The West End District was quieter than Shi Mu remembered.
Older houses lined the narrow street, their gates faded with time. It wasn't poverty—it was neglect, the kind that whispered of people too tired to care.
Block C stood at the far end.
Unit 12.
She found it by the cracked flowerpot on the steps and the half-torn family nameplate:
Jian / Li.
Shi Mu rang the bell.
A long silence.
Then soft footsteps.
The door creaked open.
A girl stood behind the gate.
Tall. Slender.Eyes shadowed by hesitation.Shoulders tense—not from fear, but from being watched too long, too often.
"Li Zhilan?" Shi Mu asked gently.
The girl hesitated.Then nodded.
Shi Mu introduced herself.
"I'm here because of your sister."
The words hung in the air like glass about to fall.
Li Zhilan blinked.
"My… sister?"
"She's been waiting," Shi Mu said. "I think she's still in the house where you lived before."
Zhilan didn't speak for a long time.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:
"She died. They told me she died."
Shi Mu nodded. "She did. But not all of her left."
[System Notification]
Spirit Recognition Event – Emotional Thread Sync Detected
Li Zhilan: Confirmed Relative
Access Status: Cautious / Open to Belief
Brotherhood Value +340 (First Contact Made + Truth Gently Delivered)
Current Total: 14,815 / 1,000,000
Zhilan stepped back and opened the door wider.
"Do you want to come in?"
Shi Mu smiled.
"No," she said. "I want you to come with me."
Zhilan didn't ask where.
Didn't ask why.
She just grabbed her coat, stepped into the light, and followed.
Some threads don't unravel.
They wind themselves back together—
when someone dares to pull gently.