We give her a performance slot. Primetime. All eyes on her. No veil this time."
Bai Lanyue's fingers tapped lightly on the side of her cup. "She doesn't accept public performances easily. Most of her appearances are unannounced or private."
"She'll come," Wen Qing said confidently. "She won't refuse your invitation. Not with the buzz around you. Everyone who's anyone will be there. Celebrities, media houses, dignitaries. The whole nation will be watching."
"And if she doesn't unmask herself?" Bai Lanyue asked, tilting her head slightly.
"That's where you come in," Wen Qing purred. "It's your stage, your night. No one can say no to you—not in your spotlight. We'll play the gracious hosts. Let her perform. And when the applause starts to fade, we give her the honor of revealing herself."
"And if she refuses?" Bai Lanyue asked quietly.
Wen Qing's smile turned brittle. "Then we unmask her ourselves."
The words hung like poison in the air.
Bai Lanyue said nothing for a long moment. She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the manicured garden where soft fairy lights danced in the early evening breeze. Her reflection shimmered faintly against the glass.
"I've worked hard for my reputation, Qingqing," she said at last. "I won't risk it over some old scandal."
Wen Qing stood, walking up behind her. "Exactly why we need to control the narrative. When she's unmasked, it won't be you who did it. It'll be her past catching up."
"And if it backfires?" Bai Lanyue asked. "If the public sides with her?"
"She's a convicted woman. A fallen socialite. A ghost from a rotting past. The only reason she thrives is because no one knows who she is," Wen Qing said firmly. "Strip the mystery, and you strip the power."
Bai Lanyue didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on her reflection—a picture-perfect woman framed in privilege, fame, and performance.
"We only need to give the media a nudge," Wen Qing added, softer this time. "They'll do the rest."
After a long pause, Bai Lanyue turned around.
"Fine," she said. "Send the invitation."
Wen Qing's smile spread slowly, triumphant.
"But," Bai Lanyue continued, "don't act without my word during the banquet. She's still my guest. I decide what happens on my birthday, not you."
Wen Qing bowed her head slightly. "Of course, Lanyue. It's your night, after all."
As the golden light deepened and the two women returned to their tea, the silence between them wasn't companionable—it was sharp, filled with old wounds and the unspoken promise of a storm yet to come.
Because some games weren't about revenge.
They were about spectacle.
And Bai Lanyue's birthday was going to be the grandest stage of all.