Illegitimate daughter is a Hidden boss

Chapter Twelve: The Redacted Years

The orphanage was called “Hope Haven”. The name was a lie.

Gu Jue stood in front of the rusted gate at 2 AM. Rain dripped from his suit jacket. The building behind him was half-collapsed, windows boarded, paint peeling. It closed 5 years ago after a fire. Official report: “Electrical fault.”

“Records were burned,” his assistant said, holding an umbrella. “But I found the caretaker. She’s 80 now. Dementia. She remembers one thing.”

Gu Jue didn’t look at him. “What?”

“A girl with burned hands. Age 13. She arrived alone. No parents. No papers. She left after 3 years. No one knew where she went.”

Gu Jue’s fingers curled. “Burned hands.”

“Accident, she said. But her records from that time… also redacted.”

Gu Jue turned to the car. “Go to the city hospital archives. Physical copies. Not digital.”

At the same time, Xinyi stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She rolled up her left sleeve.

Three scars ran down her forearm. Thin, white, like lightning. Old burns. She touched them with two fingers. No pain. No memory. Only the knowledge that she got them at age 13.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number again. Not Gu Jue.

Found you, orphan. The Lin family knows about Hope Haven.

Xinyi deleted the message. Her expression didn’t change. She dressed, took her bag, and left the apartment. If the Lin family was digging, she needed to dig first.

Gu Jue’s car stopped in front of the city hospital at 3:30 AM. Security tried to stop him. One look from him and they stepped back.

The archives were in the basement. Dust. Metal shelves. One old clerk with glasses.

“Miss Lin Xinyi. Ages 12 to 15,” Gu Jue said. He placed the black card on the table. “Physical files.”

The clerk hesitated. Then nodded. He returned with a box. Inside: one folder. Her name on it.

Gu Jue opened it. First page: Admission record, age 12. Diagnosis: Malnutrition, stage 3. Second page: Surgical report, age 13. “Patient sustained thermal burns on left forearm and shoulder. Cause: house fire. No guardian present. Patient refused anesthesia.”

Gu Jue’s jaw tightened. Refused anesthesia. At 13.

He turned the page. Photo paperclip. He pulled it out.

A girl, age 13, sat on a hospital bed. Hair cut short with scissors. Eyes hollow. Left arm wrapped in bandages. Right hand held a book. She wasn’t crying. She was reading.

Gu Jue stared at the photo for a long time. His thumb brushed the edge of the paper. Not to damage it. To memorize it.

“Who signed the redaction order?” he asked, voice low.

The clerk checked the back. “City Elder Council. 5 years ago. Sealed by authority above hospital level.”

City Elder Council. That meant someone high. Someone who wanted 13-year-old Xinyi to disappear.

Gu Jue closed the folder. He took the photo. “This stays with me.”

Back at her apartment, Xinyi found her door ajar.

She didn’t run. She stepped inside. Her room had been searched. Mattress lifted. Books moved. Under her bed, a small metal box was gone. The box with her mother’s letter and one jade pendant.

Only the Lin family had her apartment key.

Her phone buzzed again. Same unknown number: We have what your mother left you. Come to the Lin villa alone, or we burn it.

Xinyi looked at the empty space under her bed. Then at her hands. The burn scars.

She didn’t text back. She didn’t call Gu Jue. She picked up her bag and walked out.

Gu Jue got the alert at 4 AM. “Sir, Miss Lin’s apartment was breached. Security cameras show Lin Chenyi entering 20 minutes ago.”

Gu Jue was already moving. He didn’t call her. He didn’t text. He drove.

The Lin villa was dark except for one light in Father Lin’s study. Gu Jue didn’t use the gate. He scaled the wall.

Through the window, he saw it: Father Lin held the jade pendant over a lighter flame. Chenyi filmed with her phone.

“Last chance, Xinyi,” Father Lin said into the camera. “Come home. Or your mother’s last thing burns.”

The door behind him opened. Xinyi walked in. No fear. No tears.

“Give it back,” she said. Voice flat.

Father Lin smiled. “Beg. Like you did when you were 10.”

Xinyi didn’t beg. She took one step forward. Then another.

Gu Jue watched from the shadows outside. His hand was on the window frame. He could break it in one move. But he waited. Because Xinyi hadn’t asked for help.

Xinyi stopped 2 meters from Father Lin. “If you burn it, you lose leverage. If you give it back, I’ll consider letting you live.”

Chenyi laughed. “You’re just a…”

The lighter clicked. Flame rose.

And Gu Jue moved.

Glass shattered. He was in the room in one second. His hand closed around Father Lin’s wrist. The lighter dropped. Gu Jue didn’t look at him. He looked at Xinyi.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. Only 3 words. But his voice had changed. Not cold. Not commanding. Human.

Xinyi shook her head once. Her eyes went to the jade pendant on the floor. Gu Jue picked it up and placed it in her palm without touching her fingers.

Father Lin: “Gu Jue! You can’t, this is family matter!”

Gu Jue turned. His gaze was empty. “Touch her again. I’ll erase the Lin name from City A.”

Silence. The kind that breaks bones.

Gu Jue took Xinyi’s arm. Not her wrist. Her arm. Above the sleeve. His thumb brushed the fabric, right where the burn scars were under it. He didn’t ask. He didn’t expose her. He just checked: she was real. She was here.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Xinyi didn’t pull away. She let him lead her out. As they passed the broken window, Gu Jue’s assistant arrived with security.

In the car, silence. The jade pendant was warm in Xinyi’s hand.

“You followed me,” she said finally.

“You were going to walk into fire alone,” Gu Jue replied. Eyes on road.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“No,” Gu Jue said. “I didn’t.”

He stopped at her building. This time, he got out. Walked her to the door. No car. No driver.

At the door, Xinyi looked at the pendant. Then at him. “You have my photo. Age 13.”

Gu Jue didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

“You won’t show anyone.” Not a question.

“No.” He met her eyes. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Xinyi flinched at “mine”. But she didn’t correct him. She took the key and unlocked the door.

Before she went inside, Gu Jue said: “The City Elder Council sealed your records. I’ll find who ordered it.”

Xinyi paused. “Why?”

Gu Jue: “Because someone tried to erase you. I don’t let people erase what belongs to me.”

He turned and left before she could answer.

Inside, Xinyi held the jade pendant to her chest. The photo Gu Jue took was of a girl who had nothing. The man outside was building an empire to make sure she never felt that way again.

She didn’t know if that was protection. Or possession.

Gu Jue kept the photo in his wallet. Not in a safe. In his wallet. Close to his heart. And he didn’t know why.