Chapter 78

Su Xiao put the last cleaned brush back into the pen holder. The studio had returned to its spotless, orderly, and empty state, as if no one had ever stayed there, painted, or conducted any attempt at "healing." The red security light in the corner flashed silently, like a cold, unclosed eye.

She picked up her canvas bag, turned off the lights, locked the door, and stepped into the descending elevator. The metal wall reflected her calm, expressionless face—Su Xiao's face. The turbulent waves that once belonged to Shi Ye were firmly suppressed beneath a layer of rationality called "survival," not daring to reveal even a crack.

Stepping out of the building, the evening air carried the slight chill of early autumn. She walked towards the subway station along her usual route, and as she passed the green belt outside the wall of an old residential area, her pace slowed down as usual.

In the shadows by the wall, several stray cats of different colors were either squatting or lying down. Hearing footsteps, they pricked up their ears alertly, but when they saw it was her, they lazily lay back down. Only one tortoiseshell kitten let out a soft "meow".

Su Xiao stopped and took out a flat tin box from the side pocket of her canvas bag—inside were a few small pieces of unsalted chicken jerky that she had casually packed before leaving home that morning, originally intended as a lunch snack. She hadn't thought much about why she brought it along; it was as if some kind of instinct, deeply ingrained in her bodily memory, had automatically triggered a program when she passed by this regular cat feeding spot.

She crouched down, opened the box, broke the chicken jerky into smaller pieces, and gently placed them on the clean floor tiles. The cats gathered around, taking small bites and purring contentedly.

The tortoiseshell kitten ate the fastest. After finishing its own, it rubbed against Su Xiao's feet and nudged her hand with its head. Without hesitation, Su Xiao naturally reached out and gently scratched the kitten's chin with her fingertips, then stroked its thin back softly, one stroke at a time. Her movements were practiced and natural, carrying a gentleness that came from habit and didn't require thought.

Her gaze fell on the kitten's soft fur, her eyes somewhat vacant. The tension of the day found a slight relaxation in this simple, repetitive stroking. The heavy thoughts of duty, survival, doubt, and balance temporarily receded, leaving only the warm touch of a living creature on her fingertips and the soft purring of the kitten's throat.

She didn't notice, nor did she have the extra energy to pay attention, that a black sedan had silently stopped under the shadow of a tree across the street.

The car window was half-rolled down.

Qi Jin sat in the back seat, having just finished a last-minute business call, and rubbed his temples wearily. The driver was supposed to drive straight back to the company or apartment, but as they passed this intersection, Qi Jin's gaze inadvertently swept across the street to a somewhat familiar figure crouching in a corner.

It's Su Xiao.

She asked the driver to pull over.

At first, it was just casual observation. I watched her take a box out of her bag, squat down, and feed the cat. It was an ordinary action, something any kind-hearted person would do.

But then, Qi Jin's gaze froze.

Su Xiao's movements as she stroked the kitten—the curve of her fingers, the pressure of her palm against the kitten's back, the slow and rhythmic stroking from the top of its head to the base of its tail, the relaxed yet focused angle formed by her chin and neck when she slightly tilted her head to look at the kitten.

These subtle body language and expressions, difficult to describe precisely in words, were like a rusty yet precise key, suddenly inserted into a long-sealed lock deep in Qi Jin's memory.

Five years ago, on a rainy evening, by a secluded bench in the park, the ground was wet. Shi Ye, still wearing a light blue school uniform skirt and not yet fully shed her girlish naiveté, squatted down just like that, stroking a curled-up, dirty stray cat with almost the exact same movements and rhythm. Sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating her lowered eyelashes and the glistening water droplets on her fingertips.

That moment, like a piece of amber frozen in time, has been deeply embedded in Qi Jin's heart for five years, never fading.

And now—

Separated by a bustling yet deafening street, by five years of changed times, by the smoke of an explosion and the mystery of "resurrection".

The image of "Su Xiao," squatting by the wall, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, with her hair tied in a neat ponytail, perfectly overlapped with the image of "Shi Ye" after the rain in the depths of her memory, in the light and shadow of dusk.

It's not the kind of subtle gestures that require analysis and interpretation when handling clay, which may stem from muscle memory.

It's not the hesitant, timid, and passive reaction one has when cleaning stones.

It is a more holistic, more relaxed, and more...private state. A gentle posture that naturally emerges when one is completely unguarded and fully immersed in a brief connection with another vulnerable life.

This kind of demeanor cannot be faked or imitated. It belongs to the true spirit of those who would stop for stray cats in the rain, unconsciously draw circles in front of their easel, and quietly drink milk in the kitchen late at night.

Qi Jin's knuckles, gripping the phone, turned slightly white. The block of ice sealed within his chest, like molten lava, seemed to be violently struck by this unexpected sight, emitting a teeth-grinding cracking sound.

The fortress of suspicion remains impregnable, and the alarm bells of reason still blare: Coincidence? Deliberate arrangement? Imitation of an outdated past investigation? Su Xiao's background is too clean, his appearance too coincidental; everything could be a meticulously designed trap!

But the eyes don't lie. Those fluid, almost instinctive movements, those subtle expressions in a relaxed state without any trace of acting... If this is also acting, then Su Xiao must be a genius of film history.

Su Xiao...who exactly is she?

Why would an intern curatorial assistant with a clean background have almost the exact same cat-feeding habits and petting posture as Shi Ye?

Was something missed in the investigation? Or... is there some more inexplicable connection?

Qi Jin's gaze was fixed on the figure across the street. He watched her finish feeding the kitten the last bit of chicken jerky, gently pat the kitten's head, then stand up, brush off non-existent dust from her pants, put the empty box back in her bag, and turn to walk towards the subway station. Her figure appeared somewhat frail in the deepening twilight, yet her gait was steady, without a trace of lingering attachment or hesitation, as if that brief moment of tenderness was merely an ordinary act of kindness, insignificant.

The black sedan remained silently parked on the roadside for a long time until the figure completely disappeared into the crowd at the subway entrance.

Qi Jin slowly leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Yet, the two overlapping figures still appeared clearly before him—the girl after the rain, and Su Xiao in the twilight.

Her left hand instinctively reached into the inside pocket of her coat, not the trouser pocket, but closer to her heart. Her fingertips touched a smaller, harder object—not a necklace or jade clasp, but a small button from her school uniform that she had secretly hidden away before the explosion, the only "souvenir" she had found by the bench back then.

She clutched the cold button tightly in her palm.

Doubt, coupled with the overwhelming sense of familiarity of the irrefutable evidence before her, clashed fiercely within her frozen heart.

A cold voice warned: Qin Ming's retaliation is insidious and cunning; any "coincidence" could be fatal. Every move Su Xiao makes must be examined with the utmost malice.

Another voice echoed faintly and stubbornly: What if? What if there is still a trace of reality in this world, unrelated to that fire and death? Even if it's not in the "resurrected" Shi Ye, but in this mysterious Su Xiao?

She didn't know.

All she knew was that the once clear distinction between friend and foe, and the once certain suspects, had become blurred and confused because of the scene she had stumbled upon at the street corner at dusk.

Su Xiao.

This name, along with that clear yet now shrouded-in-mystery face, was engraved with unprecedented weight at the top of the list that needed a complete reassessment.

In the survival game, on the chessboard, a piece whose trajectory is unpredictable seems to have moved on its own.

For the first time, the player holding the chessboard felt a subtle yet real tremor in the ground beneath it.