The two of them met like that.

Later, Bai Ye would drop by the Jinming Community now and then. Sometimes to see Bai Rong, mostly to meet clients—this was an upscale compound, and the ones who could afford a Detective were mostly wealthy.

Funny thing: out of ten visits, seven or eight times he’d run into the kid Li Xixi by sheer chance. Funnier still, one case’s client turned out to be her parents. He visited their home more than once, and little by little, they became familiar.

Truth be told, Bai Ye looked like a scruffy uncle, the kind cops might stop on the street. Yet his unkempt look and playful, lazy, unserious vibe drew the younger crowd in. To them, he was a grown-up you could spill your heart to.

Once they got closer, by the basketball court, Li Xixi would sometimes gripe about her home. But she always started with—

“I have a friend, she—”

“Hahaha.” Bai Ye never bothered to call it out.

It wasn’t complicated. Any passerby could see it. Her parents were elite, high on the ladder, busy enough to miss dinners. To keep their kid from losing at the starting line, they stacked her schedule: piano, English, Olympiad math, and so on.

Li Xixi’s exact words—

“But I— that friend doesn’t like all that. Her personality… a lot like mine. She likes being outside and playing ball. Hey! Uncle! Why’re you laughing?! What’s weird about me? Girls can’t play basketball?!”

When she flared up, she was like a cat with its tail stomped—half shy, half angry, fur bristling.

Thinking back now, Ye Weibai felt there was nothing wrong with her loving basketball. Honestly, the kid looked pretty cool when she played. But hating piano… maybe not entirely.

Once, on her parents’ orders, she reluctantly performed for Bai Ye. When her fingers danced between black and white, like water threading through stones, the light in her eyes was so bright it made you catch your breath.

With that kind of light, she must love the piano, at least a part of her.

So why say she hated it, ditch lessons, and run out to play ball? The reason wasn’t hard to read.

That was probably because—

…

…

“Uncle, bye! See you never!”

Perched on the wall with Ye Weibai’s hand under her small backside, the girl took the basketball he handed up. She didn’t even pretend to be grateful. She pulled a face, then sprang cleanly down.

As she jumped, her loose jersey caught the wind and flared. Looking up, Ye Weibai couldn’t help seeing the white strap of her bra across her pale back—first time he’d noticed it. She used to wear little vests.

“Little Xi… you’ve grown up.”

A tug of feeling, then a dry laugh at himself.

The next instant, his smile froze.

“That smell—”

From the wall where she’d been, a breeze slid by. In the clean scent of shampoo, there was a thin, chilling thread of another smell.

It was the scent of [Misfortune].

Faint… yet sharp enough to prickle. Too vivid to ignore.

“How could this be…” Ye Weibai’s face went cold in a heartbeat. “Impossible… [Misfortune] should be on Shaohan… [Time] never mentioned the chosen could switch.”

The scent flickered, like a dream you couldn’t hold.

It’s just a mistake… a voice murmured deep down.

But a stain of foreboding thickened like storm cloud in his chest, and his heartbeat tangled like knotted thread.

He could feel it… something bad was unfolding.

“But…”

There were priorities. No matter what… the first problem was Shaohan. Even if [Misfortune] had spread, the taste was stronger on him.

“Hehehe.”

A sly giggle brushed his ear. Goosebumps popped. Ye Weibai turned and saw the smiling little bell—Mu Ling—at his shoulder. Who knew where she’d been hiding, watching all along.

“Senior,” Mu Ling’s smile held meanings.

“…What the hell, you sick or something?” Her interruption eased the unease in him for the moment.

“Senior, you were flirting with a little girl, weren’t you? Didn’t think that was your thing~”

“Yeah. So if Little Bell dressed like an elementary schooler, I might be interested.” He rolled his eyes and kept walking, sketching out Li Xixi’s story for her as they went.

“So—what’s the reason?” Mu Ling asked, head tilted. “Why’d she skip piano on purpose?”

“You could guess without me, right?”

He tossed it off, but Mu Ling’s smile thinned. For a blink, her eyes dimmed to gray. He didn’t see it, moving ahead, and went on, “Because—she wants attention. She wants her parents to look at her. Probably after one incident, she discovered messing up was simpler than winning awards—and got more of their eyes. Sweetness tasted, habit follows.”

“So… she does it because—loneliness?” Mu Ling murmured, thinking aloud.

“Loneliness…?” The word tugged him to Shaohan. He shook his head. “No, not quite. Not at that level.”

“Then—”

Ye Weibai lifted a hand and cut her off.

“Not now. We’re here.”

…

…

White light wrapped them.

Only Ye Weibai and Mu Ling in the rising lift’s glow.

On the right wall, the “F13” button pulsed.

“By the way, Senior.”

“Mm?”

“You have a key, don’t you…”

“Nope.”

“…”

Ding—!

The chime sounded. As they stepped out, Mu Ling couldn’t help griping, “Then how do we get in? Are we just gonna stand outside and stare at the door?”

“I don’t have a key. Doesn’t mean I can’t find one.”

The doors parted. Through the glass, the lake scenery lay like a painted scroll, soothing and precise. Two apartments to the floor, each with a broad front space.

Smiling, Ye Weibai strode up, bent, and slid the planter by 1302 aside. From under it, he fished out a bright silver key.

“See?”

“Senior… you’re awfully practiced. Habitual offender?”

“What offender? It’s here because someone left it for me.” He reached to flick her forehead, but she laughed and dodged.

She leaned back, fake-laughing. “Ha-ha-ha… would’ve been easier to just hand it to you.”

“Can’t. Others still need it.”

He was slotting the key when he suddenly paused.

Because, in that instant, he realized—he didn’t remember!

He didn’t remember who that person was.

It was both strange and eerie—he remembered someone had stashed the key under this planter for a reason. He remembered their tacit habit: use it and put it back with care.

Those memory-frames were blurred, hazy, but undeniably real.

Yet in those frames, the person’s image and features were smeared over with black. As if someone had splashed filthy paint to erase that presence—someone didn’t want Ye Weibai to remember that person.

“Interesting…” A smile touched his mouth, but it held no warmth at all.

He thought of yesterday, that eerie moment at Shaohan’s door.

Something stopped him from opening it—if he had, would he have spotted the wrongness and halted the tragedy?

More than who that person was, he cared who had erased them.

Could the two—be one and the same?