Lies don't stay buried. They bleed through the truth.
The photo wouldn't stop burning in AiLi's pocket.
She'd hidden it under her pillow last night, hoping to forget, hoping it would vanish with the morning sun. But it hadn't. It stared back at her like an open wound.
That man. The way he held her.
The way she fit in his arms.
Like she had once belonged there.
She skipped school for the first time in her life.
No uniform. No bag. Just a one-way trip back to her old home — a quiet little apartment with fading red paint on the windowpanes and the lingering smell of jasmine tea.
Mrs. Li opened the door and froze.
AiLi didn't speak. She simply held out the photo.
Her mother's face drained of color. The way her hands trembled — AiLi had never seen that before.
"You need to forget about this," Mrs. Li whispered.
"No," AiLi said, stepping in. "I need the truth."
The silence that followed felt centuries old.
Her mother sat down, shoulders sinking. "His name was Huang Yifeng. I met him before I married your father. It was… brief. Hidden. Forbidden."
AiLi stared.
"You mean—"
"Yes," her mother said. "He was your real father."
The words shouldn't have hurt.
But they did.
Not because she loved the man she'd always believed was her father.
But because… this changed everything.
And suddenly, Zhou's words echoed in her ears.
"It's not about age, AiLi. It's about power."
Whose power?
Whose blood?
Meanwhile, back at the Deng estate, Zhou stood in his study, eyes trained on the security feed. AiLi had left without informing anyone.
"She went to her mother's," Li Chen reported. "Alone. Quietly."
Zhou's jaw flexed. "She's hiding something."
"Should I follow her next time?"
Zhou turned, face like carved steel. "No. I'll ask her myself. If she lies…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
But Li Chen understood.
That night, AiLi returned late.
Zhou was waiting in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, sleeves rolled up, eyes unreadable.
"You disappeared."
"I needed answers," she replied, not flinching.
"From your mother?"
A beat passed.
AiLi nodded slowly. "Yes."
Zhou stood, slowly, like a storm rising. "Did you get them?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me," he said, voice soft — deadly soft. "What truth required you to run without telling your husband?"
AiLi didn't answer.
Instead, she pulled the photo from her pocket and handed it to him.
Zhou looked at it. Then at her.
His eyes darkened. "What is this supposed to mean?"
"I don't carry Deng blood," she whispered. "I'm not who you think I am."
He stepped closer. "So you were hiding this from me."
"I didn't know until today."
Silence.
Then Zhou did something she didn't expect.
He chuckled — low and bitter. "They set me up. My father. Your mother. Married me off like a pawn… and didn't even bother telling me whose daughter you really are."
AiLi's breath caught. "Does it matter?"
Zhou's eyes met hers, fire flickering beneath the surface. "It matters because he matters."
"Who?"
"Huang Yifeng," Zhou muttered. "He used to work for my father. Until he betrayed him."
Downstairs, Mr. Deng received a message.
One image.
The same photo.
Sent anonymously.
And under it, a single line:
"Your son's bride carries traitor's blood."