The photo was faded — corners curled, surface scratched — but the image was unmistakable.
Three girls, arms linked, standing in front of a crooked metal gate.
One was Lin Qian.
One was Ruoxi.
And the third...
"She's the one I drew," Lin Qian whispered. "The one I forgot."
Her fingers trembled as she traced the smiling girl on the right. Wild hair. Bright eyes. A red ribbon in her braid.
Lin Lei.
They found the photo inside an old chest at the villa, tucked between government clearance forms and an unopened envelope addressed to Mo Qinghua.
Zeyan scanned the barcode at the corner.
The records pointed to a disbanded foster facility on the edge of City S — officially closed after a funding scandal fifteen years ago.
Unofficially… the site had been one of Project Twin Flame's emotional stimulation environments.
"We grew up there," Ruoxi said quietly. "Before they separated us. Before they tried to erase who we were to each other."
By dusk, they stood before the rusting gate in the photo.
The same crooked bars.
The same hanging vine wrapped around the edge of the frame like an old ghost refusing to move on.
"This place…" Lin Qian's voice cracked. "Why can't I remember more?"
Zeyan stepped through the gate first, flashlight sweeping the shadows. "Because they didn't just wipe memories. They rewrote them. Conditioned emotional triggers to collapse the moment you tried to recall anything painful."
Ruoxi took Lin Qian's hand.
"It's time we remembered her. Together."
Inside, the building was little more than a skeleton.
Crumbling stairs, broken furniture, rotting books on metal shelves. Paint peeled from the walls like forgotten skin.
But in the corner of the old rec room, the remnants of a mural still survived.
It had once been bright — a childish scrawl of stars, flowers, and names.
Now faded, only three remained legible.
QianXiLei
And beside them, a drawing of three hearts tied together with one ribbon.
Ruoxi stepped forward, tears threatening her voice.
"We made a promise here."
Lin Qian's breathing hitched.
Zeyan watched them from the doorway, silent, present — knowing this memory didn't belong to him but still feeling its weight.
Ruoxi touched the mural.
"We said no matter what they did to us… we'd find each other again."
A sudden creak echoed from upstairs.
All three froze.
Zeyan signaled silently and drew his weapon.
They climbed slowly, carefully — every step protesting beneath their feet.
At the end of the hall, the door to the old dormitory stood ajar.
Ruoxi pushed it open.
Inside, the walls were covered with drawings.
Dozens.
Crayon sketches on yellowed paper, taped in careful lines. Each one showing the same three girls — holding hands, dancing, hiding from adults, laughing beside a tree.
In the center of the room, a single white candle burned on the floor, its wax pooling into the shape of a spiral.
And beside it…
A journal.
Ruoxi knelt beside the candle.
The journal's cover was embossed with a name she hadn't seen in years.
Lin Lei
The first page was written in the same hand as the entries from the music box diary.
"If you're reading this, then you remembered me. Or maybe… you're me."
"They said I was unstable. That love made me flawed. But it was love that kept me sane."
"Qian braided my hair every night. Xi gave me her favorite blanket when I had fevers. They were my world."
"And when they told me I wasn't real… I screamed until they took my voice away."
"But I left this behind, hoping one day you'd return. One day, when the fire in your veins settled into something soft again."
"One day… you'd call me sister."
Lin Qian dropped to her knees, sobbing. "I remember now."
Ruoxi wrapped her arms around her, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"She braided our hair," Lin Qian whispered. "She knew how to make rose knots with no ribbon at all."
"She called me 'tiger cub' because I growled when I didn't get pudding," Ruoxi added, laughing through tears.
Zeyan stepped forward, crouching beside them.
"They forced her out of your memories because she was the glue," he said. "They couldn't let emotional bonds interfere with their project. So they made her a ghost."
Ruoxi turned the page.
The final words of the journal read:
"If they come again, don't let them take you. You're not broken. You're what I could've been. Be brave for me. And if you ever find this… tell me I mattered."
Ruoxi whispered, "You did, Lei. You mattered."
Later that night, back at the villa, Lin Qian fell asleep clutching the journal.
Ruoxi stood on the balcony, watching the stars emerge from the velvet sky.
Zeyan joined her, two mugs of tea in his hands.
"She wasn't a prototype," Ruoxi said. "She was one of us. She was the first real heart they couldn't replicate."
"They never wanted her to be remembered," Zeyan said quietly. "Because she was proof their system failed."
Ruoxi turned to him.
"And yet here we are. Remembering her. Loving her."
Zeyan reached for her hand. "And she gave you something no scientist ever could."
Ruoxi raised an eyebrow.
"A soul," he said simply.
In the darkness of a separate city, a console blinked red.
Someone had accessed the Lei Archive.
A woman with the same eyes as Ruoxi narrowed her gaze at the screen.
"They're beginning to reassemble," she muttered. "I'll have to trigger the contingency sooner than expected."
Behind her, a drawer opened automatically, revealing a locked case.
Inside… a single vial glowing blue.
Emotion Suppressant – Gen 3.FOR ROUXI_01 USE ONLY
The woman smiled coldly.
"They found their sister."
Her fingers tapped the glass of the vial.
"Let's see how long that love lasts."