The words from the anonymous message replayed in her mind like a haunting melody: "You don't belong there. Ask them who you really are."
She had tried to dismiss it as a cruel joke, but something about the message pierced too deeply. It was more than just a threat—it felt like a crack in the mirror she had stared into all her life.
The next morning, she sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea absentmindedly. Her parents chatted about the business meeting they had scheduled for the afternoon, but Mei Xing wasn't listening. Her thoughts were elsewhere—far away from the chandeliers and silk curtains.
She studied her mother's face. Madam Lin's features were refined, elegant—so unlike her own. Her father, too—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. She had never thought about it before, but… did she even look like them?
The question began to take root.
"Are you alright, Xing'er?" her mother asked, noticing the distracted look in her eyes.
"Yes, just… tired," Mei Xing said quickly, forcing a smile.
But she couldn't shake the feeling. That message had planted a seed of doubt, and now it was growing fast.
Later that day, she walked into her father's study. The room was quiet, lined with shelves of law books and framed accolades. Mr. Lin looked up from his desk, surprised.
"Xing'er? Is something wrong?"
She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Father… do you remember when I was born? I mean… where was I born? Was I delivered at home or in a hospital?"
Mr. Lin blinked. "That's an odd question. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," she lied. "I was just curious."
He chuckled lightly. "You were born in a private hospital just outside the city. It was a quiet, rainy morning. Your mother always says the moment she saw you, she knew you were special."
But something in his voice didn't sit right. It sounded rehearsed, like a story told too many times.
That night, Mei Xing searched her baby album. She had looked through it many times as a child, marveling at her tiny clothes and first birthday pictures. But now, she noticed what wasn't there—no newborn photos from the hospital, no pictures of her mother holding her in the delivery room.
Everything began from her third month. No hospital tags. No birth certificate in the album.
A sinking feeling clenched her stomach.
She needed answers. Real ones.
And she was going to find them—even if it meant discovering a truth that could shatter everything she'd ever known.