"Ji Nian, it's time for dinner. Why aren’t you coming down?"
Surely he wasn’t actually engrossed in her song lyrics, Ji Nian thought with slight embarrassment.
The door to the room was ajar, so she pushed it open and stepped inside, catching sight of Chen Mo standing by the window, lost in thought.
She called his name again, and only then did Chen Mo slowly snap out of his reverie, turning to look at her.
His expression betrayed nothing unusual.
"Mm, I’ll be right there."
After dinner, Ji Nian returned to her room to work on her homework.
Chen Mo watched the child’s hunched back as she leaned over the desk, the glow of the desk lamp casting a soft halo around her fluffy hair. Though their figures were entirely different, something about her silhouette inexplicably overlapped with the one in his memories—the one that had grown increasingly blurred with time.
He raised a hand to rub his temples.
Turning back to his own room, Chen Mo lowered his head, absently running his fingers over his phone.
The room was unlit, and the heavy curtains blocked even the moonlight, leaving not a sliver of light to seep through. If someone had walked in just then, they might have mistaken Chen Mo for a silent statue.
Fortunately, the statue soon stirred.
He made a call.
Shen Qingtang was blushing as she tried to fend off her overly enthusiastic grandparents, who wanted to watch her practice guitar, when her phone suddenly rang—giving her the perfect excuse.
"Grandma, Grandpa, someone’s calling me. I need to take this."
As she shut the door behind her with a soft thud, Grandma Shen clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "This girl, why is she so shy now that she’s grown up?"
Grandpa Shen nudged her with his shoulder, grinning. "Well, how about I play you a song on the guitar instead?"
"Oh, stop it, you old peacock showing off."
With her grandparents’ voices muffled behind the door, Shen Qingtang casually picked up her phone and glanced at the caller ID.
"Hello? Mr. Mo, is something wrong with Ji Nian?"
Her voice carried a hint of tension.
Chen Mo’s steady tone came through the other end. "Sorry to disturb you so late."
"Ji Nian’s fine. She’s doing her homework."
Relieved to hear that Ji Nian was alright, Shen Qingtang exhaled, her stiff posture relaxing as she sank into the sofa.
"It’s like this—while reviewing her past assignments today, I noticed another set of handwriting on her draft paper, always continuing the original text."
"Is Ji Nian under a lot of stress lately? Is the school workload really that heavy?"
He phrased it delicately, but Shen Qingtang understood.
Mr. Mo was worried Ji Nian might be struggling mentally—or that someone was bullying her, deliberately scribbling strange handwriting on her notes.
Shen Qingtang chuckled. "No, Mr. Mo, Ji Nian’s perfectly fine."
"That other handwriting you mentioned? It’s from her left hand."
She’d only seen it once herself. During exam season, while studying with Ji Nian, she’d suddenly noticed the girl gripping a pen in each hand, scribbling away on the draft paper.
She’d been stunned.
Once she recovered, she’d excitedly asked Ji Nian if being ambidextrous meant she could halve the time spent on punishment assignments—like writing vocabulary words a hundred times.
Ji Nian had paused, only then realizing she was holding two pens.
Then she’d explained that it probably wouldn’t work because the handwriting from her left and right hands were different.
That had been a long time ago. If Chen Mo hadn’t brought it up, Shen Qingtang might’ve forgotten about Ji Nian’s incredible skill entirely.
But… come to think of it, Ji Nian hadn’t shown off that trick since then, deliberately avoiding using her left hand to write.
"...I see. Sorry for troubling you so late."
There was something odd about his tone, but Shen Qingtang didn’t dwell on it.
The call ended, but the phone screen remained lit.
Its glow illuminated Chen Mo’s ashen face.
Everything he’d overlooked before now stood out as glaring evidence in hindsight.
Bruce and John Qiao, who’d suddenly taken root in the Ji household, always treating Ji Nian with cautious reverence.
Ji Tingzhou’s ironclad restrictions on the pharmacists.
And those two photos his subordinates had acquired years ago—the man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ji Tingzhou might not have been a case of mistaken identity, but the man himself.
And if Ji Tingzhou would go to such lengths to disguise himself just to watch over someone…
Chen Mo closed his eyes.
No…
That wasn’t the crux of it.
The most important thing was…
His fingers trembled slightly as he smoothed out the draft paper he’d taken.
This was her handwriting—the same as the pharmacist from his dreams, the one with the icy demeanor.
Why could Ji Nian replicate it so perfectly, and always with her left hand?
The answer was already clear.
Years ago, when he’d brought things from that dreamlike world into this one to fuel his revenge, his plans had repeatedly been dismantled by the Ji family’s pharmacist.
He should’ve realized it sooner—
How could her poisons be so easily neutralized by anyone else?
Unless.
She’d done it herself.
Digging deeper…
Back when he’d thought he was dying and had bared his soul to Ji Nian about the past, that complicated look in her eyes—the one he’d unconsciously brushed aside—had felt like a warning even then.
Chen Mo buried his face in the blankets, curling into himself.
Even after unraveling the mystery of the Ji family pharmacist that had haunted him for years, he didn’t feel the slightest bit of joy.
If anything, he wanted to hang himself.
...
Ji Nian rubbed her slightly itchy nose and checked the time.
Well, today’s lyric-writing had drained her brain. Might as well sleep early.
But when she woke up the next morning, Chen Mo was nowhere to be seen—not during breakfast, not even when she left.
"Did Uncle go to the company?"
How unusual.
Normally, whenever she visited, Chen Mo made sure to stay by her side.
Of course, to avoid distracting him from work, Ji Nian only came over when he wasn’t busy.
Even No. 2 looked puzzled.
"Well… Boss left last night."
"Huh?"
The unexpected answer gave Ji Nian pause.
[What was he doing out so late?]
That question lingered, unresolved, even as she finished drafting her lyrics—the part where Chen Mo was supposed to compose the melody.
Chen Mo, meanwhile, achieved the impressive feat of not sending Ji Nian a single message for an entire week.
Nor did he return home.
Ji Nian’s instincts told her something was off. She even went to Ji Tingzhou for answers, only to hear that he’d cracked open a bottle of fine wine to celebrate Chen Mo’s disappearance. So much for relying on him.
Shen Qingtang, however, grew oddly pensive when Ji Nian mentioned the timing of Chen Mo’s vanishing act.
Her expression alone suggested she knew something. When Ji Nian pressed her, Shen Qingtang answered bluntly:
"Mr. Mo called me that night. He asked why your draft paper often had a second set of handwriting continuing the text. He was worried you might be struggling mentally."
"So I told him it was probably just your left hand’s writing and not to worry."
The more Ji Nian listened, the quieter she became.
Shen Qingtang started to worry. "What’s wrong? Do you know what happened to Mr. Mo?"
Ji Nian forced a faint smile and shook her head. "Just a little rabbit running away in shame. It’s nothing."
Shen Qingtang: ?
