Rain lashed the cobbled pavement outside the secluded café nestled behind a curtain of willow trees. Hidden from the noise of the city, it was the perfect place for secrets to change hands. Bai Lanyue stepped out of her sleek black car, an umbrella shielding her from the downpour, her heels clicking with sharp purpose as she crossed the threshold of the quiet café.
The scent of roasted coffee beans hung in the air, mingled with the damp musk of rain-soaked earth. The café was nearly empty, save for a figure seated in the farthest corner, face obscured beneath a black face mask and a cap pulled low. He was as she remembered—silent, composed, unshaken by time or tension.
The masked man didn't rise when she approached. He merely tapped a gloved finger on the slim black file resting on the table.
"You're early," he said, voice low and unaffected.
"I don't like waiting," she replied coolly, folding her umbrella and shaking off the droplets before she sat. "And I don't like wasting time."
The man gestured toward the file. "This is what you asked for. Records from Huaying Correctional Home, visitation logs, staff testimonies, even digital traces. The system was heavily encrypted. Someone wanted these files buried deep."
Bai Lanyue didn't touch the file yet. Her fingers hovered above it, as if already sensing the weight it carried. "And what did you find?"
There was a pause. Rain drummed harder against the windows.
"Enough to raise questions. Bai Zhiqi was kept under tight watch, yet someone visited her regularly. No names, just blank entries and inconsistencies in the timestamp logs. Enough for a cover-up. Enough to suggest protection."
Lanyue's lips tightened. "Ji Yanluo?"
"Possibly. Or someone within the system. But there's more." He pushed the file an inch closer. "There's a strange overlap. A period shortly before Bai Zhiqi's release when she stopped appearing in the internal system entirely. No meals logged. No therapy sessions. No headcounts. It's like she disappeared... only to reappear with a forged medical release."
"That's not just oversight," she murmured. "That's intentional erasure."
He nodded slowly. "Exactly."
Her eyes flicked up. "And the veiled musician?"
"I traced her performance schedule. Anonymous sponsors. Private transport. Nearly all her events link back to a shadow company under Lingfeng Media. Guess who owns that?"
Lanyue's expression remained unreadable. "Ji Yanluo."
A smirk curled behind the man's mask. "He's been hiding her. Not just protecting her identity. He's rebuilding her life from the shadows."
She finally picked up the file, the black folder surprisingly cold to the touch. "And you're sure?"
"I don't deal in guesses. But you should know—this isn't a puzzle with only one piece. If you plan to expose her, you'll need more than public opinion. You'll need leverage."
Lanyue's eyes sharpened. "I don't need leverage. I need truth."
"Truth," he echoed, tilting his head. "Isn't always a weapon. Sometimes, it's a trap."
"Then I'll spring it," she said with quiet finality. "Before the week ends, I'll expose everything."
The masked man leaned back, the soft leather of the booth creaking under his weight. "Be careful, Miss Bai. You're dealing with a storm you can't see yet. And if you drown, no one's going to throw a rope."
Her phone buzzed once in her pocket. She ignored it.
Lifting her chin, she stood with the file secured beneath her arm. "You gave me what I needed. Stay close. If I need more..."
"I'll know," he interrupted.
She gave him one last look, one that held challenge and promise, then turned and left the café. Outside, thunder cracked across the gray sky as she stepped back into the storm, her silhouette swallowed by the misted glass door.
Inside, the masked man remained in the booth, unmoving, eyes lingering on the empty seat across from him.
"She's going to get herself killed," he murmured to no one, then vanished into the shadows.