After I died, they cried in the live studio

Chapter 172 Spin-off Series

"Why are you so good to me?" She heard her own voice trembling, like a puppet finally showing its weakness. "Even though I've hurt you so many times—buying trending topics, intercepting resources, even—"

“Because we are the only people in this world who know the secret of the Sang family.” Sang Shuwan applied the concealer for her. The reflections of the two of them overlapped in the mirror, much like the moon that was distorted by the water when she saw it at the bottom of the pool years ago. “Rather than letting outsiders tear the Sang family to pieces, I would rather uncover those filthy things with my own hands—and you are the best scalpel.”

As the banquet hall lights came back on, Sang Shuwan's phone vibrated. Sister Chen had sent a message: "The trending topic Xu Mingxuan's team bought has been removed. It's been replaced by #Sang'sTwoBeautiesPraise Each OtherAtWrapFilmingNight#, accompanied by a picture of you two clinking glasses." She added a sly smiley emoji, "Looks like someone's even more afraid of their secrets being leaked than we are~"

She looked at Sang Jiyue, who was being interviewed by the media. On her ring finger was a compass ring that matched her own – the one she had taken off in the restroom and put on Sang Jiyue, saying it was "temporarily borrowed to suppress the blood oath mark," but inside the ring were engraved the small words "Sang family blood, must be repaid in the end."

The champagne tower was still bubbling when Sang Shuwan suddenly saw Gu Chenzhou emerge from the VIP room, half a piece of yellow paper sticking out of his suit pocket—the exorcism talisman she had drawn for him that morning. This top-tier movie star, whose life she had saved in "Live from the Haunted House," was now walking towards her through the crowd, his leather shoes clicking on the marble floor like the rhythm of some destiny.

"How did the wrap party go?" Gu Chenzhou handed her a warm milk tea, his fingertips tracing the red marks on the inside of her wrist, where traces of blood from bandaging Sang Jiyue still remained. "I saw Xu Mingxuan's manager tearing up a contract; his expression was even more interesting than when those photos of his illegitimate child were taken last year."

Sang Shuwan sipped her milk tea and heard Sang Jiyue's laughter mixed with the sound of camera shutters in the distance: "It's alright, but I discovered some interesting things—for example, some people say they hate me, but when they're shielding me from the light fixture, they secretly turn the sharpest piece of metal towards themselves."

Gu Chenzhou's gaze swept over the broken jade necklace around Sang Jiyue's neck, and he suddenly chuckled: "It seems that you two 'sister flowers' are a hundred times more exciting than the script." He leaned closer and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, "But just now in the VIP room, I heard the old butler of the Sang family on the phone, saying that the door to the underground palace of the old mansion was open—and your mother's coffin was empty."

The milk tea cup was burning hot in her palm. Sang Shuwan suddenly remembered what the old woman had said when she gave her the compass: "The fire from twenty years ago didn't kill those who were supposed to be burned." She looked northwest. The compass needle was spinning wildly and finally pointed at Sang Jiyue—who happened to turn around. The diamond sticker at the corner of her eye flashed a blood-red reflection under the light, like some kind of ancient warning.

“Professor Gu.” She suddenly hooked her arm around his wrist and pressed the compass into his palm. “Remember to wear a black suit to the charity gala next Friday—we might need to save a seat for some ‘dead’ people.”

As the banquet hall clock struck twelve, Sang Shuwan watched Sang Jiyue's retreating figure as she walked towards the dressing room, the phoenix embroidery on her skirt flickering under the lights. They both knew that this masquerade ball called "Friends" was merely the calm before the storm. When the doors to the Sang family's underground palace opened, when the secrets in her mother's coffin were revealed, when the dark hand of entertainment industry capital reached out—the true war between the twin flowers had only just begun.

And now, under the spotlight of the wrap party, they remain each other's most dangerous allies, their sharpest blades. On the battlefield called the entertainment industry, they climb upwards by stepping on each other's shadows, yet instinctively reach out to grab each other's wings when they fall. After all, the one who understands you best in this world, besides your enemies, is the one who shared your darkness and burned you in that darkness—your mirror image.

Sang Shuwan's fingertips traced the tear in the kraft paper bag, the sharp edges of the broken jade shards cutting her fingertips, and beads of blood seeped into the phoenix totem on the script's title page. She watched Sang Jiyue's retreating figure as she walked towards the piano, the embroidery on her fishtail skirt flickering in the lamplight, much like the underground palace star map drawn in her mother's diary—the one she had discovered last night in a hidden compartment of the Buddhist hall, marked in vermilion with the words, "On the day the phoenix returns to its place, the gates of the underground palace will open."

The piano keys suddenly went out of tune, and Sang Shuwan noticed Sang Jiyue's left little finger trembling slightly on the keys. This detail reminded her of the surveillance footage from three years ago at the Sang family's old mansion: when no one was around, the fake heiress would use a knife to cut her fingertip, the blood dripping onto her jade bracelet—a ritual performed using the Sang family's forbidden technique, the "Blood Pact Mark." At that moment, the tip of her manicured nail was unconsciously striking the piano keys, the frequency perfectly matching the Big Dipper's position on the underground palace's star chart.

“Sister, want to take a picture together?” Sang Jiyue suddenly stood up, picked up two glasses of champagne from the waiter’s tray, and tapped three long and two short Morse code marks on the glass with her fingertips—this was the “danger signal” they had agreed upon in “Twin Spy Shadows.” Sang Shuwan’s compass ring suddenly became hot. Following the other’s gaze, she saw Xu Mingxuan’s agent holding a phone close to them, the red dot of a miniature camera reflected in the lens.

"Okay." She smiled and put her arm around Sang Jiyue's waist, gently pressing her fingertips on a pressure point on the other's lower back. The latter immediately snuggled closer to her, the pearl chain in her hair conveniently blocking the camera. In the instant the flashbulbs went off, Sang Shuwan heard Sang Jiyue whisper, "The stone statues on the third level of the underground palace have living eyes." This reminded her of the last sentence in her mother's diary: "If you see a phoenix open its eyes, you must feed it with blood."

As the champagne glasses clinked, Sang Shuwan deliberately spilled the wine on Sang Jiyue's skirt. As the latter gasped and stepped back, Sang Shuwan swiftly pulled a slip of paper from her pocket—one she had found that morning in the Buddhist shrine of the Sang family's old residence. It contained a map of the underground palace, with the phoenix's eyes marked "Sang Family Key." Sang Jiyue's earlier comment, "The eyes are alive," was a clear warning of this trap.

"Sorry, my hand slipped." She took out a silk handkerchief to wipe the other person's hand. Her fingertips traced the cinnabar mark on the paper. Suddenly, she remembered when she was seventeen, Sang Jiyue "accidentally" pushed her into the lotus pond, while she was reciting the "Sang Family Genealogy" on the shore. At that time, she should have realized that this fake heiress's understanding of the Sang family's secrets far exceeded her outward gentleness and obedience.

The side door of the banquet hall was suddenly pushed open, and Gu Chenzhou's assistant rushed in, whispering a few words in his ear. Sang Shuwan saw the movie star's expression suddenly turn serious, and the talisman in his suit pocket moved without wind, the curled corners pointing precisely to the location of the underground palace star map. As he walked towards her, his leather shoes tapped rapidly on the marble floor, like a dangerous countdown.

“The old house’s surveillance footage shows that the underground palace door was opened.” Gu Chenzhou lowered his voice, the warmth from his palm mixed with the scent of cinnabar. “Before the old housekeeper on duty fainted, he said he saw a woman in a Chanel suit walk in—exactly the same as the woman in your mother’s death anniversary photo.”

Sang Shuwan's fingers tightened suddenly, and the compass needle spun wildly before pointing at Sang Jiyue. At that moment, the other woman was adjusting her skirt in front of the camera, the compass ring on her ring finger reflecting a cold light, and the broken jade necklace around her neck had been replaced by a jade pendant in front of the Guanyin statue in the old Sang family mansion—a protective treasure that only the heir of the Sang family could touch.

“Jiyue’s necklace looks familiar.” She suddenly reached out and pressed her hand on the other’s collarbone, the edge of the jade pendant pressing against the butterfly birthmark. “Isn’t this the ‘Phoenix Perching Jade’ enshrined in the Buddhist temple? My foster mother said that only true members of the Sang family can wear it.”

Sang Jiyue's eyelashes trembled violently, her fingertips digging into her palms behind her back: "Sister is joking, it's just a counterfeit." There was an imperceptible ferocity hidden in the tremor at the end of her voice, like the contradiction she felt three years ago at the bottom of the pool, when she grabbed Sang Shuwan's neck but let go at the last moment—she clearly wanted to kill her, but was also afraid of becoming a complete imposter herself.

Gu Chenzhou suddenly coughed, signaling for reporters to approach from a distance: "Ladies, the red carpet stylist is urging us to come closer." His gaze fell on Sang Jiyue's jade pendant, his pupils slightly contracting—it was half a jade pendant that his father had picked up from the fire years ago, which, together with Sang Shuwan's broken jade, formed a complete phoenix totem.

As the three entered the dressing room, Sang Shuwan's compass suddenly pointed to the wardrobe. She flung open the wardrobe door, revealing a woman curled up inside, dressed in a Chanel suit, with a jade pendant around her neck identical to Sang Jiyue's, and a face that was exactly like her mother's portrait. "Mom?" she blurted out, but felt a chill run down her spine when she saw the butterfly birthmark on the woman's wrist—a bloodline mark forged by Sang Jiyue using forbidden magic.

"Shuwan, don't be afraid." The woman's voice carried the scent of sandalwood from a Buddhist temple. She reached out to touch Shuwan's face. "Mom has finally found you." But Sang Shuwan noticed the manicure on her fingertips. It was the same design that Sang Jiyue had used at the dessert table that morning. There was even strawberry jam stuck in her nails. How could the woman who had perished in the fire in her memory be tainted by such worldly affairs?

"Who are you?" She took a half step back, her compass ring buzzing. "Sang Jiyue, is this the 'surprise' you prepared?"

In the makeup mirror, Sang Jiyue was removing a pearl hair accessory when she suddenly stopped: "What are you saying, sister? And who is this...?"

“I am your mother.” The woman turned to Sang Jiyue, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “Jiyue, don’t you remember your mother?”

Sang Shuwan suddenly laughed, her fingertips tracing the phoenix pattern on the edge of the compass: "The Sang family's forbidden technique, 'Resurrection,' requires the bloodline of a close relative as a catalyst. Jiyue, did you use your own blood to revive a wisp of my mother's remnant soul?" Looking at the other's suddenly stiffened back, she recalled the altar she found in the Buddhist hall last night, on which were placed Sang Jiyue's birth date and a few strands of hair. "Unfortunately, you don't know that once the phoenix bloodline is corrupted, the resurrected soul will gradually devour its host."

The temperature in the dressing room plummeted, and the fake mother's face began to contort. The jade pendant fell from her neck, revealing the festering skin beneath. Sang Jiyue's nails dug deeply into her palms. She knew that what Sang Shuwan said was true—ever since lighting the soul-guiding lamp in the old mansion's underground palace last week, she had often seen an unfamiliar face in the mirror, and the phoenix tattoo on her wrist was fading at a visible rate.

“You knew all along that I was going to resurrect my aunt.” She suddenly turned around, tears streaming down her exquisitely made-up face, but out of Sang Shuwan’s sight, she secretly pinched the tendon on his wrist with her fingertips. “You deliberately gave me the broken jade so that the protective array could recognize my bloodline and make the resurrected soul turn against me.”

Sang Shuwan felt a wave of dizziness, and the compass slipped from her palm. She watched as Sang Jiyue picked up the compass and pointed it at the false mother's brow. Suddenly, the jade pendant emitted a bright light, drawing the remnant soul into the center of the compass. In the mirror's reflection, two figures overlapped and then separated, much like the twin phoenixes in the underground palace murals—one a true phoenix reborn from the ashes, the other a false phoenix that had stolen feathers.

“Sister is always so clever.” Sang Jiyue wiped the surface of the compass, her fingertips tracing the inscription “Sang family blood must be returned”. “But you don’t know that the soul-guiding lamp that revived your aunt was actually lit using your birth date and time. Now her soul is trapped in the compass, and the door to the underground palace is waiting for the real phoenix blood to open it.”

Before she could finish speaking, the mirror in the dressing room suddenly shattered, countless fragments floating in the air, reflecting countless images of Sang Jiyue. Sang Shuwan saw that each reflection had a cold smile on its lips, and the phoenix tattoo on its wrist was converging into a true bloodline mark—it turned out that what she had always thought was a "fake birthmark" was actually the reverse erosion of her true bloodline by the forbidden technique of the Sang family.

“When my adoptive father pushed my aunt into the fire, she was already pregnant.” Sang Jiyue’s voice came from all directions, shards cut her cheeks, and blood dripped onto the compass. “I am the real Sang family bloodline, and you—you are just a scapegoat that my aunt picked up from the orphanage.”

These words struck Sang Shuwan like a hammer blow to her heart. She recalled the old woman's sigh when she handed her the compass: "The fire twenty years ago burned the bloodline of the Sang family, but it allowed the imposter to obtain the Phoenix Bone." It turned out that the real switch was not that the baby was switched, but that she never belonged to the Sang family from the beginning, but was just a chosen scapegoat.

“That’s why you saved me at the pool, on the film set, and at every crucial moment.” She suddenly smiled, letting the shards cut her palm, the blood dripping onto the compass to activate the phoenix phantom. “Because you know that only if I live will the Sang family’s karmic debt continue to weigh on me, and only then can your bloodline truly awaken under the nourishment of forbidden arts.”

Sang Jiyue's reflection suddenly froze. She saw the blood droplet in Sang Shuwan's palm merge into the compass, and the phoenix phantom emitted a clear cry, shattering all the fragments into dust. The real heiress, whom she had always schemed against, now had a dazzling golden light reflected in her eyes, much like the phoenix deity in the underground palace murals—and the tattoo on her wrist was completely disappearing in this golden light.

“You’re wrong.” Sang Shuwan grasped her hand and placed the compass between their palms. “Whether she’s the real heiress or a scapegoat, the secrets of the Sang family should never be decided by bloodline.” She looked at the gradually merging reflections in the mirror and recalled the last page of her mother’s diary: “The phoenix will not perch on anything but the parasol tree, and the parasol tree never needs to distinguish between the real and fake seeds.”

The dressing room door was suddenly kicked open, and Sister Chen rushed in, holding her phone: "Shuwan, your trending topic is all over the place! #SangShuwanUndergroundPalaceSecretPassage#, with a picture of the jade necklace you wore tonight. Netizens have discovered that it's the Sang family's protective treasure that's been missing for twenty years!"

Sang Shuwan glanced at the trending topics on her phone and chuckled softly. She knew this was all part of Sang Jiyue's plan—to use public opinion to force her to open the underground palace and uncover the true secrets of the Sang family. At that moment, the compass needle in her palm steadily pointed northwest, where the gates to the underground palace held a truth more cruel than blood ties.

“Let’s go, Jiyue.” She hooked her arm around his wrist, her fingertips pressed against his pulse. “Let’s go see who wrote the script for our lives.”

Looking at her reflection in the woman's eyes, Sang Jiyue suddenly realized that the woman she had always regarded as an enemy was now overlapping with the silhouette of her mother in her memory. She recalled the mural she had seen in the Buddhist hall when she was twelve years old: twin phoenixes bathing in a sea of ​​fire, one feather burned away, the other reborn—it turned out that from the day they were bound together by fate, they were destined to burn out their true lives in each other's flames.

As she stepped out of the dressing room, all the lights in the banquet hall suddenly went out. Sang Shuwan's compass emitted a bright light, illuminating the path ahead, while Sang Jiyue's jade pendant, which had somehow transformed back into a broken jade necklace, lay quietly in her palm, like a silent reconciliation.

In the distance, Gu Chenzhou stood at the entrance of the banquet hall, half a map of the underground palace peeking out of his suit pocket. He watched the two figures approaching him and suddenly remembered his father's dying words: "The twin flowers of the Sang family, one will eventually become nourishment, while the other..."

At this moment, at the boundary between darkness and light, Sang Shuwan and Sang Jiyue turned around simultaneously, flashing perfect smiles at the approaching camera. Their fingertips intertwined, concealing their respective blood oaths and secrets, yet before the camera, they transformed into the most intimate sisterly gesture—the sharpest blade in the world is never pointed outwards, but inwards, etching their own destiny's trajectory into each other's bones and blood. The crystal chandeliers in the banquet hall swirled overhead. Sang Shuwan had just smoothed out the wrinkles on her cuffs when the director's "cut" rang out. Her fingertips were still on the annotation of "Pear Blossom Whispers" in the script when she looked up and saw Sang Jiyue pulling the jade belt of her costume towards her waist, the pearls on her earrings shimmering with light as she moved.

“This part won’t do,” the director said, standing up with a walkie-talkie in hand. The assistant director behind him was holding a champagne glass, trying not to laugh. “Sang Shuwan, your eyes were too serious when you handed over the jade pendant. This is a political intrigue scene in a fictional story, not a cabbage sale at the market.”

Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed, tapping the script in her hand with her fingertips. A piece of artificial pear blossom fell from between the pages: "Director, your script is like peeling an onion. The family storyline is mixed with fictional power struggles, and even sisters have to act opposite each other. You can't understand it at all if you don't pay attention to the details." As she spoke, she glanced at Sang Shuwan, who was rolling up the script and tapping it on the back of her hand, the lotus pattern on the cuff of her costume swaying with it.

"Don't give me that," the director tossed a cushion, which Sang Shuwan caught with one hand. "In that scene where your sister handed you the jade pendant, you were supposed to 'appear to accept the jade while actually counting the hidden patterns on her cuffs,' but you laughed like you were seeing your first love—this is a wrap party, not a dating reality show."

A burst of laughter erupted around them, and the script supervisor took the opportunity to come up and take the script away from the table. Sang Jiyue saw that her page, filled with annotations, was sandwiched in the middle, with the labels "family secrets" and "fictional elements" standing out. She suddenly leaned closer to the director and lowered her voice: "Actually, I understand what you mean. The celebrity's family background is the foundation, and the fictional power struggles are the seasoning. It looks plausible, but you have to pay attention to taste it to appreciate its true flavor."

"Come on," Sang Shuwan threw the script on the table, the collar of her costume slipped down an inch, revealing traces of concealer on her collarbone—the location of the "secret guard tattoo" in the play. "Your fingers were shaking when you caught the jade pendant just now, and you still have the nerve to say it's profound?"

The director suddenly pointed at the two of them and laughed and scolded, "See? This is the effect I wanted! On the surface, it's sisters bickering, but in reality, every action hides foreshadowing from the script—" He suddenly sighed, "It's a pity that no audience these days has the patience to watch this. Just like Sang Jiyue said, you won't understand it if you don't pay attention."

The lights in the banquet hall suddenly dimmed, and someone pushed in a cake. Sang Jiyue took the opportunity to tuck an artificial pear blossom into Sang Shuwan's hair: "That's what makes it fun. It blends our real celebrity lives into a fictional story. We play ourselves, but we're not really ourselves. Even our managers have to guess what's going on."

Sang Shuwan slapped her hand away, the walkie-talkie sound effect from the drama still playing in her earpiece: "You're just being stubborn. I filmed you glaring at the teleprompter yesterday when you were reciting the 'Secret Reef Bay Tidal Whispers' part."

There was another burst of laughter and commotion around them. The assistant director came over with champagne to clink glasses: "Two big stars, let's call it a day for the final scene. If we keep going, we'll really bring the 'sisterly rivalry' in the script into reality."

Sang Jiyue accepted the champagne, looked at the words "Happy Wrap-up" on the cake, and suddenly shook the script in her hand: "Actually, the best part is here—" She pointed to the setting of "celebrity family background + fictional power struggles," "The audience thinks they are watching us play other people, but they don't know how many real stories we have hidden in the play."

Sang Shuwan suddenly put her arm around her shoulder, the silver threads on her costume shimmering under the lights: "Alright, stop with the deep analysis. The director said the script is just for fun, if you really want to delve into it..." She suddenly leaned close to her ear, "Yesterday you misremembered 'Pear Blossom Secrets' as 'Rose Secret Letters,' and we had to do three takes."

The laughter in the banquet hall drowned out Sang Jiyue's rebuttal. Fireworks were set off, making the words "Wrap-up Banquet" on the glass window shimmer and glow. Sang Jiyue looked at the script in her hand and suddenly noticed that a lotus flower with a missing corner had been drawn on the back cover—a coded message for "breaking the deadlock" in the play. Now, in the light and shadow of the fireworks, it seemed to add a real footnote to this performance that intertwined reality and illusion.

Crystal chandeliers cast dappled light across the dome. Sang Shuwan, wielding a gilded knife and fork, sliced ​​through the three-tiered cake. The blade lifted the buttercream frosting depicting the four characters "Changming Xiaozhu," revealing the blue icing hidden beneath—a reference to the "Jinghe River tide" from the play. Sang Jiyue seized the opportunity to dab some icing on Sang Shuwan's lips with her fingertip. The lotus pattern on the sleeve of her costume brushed against the edge of the cake, rubbing off half a sugar pear blossom.

“Look, sister,” she said, holding up a fork covered in cream and waving it around, the pearls on her earrings shimmering with light as she moved. “Even the pastry chef understands the ‘breaking the deadlock’ plot in our script. The missing lotus flower is hidden in the cream; you have to bite it open to see it.”

Sang Shuwan slapped her hand away and, while wiping her lips with a tissue, caught a glimpse of the script supervisor carrying a stack of merchandise—badges printed with "Pear Blossom Code," canvas bags embroidered with lotus blossoms, and even cultural and creative products imitating the silver hairpin from the drama. "Is the director trying to turn this political drama into a cultural export?" She picked up a badge; the outline of the missing lotus flower reminded her of the token of love that Lu He and Sang Yu gave each other in the drama, except that at this moment, both on and off screen, they were "chess players" holding the script.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the director squeezed in, holding a wine glass, his stubble still covered in cake crumbs, “Our show, aside from everything else, is absolutely top-notch in its attention to detail. The jade bracelet Jiyue wears in the scene is a replica of the ‘Jin Cha Chen Xin’ design from the Palace Museum, guess what?” He suddenly lowered his voice, his beer belly brushing against Sang Shuwan’s costume, “The inside of the bracelet really has your birthdays engraved on it. If the audience can find that, I’ll eat my hat.”

The supporting actors around them burst into laughter. Chen Yao, who played the second daughter of the Liu family, held up her phone and leaned over: "Director, I've noticed that the nail guards and breastplates worn by Sister Shuwan in each scene have different engravings on the inside. Last week we filmed the character 'elm,' and today when we were cutting the cake, I saw the character 'crane.' Put them together, and it's..." She suddenly stopped talking, her eyes darting between the Sang sisters, and her ear tips turning red as she poked at the missing lotus sticker on her phone case.

Sang Jiyue immediately smeared cream on the tip of her nose: "Xiao Yao, if you talk nonsense again, I'll add you to the deleted scenes of 'Bamboo Branch Alley Spy' tomorrow, and make you recite coded messages in front of a green screen for three days." Although she said that, she secretly winked at Sang Shuwan—the inscription on the breastplate was indeed a split of their real names. "Shu" was split into half to form "疋", and "Ji" was split into the radical "雨" to form the character "雪", which was hidden in the metal carving. Even the prop master praised them for being "more creative than the scriptwriters".

The walnut wood doors of the banquet hall suddenly opened, and agent Zhou Shan walked in carrying two gift boxes. Her high heels clicked crisply on the marble floor: "My two big stars, you still can't forget to add scenes at the wrap party?" She handed over the gift boxes, with satin bows tied with the same pear blossom tassels as in the drama. "The director asked me to pass on a message: tonight's 'brother and sister bickering' scene is a sure thing for trending topics tomorrow."

Sang Shuwan opened the gift box, inside was a pair of cufflinks, with the tiny characters "Wan" and "Yue" engraved on the silver lotus petals: "Sister Zhou, are you asking us to wear the secret code from the play into reality?" She turned to look at Sang Jiyue, who was putting a jade bracelet on her wrist. The "1998.04.07" and "2000.12.25" on the inside of the bracelet were faintly visible under the light—these were their birthdays.

Zhou Shan suddenly leaned closer and lowered her voice: "Do you really think the audience can't understand? In yesterday's trailer, the scene where Ji Yue received the jade pendant had viewers commenting, 'This isn't siblings, it's clearly mutual redemption.'" She took out her tablet and showed a fan-made montage video of the "Double A Sisters." "Look," she said, "they even have such imaginative ideas as 'lotus patterns corresponding to constellations.' The birthday engravings we hid will probably be exposed tomorrow."

Sang Jiyue leaned closer to watch. In the video, a slow-motion shot of her wielding a sword was accompanied by the subtitle "Who says women are inferior to men?", while the clip of Sang Shuwan reviewing military reports had comments like "Sister is stepping on me" floating in the barrage. "Turns out the audience is even better at finding sweet moments than we are," she suddenly pointed to the silver thread on her costume, "The shoulder armor pattern on this suit of armor is actually a street map of our hometown. The director said it's called 'realism within a fictional setting'."

"Come on," Sang Shuwan flicked her forehead. The collar of her costume slipped down an inch, revealing the concealer marks on her collarbone—the location of the "secret guard tattoo" in the play, but actually the scars from when they fell while climbing a tree as children. "Do you think the audience knows that every time you touch the breastplate, you're actually making a 'peace' gesture to me? Yesterday, we had three takes because you made a complete lotus flower gesture to the camera and forgot that there should be a missing corner."

A burst of laughter erupted around them. The assistant director came over with a glass of champagne and said, "Ladies, please stop digging. If you keep digging, we'll find out that the 'Pear Blossom Chessboard' scene in the drama was filmed at your old family home." He swirled his glass, his gaze falling on the silver bracelet on Sang Shuwan's wrist. It was an heirloom left by their mother, which the props team had transformed into a "secret message mechanism" for the drama.

As night deepened, the lights in the banquet hall dimmed, and someone brought out a giant projection screen to play behind-the-scenes footage. Sang Jiyue looked at the hairpin she had broken during the rain scene on the screen—it was a real antique hairpin, which the crew had gritted their teeth and broken for the sake of effect. She suddenly remembered the line Sang Shuwan had whispered in her ear on the day of the final scene: "This fall didn't just break a hairpin, it broke the illusion of ten years of political intrigue."

“Actually, the most dangerous scene was the ‘fire standoff’,” she suddenly pointed to the scene on the screen where the two of them were facing off in front of a green screen. “The director said he wanted to film the feeling of ‘chessboard collapsing,’ but you stepped on my skirt and almost fell into the wire. In the end, we simply changed it to the famous scene of ‘pulling jade pendants from each other’.”

Looking at the pear blossom in her hair on the screen, Sang Shuwan remembered that Sang Jiyue had really cried during filming—not because of the script, but because the wires had left a bruise on her waist. “You,” she suddenly straightened her sister’s costume, “always hide your real pain in the smiles on your face.”

The projection screen suddenly switched to a wrap-up special, the camera panning across the script in the dressing room. Each page's edge was adorned with a different lotus flower—Sang Shuwan's lotus with a missing corner represented "breaking the deadlock," while Sang Jiyue's complete lotus represented "stability," together forming the initials of their names. A script supervisor, holding a microphone, interviewed them: "The two actresses are actually sisters in real life. Did it make it easier for you to get into character when acting in this family drama with its power struggles?"

Sang Jiyue took the microphone, looked at the camera, and suddenly smiled: "Actually, we hid many little secrets from real life in the play. For example, the character 'Ji' in Jiyue's name is broken down into 'Yu' (rain) and 'Qi' (all), corresponding to the scene of 'Jinghe River opening its gates' in the play; the character 'Shu' in Shuwan's name is hidden in the embroidery pattern of 'lotus branches intertwined with density'." She turned to look at Sang Shuwan, who was pinning the silver hairpin from the play into her hair. "These details are like the secret codes we drew in our textbooks when we were young. Only those who pay attention can understand them."

The special ended with a photo of them wrapping up filming in a pear blossom grove: Sang Shuwan, dressed in armor, knelt before a stone table, while Sang Jiyue's costume skirt spread out in the shape of a lotus flower. Their palms faced each other, a real pear blossom between their fingers—the flower their mother loved most. Suddenly, the screen was flooded with comments of emotional distress. Someone noticed the bandage on Sang Jiyue's fingertip—a cut from a prop knife during filming.

At midnight, fireworks lit up the area outside the banquet hall, and the Sang sisters watched them from the terrace. Sang Jiyue gazed at the broken lotus flower pattern exploding in the sky, then suddenly pulled a real pear petal from her pocket, with "Happy Wrap-up" drawn on the back in lipstick—a code they had never used in the drama, but which had continued for ten years in reality.

“Sister,” she suddenly grasped Sang Shuwan’s hand, the silver threads on her costume swirling under the fireworks, “do you think the audience will prefer the ‘Princess and Regent’ in the play, or us in real life?”

Looking at the distant lights, Sang Shuwan recalled a line from the play: "The true player doesn't care about the name of the piece, only the direction in which it is placed." She suddenly chuckled, her fingertips brushing against the "pear blossom" tattoo on Sang Jiyue's hand—a tattoo they got together after they grew up. "What the audience likes is never the distinction between on-screen and off-screen, but the real us hidden in every detail."

As the fireworks faded, shouts of "Happy wrap-up!" echoed through the banquet hall. Sang Shuwan looked at the silver hairpin in Sang Jiyue's hair and suddenly remembered the director's words during filming: "You're not acting out a fictional power struggle, but rather the yearning for 'breaking the deadlock' hidden deep in the hearts of every ordinary person." The weight of the costumes on their shoulders felt lighter than ever before, because they knew that the birthdays hidden inside the jade bracelets, the names in the heart-protecting mirror, even the missing lotus flower in the cream cake, had already transformed the power struggles in the play into their own unwavering, genuine feelings outside the play.

When the makeup artist came to urge her to remove her costume, Sang Jiyue was pinning the "Pear Blossom Code" badge to Sang Shuwan's canvas bag: "Starting tomorrow, you won't need to study the number of lotus petals in the script anymore."

Looking at herself in the mirror after removing her makeup, Sang Shuwan noticed the concealer on her collarbone had been wiped away, revealing a faint scar. "But I think the real show is just beginning—" She waved her phone; the trending topic had already reached the top: "#SangSistersMissingLotusCode#, do you think we should teach fans how to embroider a 'peace' lotus during the live stream?"

Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed, the pearl on her earring touching the silver thread of her costume: "Come on, you haven't even taught me your own 'breaking the deadlock' embroidery technique, and you want to teach the fans?" She suddenly leaned closer, her voice as low as a whisper in the play, "But... I'd like to know if the 'return date' code you hid in the rouge box in the play really corresponds to the release date of our next play?"

The wind on the terrace lifted the hem of her costume. Sang Shuwan gazed at the ever-burning lights in the distance and suddenly understood that the so-called wrap-up was never the end of the story. Just like the Changming Xiaozhu in the play, just like the Sang sisters in real life, their lives had long since become a never-ending battle for "true love" amidst the intertwining of the play and reality. And in this battle, they had already won, because they were each other's strongest armor, sharpest blade, and the ever-blooming spring hidden in the cracks.

As snowflakes hit the window of the van, Sang Shuwan was sneering at her phone screen. The trending hashtag #SangJiyuePalaceMuseumEarrings# had reached the top, and in the accompanying photo, the reflection from Sang Jiyue's earrings perfectly obscured half of her face—clearly a carefully orchestrated positioning by her team, even for the cake photo at the wrap party, they had to grab the center position. She scrolled through the comments section; the press releases on "Jiyue's ancient costume atmosphere" had already sold out, while her own hashtag "Princess's Demeanor" was still outside the top ten.

"Miss, would you like to take off your jade bracelet?" Assistant Xiaoyu handed over nail polish remover, her gaze falling on the "Jin Cha Chen Xin" bracelet on her wrist. It was the bracelet that Sang Jiyue had "accidentally" dropped at the wrap party today, but it was precisely captured by the camera when she put it on. Sang Shuwan shook her head, the cool jade bracelet digging into her pulse: "No need, I have to wear it for the documentary interview tomorrow. The director said it's a symbol of the 'bond between the two female leads'."

The motion-sensor light in the villa's entryway turned on. Sang Shuwan kicked off her opera shoes embroidered with gilded lotus flowers, the "Shu" logo on the inside of the heel casting a shadow on the floor. In the dressing room, the silver threads on her costume still carried the scent of Sang Jiyue's perfume. Suddenly, she pulled off the jade pendant from her waist—the "sisterly token" that Li Wei had given them during the day. The "Yue" character engraved on the back felt like a thorn, reminding her of the scene where Sang Jiyue deliberately mispronounced her lines on set.

"Ding—" A message popped up on her phone from her agent: "The director team of 'Tribes and Empires: Storm of Prophecy' prefers Ji Yue for the second female lead. The newcomer you recommended has been rejected." Sang Shuwan gripped the jade pendant tightly, the edge of the chipped lotus flower scratching her fingertip. Last week, she had specially brought that newcomer to a variety show to play the role of "mentoring a junior" in front of the camera. Unexpectedly, Sang Ji Yue turned around and used the resources of the Palace Museum earrings to exchange for this role. Even the director said, "Ji Yue's heroic spirit is more suitable for a female general."

The mirror in the dressing room reflected the concealer on her collarbone. Sang Shuwan suddenly ripped off the sticker, revealing a pale red birthmark underneath—at the banquet hall earlier that day, Sang Jiyue had deliberately knocked off her concealer, laughing and saying, "Shuwan, your tattoo looks real," but the camera only captured her frantically touching up her makeup. She took out her phone and messaged Xiaoyu: "Contact a dermatologist. Go for laser scar removal next week. Don't let Jiyue's team get photos of the birthmark."

In another van, Sang Jiyue was wiping her earrings with disinfectant wipes; the pearls gleamed coldly under the roof light. Her assistant, Chengzi, sat in the front seat holding a cardboard box and suddenly spoke up: “Sister Jiyue, the jade pendant Sister Sang gave me…” “Throw it in the trunk,” Sang Jiyue interrupted, her fingertips tracing the chipped lotus flower on the brocade box. “Tomorrow, have the legal department check if the jade bracelet she’s wearing is an unauthorized replica.”

In the apartment elevator, the smell of disinfectant mingled with the agarwood scent of the costume. Sang Jiyue pushed open the door, tossed the script onto the sofa, and tore the intact lotus flower on the back cover, leaving frayed edges. In the dressing room, her costume hung in the most conspicuous place, the embroidered character "霁" on the inside of the skirt hem pried open with scissors—when Sang Shuwan touched her skirt during the day, the two seconds her fingertips paused on the character "霁" were clearly to confirm the position of the embroidery.