"If this counts as Misfortune, then it's the most brazen open scheme." Cold light drifted in his eyes like winter water. He muttered, "It's set wide before me, nowhere to dodge—because the moment I dodge, I lose the chance that triggers the plot." Every condition—every word painted—must have its reason, like threads laid for a loom.

Her face changed; her ponytail flicked like a restless rabbit, and she pitched into Ye Weibai's arms. Ye Weibai didn't blink. His palm pressed Mu Ling's forehead and shoved. Bang. The chair didn't budge. "Ow!" The girl fell back into the same pose, only her little butt took the hit like a drum.

"I don't even know my rank..." Ye Weibai smiled like frost lifting. "I just checked the Detective Association site for my rank, and it's blank." "Am I... really a Detective?" "Or am I—"

It tipped up its head, body twisting on its own, twin pupils glinting with a weird, hungry light beneath a big hood's shadow. "Come on..." Its voice was hoarse and rough, yet carried a clean edge, like a bell smashed flat underfoot still ringing thin in the dust.

Television phosphor flickered warm and cold across his narrowed eyes. On-screen, petals under sakura trees swayed into a red whirlwind. In the wind, two stood opposed. A boy and a girl tugged at each other, their lines like a romance, tinged with suspense. "Don't go!" "No. The one you love isn't me. It's someone else." "That's still you." "No. That's my other... personality—but it's not me." "What's the difference?" "Of course it's different—because—I've already killed him." "..." "Would you love someone who killed the one you love?" "I—"

What troubled Ye Weibai now was this: he couldn't read how the little girl felt about her younger uncle. From every word and move, Shaohan's way of treating Bai Ye held the obvious disgust—and something else... unknown and deep. Buried so deep it would evaporate the moment it touched sunlight, like dew on a blade.

A strange, broad bed. With someone's scent curling around her like smoke, the little girl didn't sleep as badly as she feared. Soon, she drifted. Between waking and dream, a good dream came like soft rain. In it, something she'd longed for burst like fireworks. She stood at the heart of those flowers of fire. Darkness was swallowed by flame; her mind sank into mist; gentle tongues of fire licked her skin, and she only wanted to sleep. The one she'd been waiting to see stepped onstage at the glittering end of the dream, sleeves dusty with color. She wanted to tell her about tonight, and if she could, she wanted to answer that question again. Just don't show me that "gentle" look. Because it really hurts. And then the dream reached its curtain call. Everything in her senses shattered and faded in warm restraint. "Honestly... too slow." Thinking that, the little girl sank completely into sleep.

No—more than eerie, it struck fast and fierce. For no reason, without warning, it shot up from his heart, like a nail hammered in and pinned. It pinned the right hand he was about to reach out. Don't touch her! The thought said so. Don't go near her! In the dark, someone seemed to speak low by Ye Weibai's ear—warning him like wind through grave grass.

"Is it... like this?" Ye Weibai murmured. Suddenly, something felt wrong. Too quiet. Where was that chirping Mu Ling? Wasn't she here a moment ago? When did she leave? She was loud, but the sudden quiet felt strange, like a room after thunder. "Little—" Before the word bell left his lips, Mu Ling ghosted up, half a head popping from under the far side of the table. "Senior, looking for me?"

"You're the idiot. Where'd you learn that routine—watch too much porn?" Ye Weibai, annoyed, tossed what he'd found. "Here. This?" "Oh, oh!" The girl snatched it, wiped it with her clothes without a care, then tucked it into her pocket like a treasure. "What's so precious? Boyfriend gave it?" "Boyfriend?" The girl tilted her head at Ye Weibai, then flashed a dazzling smile. "I wish." "This thing..." Her bright smile softened, but feeling spilled over, like a glass full of honey rocking to the rim. "It's my ID—Mu Ling's ID." She said it with that smile like a lantern lit in rain.

"Different." Holding the file, Ye Weibai's face shifted. He whispered. The contents weren't the same. Not the same as yesterday. He remembered a stack of files spread on his desk. He'd picked the top one, tossed it to Little Bell, told her to read. He'd glanced at the cover: case number 090201—right, those digits were what he'd peeked yesterday. But inside—the content was completely different, like the river changed its course overnight.

"Let's go." Ye Weibai pointed outside. "The rain's lighter. Let's head out while we can." He grabbed a long black umbrella and went first, a shadow under silk rain. "Oh, oh!" The girl hurried after him. Ye Weibai didn't see Xiao Meng behind him, who'd been peeking; now her eyes on his back looked a little strange, like seeing her captain talk to air.

"Where's your umbrella?" The rain had eased but still clung like threads. Ye Weibai opened his umbrella. The girl giggled and slipped under. His arm felt the soft press of her body, warm as fur. "Don't ask. Kills the mood!" Little Bell, prim and mock-stern, scolded him. "A man and a woman, it's raining, the girl 'forgets' her umbrella. The reason's obvious, right? You still have to ask, Senior?"

"Nothing. Just thinking this small city... looks pretty." Ye Weibai gave her a strange look. "You see it every day. Not sick of it?" "True..." She spaced out, then smiled shyly like a peach blossom. "If I saw it every day, I'd be sick of it already."

Far off, Mu Ling spotted a couple heading into the residential compound. She hurried to match pace, chatting like an old neighbor, even bent to coo at the baby in the stroller. Her acting was top-notch, bright as stage lights. The diligent security guard seemed not to see her at all, and let her drift in like fog.

"Xiao Xi... has grown up, too." Ye Weibai's heart stirred, and he laughed soundlessly. In the next breath, his smile stalled. "This smell—" By the wall where the girl had lingered, a breeze brushed by. The scent of clean shampoo carried a thread of something that made his skin crawl. The scent of Misfortune. Faint... yet so pungent, so stark, like iron in fresh rain.

"Of course not. Someone else still needs it." Ye Weibai said that as he slid the key into the lock, then froze. In that instant, he realized he didn't remember. He didn't remember who that person was. It was a weird, wonderful feeling. He remembered someone had left the key under this planter for a reason. He remembered he and that someone always put it back under the planter with care when done. Those memory scenes were blurry, shifting like fog, but they existed, solid as stones. Yet in the scroll of memory, the image and traits of that someone were painted over in black, as if smeared by dirty pigment to erase that person's presence—someone didn't want Ye Weibai to remember them.

"Bai Ye, you've been acting strange lately."

"Let's stop here."

"...What do you mean?"

"Shaohan, let's make a pact."

"..."

"Reset everything to zero."

"On what grounds?"

"Even if you won't, I will. But if you do, someday I'll tell you why I did it. Or are you scared?"

"...Who's scared of who?"

Ye Weibai glanced around. The small figure that used to flit at his side was gone. He’d grown used to her chatter, her laughter bright as a silver bell; the sudden hush sat on him like a stiff new coat.

In just two short days, he had adjusted to Mu Ling’s impish charm and restless energy.

He touched his pocket without thinking. His fingers closed around a cold little thing.

"This is Little Bell’s, isn’t it?"

Ye Weibai rubbed the stubble on his jaw and chuckled. "That little rascal. Sneaking it into my pocket—what’s she planning? Another shakedown?"

He studied the silver bell in his palm, scuffed as if someone had stepped on it. It tugged at his memory, as familiar as a face glimpsed in passing long ago.

Seated, Man Zhi stared at him in a daze, like a moth pinned behind clear glass.

Ye Weibai moved with unusual gentleness. No stray thoughts clouded his gaze. He was focused the way a father is when he straightens his daughter’s collar, smoothing away the world’s dust.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket for a tissue. He tenderly wiped the lip gloss from the little girl’s mouth.

Ye Weibai nodded, satisfied. "Pick another shade. Pink doesn’t suit you."

Man Zhi said nothing throughout, letting him arrange her as if she were a paper figure in careful hands. Her anger was gone, her fear washed out. In her eyes, fog mingled with fractured light—bewildered, complex.

"Don’t—" Her voice, small and soft, called to him from behind.

Ye Weibai paused at the door. He didn’t turn. He tilted his head to listen.

"Don’t hurt ‘it’."

“It”—the criminal who had molested Man Zhi, and not just her.

There wasn’t a flicker of confusion on Ye Weibai’s face. He sighed, then smiled.

"No. When you err, you pay the price."

Why the file from ten years ago, and not another year? Ye Weibai picked it by intuition in the dense thicket of case folders.

He knew he wouldn’t be wrong. And if he was, someone would set him straight—that someone was Bai Ye.

Sure enough, a casual skim told him he and Bai Ye had both found what they wanted.

"I should be the one asking that," Ye Weibai said, watching her. "Little Bell, what are you doing here? Your home isn’t around here."

"Eh…" Mu Ling tilted her head, dodging with a sly smile. "Long story."

Anyone could hear the evasion and would let it drop. But Ye Weibai, whose social sense was razor-sharp, acted like he hadn’t heard it at all. He looked at her, voice low and cool. "Then keep it short."

The girl froze, then seemed to realize something. Her breath hitched. A glint flashed in her eyes, emotions layered like winter leaves—confusion, sorrow, and…release.

Her smile was bright and lovely, yet it felt like blossom in a blink, fireworks in a cold night—beautiful, fleeting, bound by an unseen clasp. Pretty, but prettily stiff and cold.

Ye Weibai had seen that smile somewhere else.

"Lin…" He went slightly absent and blurted the name of a girl who felt very far away, perhaps beyond meeting again.

The girl across from him acted like she hadn’t noticed the slip, or maybe she chose not to notice.

"Senior."

She smiled, soft and almost tender. "Ling’s right here."

He paused, then finally understood—or rather, at this moment, dared to confirm something that mattered.

"I see. So that’s how it is…" He murmured, looking at the familiar girl.

"Isn’t it dangerous?" She slipped off her shoes, small feet wrapped in white cotton socks. She slid them into a pair of slippers a size too big and trailed after Ye Weibai into the darkened living room.

"Dangerous how?" He turned in the unlit room and looked at her.

"Plenty of ways," she said with a laugh. "If some bad guy got the key and slipped in, wouldn’t that be trouble?"

It sounded like a joke tossed like a pebble into still water, but the ripple ran straight to last night’s shore.

"Ling." Ye Weibai watched her and spoke softly. "I did bring my key."

"Mm?" She tilted her head, as if she didn’t get his meaning.

"But I still deliberately took out the spare here—" He paused. "That was thoughtless."

She blinked, then her smile softened, warm as a lamp behind paper. She stepped in, rose on tiptoe, and with some difficulty patted the crown of his head. "It’s okay, Senior."

"Right." Her small smile carried a shade of apology. "It’s Ling’s fault, really."

"I’m just not good enough yet."