Chapter 27: Mask

“Like him?”

The assistant thought she had misheard.

Her carefully prepared words caught in her throat, and a trace of astonishment flashed across her face.

Impossible.

She looked at Ming Yue, whose face was streaked with tears and utterly disheveled, and instinctively refuted it.

How could Ming Yue possibly like someone?

For such words to come out of her mouth—”like”—was so absurd it felt like a joke.

She had grown up with her since childhood, and knew better than anyone what kind of sick, obsessive state hid beneath that clever and beautiful mask.

The soul wrapped in those luxurious robes was vile, suspicious, and impenetrable.

She remembered once, when a rising star in the business world visited the Ming family to see her father.

That man, in his prime, full of ambition, chatted animatedly with the patriarch.

At dinner, he was composed, charming, even telling jokes that made Ming Yue smile and glance at him more than once.

When the banquet ended, he gave everyone a gift before leaving.

For Ming Yue, he had prepared a dark-purple Lolita dress.

On its pale-blue bow at the chest gleamed a crystal, and lace embroidered with countless tiny crystals sparkled like stars.

The sleeves were lined with thin gauze that draped faintly down, hazy and ethereal.

Every detail matched her taste perfectly.

Later, the man visited again, speaking with Ming Father but stealing glances toward Ming Yue, who was arranging flowers with her mother.

Before leaving, he even asked the assistant if Miss Ming liked the dress.

“That dress is beautiful. Little Sis likes it very much,” she replied, hiding her inner disdain and sneer.

Yet Ming Yue had never once worn it.

After the man left, she hung the dress up, then took a pair of sharp scissors and cut it apart piece by piece.

The dark fabric spilled across the carpet.

The blades snapped through gauze at the collar with crisp snips.

Ming Yue stepped over the scraps, smiling even more brightly when she saw her enter.

“Ah Jie, come help me. I’m so tired,” she said, handing her the scissors, the torn fabric slipping from her fingers.

She took the scissors, gripping their sharp tips, and silently helped her cut the dress to pieces.

“Ah Jie, he likes me.”

Amid the falling scraps, Ming Yue lifted a piece of the skirt like a princess in a storm of petals, her expression serene and beautiful.

The frosty murmur that drifted through the air seemed like an illusion.

“Disgusting.”

Disgusting.

She knew Ming Yue would never like anyone.

She could not feel others’ love—it only disgusted her.

She merely toyed with it, mocking others’ ugliness, and afterward treated it as nothing more than a ridiculous joke.

How could someone like Ming Yue ever fall in love?

“I… like him…”

The faint murmur drew the assistant back from memory.

“Ah Jie understands. Little Sis really liked him. I’ll take care of everything. Later, I’ll find him a good resting place. Don’t be sad anymore.”

If she liked him, then she liked him.

But now, with him dead, it was all meaningless.

“You’ve cried your face messy. When you go home, Madam will scold you again. Today is New Year’s—cheer up.”

“Mm…”

Ming Yue responded softly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

She stood, straightening her wrinkled skirt, hands folded before her, her figure trembling as she steadied herself.

“Then… Ah Jie, I… I’ll go back first. You… should also come back early for New Year.”

It was rare to see her so helpless, so humiliated.

The assistant pulled her cloak’s hood low and said, “I know. Go on, then.”

Choked, Ming Yue could not answer.

She only stared at the charred corpse in the ruins.

Last night’s moonlight eyes flashed in her memory, and tears fell again.

It shouldn’t be like this.

‘Jie…’

Watching her leave, the assistant turned her gaze back to the ruins.

Before her stood a villa burned to a hollow shell.

Water from the hoses and melted snow mixed with ash on the ground, leaving mottled stains after drying.

The doors and windows yawned empty.

Shattered glass shards littered the floor.

Walls inside and out were scorched black.

Debris piled on the stairs, and the stretcher those three men had carried out lay nearby.

Yu Zhu?

That was his name?

Wait—why did it sound familiar?

The cold wind sharpened her thoughts, and in a flash, she remembered.

Two years ago—at Jinghe Private High School—there had been a student suicide.

The student’s name… was Yu Zhu.

Normally, such cases would not have drawn much attention.

Every year, tragedies like this were reported before the college entrance exams.

But this case had stirred the internet for a long time.

It started when a classmate posted a candid photo to prove identity, claiming firmly that Yu Zhu could never have killed himself.

He was top of the class, handsome, polite, from a happy family.

Perfect in every way.

So it was impossible—he would never commit suicide.

Usually, comments on such news looked alike:

“I’ve been depressed too. Trust me, real depression hides itself.”

“You just don’t know. Maybe he was already collapsing inside. The last straw is always silent.”

“It’s the parents. They didn’t pay enough attention. Poor child.”

But this case, driven by comments and reposts, went viral and stayed trending for days.

“So heartbreaking. I knew about this before, but now I can’t stop crying.”

“This hurts so much. Is anyone else crying over this?”

“Sigh, I don’t even know what to say. He really didn’t look like someone who’d do it.”

“Why is it always this kind of news… it has to be fake, right?”

The photo showed the boy walking past a staircase corner, marble steps cutting through sunset glow.

Soft red light touched his school uniform.

Noticing the camera, he smiled slightly.

The smile shone brighter than the blazing sunset behind him.

A youth, alive with energy, frozen in the age of passion and recklessness.

The photo spread wildly online.

Even those unaware of the story remembered that face.

And Yu Zhu’s name followed.

Yu Zhu.

Of course.

The assistant recalled Ming Yue’s trembling voice, her unexpected resolve when she said she liked him.

Of course Ming Yue would like someone like that.

So it had been him all along.

Surely she was behind it too.

Deception, hidden indulgence…

Heh.

But in the games of the wealthy, the ending was always cruel.

The assistant sneered inwardly, then sent a message to the three men in the distance.

They would take him to Yong’an Cemetery.

Dawn lightened the sky.

On the summit of Zhou’an Mountain, a clump of snow dropped from a withered tree onto the car roof.

A middle-aged woman, legs numb from sleep, woke with a start.

She pulled off her purple scarf and yawned groggily.

“Qiang-ge, I wasn’t asleep, see? Wide awake.”

No answer.

She went on, “Qiang-ge, this haul’s a big one, huh? When we get back, we can finally show off. Let those people see for themselves…”

Still no reply.

Suddenly alert, she glanced around.

No one.

She rushed out of the car.

“Qiang-ge! Qiang-ge?!”

Snow lay thick on the mountaintop.

A cold, killing wind swept across in silence.