The hum of cold air wrapped around them as the heavy metal doors of Archive Room A slid open.
Ruoxi's steps slowed. The room beyond was filled with sterile shelves, glowing screens, and rusting old files — relics of a project meant to shape lives but had only shattered them.
Zeyan brushed past her silently, his fingers trailing over a dust-covered console. "This is the core of Project Twin Flame," he muttered. "Every file. Every lie."
Ruoxi looked around, her heart hammering.
A small blinking drive sat in the center, untouched for years. The label read: "Final Sequence — MQ."
She knew what those initials meant.
"Mo Qinghua…" Ruoxi whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Zeyan inserted the drive. The screens flickered. A woman's face appeared — beautiful, sharp-eyed, and unmistakably familiar.
Ruoxi couldn't breathe.
The woman in the video began speaking.
"If you're watching this… I'm likely dead. My name is Mo Qinghua. I was the creator of Project Twin Flame — and the mother of the firstborn."
Ruoxi gripped the edge of the table.
"I was forced to give birth in secret after being betrayed by those I trusted. They told me my child died. I knew they lied. I created this video hoping… praying… one day she'd find it."
Tears burned in Ruoxi's eyes.
Zeyan stood frozen. The woman wasn't his mother. She had never been. Everything he believed… was a manufactured truth.
The next part of the video showed a younger Mo Qinghua holding a newborn.
"Her name is Liang Ruoxi."
"Her father… is Liang Weichen. I gave her life. They took it from me. From her. If you are her, and you're hearing this… please know: You were always loved."
The screen went black.
Silence stretched between them. Ruoxi's body trembled.
"I'm… her daughter?" she choked.
Zeyan turned toward her, his voice hoarse. "You were never Lin Qian. Never anyone's replacement. You were stolen."
Ruoxi stepped back, overwhelmed.
"But then… what about you?" she asked. "They said… Mo Qinghua was your mother too."
Zeyan shook his head, broken.
"No. That's what I believed. But the files here—" he tapped into the drive again, "they show the truth."
A new file opened.
"Subject: Mo Zeyan. Biological mother: Bai Liyan. Deceased. Identity erased postmortem by Mo Haoran."
"I never knew her," he whispered. "My father erased every trace of her. To protect the family's reputation… and maybe because she refused to join their madness."
Ruoxi stepped forward, gently reaching for his hand. "You believed a lie… just like I did."
Their fingers laced slowly.
They stood together, not as test subjects, not as stolen heirs — but as two people who had been wronged by the same darkness.
That night, under the dim light of the lab's sleeping quarters, silence wrapped around them again.
Zeyan sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked locket he'd worn since he was thirteen. It had always been engraved with "M.Q." He now realized it stood for Mo Qinghua — not because she was his mother… but because she had tried to protect him.
Ruoxi emerged from the shower, dressed simply, her wet hair clinging to her back.
Zeyan looked up, startled by how raw, how vulnerable she looked — and how fiercely he wanted to protect her.
"I should feel whole," she whispered, stepping inside. "I found the truth… I found my name. But instead, I feel... empty."
He turned slowly, eyes meeting hers. "Because you had to fight for something that should've been yours from the start."
She crossed the room, stopping just in front of him. "Do you ever wonder what we could've been if none of this had happened? If we met as just… you and me?"
Zeyan swallowed. "I do. Every night."
Her eyes glistened. "Then can we have this? Just one night where we're not projects or heirs or forgotten children? Just us. Nothing else."
He stood, hesitating — not because he didn't want it, but because he did, too much.
Ruoxi reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek, tracing the pain in his silence.
"Don't ask for permission to feel," she said gently. "We've earned this."
He closed the space between them. Their lips met — tentative at first, almost afraid. But as the kiss deepened, it became something more: a confession, a release, a vow.
Her fingers slipped into his shirt, and he stilled.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
"So are you," he replied.
She smiled faintly. "Then let's fall together."
He lifted her gently, as if afraid she might break, carrying her to the bed. Their clothes fell in silence, their movements careful — not rushed, but reverent. They weren't trying to forget the past, nor escape it. They were making something to hold on to. Something real.
Zeyan pressed his forehead against hers, his voice cracking. "No matter what happens after this… no matter who tries to erase us… I won't let them take this from you."
Ruoxi kissed him again, softly. "Then make me remember. Even if someday… I forget."
And as the lights dimmed fully, their bodies intertwined in warmth, longing, and the quiet desperation of two broken souls trying to write one night of truth.