After I died, they cried in the live studio

Chapter 171 Faint Light and Darkness
The car stopped at the intersection, the red light illuminating the weariness in her eyes. In the mirror, in life, on and off screen, who doesn't wear a mask? Some wear the mask as their skin, while others always remember that beneath it lies a heart that can feel pain.

The phone vibrated again. Sang Jiyue sent a message: "Sister Shuwan, I've taken notes on today's lessons. I'll learn more from you in the future~" She attached a selfie, in which she held the script, her Cartier bracelet sparkling on her wrist. Sang Shuwan smiled, deleted the chat box, opened her notes app, and wrote: "Tomorrow's action scenes require attention to the use of the waist to avoid aggravating old injuries; remind the props team to check the wire buckles, as the screws were found to be loose during the last rehearsal."

Outside the car window, spring rain began to fall, pattering against the glass. Sang Shuwan closed her eyes, and a line from the original novel "The Tale of Clouds and Sky" came to mind: "When the general removed his armor, what was reflected in the mirror was not makeup, but the frost of ten years on the battlefield." She touched the old scar behind her ear and smiled—some frost is the medal of time, and also armor to resist the cold winter.

At the end of the red carpet at the Palme d'Or awards ceremony, Sang Shuwan's haute couture gown was suddenly caught. She heard Sang Jiyue exclaim behind her, "Shuwan, be careful!" Then came the soft sound of fabric tearing. The backless chiffon layer was ripped by a pearl bracelet, revealing an old scar below her shoulder blade under the cold light—a scratch from a horse stirrup she had been wearing three years ago while filming a circus scene.

“It’s all my fault,” Sang Jiyue hurriedly took off the bracelet, her fingertips trembling just right as they brushed against her back. “This bracelet was a gift from a fan, but who knew the pearls would come unglued…” She looked up at the camera, the beauty mark at the corner of her eye glistening under the spotlight. “If Sister Shuwan is blaming me, then hit me.”

When Sang Shuwan turned around, she had already put on a gentle smile, letting the tear in her dress stop three centimeters below her shoulder—a position that both revealed the scar to create a "dedicated" image and didn't violate red carpet dress codes. She took Sang Jiyue's wrist and pushed the other's pearl bracelet back into place: "It's a gift from my sister, I should bear the pain even if it hurts." Before she finished speaking, the flashbulbs exploded, and the trending topic #SangSistersRedCarpetMutualRescue# instantly topped the charts.

Backstage in the dressing room, manager Sister Zhang tossed a tablet to her: "Look at Jiyue's studio's press release, 'Willing to be a human cushion to protect her sister,' with pictures all of her blocking the camera for you." In the mirror's reflection, Sang Shuwan was covering an old scar with concealer, her fingertips hovering in mid-air—this morning she had clearly asked the stylist to sew non-slip patches onto Sang Jiyue's dress, but she saw the other party's assistant secretly shorten the shoulder straps in front of the red carpet.

“If she wants to promote her sister, let her be.” Sang Shuwan pressed down on her powder compact, the matte foundation concealing the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. “But the audition for the female lead in ‘Star Trail’…” Before she could finish speaking, the door to the dressing room was pushed open, and newcomer actor Xiao Zhou rushed in with the script: “Sister Wan, Sister Jiyue said that the eye acting in this scene needs to be changed, saying that your previous ‘disdain’ was too realistic.”

In the mirror, Sang Shuwan saw a cold smile tugging at the corners of her lips in the reflection. Three days earlier, on the set of "The Legend of Yunxiao," Sang Jiyue had brought the screenwriter to rewrite the script in the same way, changing her "general training his sister" scene into a "sisterly embrace." When it aired, the comments were all "Jiyue's eyes are full of dependence," but no one knew that off-camera, the other woman's fingernails were digging into her lower back.

“Act according to the original script.” She pulled out a note from the script, the one Sang Jiyue had slipped under her door last night. “‘When General Yunshuang lowered his eyes, a hint of coldness lurked in them’—please read that line aloud, word for word.” As Xiao Zhou left, she heard arguing coming from the direction of Sang Jiyue’s RV. Assistant Xiao Tao’s shrill voice pierced through the soundproof curtain: “She’s 32 years old, how many more years can she stay popular? If she wins the Palme d’Or this time…”

During the awards ceremony, when the Best Actress nominations were being held, Sang Shuwan noticed that Sang Jiyue's fan club's light-up signs had suddenly changed to the words "Protect Shuwan." The camera panned across the audience, where young girls were holding up signs that read "Jiyue will always be Sister Shuwan's little sun," which contrasted interestingly with the "Shuyue's Shadows" support colors of her fans—this "reverse promotion" was the same hype technique she had taught Sang Jiyue three months ago.

"Next up is the Best Supporting Actress award—" As the host's voice rang out, Sang Shuwan felt the body beside her suddenly tense up. Sang Jiyue's knuckles were white as she gripped the hem of her skirt, and the rhinestones on her nails reflected a sharp light under the lights, much like the miniature recording pen that Sang Jiyue had hidden at the bottom of her makeup bag last week on set.

"The winner is Sang Jiyue!"

Amid cheers, Sang Jiyue stumbled to her feet, knocking over the champagne glass in front of Sang Shuwan. The sparkling wine spilled onto the latter's dress, but she quickly covered it with her hand, her smile undiminished as she pushed her onto the stage: "Go on, my little sun." In the instant Sang Jiyue turned around, she saw the miniature microphone behind the other woman's ear—the device used for recording sound during the live broadcast, now clearly transmitting her "whisper" to the entire internet: "Remember, mention my name three times in your acceptance speech."

On stage, Sang Jiyue held the trophy and shed tears: "This award belongs to everyone who supports the 'Sang Sisters.' If it weren't for Sister Shuwan teaching me action scenes step by step in 'The Legend of Yunxiao,' I wouldn't even dare to be suspended by wires..." The camera cut to the audience, where Sang Shuwan wiped her eyes at the right moment, and the silver bell ring on her ring finger glittered slightly—it was a "sisterly token" that she had specially chosen today, the same style as Sang Jiyue's pearl bracelet, but when it was customized, she asked the craftsman to engrave the four characters "戒急用忍" (meaning "avoid haste and be patient") inside the bell's clasp.

At the backstage celebration banquet, investor Mr. Li patted Sang Shuwan on the shoulder: "Jiyue is a grateful girl, you should mentor her more." As their glasses clinked, she saw Sang Jiyue whispering to a fashion editor. The pearl bracelet on her wrist had been replaced with a new Cartier design, and the tablet in the editor's hand was displaying the female lead's costume photo for "Star Trail"—her eyebrows and eyes were seven-tenths similar to Sang Shuwan's, but with an added touch of girlish charm.

"Sister Wan, let's take a group photo!" Sang Jiyue suddenly put her arm around her waist, her smile in front of the camera was so sweet it could drip honey, but her fingers had secretly pinched a bruise on Sang Shuwan's waist. The moment the flash went off, Sang Shuwan heard the other woman say in a voice only the two of them could hear, "They chose me for the cover of next month's Harper's Bazaar, the headline is 'How a New Generation of Actresses Surpasses Veteran Actresses'—Sister, wouldn't you say that's the student surpassing the teacher?"

She gazed at the other woman's meticulously tattooed eyebrows, recalling three years ago in Hengdian when Sang Jiyue cried, saying, "I want to stand on the red carpet like my sister." Back then, the other woman had a faint mole at the end of her eyebrow, which had long since been removed with laser treatment. The light from the champagne tower reflected on their intertwined wrists, casting long shadows of silver bells and pearls on the marble floor, like two crossed swords with matching ribbons wrapped around their hilts.

As the event ended, Sang Shuwan received a screenshot from Sister Zhang in the van: Marketing accounts were hyping up the story of "Sang Shuwan's stern face as Jiyue received her award," accompanied by a picture of her wiping champagne stains backstage, the angle of which perfectly accentuated the cold, hard curve of her lips. She turned off the screen and pulled out a voice recorder from her bag—the conversation with Sang Jiyue's assistant, Xiao Tao, that morning was now playing clearly through her earphones:
"President Li said that once Sister Jiyue wins the lead role in 'Star Trail,' they'll release the press release about 'Shu Wan suppressing newcomers,' and then..."

Shh! Her RV is here!

Outside the car window, Sang Jiyue's van was driving in the opposite direction, its taillights flickering, much like the support lights from when they first appeared together. Back then, Sang Shuwan had just won the newcomer award, and Sang Jiyue, as a fan representative, presented her with flowers, looking up at the camera and saying, "Sister Wan is my light." Now, that light is being carefully trimmed into the shape the other person desires.

My phone vibrated. Sang Jiyue sent me a message: "Sister, the tear in your dress today is so sexy~ Do you want me to ask the stylist to design a 'scar aesthetic' look for you?" The attached emoji was a behind-the-scenes photo from their magazine shoot last year. Sang Shuwan was laughing so hard she cried, with the silver bells on her back and the silver butterflies in her hair complementing each other.

She deleted "thank you" from the input box and typed instead: "Next time on the red carpet, remember to have your assistant check the clasp of your pearl bracelet—after all, your younger sister's safety is what I care about most." Before sending it, she added a tearful smiley face, just like the emoticons that Sang Jiyue often used.

The van entered the tunnel. In the darkness, Sang Shuwan touched the silver bell earrings on her earlobes—the only keepsake her mother had left her. Sang Jiyue's pair, on the other hand, had been replaced with Van Cleef & Arpels four-leaf clover earrings long ago, when she landed her first leading role. As light poured in from the end of the tunnel, she suddenly remembered a line from "The Cloud Record": "The sharpest sword in the world is never the cold iron drawn from its sheath, but the light that makes people mistake it for gentleness when it is hidden in its sheath."

Under the bright lights of the wrap party for "The Legend of Clouds," Sang Shuwan clinked glasses with Sang Jiyue, their crystal glasses striking each other with a subtle, almost imperceptible force. The camera panned across their intertwined wrists, the silver bell bracelet and pearl bracelet reflecting a cold light under the spotlight—a carefully crafted "sisterly unity" scene by the team. Little did anyone know that just half an hour earlier, Sang Jiyue had deliberately knocked over Sang Shuwan's setting powder in the dressing room, spilling lead-containing powder onto the lining of her costume.

"Thank you for taking care of me on set, sister." As Sang Jiyue looked up, the Swarovski crystal in her hair brushed against Sang Shuwan's earlobe. "If you hadn't helped me with the wire work yesterday, I probably would have broken my collarbone." Her voice trailed off sweetly, and in the silence between the two of them, there was a silent provocation about the "accident" three days ago—Sang Jiyue's safety rope buckle had been loosened, and the surveillance footage showed that the last person to touch the equipment was Sang Shuwan's assistant.

Sang Shuwan smiled as she straightened the other woman's askew earring, her fingertips pausing for half a second at the back of Sang Jiyue's neck—where a miniature recording device was attached, installed by the "Cloud Record" crew for "real-time capture of actors' emotions." "My sister's safety is of course more important than anything else." Her voice was sweet, yet she subtly applied pressure to her palm until Sang Jiyue's eyelashes trembled from the sting.

Backstage in the dressing room, agent Sister Zhang slammed a tablet onto the makeup table: "Sang Jiyue's team bribed the martial arts director to change your 17th fight scene into 'the older sister accidentally injuring the younger sister.'" On the screen, in the newly revised storyboard, the sword of "Yunxiang Pavilion Master" Sang Shuwan would tear through the costume of "Junior Sister" Sang Jiyue, revealing a carefully designed "butterfly birthmark"—the exact same as the birthmark that Sang Shuwan had been accused of "cursing her mother" by haters three months ago.

“Have the props team dull the sword blade by two millimeters.” Sang Shuwan adjusted her eyeliner in the mirror, making the end rise three degrees higher than the script required. “Also, cut the scene of me learning Tai Chi sword in Wudang Mountain last year into the behind-the-scenes footage—to let the audience know that the Master’s sword never ‘accidentally’ hurts anyone.” She saw Sister Zhang hesitate, and a cold smile appeared on her own lips in the mirror. She remembered the detail that Sang Jiyue “accidentally” revealed in an interview last week about “Sister acting like a diva on set,” which came from this altered storyboard.

During the filming of the pivotal scene of "The Pavilion Master Instructing His Disciple," Sang Shuwan noticed that Sang Jiyue's costume lining was embroidered with the same cloud pattern as hers—a design that should have been exclusive to the lead actress. As the camera zoomed in, the other woman suddenly stumbled and bumped into her, her nose almost brushing against her collarbone. The director's furious roar came through the earpiece: "Cut! Do it again!"

“I’m sorry, sister,” Sang Jiyue took a half step back, her fingertips tracing the belt of her costume, “I can never remember the Pavilion Master’s steps…” Before she could finish speaking, the jade pendant at her waist suddenly clattered to the ground, the broken tassel stained with glue – clearly someone had cut the load-bearing wire beforehand. Sang Shuwan looked at the props team hurriedly cleaning up the broken pieces, and suddenly remembered the wrap party for “Han Jiang Xue” three years ago, when her love token jade pendant was also “accidentally” broken, and the next day the trending topic was “Sang Shuwan abandoned by her sugar daddy.”

In the monitoring room, she watched the playback of Sang Jiyue's assistant, Xiao Tao's, actions backstage: deliberately knocking over a prop shelf and cutting off the jade pendant tassel while pretending to help tidy up. "Send this video to the official Weibo account of 'Yunxiao Ji'," she told Sister Zhang, "with the caption 'Thank you for your 'thoughtfulness', allowing the Pavilion Master's jade pendant to be 'finished' ahead of schedule.'" Half an hour later, #SangSistersPropsAccident# became a trending topic, and people in the comments section began to dig up the "Jiyue Studio's habitual use of camera tricks for hype."

At the celebration banquet, investor Mr. Li patted Sang Shuwan on the shoulder: "Jiyue is a bright girl, you should mentor her more." As their glasses clinked, she caught a glimpse of Sang Jiyue whispering to an executive of a video platform. The executive's tablet was lit up with a sequel proposal for "Yunxiao Ji". On the plot outline of "Junior Sister's Counterattack to Become Pavilion Master", only Sang Jiyue's name was listed in the lead actor section.

“Mr. Li is too kind,” Sang Shuwan said, swirling her wine glass and letting the silver bell bracelet gleam under the light. “When the Pavilion Master chooses a successor, what he values ​​most is ‘having a sword in hand but no sword in heart’—some people have sword tassels studded with diamonds, yet they can’t hold the hilt firmly.” She saw Sang Jiyue’s fingertips suddenly tighten under the table, and one of the clasps on her pearl bracelet popped open, revealing a pale blue peony tattoo underneath—exactly the same as the anti-counterfeiting mark on her costume.

As the event ended, Sang Shuwan received an anonymous package in her van containing a dashcam video: three days earlier, the brake pads of her van had been deliberately worn down, and while driving through a cliff bend, Sang Jiyue's RV happened to be "on the way" behind. In a screenshot from the video, Xiao Tao was seen hurriedly leaving beside her wheels, the pearl bracelet on her wrist particularly glaring in the night.

Sang Shuwan's phone vibrated. Sang Jiyue had sent a message: "Sister's action scenes today were so cool~" The attached GIF was of her swinging a sword, but it had been maliciously cropped to look like "the sword tip almost hurt her younger sister." Sang Shuwan stared at the cloud patterns on her costume in the GIF and suddenly remembered a line from the original novel "The Cloud Record": "The most deadly trap is never a brightly lit mountain of knives, but a reflection hidden in the clouds—you think you are seeing yourself, but in fact it is a cage that someone else has already drawn."

She took out a silver bell from her pocket; the inscription "Be patient and avoid haste" on the clasp had been worn smooth and shiny. The wind from the tunnel rushed in through the car window, making the support lights of Sang Jiyue's RV in the distance flicker. The fluorescent words "Sisters United" looked just like the cracks in her costume in the night—the surface was embroidered with gold thread depicting reunion, but the lining had long been cut to pieces.

Crystal chandeliers cast dappled light across the banquet hall's dome. As Sang Shuwan's fishtail skirt swept past the gilded table legs, she happened to hear Sang Jiyue's silvery laughter drifting from behind. The other woman was arm-in-arm with the third female lead, leaning close to the dessert table, her pearl hair ornaments gleaming warmly under the lights—a stark contrast to the fierce look in her eyes three years ago when she pulled Sang Shuwan's wig backstage at "Starry Night, Starry Sea."

"Shuwan, want a drink?" The male lead, Xu Mingxuan, exuded the scent of cedar perfume from his white shirt. His deliberately lowered voice, mixed with the bubbles of champagne, exploded in her ear. "The force with which you stepped on my shoes when we were moving around felt like stepping on a black keyboard." The macarons on the gilded tray looked sickeningly sweet under the lights. Sang Shuwan's fingertips traced the rim of her glass, the cool touch reminding her of the opening banquet when Sang Jiyue "accidentally" knocked over her bird's nest porridge. The bloodstains on her skirt were clearly visible in the surveillance footage—now, the other woman was walking towards her with a strawberry tart, the diamond sticker at the corner of her eye perfectly concealing the shallow scar she had left from years ago.

“Teacher Xu is too kind.” She turned aside to avoid the wine glass offered by the other party, the compass ring on her ring finger gleaming faintly in the reflection of the glass. “We filmed the final scene seventeen times, and I even tore your cuffs. I should be the one apologizing.” Her tone was gentle, but she deliberately emphasized the word “torn,” causing Sang Jiyue’s knuckles, which were holding a fork, to tighten suddenly. Xu Mingxuan’s hand froze in mid-air for half a second. He caught Sang Jiyue approaching out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly put on a wronged expression: “It was clearly because you were too immersed in the role that your nails dug into my wrist when you shouted ‘Don’t leave me.’” He leaned closer, his hair almost brushing against Sang Shuwan’s earlobe, but his eyes were catching the direction of the camera—this was the thirty-seventh time he had tried to create an “intimate moment.” The previous thirty-six times, she had subtly avoided it with the script or the wine glass. "Teacher Xu, are you taking this so seriously?" Sang Jiyue suddenly interrupted, strawberry tart cream smeared on Xu Mingxuan's sleeve. She hurriedly wiped it with a silk handkerchief, her fingertips precisely pressing against the bruise on the inside of his wrist—a mark left by Sang Shuwan's excessive exertion during yesterday's fight scene. "I heard you're playing a yandere villain in your next film. Why don't you practice your 'distorted expression after being rejected' now?" The soft music in the banquet hall suddenly paused for a beat, and Sang Shuwan saw Xu Mingxuan's pupils shrink. Three years ago, when Sang Jiyue bribed marketing accounts to smear her for "acting like a diva," she used this same veiled tone, feigning concern while actually handing her a knife. At this moment, the other woman was wiping her sleeve clockwise, a "graceful gesture" that the fake heiress of the Sang family had been taught since childhood, but in Sang Jiyue's eyes, it was the preparatory action she took when she pushed her into the pool years ago.

“Sister Jiyue, you’re joking.” She suddenly reached out and hooked her arm around Sang Jiyue’s shoulder, the ring on her ring finger pressing right against the fake birthmark below the other’s collarbone. “Teacher Xu just wants to help us promote our new drama, right? After all, the press releases at the start of filming were about ‘the two beauties breaking up,’ but now ‘the sisters’ deep affection’ is more newsworthy.” Sang Jiyue’s body stiffened instantly, a stinging pain shooting through her collarbone—that was the butterfly birthmark she had covered with concealer, the real mark of the Sang family bloodline, now being pressed red by the edge of Sang Shuwan’s ring. She heard the other say in a whisper, only the two of them could hear, “When you hired online trolls last week to spread the ‘Sang Shuwan is the daughter of a deadbeat,’ you didn’t think about the sisters’ affection.”

Xu Mingxuan's Adam's apple bobbed twice as he suddenly noticed the director filming with his phone not far away. Sang Shuwan's hand was still on Sang Jiyue's shoulder, and the two of them smiled at the camera as if they were cut from the same mold. However, he could clearly see that Sang Jiyue's nails were digging into the former's palm, while Sang Shuwan's fingertips were pressing on the other's vital point on the back of her neck—this was the mutual control posture they had practiced in "Twin Spy Shadows," which now transformed into intimate whispers in front of the camera.

“If Teacher Xu has nothing else to say,” Sang Shuwan suddenly turned around, her compass ring flashing coldly under the light, “Jiyue and I have arranged to meet with the stylist to discuss our red carpet looks—you know, we both want to outdo each other, but we’re afraid of being accused of ‘competing for females,’ so we have to do it privately…” Her voice rose at the end, her fingertips lightly brushing against Sang Jiyue’s hair. The latter obediently shrank back, revealing faint red marks on her neck.

Watching Xu Mingxuan leave with a livid face, Sang Shuwan suddenly let go of his hand and pulled out a wet wipe from her purse to wipe her palm. Sang Jiyue also took out a small mirror to touch up her makeup. The moment the powder compact closed, the two looked at each other in the mirror reflection—exactly the same reflection they had in the dressing room on the day of the opening banquet. Only then, they both carried a ruthless intent to kill each other, while now, all that remained in their eyes was an understanding of each other's schemes.

"You knew all along that he wanted to create a scandal." Sang Jiyue suddenly spoke, her fingertips caressing the phoenix embroidery on the silk skirt. "From the very first day he deliberately 'fell' into your arms on set." "You knew too?" Sang Shuwan looked at Xu Mingxuan being dragged away by his manager in the distance, recalling the conversation she overheard in the prop room three days ago—Sang Jiyue's manager was dividing the spoils with Xu Mingxuan's team. "Otherwise, why would you always dress like you're going to walk the Cannes red carpet every time you 'coincidentally' bump into him?"

The champagne tower jingled with a crisp clinking of crystals. Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed, her fingertips tracing the red marks on the inside of Sang Shuwan's wrist: "That's why we acted out the 'sisterly falling out' in the final scene more realistically than anything else—after all, the me who poured water on you in the pool back then, and the you who brought me burn ointment at the hospital later, were both more villains than the characters in the script." Sang Shuwan looked at the stage makeup still lingering around Sang Jiyue's eyes, recalling the rain scene three months ago, when Sang Jiyue actually pushed her into the mud, but just as the director yelled "cut," she secretly shielded her from a falling light fixture with her own body. They were each other's sharpest knife and their strongest shield. In the battlefield of the entertainment industry, it was better to hold each other's knife handles than to be stabbed in the back by outsiders.

“The script for the next film.” She suddenly pulled a brown paper bag from her handbag, inside which was the first draft of “The Real and Fake Queen.” “I had the screenwriter add an ending where two female leads team up to bring down capital—you play a seemingly beautiful but actually manipulative heiress, and I play a seemingly rebellious but actually mysterious stockbroker who controls the Matrix.” As Sang Jiyue took the script, her fingertips touched the broken jade at the bottom of the bag—fragments of a jade bracelet that Sang Shuwan had risked her life to retrieve for her when the Sang family’s old house collapsed. They both knew that so-called “friends” were merely temporary allies in the arena of interests, but compared to the open and covert attacks from the outside world, the calculations in each other’s eyes were more reassuring.

"Happy wrap-up." Sang Shuwan raised her sparkling water, the droplets sliding down the phoenix pattern on the glass, aligning perfectly with the red mark on Sang Jiyue's neck. Sang Jiyue used seven-tenths of her strength when clinking glasses, the bubbles bursting upon impact, like the blades they had thrust and retracted over the years, ultimately transforming into dazzling fireworks on the stage. In the distance, the paparazzi's telephoto lens captured this scene of "sisterly affection," but failed to capture that beneath their intertwined fingertips, Sang Shuwan's compass was pointing due east—the direction where Xu Mingxuan's agent was currently hiding the hard drive containing the incriminating information; while Sang Jiyue's manicured nail tip was subtly tearing through the brown paper bag, allowing the final chapter of the script's "twin flowers' rift," along with the shattered jade, to fall in the place least likely to be seen.

The dappled light from the crystal chandelier flowed across Sang Shuwan's fishtail dress, much like the shattered moonlight in the Sang family's swimming pool three years ago. Back then, she had just secured a spot in the finals of "Starry Night, Starry Sea," and Sang Jiyue, dressed in a custom-made Chanel swimsuit, came to "congratulate" her, her fingernails digging into Sang Shuwan's wrist with a sweet smile: "Sister, you always close your eyes when you swim, aren't you afraid of being dragged away by a water ghost?"

Just then, the dessert cart passed by in the banquet hall. Sang Shuwan stared at Sang Jiyue's fingertips as she forked a strawberry—the neatly trimmed nails still bore the crescent-shaped notch she'd bitten by the pool years ago. Xu Mingxuan's livid back as he left plunged into her memories. She suddenly recalled the day of the film's opening banquet, when this male star had cornered her in the dressing room, his wrist pressed against her shoulder blade: "Are all the real heiresses of the Sang family as prickly as you?"

"Why does Brother Mingxuan look so pale?" The third female lead approached, holding macarons. The scent of lily of the valley perfume in her hair overpowered the faint scent of sandalwood on Sang Jiyue's body—a unique aroma from the Buddhist shrine in the Sang family's old house, which she had smelled on Sang Jiyue's pillow before, mixed with the smell of ink from torn paternity test reports.

Sang Jiyue still clutched the silk handkerchief in her palm, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the embroidered character "Ji" on the corner—a coming-of-age gift from her adoptive mother, Sang Shuwan's birth date and time hidden within the embroidery. Watching Sang Shuwan pull a wet wipe from her purse, she suddenly remembered the light fixture that had shielded her from the rain three months ago on set; the rust on the iron pipes still left a faint brown mark on her shoulder.

“Teacher Xu might be tired.” Sang Shuwan’s voice interrupted her reminiscence. Her compass ring, which was pointing towards the dessert table, was slightly warm. “After all, playing a ‘neglected, affectionate male lead’ in front of the camera is more physically demanding than filming action scenes.” As she finished speaking, she happened to see Xu Mingxuan’s agent winking at the paparazzi in the corner. The camera flash illuminated the jade bracelet on his wrist—the one that Sang Jiyue had “accidentally” left in his RV last week.

Sang Jiyue suddenly leaned close to her ear, her warm breath mingling with the scent of mints: "Did you know? The trending topic his team bought is already under review, #XuMingxuanSangShuwanWrapUpBanquetCheekTouch#, with the picture of you hooking your arm around my shoulder just now." Her fingertips lightly traced Sang Shuwan's collarbone, precisely avoiding the location of her real birthmark, "But I had my agent give the marketing accounts another piece of information—the surveillance footage of him smashing a hotel TV in Hengdian last year, which is enough to make the trending topic aborted in advance."

The second tier of the champagne tower suddenly tilted, and amidst the clinking of ice cubes, Sang Shuwan saw Sang Jiyue's manicured nail tips pressed against a tear in a brown paper bag. It contained the script they had collaborated on for the first time, "The True and False Queens." On the title page was a protective array diagram that had been copied three days earlier at the Sang family's old house. The phoenix pattern on the corner of the paper overlapped with the embroidery on Sang Jiyue's skirt, like some kind of silent contract.

"Why did you bring me burn ointment at the hospital back then?" Sang Jiyue suddenly asked, her fingertips tracing the "twin flowers" pattern on the script cover. "You knew perfectly well that I tampered with the pool, short-circuiting the water circulation system and almost electrocuted you."

Sang Shuwan stared at the diamond sticker on the other woman's eye, recalling the smell of disinfectant in the emergency room. She had just been dragged from the pool, lying there covered in purple, when Sang Jiyue came to visit with flowers, a miniature camera hidden in the petals. But after everyone left, this fake heiress secretly lifted her blanket and applied burn ointment to her scalded ankle—her movements as gentle as if handling fragile porcelain.

“Because the fear in your eyes is more real than hatred.” She suddenly grabbed Sang Jiyue’s wrist and pressed the broken jade fragments into her palm. “When you realized that I might really die, when you realized that the inheritance of the Sang family would really fall into my head, you suddenly became afraid—afraid that you had been playing the role of the ‘real heiress’ for eighteen years, and that you didn’t even know the location of the Sang family’s ancestral graves.”

Sang Jiyue's pupils contracted sharply, the jade bracelet on her wrist digging painfully into her skin. It was a gift from her adoptive mother when she turned eighteen, who said, "Wear this, and you'll be a true member of the Sang family," but never told her that the bracelet contained the ashes of Sang Shuwan's birth mother. At this moment, the other woman's compass ring pulsed against her pulse, as if measuring the expiration date of a lie.

The sound of shattering wine glasses drifted from afar. Xu Mingxuan's agent was shoving with paparazzi, a draft of "The Sang Family's True Heiresses Tearing Each Other Apart" flashing on his phone screen. Sang Shuwan released her grip, pulled a mini compass from her handbag, and saw the needle pointing sharply to the northwest—the direction of the Sang family's old house, the place where she had found her mother's diary in the ancestral hall three days ago.

"The charity gala next Friday." She suddenly shoved the script into Sang Jiyue's hands, her fingertips tracing the character description of a "chaebol heiress." "The Sang family is announcing a new heir. Do you know why my adoptive mother suddenly asked me to attend?" Seeing the other woman's shoulders tense up, she chuckled. "Because last week I discovered in the Buddhist hall that your fake birthmark uses the Sang family's forbidden technique, the 'Blood Pact Mark.' Once I truly acknowledge my lineage, the phoenix tattoo on your wrist will—"

"Enough." Sang Jiyue suddenly turned around, the pearl chain on her hair ornament brushing against the back of Sang Shuwan's hand. "You think I'm afraid? When your birth mother shielded the Sang family from disaster, I saw my adoptive father push her into the fire with my own eyes—and you, you're nothing but a cursed jinx." The tremor in her voice at the end betrayed her, her nails digging deeply into her palm, the taste of blood mingling with the sweetness of strawberry tarts spreading on her tongue.

The banquet hall lights suddenly dimmed, and a spotlight shone on the piano in the center of the stage. Sang Shuwan watched Sang Jiyue's retreating figure as she walked towards the piano; the curves outlined by her fishtail skirt overlapped with an old photograph of her mother from her memory. Ten years ago at the orphanage, she had seen the Sang family's car parked at the gate through the iron fence. A woman in a Chanel suit rolled down the window, her gaze lingering on the cinnabar mole on Sang Jiyue's collarbone for three seconds before she took Sang Jiyue away.

"Next, Ms. Sang Jiyue will perform 'Moonlight Sonata'." The host's voice rang out, and the moment the keys fell, Sang Shuwan's compass suddenly beeped. She saw Sang Jiyue's fingertips pause on the keys for 0.3 seconds, the same micro-expression that the haters had when she was splashed with red paint on her during the final of "Starry Night"—meaning that what she was about to play was not the movement on the score.

Sure enough, as the third octave began, an almost inaudible vibrato crept into the piano music. Sang Shuwan closed her eyes and heard the sounds of rain, the splashing water in the pool, and the requiem her mother hummed before her death, all awakening in her veins with the vibrations of the piano keys. When Sang Jiyue reached the climax, she suddenly walked to the piano and pressed her fingertips onto the back of the other's trembling hand.

“Three notes wrong,” she whispered, typing in Morse code at a frequency only the two of them could hear: “The old house deed is under the third brick in the Buddhist hall.” Sang Jiyue’s eyelashes trembled violently, her fingertips striking a wrong note on the piano keys, but when she looked up, a perfect smile appeared on her face: “When did you learn to play the piano, sister? Back in the orphanage, didn’t you not even understand sheet music?”

These words pierced her heart like a needle. Sang Shuwan recalled that when she was seventeen, she was working at a convenience store and saw Sang Jiyue trying out pianos at the music store across the street through the window, her fingers flying across the Steinway. It was then that she realized that in her life that had been switched, the piano lessons, ballet dresses, and even her mother's dying words that should have been hers had all been taken over by this fake heiress.

“I don’t really understand.” She suddenly pressed down on the piano keys, letting the lingering sound reverberate in the banquet hall. “But I know that the piece you played is the same one you played at the Sang family’s birthday banquet three years ago—it was all played by a ghostwriter, right?” Seeing Sang Jiyue’s face turn pale instantly, she took out a USB drive from her handbag. “Do you need me to play the surveillance footage? The deaf-mute girl who played the piano for you is still working as a 'stylist' in your studio.”

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the music room reflected their images. Sang Shuwan's compass ring cast a phoenix shadow on the glass, perfectly covering the tattoo on Sang Jiyue's wrist. They both knew that the USB drive contained not only evidence of the piano playing fraud, but also the accounts of the Sang family's money laundering over the years, Xu Mingxuan's tax issues, and even a surrogacy contract with a top celebrity in the entertainment industry—this was their tacit "cooperative fund," a weapon that could be used to crush each other at any time.

"That's why you deliberately changed the 'sisterly falling out' slap scene into a real fight in the final scene." Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed, her fingertips tracing the bloodstains on the piano keys—when Sang Shuwan held her hand earlier, the ring had cut her fingertip. "You wanted me to remember that even though we're 'friends' now, you can tear off my mask at any time."

“And when you caught that lamp stand, you deliberately let your shoulder blade hit my injury.” Sang Shuwan looked at the bandage showing at the other’s collar and remembered that on the day of the rain scene, Sang Jiyue could have avoided the lamp stand that she had shielded. “You wanted me to know that even if we are temporarily allies, you will not let me take any advantage.”

The piano music faded into the crystal chandelier. Sang Jiyue suddenly stood up, her skirt brushing against Sang Shuwan's calves: "For the red carpet look of the next film, I'll wear Chanel haute couture, paired with the Sang family's phoenix jade pendant." She lowered her voice as she passed by, "You know, that was taken from your birth mother's body by your adoptive mother."

Sang Shuwan watched her retreating figure as she walked towards the media area. Suddenly, the compass needle pointed due south—the direction of the restrooms. As she followed, she heard suppressed sobs coming from a stall, along with the rustling sound of tearing fabric. Pushing open the half-closed door, she saw Sang Jiyue peeling off a concealer patch from a fake birthmark in front of the mirror, revealing the fading butterfly-shaped mark underneath.

"Do you need any help?" She handed over a cotton pad, her fingertips touching the other's cold skin. Sang Jiyue froze, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, but suddenly relaxed when she saw the shattered jade in her palm.

“You knew all along that I was using medication to fade my birthmark.” Sang Jiyue stared at the mirror, watching the concealer peel off mixed with blood. “It all started when you deliberately had the makeup artist splash blood on my neck during the explosion scene in ‘Twins’.”

Sang Shuwan wiped her wounds, watching the real birthmark gradually appear in the warm light: "I just wanted to remind you that the blood of the Sang family cannot be stolen by forbidden techniques." Recalling the words in her mother's diary, "The phoenix chooses a tree to perch on, but it will not stop on a fake tree," she suddenly took off the broken jade necklace from her neck, "This is for you, it can temporarily suppress the backlash of the blood pact mark."

Sang Jiyue's fingertips trembled on the broken jade, a keepsake she had been envious of since childhood, a token belonging to the true heiress. Now, however, it was being gently placed in the other's palm, warm with body heat. She suddenly remembered when she was twelve years old, when Sang Shuwan had just been brought back to the Sang family, and she saw the growth handbook her father had written for her in the study. The title page was covered with photos of her at each stage, but there was no trace of Sang Shuwan.