The morning sun filtered weakly through the mist curling around the Mo estate. Ruoxi sat curled up in the study, flipping through the dusty family photo albums Zeyan had retrieved from the old vault.
"I don't remember taking any of these," she murmured, mostly to herself.
Children in white dresses, garden parties, birthday cakes she didn't remember cutting. Each photo made her feel like a stranger looking at someone else's life.
And then, tucked inside one of the thick leather-bound albums, something fell out.
A photo — black-and-white, slightly burned at the edges.
It showed a little girl standing beside an old piano.
Ruoxi leaned in. Her breath caught.
The girl was her. Or Linyue.
And on the piano… sat a music box.
Not just any music box — the same one Ruoxi had seen in the north wing before the mirror shattered.
She flipped the photo over.
On the back, a faded note in delicate cursive:
"Only the one who hears the second melody will know the truth."
Ruoxi stood, the photo trembling in her hand.
That evening...
She returned to the sealed room where she'd first seen the music box. Zeyan had posted a guard, but waved her through when he saw her holding the photo.
Ruoxi crossed the dusty threshold. The music box still sat there — slightly scorched, its hinges rusted.
She wound it slowly.
The usual tune played — soft, melancholic.
But as it neared the end, a faint click echoed from within.
A hidden compartment slid open beneath the lid.
Inside was a tiny, rolled-up diary — yellowed, tied with a silk ribbon.
Ruoxi's hands shook as she untied it.
The first page read:
Linyue's DiaryIf you find this… then I'm already gone.
Entry OneI hear voices at night. In the walls. They speak in languages I don't understand. I told Mother once. She slapped me and said it was dreams.
Entry FourThey bring me pills that make my memories hazy. Sometimes I wake up in rooms I don't remember falling asleep in. Sometimes there's blood under my nails.
Entry NineThere's another girl. I see her in the mirrors. She looks just like me — but her smile is wrong. Mother says it's just my reflection, but I know better.
Ruoxi's chest grew tight. She flipped ahead.
Entry TwelveToday I found documents with my name… and another name. Ruoxi. Mo Ruoxi. But I'm the only daughter, right? RIGHT?
Entry FourteenFather said there was a fire in the lab. That we lost something important. I don't think it was a lab. I think it was a person.
Ruoxi swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry.
She turned to the final entry — dated just days before the fire that supposedly killed Linyue.
Entry SeventeenI overheard them tonight. They said one of us is a mistake. That one was never meant to survive. That I'm becoming unstable. I think they're going to make me disappear.
If I do — please remember: it wasn't an accident. I was erased.
The bottom of the page was stained with what looked like tears — or blood.
Ruoxi dropped the diary, trembling.
Everything she thought she knew about her childhood was wrong.
Outside the room…
Zeyan stood by the door, listening.
"She remembered," he murmured.
He pulled out his phone and opened a secure file.
Project Twin Flame – Phase II.
Subject A: Mo Linyue – Emotional deterioration noted.Subject B: Mo Ruoxi – Cognitive stability strong. Retain.If Subject A exhibits instability, proceed with reconditioning or removal.
Zeyan gritted his teeth.
"Reconditioning… they wiped memories."
His father had always spoken about legacy — but not whose legacy he was protecting.
Ruoxi stepped out of the room, clutching the diary like a lifeline.
"She was crying out for help," she whispered. "And no one listened."
Zeyan reached for her gently. "We're listening now."
She looked up, her eyes glossy with fear and rage.
"I want to know who did this. I want to know why they played God with our lives."
Zeyan nodded. "Then we start with the one who funded it all."
"Your father?"
Zeyan shook his head.
"No. He was a puppet. The real architect of Project Twin Flame… was Professor Yan Ming."
Ruoxi frowned. "Who?"
"A neuroscientist. Bioethics reject. Went dark a decade ago. He specialized in memory implantation, dream-state conditioning, and… twin separation experiments."
Ruoxi paled. "Then he created us?"
"Or worse," Zeyan said, his voice cold. "He still controls one of you."
Elsewhere…
In a high-rise office surrounded by shadow and silence, an elderly man with pale eyes stared at a wall of monitors.
On one screen: Ruoxi, holding the diary.
On another: Zeyan, searching for answers.
He lit a cigarette.
"They've begun to remember," he said to the darkness behind him.
A female voice answered.
"Then initiate Phase III."
He smiled.
"The past always repeats — especially when both hearts beat the same lie."