The banquet hall had already grown heavy with anticipation when Bai Lanyue's voice faltered mid-sentence.
"So—"
"Starting without me?"
The words were calm. Not loud. Not rushed. Yet they sliced cleanly through the murmurs of the guests like a thin blade through silk.
Every head turned.
And there she stood.
Ji Lanxue.
The chandeliers above seemed to dim in comparison to the deep crimson she wore. It was not the red of festivity. It was the red of reckoning. Structured silk framed her figure like armor, the square neckline sharp enough to mirror the edge in her gaze. Gold thread traced the hem of her sleeves—subtle, restrained, intentional. A signature only those who truly understood would recognize.
The air shifted.
Whispers began at once.
"That's—"
"Isn't she—"
"She looks like—"
Bai Lanyue's fingers tightened around the microphone for a fraction of a second before she forced a soft smile back onto her lips. The white lotus mask slid effortlessly into place.
"Lanxue," she said gently, as if greeting an old friend. "I didn't expect you."
Ji Lanxue stepped forward, heels striking the marble floor with quiet certainty. Each step echoed.
"Clearly," she replied.
Her eyes swept across the massive screen behind the podium. Bai Zhiqi's face—frozen in carefully curated innocence—glowed under the projection lights.
Then her gaze returned to Bai Lanyue.
"You're holding a birthday banquet for your long-lost sister," Ji Lanxue continued, voice steady. "How touching."
A few guests shifted uncomfortably.
Wen Qing felt something tighten in her chest. This was not how it was supposed to unfold. The veiled musician was meant to arrive late—confused, flustered, exposed. Not this. Not someone else stepping in first.
Bai Lanyue's smile did not break.
"Of course. Blood is blood. No matter what mistakes were made."
"Mistakes?" Ji Lanxue tilted her head slightly. "Is that what we're calling them now?"
The hall grew quieter.
Shen Yichen's eyes darkened as he watched. Something about Ji Lanxue's presence unsettled him—not because she was loud, but because she was too composed.
Bai Lanyue descended from the podium gracefully, stopping a few steps away from her.
"If you're here to celebrate," she said softly, "then you're welcome."
"I am," Ji Lanxue replied.
A pause.
"To celebrate truth."
The word truth landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Ripples spread instantly.
Before Bai Lanyue could respond, the large screen behind them flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The image of Bai Zhiqi dissolved into static.
Gasps erupted.
Wen Qing's face drained of color. "What's happening—?"
The static cleared.
And a different image appeared.
A timestamped security clip.
A hallway. A confrontation. A hand pushing.
A familiar face in frame.
Not Bai Zhiqi.
But someone else.
The guests leaned forward, murmurs rising like a tide.
Bai Lanyue felt it—the first true crack in her composure. Just a hairline fracture. Barely visible. But real.
She turned sharply toward the control booth.
"That's not—"
"Careful," Ji Lanxue said quietly beside her. "You were just speaking about regret. Let's not ruin the mood."
The video continued.
A name surfaced in whispers.
Su Yiren.
The hall that had come prepared to condemn Bai Zhiqi now stared at the unfolding footage with dawning realization.
Mrs. Shen covered her mouth.
Shen Yichen's jaw tightened.
Wen Qing took an unconscious step backward.
Bai Lanyue slowly looked at Ji Lanxue, the softness in her expression thinning into something colder.
"You planned this," she said under her breath.
Ji Lanxue finally allowed the faintest curve of a smile.
"No," she answered.
"You did."
A beat.
"I just arrived on time."
The weight of the crimson silk seemed heavier now—not decorative, but declarative. She had not entered to steal attention.
She had entered to redirect it.
The banquet that was meant to expose Bai Zhiqi had become something else entirely.
A reversal.
A reckoning.
And as the guests' eyes shifted—not with disdain toward an absent sister, but with suspicion toward the woman who had been orchestrating sympathy only moments ago—Bai Lanyue understood something chilling.
The stage she built so carefully had not collapsed.
It had been claimed.
And Ji Lanxue, standing under the dimmed chandeliers like a sovereign returning to contested territory, had no intention of leaving quietly.
The war had not started tonight.
But tonight—
The first public wound had been dealt.