No. 47 Wutong Alley was a two-story vintage townhouse, its red brick walls covered in withered ivy. Su Wan stood before the rusted iron gate, clutching the address Lawyer Chen had given her.
This was the house left by her biological mother, Lin Wanqing—a place she had never stepped foot in, yet now her only sanctuary.
Following Chen's instructions, she lifted the faded doormat and found a brass key. The lock turned with a crisp click. Inside, the house was unexpectedly pristine, as if someone had been meticulously maintaining it. Above the fireplace hung an oil painting of a young woman who looked hauntingly like Su Wan.
"Mom..." Su Wan whispered. It was the first time the word felt like it belonged to someone real.
Searching the house, Su Wan headed to the study on the second floor. Hidden behind a heavy volume of The History of European Art, she found a concealed alcove containing a metal box.
Inside were letters and a leather-bound diary that shattered her world. The letters, written by someone named "Lin Jing," warned Lin Wanqing twenty-six years ago: "Don't trust anyone, including Wenxiu (Su Wan's adoptive mother). She's suspicious."
The diary revealed the cruel truth: Su Wan hadn't been abandoned. She had been stolen. Her adoptive mother, whom she had loved for twenty-eight years, was part of a conspiracy to tear Su Wan away from her biological mother to satisfy the Jiang family's malice.
"Jiang Chen threatened me," one of the last entries read. "He said if I tried to enter Su Wan's life, he would tell her she was an unwanted bastard. I had to stay away to protect her happiness."
Su Wan choked back a sob. Her "perfect" husband had been blackmailing her dying mother while smiling at her across the dinner table.
Suddenly, a car engine hummed outside. Su Wan peeked through the curtain—a black sedan was idling at the mouth of the alley. The Jiang family was already here.
She scrambled into a small attic through a maintenance hatch just as footsteps echoed downstairs. In the darkness of the attic, she stumbled upon a makeshift investigation center: photos of Jiang Chen with other women, financial records of the Jiang Group, and a map with red circles around Hong Kong, Singapore, and the Cayman Islands.
Her mother hadn't just been hiding; she had been building a case against the Jiangs for three years.
Footsteps reached the second floor. Two men in suits burst into the attic, searching for documents. "Boss, look at this wall!" one shouted, pointing at the evidence.
Just as they were about to tear down the records, the sound of breaking glass and a piercing burglar alarm erupted from downstairs. The intruders panicked and fled.
Su Wan emerged from her hiding spot, trembling. Someone had triggered the alarm to save her. Was it Chen? Or this mysterious "Aunt Lin Jing"?
In a desk drawer, she found an old burner phone with only one contact: "Jing."
She didn't call yet. She packed the diary, the evidence, and the silver pendant. She was no longer just a canary fleeing a cage; she was a hunter gathering her strength.
As she vanished into the dawn, miles away in a luxury hospital bed, Jiang Zhenguo—Jiang Chen's father—listened to his men's failure.
"Let her keep digging," the old man rasped, a cold glint in his eyes. "The more she finds, the more useful she becomes to us. Let's see how high this little canary can fly."