Twelve years ago, on an early morning when the sky had just begun to pale, the courtyard of the Jiang residence was filled with the clear chirping of birds, the air carrying a faint dampness. Housekeeper Aunt Li, her rheumatism flaring and her legs heavy, was unable to make the trip herself. Usually, she personally escorted Miss Xi to kindergarten, but that day she had no choice but to instruct the maid: "Today, please trouble yourself to take Xi to school."
It was supposed to be just another ordinary day.
But as the minutes ticked by, the maid never returned. By late morning, sunlight streamed into the empty courtyard, and unease slowly crept into Aunt Li's heart. The trip usually took no more than twenty minutes. This time, it stretched on endlessly.
As she paced anxiously through the house, the phone suddenly rang.
"Excuse me, why didn't Xi come to school today? Is she sick?" The kindergarten teacher's voice was tinged with confusion.
Aunt Li froze, her hand trembling so hard she nearly dropped the receiver. It felt as though something had torn open in her chest. Panic surged through her in an instant. She immediately dialed Madam Jiang, who was away on a business trip, stammering out the situation in fragments.
On the other end, there was a brief silence. Then came a cold, decisive order—"Call the police."
In that moment, Aunt Li's heart sank completely.
The truth was, she had already sensed something amiss. For days, the maid had been unsettled, her eyes often red-rimmed, more than once slipping out of Madam Jiang's room in tears.
Night fell, yet Xi had not returned. When Madam Jiang finally came home late, her face was etched with exhaustion and worry. Aunt Li asked nothing, for she already knew—a calamity had struck.
Soon, two police officers arrived. Aunt Li stood quietly to the side, listening intently, her heart pounding with dread. The maid's family, it turned out, was drowning in gambling debts. She had begged Madam Jiang for an advance in wages, and when refused, resentment twisted into malice—she had taken the young Miss away.
Hearing this, Aunt Li felt her heart splinter. Guilt and sorrow surged like a tide. From the day Xi was born, she had been the one to raise her. Madam Jiang was forever occupied with business, and Mr. Jiang, withdrawn in his studio, painted day and night. The child's laughter and tears, her every little moment, had fallen on the old housekeeper's shoulders.
She remembered vividly that sweet, sensible little face. How Xi would cling to her back, humming while she helped with chores. How at night, the small body would burrow into her arms, pleading for fairy tales until she drifted off to sleep to the sound of lullabies. That bond was deeper than blood, truer than family.
And now, the child she loved most had vanished—on the very day she had failed in her duty.
Days passed in torment. The Jiang family never received a ransom call. No demands for money. No clues at all. It was as if Xi had been erased from the world.
But Madam Jiang never gave up. She hired private investigators, called in favors, searched tirelessly day and night. She exhausted every possible means, but her daughter never came back.
Five years. A full five years.
Until one dusky evening, the phone rang again.
Aunt Li remembered it clearly. Madam Jiang gripped the receiver with trembling hands, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.
"Xi… is still alive."
Aunt Li froze in place, her breath caught in her throat.
But the next words struck her heart like a blow.
"Only… she already has a different name."