Chapter Thirteen: Deep in the White Fog
The night was as thick as ink. A few murky yellow beams of light struggled to pierce the thin fog that seeped through the cramped apartment. Lin Qishan sat alone in the darkness, an ashtray beside him overflowing with spent cigarette butts. His face was blank, betraying no emotion—only in his eyes did a faint, nearly imperceptible glimmer flicker.
On the table, a laptop screen flickered with weak blue light, replaying a video he had watched again and again. He had gone to great lengths to obtain this footage from an insider at the television station—someone whose trustworthiness he himself wasn't entirely sure of. It was an uncensored version of a charity interview.
In the video, Bai Jingci wore a moon-white silk cheongsam, the collar and cuffs studded with tiny pearls. Her features were as exquisite as a painting, and her lips were tinted a perfect shade of rouge. Every movement she made radiated a composed, effortless grace. Even through the screen, one could almost catch the scent of the expensive perfume that wafted around her.
The host brought up the success of the Xiangci Foundation's charitable work. Bai Jingci responded with a slight smile and a soft voice: "Charity, at its essence, is a choice—a choice about life. Not everyone is worth saving. Some people's fate is decided from the moment they're born."
Lin Qishan stared at the screen. All at once, an image flashed through his mind like lightning: the first time he met Bai Jingci. She had been standing on a stage, her voice gentle yet cruel. Back then, he hadn't grasped the deeper meaning behind her words. Now those barbs hidden beneath her elegance were gradually revealing themselves.
A low buzzing filled the depths of his skull, and his vision began to blur, as if countless ants were gnawing at the edges of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing his fingers to his brow. He loathed this feeling—this sense that he was no longer in complete control. As an investigative journalist cool-headed to the point of callousness, he had always striven to keep both intellect and emotion at arm's length. Yet now he found himself deeply entangled in this situation.
The laptop's faint glow fell across his austere face. He drew in a long breath, then opened his eyes and continued watching.
The video kept playing, and Bai Jingci's voice came again: "Everyone has their proper place. Order exists only because each person stays obediently where they belong. If they refuse, then naturally someone else will make that choice for them." Her lips curved in a faint smile, her gaze sharp as a blade. "That, too, is a form of charity."
Lin Qishan's fingertips trembled slightly. He understood that behind those seemingly gentle words lay a hidden game—vast, secret, and cold-blooded—that Bai Jingci had orchestrated in the name of charity.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated, cutting through his chaotic thoughts. Lin Qishan picked it up and glanced at the screen. It was an anonymous email containing only a single line: "She knows you saw it." A weight pressed hard against his chest, and his fingertips instantly went numb with cold.
He stared out the window in silence. The darkness beyond the glass seemed to mock his naivety. He knew now that he was in deep, and that the woman concealed beneath layers of disguise was like a giant spider at the center of a web, firmly in control of everything. Lin Qishan stood and pulled the curtains open, letting his eyes search the dense fog outside. Quietly, he wondered if he might be the next target she intended to "clean up."
Yet he felt no fear, hardly any emotion at all. Only that humming noise returned in his mind—like a warning, or the low sigh of fate. He steeled himself. He would go to the TV station once more, to verify the informant's identity and motives.
Early the next morning, Lin Qishan arrived at the television station. The lobby was bustling with people coming and going, and he slipped in unobtrusively with the crowd. He made his way to the archives room and knocked on the door. Inside, he found only a young man wearing glasses.
"You must be Qishan, right?" the young man said, turning around. A hint of a sly smile played on his lips.
Lin Qishan nodded warily. "Who are you?"
The young man stood up and offered his hand. "I'm Luo Xi. I was the one who gave you the video yesterday."
Lin Qishan looked at him, more perplexed than before. "Why are you helping me?"
Luo Xi's mouth twitched in a brief grin. "I'm not helping you—I'm helping myself. Isn't that what you're doing as well?" He paused, then added, "We're all just pieces on this chessboard. The difference is, some of us are a bit more awake, and others are still dreaming."
Lin Qishan fell silent for a moment, studying this odd young man. Then he asked quietly, "How much do you know?"
Luo Xi gave a soft laugh. "I know a little more than you think. For example, the real big fish in this game isn't Bai Jingci."
Lin Qishan felt a jolt run through him. "What do you mean?"
"Bai Jingci is only the actress on stage. The true puppeteer never lets anyone see his face," Luo Xi said, his expression unreadable. "The video you possess was deliberately leaked to you—its purpose was to keep your attention fixed on Bai Jingci."
A chill crept along Lin Qishan's spine. At last he understood: this game was even more complex than he had imagined. Who exactly is this young man, Luo Xi?
"What is it you want?" Lin Qishan asked.
Luo Xi met his gaze and replied calmly, "The same thing you do. The truth."
Lin Qishan regarded the stranger in front of him coldly, realizing that this contest was far from over. Yet another reversal had come to light: he had now become the one being manipulated, and the "truth" he thought he'd had in hand was nothing more than a carefully engineered piece of their design.
Walking out of the TV station, Lin Qishan looked up at the leaden sky. A wind was rustling through the street trees, sending dry leaves spiraling to the pavement like an unending sigh. He knew that he had stepped into an even deeper stretch of the white fog.
In the distance, inside a black sedan, Bai Jingci sat quietly in the back seat. She was gently drumming her fingers on the leather upholstery, the faintest ghost of a smile hovering at her lips.
"Luo Xi certainly knows how to reach Qishan," she murmured to herself. "But it's about time to close the net."
The night grew only darker, the fog only thicker—as if everything had been enveloped in the vast labyrinth she had so meticulously woven.