The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, casting a moody dusk over the facility. Cloaked in a long beige trench coat and dark sunglasses, Bai Lanyue stood before the rust-stained gates of Huaiying Women's Correctional Facility. The chill in the wind tugged at her coat, but her eyes, sharp and narrowed, remained focused on the building like it held all the answers she needed.
A private visit—arranged quietly, through one of her father's old contacts. No name signed, no official trace. She wasn't Bai Lanyue here. She was just another curious benefactor "donating" to the rehabilitation fund.
Inside, the air was stale with old paper, disinfectant, and something else—something like secrets decaying beneath layers of bureaucracy.
An aging officer with a disinterested face led her to the records archive.
"You'll have thirty minutes. We don't usually allow outsiders in here." His tone made it clear he didn't care why she was here, only that the money envelope she'd handed earlier was tucked neatly into his pocket.
She nodded without a word.
Rows of cabinets lined the room, tagged with names and numbers. The officer pointed to a drawer, "B section. If she was here, you'll find her there."
As soon as he left, Bai Lanyue sprang into motion.
*Bai Zhiqi.* Her fingers hovered for a moment before yanking the drawer open. File folders, brittle with age, lined the space. And then she found it—Bai Zhiqi's record.
Her heart pounded as she flipped it open.
**Sentenced: 5 years.
Charge: Aggravated Assault (Coma-inducing injuries).
Victim: Su Yiran.
Release: Full term served. No early parole.
Visitor Log: Confidential.**
Confidential? Bai Lanyue narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
She dug further. Attached to the folder was a visitor entry log, half-redacted, names scribbled in code. But one stood out. Ji Yanluo. His name was listed over twelve times. Once every few months. The first visit? Only a week after the sentence.
Her grip tightened. He'd visited her that early? Why?
She pulled out her phone and began snapping quick shots of each page. If there was one thing she'd learned from the years of being in the public eye—it was never to act on emotion until you had undeniable facts.
And these facts were already slicing her apart.
She flipped to the release record.
**Release Time: 8:07 a.m.
Escort: Private Request. Name: Redacted.**
"Redacted again?" she muttered.
There was no media coverage, no uproar, no press—nothing. It was as though Bai Zhiqi had simply vanished into air and reappeared years later under a veil.
Bai Lanyue stepped back, the weight of this discovery pressing on her chest like a stone. She wanted confirmation—proof that what she feared wasn't true.
And yet, everything whispered otherwise.
"She wasn't abandoned," Bai Lanyue whispered under her breath. "She had someone."
The irony was sharp—while the world had whispered that Bai Zhiqi was a monster, locked away and forgotten, someone had been walking quietly into that prison, again and again.
Her phone vibrated—a message from Wen Qing.
*"Banquet fallout's still trending. Should we release the charity campaign to shift attention?"*
Bai Lanyue ignored it.
She looked around once more before carefully replacing the folder. She'd memorized the details she needed. Ji Yanluo's name. The redacted escort. The full sentence served.
As she walked back down the dim corridor, she caught her reflection in a dusty glass pane.
Eyes wild. Lips pressed tight.
She didn't like the feeling burning through her chest. Was it rage? Jealousy? A sick sort of betrayal?
It wasn't about love.
It was about being blindsided.
About the girl who wore the veil, who played with the city's heartstrings, and who was protected—hidden—all along.
She paused by the exit, speaking low to the officer who'd helped her in.
"That visitor log. Can you find out who redacted the escort name?"
The man scratched his head. "Maybe. It'd take a favor or two."
Her eyes gleamed. "I'll pay triple. I want that name."
He gave a slow nod, and she left the prison without another word.
The wind outside was colder now, biting through her layers like truth cutting through fabrications.
As her car pulled away from the gates, Bai Lanyue's fingers tapped her phone against her palm.
The past had never really been buried.
And now, she was ready to dig it all up.