The sky outside Ji Penthouse had begun to bruise into twilight, casting long shadows through the tall glass windows. Inside, the room was still—too still. The faint hum of classical music had stopped some time ago, and in its absence, the ticking of the ornate wall clock filled the silence.
Bai Zhiqi sat at the center of it all.
Her expression was unreadable, skin pale against the dark fabric of her blouse. She sat with poise, a quiet kind of grace that looked far too composed to be natural. Ji Lanxue lounged nearby, alert behind the casual tilt of her head. Xiao Lin was on the armrest of the opposite couch, arms folded, watching the door with a frown carved deep into her brow.
Ji Yanluo hadn't spoken in the last five minutes.
Then the door opened.
Ji Chengyu strolled in with the same lazy confidence that always rode his shoulders like a tailored coat. He didn't bother announcing himself, just stepped in and looked around like the penthouse belonged to him.
"Now this," he said, voice silk-wrapped in mockery, "looks like a council of war."
Ji Yanluo didn't move. "You're not welcome here."
Chengyu chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not here to raid the fridge. Just thought I'd share some interesting news."
He let his gaze land on Bai Zhiqi—fully. Her face bare, expression as guarded as a locked vault.
"No veil today. Must be my lucky hour."
She didn't flinch, didn't even blink. That unnerved him more than he let on.
"I assume you didn't come here to admire our interior decor," Ji Lanxue said.
Chengyu sighed, dramatically. "Fine. No warm-up."
He placed a thin envelope on the table and tapped it once. "Bai Lanyue came to see me."
All movement in the room halted.
"She tracked me down. Must've thought I had a unique skill set," he smirked. "Or perhaps she assumed the Ji family's black sheep would entertain her questions."
"What did she want?" Ji Yanluo asked, already knowing.
"To confirm a theory," Chengyu said. "She brought files from Huaying Correctional Home. Asked me to compare the woman in those records—Bai Zhiqi—with the veiled musician."
"She really doesn't know when to stop," Xiao Lin muttered, venom low in her tone.
Bai Zhiqi said nothing. Her gaze was steady on the man before her, but her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her trousers.
"And you?" Ji Lanxue's voice was sharp.
Chengyu's smile thinned. "I played along. Gave her enough to keep her digging, but not enough to find bones. Told her it would take time. Confidentiality. Expertise."
"She'll be back," Ji Yanluo murmured.
"Oh, she's already moving. She's convinced that Bai Zhiqi faked her disappearance. She wants to uncover her like peeling a mask off in public."
"She's not getting that chance," Xiao Lin said.
Chengyu's eyes slid back to Bai Zhiqi. "Is she not?"
Bai Zhiqi spoke, voice cool and absolute. "No. She isn't."
Her tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. It was the kind of finality that made even Ji Yanluo turn to look at her.
Chengyu studied her for a moment longer—this version of Bai Zhiqi: stripped of veil, stripped of stage, yet more commanding than she'd ever been behind a piano.
"She thinks this is a game," he murmured. "That she's hunting someone hiding behind music and shadows."
He moved toward the door, then paused.
"But she doesn't realize," he said slowly, glancing back, "the woman she's chasing... isn't running."
Then he left.
As the door clicked shut behind him, no one moved for a long moment.
Until Xiao Lin broke the silence. "He's right."
"She's forcing our hand," Ji Lanxue added, voice lower now.
Ji Yanluo looked at Bai Zhiqi. "So. What's our move?"
And this time, Bai Zhiqi lifted her chin, eyes colder than ice, and said,
"Let her chase."