The Creator's Grace - Chapter 25

“What are you doing here?”

Standing in the doorway, Ran Jin had a look of obvious panic on her face—a rare sight.

She had likely heard the commotion outside while showering and rushed out before she even had a chance to dress. It was difficult for Chi Yu’s attention not to be drawn to Ran Jin’s skin, which was flushed a peach-pink from the hot water; glistening droplets of water remained on her delicate collarbones.

“If Aunt hadn’t asked me to bring you some fruit, I wouldn’t have come in. But I’d like to ask you something.” Chi Yu surveyed the room. “What is this place? Why is there a room like this inside your and Sister’s bedroom? Do you sleep here?”

Ran Jin turned back and grabbed one of Chi Li’s coats from the walk-in closet, draping it over herself.

Even though Chi Yu was maintaining a facade of composure, her reaction was still half a beat slow after seeing the strange room. In her haste earlier, Ran Jin had briefly exposed her wrist, but Chi Yu hadn’t had time to observe it. Now that the coat was on, it was hidden.

“This place is suitable for meditation,” Ran Jin said, quickly regaining her poise. “I can calm my mind here and sleep better.”

Even though Ran Jin spoke calmly and the explanation was technically plausible, the sight was far too bizarre. Such words might fool a child, but Chi Yu couldn’t believe them.

After Ran Jin left the Chi house last time, Chi Yu had come to this bedroom to search for her sister’s lingering presence. At that time, she had been immersed in the grief of just losing her sister and hadn’t noticed the details. Reflecting on it now, Chi Yu recalled that when she entered the bedroom, the bedding on the spacious double bed had been perfectly tidy—as if no one had slept in it all night.

Chi Yu wasn’t misled by her words. She asked, “Did you and my sister start sleeping apart a long time ago?”

Ran Jin’s movements paused slightly as she patted her hair dry with a towel, but she quickly resumed, not answering the question. She set the towel aside and went to blow-dry her hair. The sound of the hairdryer wasn’t loud, but it was enough to fill the quiet bedroom.

When Ran Jin finished, she looked up to see Chi Yu holding Chi Li’s photo album, flipping through it page by page. “Why are there no photos of you in here? Not even one.”

Ran Jin’s hair, not yet styled, was messy and slightly frizzy, giving the usually meticulous and stiff woman a trace of wild menace.

“I took them all when your sister and I broke up,” she said simply.

“And then you reorganized the album?” Chi Yu countered. “Or did my sister do it? And what’s the deal with the album in your little ‘meditation room’?”

Ran Jin’s voice remained steady: “I organized it. I picked out some photos I wanted to take with me and put them in that small album. I discussed this with your sister, and she agreed to let me take them. I should have packed up the things in the small room and moved them to my apartment long ago, but your sister passed away so suddenly. There have been too many things to handle lately, and I haven’t had the time.”

Another perfectly reasonable explanation. Just like the surveillance video and the 100,000-person livestream—the perfect alibi. Just like when she denied that preserving the white rose had anything to do with Chi Yu.

“The album you put together only contains photos of me and my sister. There’s also a solo shot of me, but none of yourself.”

Ran Jin smiled at her like a kind elder. “Xiao Yu, I know what you’re trying to say. I do care about you and your sister; I don’t deny that. My life was given to me by both of you. Your sister saved me, and you… during my difficult recovery, your sister was busy, and it was you who looked after me. My emotions and physical condition were very unstable then, but you never looked down on me. I will remember your kindness for the rest of my life.”

Ran Jin spoke earnestly. Chi Yu saw the corners of her eyes turning red and instinctively gripped the album tighter, her jaw clenched.

“I’m leaving… the Chi family. Although I only spent a short time by your side, I still wanted something to remember you by. I don’t like taking photos of myself, so I never developed any; the ones I chose were of you and your sister. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I decided to take them. If you don’t agree, I’ll give them back right now.”

Chi Yu felt it was getting difficult to breathe. she took a silent deep breath, set the album down, and ignored Ran Jin’s offer, turning her gaze back to the closet.

“That room looks like it has been there for a long time.”

Ran Jin replied, “Your sister sleepwalks, and my sleep has always been poor. Sometimes, just as I was finally about to fall asleep, she would startle me awake. That’s why that small room was partitioned off in the closet.”

Ran Jin always managed to explain the unbelievable in a way that sounded entirely logical.

Chi Yu sat on the small corner sofa where Chi Li used to read. “Yesterday, I found a news report from a month ago. My sister was photographed on a date with someone else. It caused quite a stir, and she was criticized by all sides. Then you stepped in to clarify, saying you two had broken up before then but hadn’t announced it, so my sister had the right to date whoever she wanted.”

Ran Jin wasn’t at all surprised that Chi Yu found the news. If you searched “Chi Li” on the internet and scrolled past the overwhelming death reports, you’d find it easily. But only the news itself.

Chi Yu gave a self-mocking laugh. “I can’t tell what was really going on between you and my sister anymore. Whether she betrayed you first, or you betrayed her.”

“You don’t need to distinguish it,” Ran Jin said. “This is between your sister and me; it has nothing to do with you. Please leave now. I’m tired and I want to sleep.”

Chi Yu’s burning, unwilling gaze lingered on Ran Jin for a moment as the latter stood up to comb her hair. Then, she left.

The next morning, Ran Jin left the Chi villa early again. Even though Chi Yu woke up early, she still didn’t run into her.

She helped Auntie Su make breakfast for her aunt and uncle, took her sister’s car keys from Butler Chen, and personally drove them to the station. Before getting on the train, they kept urging her to remember the good in others and not to hold grudges. It seemed they hadn’t fully believed the act she put on yesterday.

“Don’t worry,” Chi Yu said. “I’m an adult; I know what I’m doing.”

After seeing them off, Chi Yu called Qi Tong and went to her studio. For the next few days, Chi Yu, using her status as a member of the FPIU project team, repeatedly tried to contact Zhou Yu for a meeting.

The response from his secretary was always: “Mr. Zhou’s schedule is full. I will contact you if he has time.”

Chi Yu and Qi Tong dug through Zhou Yu’s background together to see if they could find any useful clues. In today’s highly developed internet age, anyone with a bit of fame leaves a digital trail. They watched almost every interview related to Zhou Yu and discovered he had been involved in a traffic accident while on a business trip to Shanghai. They obtained the license plate number involved; it belonged to Zhou Yu’s Shanghai branch, and he was in the car that day.

Strangely, his name could not be found in any of Shanghai’s public hospitals.

“A person like him might go to a private hospital to protect his privacy,” Qi Tong said, lounging on the sofa with one leg hanging off the side. “If it’s a private hospital, the information would be well-guarded, making it harder to track.”

Chi Yu, maintaining her usual elegance on a single sofa, sipped her coffee and looked at the tablet on her lap. “Chu Wei said he became very strange after returning from Shanghai. I suspect she doesn’t know about the accident. His changes are likely directly related to that crash. And I noticed something…”

Chi Yu gestured for Qi Tong to look at the tablet. “Look, this is a speech Zhou Yu gave at a university a year ago. He was very good, didn’t need notes, and got a standing ovation. And this video, an interview from six months ago—the host was sharp and asked sensitive questions, but his answers were very dignified.”

“Sure,” Qi Tong said. “Talks like a seasoned capitalist.”

“Before the Shanghai accident, he appeared in public frequently. But in the last three months, his appearances have dropped significantly—only a third of what they used to be. Now look at this—it’s a financial program he attended two weeks ago. See the difference?”

In the footage, Zhou Yu looked serious and tense, lacking the composure and humor he had during the university speech. He answered the host’s questions with only the briefest of summaries.

“It is a bit strange,” Qi Tong said, opening another video on her phone. “Now that you mention it, I see what’s odd about this one too. This is an interview from two months ago. Every time he says something, he glances toward one specific spot, looking uncertain, as if afraid of saying something wrong.”

“Where was he looking?”

Qi Tong slid the video timeline; the camera angle shifted toward another guest, capturing the direction of Zhou Yu’s gaze. “There—he was looking at his assistant.”

Chi Yu and Qi Tong fell into deep thought.

“Why would he be so focused on his assistant? Is there anything special about that person?”

“Not really,” Qi Tong said. ” I’ve checked. His assistant has been with him for five years—a male, completely ordinary. No special relationship with Zhou Yu outside of work.”

Chi Yu’s thoughts were a bit scattered. She scrolled through search results for Zhou Yu and saw many photos of him and Chu Wei. In the photos, they looked very much in love; Zhou Yu always had his arm around her waist, and Chu Wei smiled and leaned toward him. They were a perfectly sweet couple.

But all these photos were old. Not a single photo together could be found from the last three months.

“Do you have a twin sister?”

Lu Siqiong’s opening question made Ran Jin freeze.

Lu Siqiong had been spending time with her long-distance boyfriend lately, but they had argued again over marriage and parted on bad terms. Her boyfriend left two days ago, and today she had invited Ran Jin for lunch. Before the food even arrived, she couldn’t wait to ask.

“No,” Ran Jin replied. “Why?”

“The other day I stopped that ‘little brat’ [Chi Yu] in the parking lot. She said she saw you in the surveillance video of the scene where Chi Li was killed. How is that possible?!” Lu Siqiong took a large gulp of water. “You were with me the whole day Chi Li died. I personally drove you to the broadcast building when she was killed. How could you be in the surveillance video?”

Ran Jin smiled and didn’t bother to explain.

“Chi Yu seemed very certain. She must be investigating you. So you really don’t have a twin?”

Ran Jin said, “I really don’t. Back then… He Zhi gave birth at the Maternal and Child Health Hospital. It’s easy to check the birth records.”

Lu Siqiong was used to Ran Jin calling her own mother by her full name. In fact, she had already checked Ran Jin’s birth records; He Zhi had indeed only given birth to one daughter. Her father was the famous manufacturing magnate Ran Ming. The Ran family once dominated the manufacturing industry, and the fact that they only had one daughter was no secret. Although Lu Siqiong was recusing herself from Chi Li’s case, she still had legal ways to investigate Ran Jin’s household registration.

Lu Siqiong knew Ran Jin hadn’t returned to the Ran house in years. Her relationship with her family was a mystery.

“Mhm, I already checked,” Lu Siqiong admitted. “The Ran family really only has you… I checked up on you. You won’t be mad at me, right?”

Ran Jin shook her head but didn’t speak; she didn’t seem in the mood for conversation.

Lu Siqiong grew a bit anxious. “It’s only because you won’t tell me anything. I’ve always felt we were best friends, a life-and-death bond. Sometimes I feel we’re very close, and other times I feel I don’t know you at all. Xiao Jin, is there anything you can’t tell me? Aren’t we best friends?”

Ran Jin lowered her head to eat in silence. Lu Siqiong, a walking powder keg, was nearly losing her fuse. She shoved a few bites of food into her mouth to suppress her irritation, then spoke to her lifesaver with all the patience she had left:

“If you really don’t have a twin, who is the person in the surveillance video? Could someone be trying to impersonate you to frame you?”

Ran Jin gave an “Mhm” and said, “It’s possible. Siqiong, their sweet and sour ribs are delicious; aren’t they your favorite? Eat more.”

Lu Siqiong: “…”

Fine. Another case of “the emperor isn’t worried, but the eunuch is.” Lu Siqiong decided to finish the entire plate of ribs without leaving a single piece for Ran Jin.

Ever since meeting Ran Jin, Lu Siqiong knew she was walking a very dangerous path. She had seen with her own eyes how Chi Li treated her, and she knew Ran Jin had always walked through the world alone and with difficulty. To Ran Jin, love was like food to a starving traveler—even a small handout would drive her mad. Even if the love hid a knife, she would swallow it willingly.

So even though Ran Jin was a “silent gourd” who kept everything inside, Lu Siqiong could never bring herself to let her go.

While driving Lu Siqiong home, Ran Jin tried her best to tell unfunny jokes to soothe her. After making sure Lu Siqiong was safely inside, Ran Jin didn’t drive away immediately.

She took out the small album she had brought from the Chi house and flipped through it slowly. Seeing the photos of Chi Yu and Chi Li, even though she wasn’t in them, she could remember every detail of the moments they were taken. Every detail was still vivid.

Thinking of the happiness and the full sense of belonging she once had when she had a home, a smile unconsciously appeared on Ran Jin’s lips.