After I died, they cried in the live studio

Chapter 191 Acting
The surveillance footage was angled in a tricky way, capturing the exact moment Sang Shuwan leaned over. She remembered that it was last week on set, when she had switched the script that the investors had slipped in while the director wasn't looking—it contained evidence of Sang's entertainment company falsifying accounts. Her fingertips suddenly touched the voice recorder in her pocket; she remembered that before leaving this morning, she had set a timer to send a conversation.

"So what?" Sang Shuwan suddenly approached, her nails almost digging into the other person's throat. "You think you can get Dad to transfer the shares to you by using such underhanded methods?" She turned to look at Sang Mingyuan, who was staring at the monitor screen behind her, his face paler than the deer head specimen on the wall.

Sang Jiyue's smile froze. The television in the corner of the living room suddenly turned on automatically, and Sang Mingyuan's voice came through the screen clearly: "The Zhou family's hole is too big, we have to find a scapegoat... Jiyue, this pawn, should play her role now." As he spoke, he was toying with the adoption agreement that Sang Jiyue had forged.

“Look,” Sang Shuwan pulled another document out of her pocket, “I went to the orphanage this morning, and the director was happy to help me uncover the truth from seven years ago—including how a certain ‘rich girl’ tricked the Sang family into adopting her by using a forged heart condition certificate.”

Sang Jiyue's scream mingled with the sound of shattering glass. She grabbed a crystal vase from the table and smashed it. Sang Shuwan dodged to the side, and just as a shard grazed her cheek, she heard police sirens outside the old house. Sang Mingyuan raised his cane again, but upon seeing the police officers in the entryway, he slammed it heavily onto the back of his foot.

“Ms. Sang,” the lead officer showed his badge, “we received a report that someone is suspected of forging documents and committing commercial fraud…”

Sang Shuwan wiped the blood from her cheek, looking at Sang Jiyue's crazed eyes as she was handcuffed. She suddenly remembered the day of her mother's funeral, when this girl had also grabbed her arm, crying and saying, "Sister, I'm so scared." And now, she finally saw the abyss in those eyes—an emptiness devoured by jealousy.

Three days later, at the auction of the Sang family's old mansion, Sang Shuwan watched the wealthy people bidding through bulletproof glass. Sang Mingyuan was detained for economic crimes, Sang Jiyue's forgery case was about to go to trial, and she had just received the chairman's seal at the board meeting, her fingertip still bearing the cinnabar stain from when she stamped it.

"President Sang, this is the settlement agreement from the Zhou Group." The assistant handed over the document, the cover bearing the familiar iris emblem. Sang Shuwan opened the first page, her gaze lingering on the clause "abandoning the claim for marriage with Sang Jiyue," and suddenly chuckled softly.

The phone vibrated at that moment; it was a text message from Sang Jiyue from the detention center: "You think you've won? Every woman in the Sang family is a bird trapped in a gilded cage."

She looked up at the deer head specimen in the center of the auction hall, its glass eyes gleaming coldly under the lights. Seven years ago, when she tumbled down the stairs, she saw exactly that look—from Sang Mingyuan, from this cage woven with blood ties and money.

“Prepare to acquire Zhou’s.” She pushed the documents back to her assistant, her fingertips tracing the old scar on her collarbone. “Also, send Miss Sang a gift—the pair of crystal shoes she wanted most when she was in the orphanage. Remember to choose the style with steel studs.”

As she stepped out of the auction house, the morning light pierced through the clouds. Sang Shuwan took out a brooch from her bag and pressed the last fragment into the notch of the iris. In the distance, she heard the shouts of entertainment reporters; as she turned, her diamond earring flashed a cold light in the morning mist.

In this game, she is both the player and the strategist. And the story of the Sang family will ultimately begin a new chapter amidst bloodshed and applause.

On the day Sang Shuwan attended the group's restructuring press conference as the new chairman, Weibo's trending topics were suddenly dominated by the hashtag #SangShuwan'sIllegitimateDaughter#. Clicking on the trending topic, the top-pinned video showed a blurry surveillance video of a middle-aged woman wearing sunglasses stuffing a swaddled baby into the back door of the Sang family's old house—the date of the video was clearly March 12, 1995, a full three months earlier than the "birth date of Sang Shuwan" publicly stated by Sang Mingyuan.

“This is your mother’s nurse from back then.” The assistant placed the investigation report in front of her. “The video was remotely controlled and released by Sang Jiyue’s team from the detention center, and they also bribed the nurse from back then to give false testimony.”

The spotlights at the press conference suddenly became blinding. Sang Shuwan looked at the crowd below holding up signs that read "Get Out of the Entertainment Industry," and recalled the anonymous letter she had received that morning. Inside the envelope was half a birth certificate, stamped with a red seal next to her mother's signature that read "born out of wedlock." She reached for the miniature recorder in her pocket; it was what Sang Jiyue had whispered in her ear during her prison visit yesterday: "The Sang family's scandals are enough to kill you ten times over."

"Ladies and gentlemen," she suddenly took off the microphone and walked towards the girl in the audience who was holding a sign that read "illegitimate daughter," "This date is indeed my birthday, but it is not my birth date. It is the day my mother officially became Mrs. Sang." She lifted her sleeve to reveal a tattoo on her forearm—March 12, 1995, written in her mother's handwriting, "Peace and safety every night."

The live stream chat suddenly froze. Sang Shuwan took out a yellowed photo album from her handbag and turned to the page with the paternity test report: "My father, Sang Mingyuan, already had a family before marrying my mother, and I am his only legally born daughter." The screen panned across a wedding photo of her mother and Sang Mingyuan when they were young, and an old-fashioned clock in the background showed the date March 12, 1995.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience. Sang Shuwan turned to the last page, which was a copy of the adoption agreement forged by Sang Jiyue: "As for certain people..." She tapped the official seal on the agreement with her fingertip, "The district where the Sang family's old house is located switched to electronic seals as early as 2008."

The corridor of the detention center during the rainy season was filled with the smell of disinfectant. Sang Jiyue stared at the jade bracelet on Sang Shuwan's wrist through the iron bars—it was the relic that was torn off when Sang Mingyuan's mistress caused a scene at the press conference this morning, as reported in the news.

“You knew all along that I wasn’t an orphan.” Sang Jiyue’s nails dug into her palm. “Back in the orphanage, you deliberately left the brooch on my bed to lure me into your trap.”

Sang Shuwan turned the bracelet, revealing the character "Wan" engraved on the inside of the broken part: "Seven years ago, when you pushed me downstairs, I saw a diagnosis report fall out of your pocket—congenital heart disease, surgery cost 300,000 yuan." She suddenly leaned closer, "And the Sang family just happened to release the news of adopting an orphan that day, what a coincidence."

Footsteps sounded outside the iron bars. Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed, tears mingling with mascara streaming down her face: "You think you've won? You and I are both monsters trapped in a gilded cage. You think Mother really died of illness? She discovered evidence of his asset transfers and was—"

"Enough." Sang Shuwan pressed down on the back of her hand, so hard that the other woman frowned. "Back then, you took the blame for him and pushed me down the stairs, and he paid for your surgery; later, you seduced the Zhou family heir for him, and he gave you the title of Sang family heiress." She released her hand and looked at the needle marks on the other woman's wrist. "Now he's in jail writing letters of denunciation to gain merit, and the first thing he confessed to was your forgery of documents."

Sang Jiyue's pupils contracted sharply. A guard's shout came from the end of the corridor. When Sang Shuwan stood up, she saw fear finally appear in the guard's eyes—the despair of prey discovering its hunter has turned his gun on it.

“These are the crystal shoes you wanted.” She pushed a gift box over the iron bars, inside which were high heels studded with rhinestones and a miniature camera embedded in the heel. “Remember to wear them every day, you might be able to capture some interesting scenes… like what your biological father looks like when he comes to visit you in prison.”

Three months later, on the Oscars red carpet, Sang Shuwan appeared in a black fishtail dress, the hem embroidered with irises made of rhinestones. The media's cameras swept over the brooch on her chest—the complete iris had finally bloomed, each petal embedded with a microchip storing all the shady financial records of the Sang family group.

"I heard you're going to make your mark in Hollywood?" The host handed over the microphone, and a white figure suddenly flashed in the background—Sang Jiyue had changed into a hospital gown at some point and was being led away from the scene by two bodyguards.

“No,” Sang Shuwan chuckled at the camera, her fingertips brushing against the brooch, “I’m going to make a documentary about the surname ‘Sang’ and the souls that it has crushed.” As she turned, her skirt swept across the camera on the steps, which was playing a loop of footage of Sang Mingyuan’s breakdown in prison.

In the hotel suite late at night, Sang Shuwan opened the safe and took out her mother's diary. A photo fell out from between the yellowed pages, showing her young mother holding her baby in swaddling clothes, with the back door of the Sang family's old house in the background—exactly the same scene as the "illegitimate daughter video" exposed by Sang Jiyue.

Her phone rang at that moment; it was an email from an overseas number. She opened the attachment, and her pupils contracted sharply—it was her mother's autopsy report, with the cause of death clearly stated as "acute mercury poisoning." The report was signed a week before Sang Jiyue was adopted.

A knock came at the door. Sang Shuwan stuffed the report into the shredder and opened the door to see her assistant holding a bouquet of white irises: "President Sang, these flowers were just received."

She took the bouquet and felt a voice recorder among the flowers. A familiar voice flowed from it, tinged with static: "Wanwan, if you see this, it means Mom is gone. The third drawer in Sang Mingyuan's study... contains evidence of his collusion with foreign forces, and Jiyue's true identity—she is his biological daughter with his mistress..."

Amidst the whirring of the paper shredder, Sang Shuwan looked at herself in the mirror and suddenly smiled. It turned out that from beginning to end, she and Sang Jiyue were the same chess piece, only one played black and the other white. And now, it was her turn to set up the chessboard again.

She took out her phone and sent a text message to the detention center: "The man who will visit you tomorrow, the one in the Armani suit, is your biological father. By the way, he smells of your mother's perfume on his cuffs."

Thunder rumbled outside the window, and torrential rain poured down. Sang Shuwan pinned the brooch to her lapel, its tiny diamonds reflecting a cold light in the darkness. This time, she was no longer a pawn to be manipulated, but the one wielding the knife—to dissect this gilded cage and let the sunlight into every hidden corner.

Sang Shuwan stood in front of the basement door of the Sang family's old house, the brass key in her palm found in the folds of her mother's diary. The dial of the combination lock was still covered with old mold. She entered her mother's death anniversary, and the iron door creaked as the gears turned.

The musty smell in the dark room was almost tangible. She turned on her phone's flashlight, the beam sweeping across the wall covered with newspaper clippings—all reports of the "Zhou Group shipwreck accident" from twenty years ago. In the photos, the Zhou Group's helmsman, who perished in the disaster, was smiling, wearing an iris brooch on his chest, the pattern of which was exactly the same as the one on her mother's belongings.

"Wanwan?" The assistant's voice came from behind, but it carried an eerie echo. When Sang Shuwan turned around, she saw the muzzle of the gun in the other person's hand gleaming coldly, and half an iris flower embroidered on the black glove.

“Mr. Sang is indeed clever.” The assistant removed his mask, revealing an unfamiliar yet refined face. “Your mother discovered the master and the Zhou family’s secret right here—that shipwreck was a deliberate commercial murder.”

The phone vibrated at that moment. The surveillance footage showed Sang Jiyue being pushed into a black sedan parked behind the old house by a masked man. The time in the lower right corner of the screen was 03:15, exactly the same as the time of poisoning stated in her mother's autopsy report.

“The Zhou Group’s orphan is still alive.” Sang Shuwan took a half step back, her fingertips touching the safe in the corner of the dark room. “And you want to use me to destroy Sang Mingyuan and get back the evidence of the murder from back then.”

Gunshots rang out almost simultaneously. She rolled sideways under the table, bullets grazing her hair and embedding in the wall, revealing a hidden electronic screen behind her—a string of transfer records from overseas accounts flashing on it, the latest transaction noted as "hush money for documentary."

“Smart women never live long.” As her assistant approached with footsteps, Sang Shuwan suddenly pressed the safe's switch. In the instant the bright light exploded, she grabbed the metal box inside and rolled it towards the ventilation vent. The moment the lid opened, she saw half a bloodstained iris brooch and a yellowed photograph inside: her mother was arm in arm with the head of the Zhou family, and between them stood a little girl in a princess dress—it was seven-year-old Sang Jiyue.

In the visiting room of Binhai Prison, Sang Mingyuan stared at the metal box that Sang Shuwan pushed towards him, his hands trembling so much he could barely hold his teacup. As the brooch touched the table, he suddenly let out a low, trapped growl: "Your mother used this to threaten me back then…she clearly promised to burn the evidence!"

"So you poisoned her and then disguised your seven-year-old illegitimate daughter as an orphan and put her into the Sang family?" Sang Shuwan pulled up the surveillance video. The man wearing a mask in the video was Sang Mingyuan's bodyguard. "Jiyue thought she was a pawn working for you, but she didn't know that from beginning to end, she was the scapegoat you used to cover up your crime of murdering your wife."

The sound of police sirens came from afar. Sang Shuwan looked at the crazed look in Sang Mingyuan's eyes as he was dragged away, and suddenly remembered the last surveillance footage in the dark room—the remote control that the assistant pressed before being shot, which showed that Sang Jiyue was being imprisoned at the abandoned Zhou family dock.

As the torrential rain pounded against the rusty iron gate, Sang Shuwan finally found the huddled figure on the top floor of the warehouse. Sang Jiyue's wrists were chained to a rusty crane, and empty medicine bottles were scattered at her feet, labeled with the English word "hallucinogen".

“Sister…” She looked up, her pupils dilating into an eerie gray-blue from the medication, “He said you killed Mom… he said you stole my life…”

Sang Shuwan took out a photo from her bosom, the paper wrinkled from the rain: "On your seventh birthday, your mother took you to the amusement park and met Sang Mingyuan, who came to discuss cooperation." She pointed to the silver bracelet on the little girl's wrist in the photo, "This was a gift from my mother when I was a month old, and it later appeared among your belongings."

Sang Jiyue's gaze suddenly focused. The roar of a helicopter came from afar, and Sang Shuwan heard her own voice mixed with the sound of rain, sounding exceptionally clear: "The survivor of the shipwreck accident back then was Zhou's CFO. He confessed at the police station last night that Sang Mingyuan bribed him to plant a bomb on Zhou's ship—because your father refused to hand over the formula for the Iris Jewelry."

Amid the cracking of the chains, Sang Jiyue suddenly lunged forward and hugged her. Sang Shuwan smelled the seawater mixed in with the other's hair and remembered when she was seven years old, at the bottom of the stairs of the old house, this little girl, soaking wet, had also hugged her like this, crying and saying, "Sister, save me."

“They’re going to kill us…” Sang Jiyue’s nails dug into her back. “That woman with the gloves, she has the same brooch as you…”

Before she could finish speaking, the whistling sound of a bullet piercing glass rang out. Sang Shuwan instinctively tackled the person to the ground, the stench of blood spreading through the rain. She saw the crimson flower blooming on Sang Jiyue's back, and the half-piece of paper clutched tightly in the other's fingers, which read "Project Iris Initiated."

"Don't sleep." She pressed her wound, hearing her own voice tremble. "Look, the ambulance is here... Your biological father is actually the head of the Zhou family. You are the real..."

Sang Jiyue's pupils suddenly cleared for a moment, her fingertips tracing the brooch on her chest: "So... our flowers... are the same kind..."

In the red glow of the police lights, Sang Shuwan looked at the person in her arms who was gradually losing warmth, and finally understood the last words in her mother's diary: "Wanwan, the iris has two petals, one facing the sun and the other facing the shade, but they share the same stem."

When the rain stopped, the sky turned an eerie orange. Sang Shuwan took out her phone and sent a final message to that overseas number: "The irises have faded. What needs to be settled is the blood debt of twenty years ago."

She stood up, watching the black sedan approaching in the distance, and gently wiped the raindrops from Sang Jiyue's eyes with her fingertips. This time, they were no longer pawns controlled by the chessboard. And the story of the iris would eventually bloom with thorns in the darkness before dawn.

……

[Camera transition: On set monitor] "Cut!"

The director's roar made the studio lights shimmer. Sang Shuwan took off her blood-stained wig, wiped the blood from the corner of her eye with her fingertips, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sang Jiyue applying lipstick in front of the mirror, her lip line even more delicate than required for the "near-death scene" in the script.

“Miss Sang,” the director said, pulling on the walkie-talkie, “we’re filming the climax of a life-or-death duel, not a fashion show! Ji Yue, your convulsions after being shot need to be more realistic; Shu Wan, your eyes need to have a fierce look, not looking at an enemy, but at that bastard who shared your umbilical cord blood!”

Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed out loud, her lipstick smudged on the corner of her lips: "Director, why don't you personally demonstrate what the look of someone who 'shared umbilical cord blood' means?" She shook her phone, the screen displaying this morning's entertainment headline: #The Sang sisters are actually half-sisters#, accompanied by a blurry childhood photo of the two of them at the Sang family's old house.

Sang Shuwan threw the blood-stained costume onto the prop box, the metal buckle brushing against Sang Jiyue's hand: "Do you need me to teach you how to act near death? I saw you secretly wearing a nose clip in the behind-the-scenes footage of you 'drowning' in the pool last month."

The set suddenly fell silent. Sang Jiyue's fingernails dug deeply into the fabric of her costume, revealing the embroidered iris lining underneath—this was a custom-made costume that should have belonged to Sang Shuwan, but had been "mistakenly" sent to her dressing room by the props team this morning.

[Flashback: The dressing room three hours earlier]

Sang Shuwan stared at the blood-stained fishtail dress; the embroidered iris on the lining was missing a petal. She took out her phone and messaged her agent: "Check which jewelers Jiyue has been in contact with recently, especially those that do iris-themed collections."

The mirror reflected Sang Jiyue's figure as she pushed open the door. On her wrist was the "jade bracelet lost by her mother" from the play—the props team had clearly stated that the real bracelet was in the safe, and the actors could only use a replica.

"What are you looking at, sister?" Sang Jiyue leaned closer to her, her perfume scent mingling with the distinctive smell of gunpowder from the film set. "I heard that the investor for this film is the marriage prospect you rejected seven years ago? He's coming to visit the set today."

As Sang Shuwan turned around, a miniature camera hidden in her sleeve swept across the red mark on the other woman's collarbone—the shape was exactly the same as the location of the "chain injury" in the play. She suddenly remembered the anonymous package she received last night, which contained a screenshot from a surveillance camera: Sang Jiyue was spraying some kind of liquid onto this costume.

[Back on set]

"Attention all units, this is the last one!"

Sang Shuwan lay on the damp floor, feeling the chill on her back—this was an ice pad that Sang Jiyue had specially arranged to be replaced, ostensibly to "enhance the realism of near-death experiences." As the camera zoomed in, she saw the ruthlessness flash in the other person's eyes, more real than the "sister" in the script.

“You think you’ve won?” Sang Jiyue’s lines were laced with genuine gasps. “We will always be twin flowers trapped in the mirror…” Her knee pressed quietly against Sang Shuwan’s old wound. “Just like how Mom was trapped in the game between you and your father back then.”

Sang Shuwan's fingertips suddenly tightened around the other person's ankle. The moment the director yelled "action," she flipped over and pinned the person down, her false eyelashes brushing against the other person's pupils: "Remember the audition seven years ago? You deliberately knocked over the coffee, making me act out a crying scene in a wet dress." Her knee accurately pressed against the other person's acupoint on the lower back, "Now it's my turn to teach you what 'real pain' is."

The camera's gears suddenly changed sound. Sang Jiyue's struggle was no longer acting; she saw the birthmark behind Sang Shuwan's ear—in the exact same spot as in her mother's portrait. A loud bang came from afar from the prop gun that had accidentally discharged. She smelled the cedar scent mixed in with Sang Shuwan's hair, a scent that overlapped with the one she remembered from her mother's arms.

"cut!"

When the lights came on, Sang Shuwan had already retreated three meters away. The "bloodstains" seeping through the back of her costume were actually water stains. For the first time, Sang Jiyue's eyes showed real fear as she stared at her, just like when they first met at the Sang family's old house—when she was seven years old, hiding in the closet watching Sang Shuwan put an iris brooch on her mother, her fingertips still stained with the sweet taste of red wine she had secretly drunk.

[Behind the Scenes: The Investor VIP Room]

"Mr. Sang, are you satisfied with the two ladies' performance?" The director handed over a hot towel, his gaze sweeping over the iris cufflinks on the man's wrist. "I must say, the 'real and fake heiresses' script you arranged is even more exciting than real feuds in the entertainment industry."

The man chuckled softly, the cigar between his fingers glowing. "What real grudges are there in the entertainment industry? It's just pawns pecking at each other." He opened the surveillance footage, where Sang Shuwan was applying iodine to Sang Jiyue. The two quickly withdrew their fingers when they touched. "But these pawns are interesting—they both think the other is their mirror, but they don't know that the real player is always hidden behind the mirror."

The director's phone suddenly vibrated. It was a message from Sang Jiyue's agent: "Jiyue said that the iris brooch in the play is not right. The date engraved on the inside matches the anniversary of her birth mother's death."

The man stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, revealing half a brooch lying inside. In the distance, Sang Shuwan's laughter mingled with Sang Jiyue's cold snort, creating an eerie harmony in the enclosed photography studio. He pulled out his pocket watch; tucked inside the dial was an old photograph: two little girls in theatrical costumes, each holding the same iris, the background being the Sang family's old house twenty years ago.

“Tell them,” the man stood up, his cufflinks gleaming coldly in the light, “that the next scene will reveal the true secret of the ‘Twin Flowers’—for example, why their mother appeared on both the Sang family’s and Zhou family’s ships at the same time, and why she ‘gave birth’ to two daughters on the same day.”

The studio lights suddenly went out. In the darkness, Sang Shuwan felt a hard object in her costume pocket. When she pulled it out, she found a bloodstained iris petal in her palm—not a prop, but a real flower, still covered in fresh dew.

She heard Sang Jiyue breathing nearby, even more rapid than during filming. Both of them simultaneously reached for their phones in their pockets. The moment the screen lit up, they saw the same anonymous text message: "Next scene, it's your turn to write the script—from Mother."

The moment the spotlight went out, Sang Shuwan removed the phoenix crown from her costume, the pearl tassels shimmering with a cold light between her fingers. Sang Jiyue, carrying the script, pushed open the door and entered, her pink gauze skirt sweeping across the stray hairs on the floor, her sweet smile like honey: "Sister, in today's coronation scene, the ruthlessness in your eyes was almost like you wanted to devour someone."

Sang Shuwan looked up in the mirror, her lipstick outlining a sharp arc on her lips: "Playing a villain requires dedication, unlike some people—" She suddenly grabbed the other's wrist and pressed the makeup remover pad hard onto the cinnabar mole between Sang Jiyue's eyebrows, "A vase who relies on riding the red carpet trending topics, even crying scenes require eye drops."

Sang Jiyue's eyelashes trembled violently, but her fingertips secretly hooked onto the other person's bra strap: "Sister, have you forgotten? At the investor banquet last month, when you personally pushed me to Director Zhang, you said that my face was 'most suitable to play your stunt double'."

On the film set in the ancient alley, amidst the torrential rain, the veins on the back of Sang Shuwan's hand, holding an oil-paper umbrella, bulged. Sang Jiyue, who should have fallen into her arms, suddenly stumbled and crashed into a stone wall, blood immediately seeping from her forehead.

As the director rushed forward, Sang Jiyue grabbed Sang Shuwan's sleeve, her voice trembling: "Sister's umbrella... did you take the wrong one? This one has the exact same pattern as the one Mom sent you before she passed away."

Sang Shuwan's pupils contracted sharply, and the umbrella rib snapped in half with a "crack." Rainwater splattered down her jawline onto Sang Jiyue's hand, mingling with blood droplets and winding into dark red trails: "What my sister should worry about is her third collarbone chain—after all, I can have the finance department check the transaction records for that 'adopted daughter's scholarship' at any time."

As the live stream of the wrap party panned across the two of them exchanging champagne glasses, Sang Shuwan suddenly grabbed Sang Jiyue's wrist and twirled the diamond ring on her ring finger halfway around: "This design looks very familiar, it's just like the one I lost in the pool last year."

The live chat exploded instantly. Sang Jiyue lowered her eyes to hide the dark glint in them, her fingertips tracing the pearl earring on the other woman's earlobe: "Sister's memory is indeed excellent—but compared to jewelry, everyone prefers to hear the 'Sang family's real heiress and adopted daughter tearing each other apart' story, doesn't that right?"

As the camera cut away, Sang Shuwan chuckled softly, biting her straw: "What should we write for tomorrow's headlines? 'Best Actress Adopts Sister and Plays the Victim on Set,' or 'Fake White Lotus Actually Dares to Cut Wrist'?" She ran her fingertip across the concealer on the inside of Sang Jiyue's wrist, revealing a crescent-shaped old scar underneath.

Sang Jiyue grabbed the back of her neck with her other hand and whispered in a blind spot where the microphone couldn't reach her: "How about we take a gamble—let's see if your scandals break first, or if my placental blood certificate gets sent to the entertainment reporters' mailbox first?"

The studio lights cast a cold, white glow at three in the morning. Sang Shuwan stared at her bluish under-eye concealer in the mirror, her fingertips crushing half a tube of lip balm. Behind her came the sound of high heels clicking on the floor. Sang Jiyue, wearing a custom-made cashmere shawl, had drops of rose essential oil still dripping from her hair—the scent of the third drawer of the dressing table in the old Sang family mansion.

"Is your sister taking collagen supplements?" She shook the bird's nest soup in her hand, the spoon handle tapping on the gilded mirror cabinet. "I signed for the anti-aging injections the medical aesthetic clinic sent you last time—it would be such a waste to ruin your face with those kinds of substandard products."

Sang Shuwan suddenly burst out laughing, grabbed the jewelry box from the table, and threw it at Sang Jiyue. The jade bracelet shattered into three pieces at Sang Jiyue's feet, but she bent down to pick up a broken diamond earring and twirled it in the light: "This pear-shaped diamond has the same facets as the necklace pendant that Mother left me. Isn't that a coincidence, sister?"

"Shut up!" Sang Shuwan grabbed a curling iron and smashed it against the wall, sparks flying from the metal casing. Sang Jiyue took two steps closer, her warm breath brushing against the other's earlobe: "Actually, I should have told you long ago—that blue dress that got torn at your birthday party was one I deliberately slipped into the cleaner's cart. You cried all night clutching the rags, just like I was when you locked me in the storage room."

As the cold glint of the prop sword flashed past her eyes, Sang Shuwan finally lost her aim. The blade grazed Sang Jiyue's collarbone, leaving a small tear in her costume. The latter suddenly stumbled and fell into her arms, her fingertips quickly pinching red marks on Sang Shuwan's lower back—an angle perfectly positioned for the security camera to capture her terrified profile.

"Enough!" The director slammed down the script. "Do you think this is a palace drama?" Sang Shuwan lowered her eyes to straighten Sang Jiyue's collar, her nails digging deep into the other's shoulder bone. "Little sister, are you afraid of pain? But when you mixed hair removal cream into my face cream, you smiled much sweeter than you are now."

When the night shoot wrapped up, Sang Jiyue suddenly pointed to the fireworks in the distance and chuckled: "Look, it's just like the chili powder you put into my wishing lantern when we were ten years old—the whole courtyard was filled with the sound of my cough. Now that I think about it, the hand that was patting my back back then was actually pressing on my wound."

Sang Shuwan stared at the faint old scar on her neck, then suddenly took out her phone and opened the bank app. The transfer record stopped on June 17, 2018, the string of zeros flickering on the screen: "You should send your birth mother alimony next week—is she doing well at the nursing home? If you want to change to a special care ward, remember to let me know."

Sang Jiyue's smile froze on her lips, and the beauty mark at the corner of her eye glistened under the streetlight. She suddenly reached out to straighten Sang Shuwan's crooked collar, but her fingertips took the opportunity to snatch the diamond pendant from the other's collarbone chain—a fake made from the crushed and recast genuine diamonds from the Sang family's heirloom.

In the distance came the script supervisor's whistle urging a change of scene, and the two smiled at the camera at the same time. Sang Shuwan looked at Sang Jiyue's newly permed waves and suddenly remembered the note her mother had given her before she died: "The adopted daughter's birthmark is on her waist. Don't let her go near the third row of bookshelves in the old house's cellar."

At that moment, the recording pen hidden in Sang Jiyue's sleeve was running, recording the secret she had overheard that morning—the password to Sang Shuwan's safe was her forged birth date.

As the cicadas outside the studio gradually fell silent, Sang Jiyue suddenly pressed down on Sang Shuwan's wrist, her fingertips precisely tracing the concealer on the other's pulse point—where a crescent-shaped burn scar was hidden, matching the shape of an old wound below her collarbone. "Sister always likes to cover up memories with concealer," she leaned closer to the camera, her eyelashes casting shadows on her eyelids, "just like when you locked me in the attic back then, always saying 'Little sister is memorizing her lines.'"

The stagehands brought in a prop for the next scene—a gilded incense burner from which a faint scent of agarwood wafted. Sang Shuwan stared at the newly tattooed rose behind Sang Jiyue's ear, suddenly remembering the day of her mother's funeral, when this flower bloomed amidst the white chrysanthemums her adopted daughter wore on her chest. "Can you smell what's mixed in this fragrance, little sister?" she asked, fiddling with the tassels of the incense burner. "It smells a lot like the cellar in the old house—is your birth mother's pregnancy test reports still locked in the hidden compartment behind the third row of bookshelves?"

Sang Jiyue's pupils suddenly contracted, her nails almost digging into her palms. The countdown from the script supervisor came from afar, but she suddenly reached out to adjust Sang Shuwan's earrings. As the platinum ear hook brushed against the other's earlobe, she used the momentum to pull out a strand of dyed chestnut hair. "Sister's hair is so beautiful," she said, tucking the strand into her sleeve, a sweet smile curving her lips. "Unlike when I was sixteen, when you cut half my scalp bald—thinking back, the look in your eyes when you said 'help me trim the ends' was exactly the same as just now."

The moment the director yelled "Action!", Sang Shuwan's teacup suddenly tilted. Amber liquid spilled onto Sang Jiyue's chiffon skirt, the resulting stain strikingly similar to the fire seven years ago—when Sang Jiyue had huddled in the storage room, peeking through the crack in the door at her sister's retreating figure carrying a jewelry box down the corridor. "I'm sorry," she said, gently pressing a handkerchief against the other's thigh, her fingertips tracing a raised, old scar through the fabric, "Does the burn on your leg still hurt, little sister?"

Sang Jiyue grabbed her wrist and, in the blind spot of the camera, ripped open her collar. A gruesome burn scar, coiled like a snake, lay beneath her shoulder blade—the very handiwork of Sang Shuwan when she knocked over the candlestick years ago. "Sister, are you heartbroken?" she asked, leaning closer to the microphone, her voice trembling just right. "But when you added sleeping pills to my medicine, you didn't even leave a single light on."

The prop screen suddenly collapsed behind them with a crash. As Sang Shuwan was dragged into the splinters by Sang Jiyue, she caught a glimpse of the ruthlessness flashing in the other's eyes—the posture was exactly the same as at the awards ceremony three years ago, when she was "accidentally" pushed down the steps, and the trending topic was #SangJiyueKneelsToProtectSister#. "My sister's acting has improved," she smiled through gritted teeth, her nails tracing the birthmark on the other's side, "but the recording of the fake pregnancy and marriage fraud is in my Swiss bank account, you know."

In the dressing room late at night after work, Sang Jiyue removed her contact lenses in front of the mirror. Her pupils, behind the lenses, gleamed a cold gray under the incandescent light—the same gray tone as the photo on the birth certificate of her real daughter, which she had secretly stolen from the cellar of the old house on the day she had taken the paternity test. Deep in the drawer, in a brown paper bag, lay half a yellowed train ticket—the record of the Sang family driver's trips to and from the orphanage on June 17, 1998.

Sang Shuwan leaned against the doorframe, watching the other woman spray her mother's favorite rose perfume onto her neck. The engraving on the bottom of the perfume bottle was worn away; it was the character "Shu" that she had carved with a diamond pen when she was twelve—later strung into a pendant by her adopted daughter. "We're filming a water scene tomorrow," she said, waving the insurance policy on her phone. "Could my sister's stunt double be connected to that extra who drowned seven years ago?"

A sudden downpour outside the window soaked the wishing lamp on the windowsill of the dressing room. Sang Jiyue looked at the four characters "Return Home Soon" that were stained by the lamplight and suddenly remembered the longevity lock that was placed in a sandalwood basin when the real Sang family's daughter was a month old—it was now lying in her jewelry box, and the birth date engraved on the lock core was exactly the same as the combination to Sang Shuwan's safe.

Amidst the thunderous roar, both women simultaneously reached for each other's wrists. Sang Shuwan's fingertips touched a familiar bump—the mark she had left years ago with a cigarette butt; while Sang Jiyue, through the skin, grasped the medical bracelet that concealed the history of sedative injections. The red light from the camera flickered in the downpour, casting their overlapping shadows onto the makeup mirror, like two dodder vines entwined and strangling.

"The last scene!" the director roared through a megaphone, "You two act like sisters!" Sang Jiyue took Sang Shuwan's arm, but her fingertips secretly pressed against the nerve in the other's elbow. The moment the camera captured them, both of them burst into tears—the former because her fingernails dug into the other's birthmark on her side, and the latter because she smelled the faint scent of mothballs coming from a secret cellar compartment behind the other's ear.

Through the rain, Sang Shuwan suddenly leaned close to her sister's ear: "Do you know why Mother burned the family genealogy before she died?" She chuckled softly, watching her sister's face change color abruptly. "Because the real Sang family heiress didn't have a cinnabar birthmark on her left wrist." Before she finished speaking, the screeching sound of screeching brakes came from afar, and her assistant came running, phone in hand: "Sister Sang! The diamond you put in the safe... has been switched!"