Depending on what was written on this single piece of parchment, her entire understanding of reality could fracture.
What if her hypothesis was true? What if her mother had secretly given birth to twins? What if Shen Zechuan was her biological brother, stolen by the Sect Leader to be raised as an abyssal weapon? If he was her brother’s twin, it would explain the identical face. It would explain the shared mannerisms, the way he tilted his head, the way he shifted ginger in his jaw, the way he instinctively patted her head.
But if he was her brother’s twin... it meant her father had lied to her.
It meant her entire family history was a fabrication.
And what if he wasn’t a twin? What if he was a magical clone created by the Star-Seizing Tower when Lin Feng sacrificed his karma to summon Ji’an’s soul?
"Only one way to find out," Ji’an whispered, her voice shaking.
She hooked her thumb under the wax seal and broke it.
The crimson aura dissipated into harmless smoke.
Ji’an unfolded the heavy parchment.
The handwriting was unmistakably General Lin’s. It was bold, rigid, disciplined military calligraphy that looked as though it had been written with the tip of a spear rather than a brush.
There were no flowery greetings, no poetic metaphors. It was the blunt, straightforward dispatch of a commander addressing a highly volatile subordinate.
Ji’an held her breath and read.
Ji’an,
I received your unauthorized, dramatic transmission via priority military channels. My commanding officers believed we were under attack by the Northern Demonic Horde until I deciphered your atrocious handwriting.
I am relieved you survived your tournament. I am less relieved to discover that your tenure on the Drunken Peak has apparently driven you to paranoid delusions.
Listen to me very carefully, child, and cease your conspiracy theories immediately.
Your mother did not have twins. She did not have a secret double-life. She was a frail, gentle woman who passed away in her bed of a chronic meridian illness when you were barely walking. I was by her side holding her hand when she breathed her last. The lineage of this estate is meticulously documented by the Imperial Censors.
Lin Feng is your only elder brother. He was a singular birth. There was no stolen baby. There was no missing child.
As for this ’Shen Zechuan’ you speak of... I know of the Sect Leader’s Senior Apprentice by reputation only. The boy has been locked in the abyss for five years. I assure you, by the blood of our ancestors and my honor as a General of the Empire, he shares no biological connection to the Lin family.
If he bears a resemblance to your brother, it is just a cosmic coincidence. The Heavens are vast, Ji’an. Doppelgängers exist in the mortal realm. Do not project your homesickness onto a stranger simply because he possesses a similar jawline.
Stop interrogating innocent disciples. Keep your head down, mind your temper, and focus on your culinary cultivation.
Your sisters send their regards, and Lin Xuan complains that the capital’s cooks still use too much salt.
Burn this letter upon reading.
- General Lin.
Ji’an stared at the parchment.
She read the words again. And then she read them a third time.
The bold, black ink didn’t magically rearrange itself.
The denial was absolute. It was definitive, backed by the blood-oath of a man who would rather die than lie about his deceased wife.
Lin Feng was an only child.
There were no twins.
Shen Zechuan was not biologically related to her.
Ji’an lowered the letter, her hands dropping limply into her lap.
A sigh of relief rushed from her lungs.
Her father hadn’t lied to her. Her family hadn’t been harboring some dark, twisted, soap-opera secret. Her mother hadn’t been the victim of a baby-snatching plot.
The foundation of her family, the messy, loud, fiercely loyal Lin Estate, remained entirely intact.
But the relief only lasted for a fraction of a millisecond.
Because the moment the relief faded, it was violently replaced by an horrific, brain-shattering, maddening tidal wave of REGRET and FRUSTRATION.
"How?!" Ji’an whispered, staring blankly at the wall.
If they weren’t twins.
If they weren’t related.
How was it possible?!
"It’s not just aboout having a similar jawline!" Ji’an’s voice began to rise, the absurdity of the situation completely short-circuiting her logical processors. "Doppelgängers share physical traits! They do not share specific, neurological tics! They do not shift unminced ginger to the left side of their molars before swallowing food!"
She stood up from the bed, the parchment clutched in her fist, her pacing was frantic.
"He pats my head with two taps! Exactly two! Not one! Not three! Two firm, heavy taps right on the crown!" Ji’an ranted to the empty room, her hands flying through the air as she gestured wildly. "He aligns his chopsticks by tapping them on the bowl! He prefers extra egg in his fried rice! He walks with a phantom limp on his right leg! You cannot tell me the Heavens just accidentally copy-pasted an entire personality profile and dropped it into an abyssal rift!"
The frustration was agonizing.
It was the worst kind of mystery, a mystery where the only logical conclusion had just been thoroughly, definitively disproven by empirical evidence.
If he wasn’t her brother, then why did she feel so incredibly safe around him? Why did he look at her with that identical, adoring, older-sibling pride? Why had he shattered an illusion just to blow snot-bubbles onto her apron and beg her not to leave him?
The math wasn’t mathing.
The plot was entirely broken.
Unless...
Lin Feng actually went and did something brass behind their father’s back!
And the realization that she was going to have to spend the next six months traveling the continent with this walking, talking paradox, completely unable to demand answers because she was not sure whether he genuinely didn’t know them himself or not, pushed Ji’an completely over the edge.