The moment the genealogy book appeared, the entire banquet hall fell silent.
The Ta family’s old genealogy was not something casually brought before outsiders.
It recorded marriages, bloodlines, inheritances, and every person officially recognized by the family.
The butler placed it before my mother with both hands.
Vu Doanh Doanh stared at the thick book, and for the first time that evening, the confidence disappeared from her face.
My mother did not open it immediately.
Instead, she looked at Doanh Doanh.
“You said my daughter has an unclear identity?”
Doanh Doanh froze.
Daughter?
A murmur swept through the room.
I leaned back in my chair.
Finally.
We had reached the interesting part.
My mother opened the genealogy book and turned several pages before stopping.
Her finger rested beside one name.
“Tham Tri Y.”
Then she looked around the banquet hall.
“She is my biological daughter.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Vu Doanh Doanh’s lips parted.
“But… her surname…”
“My wife’s surname is Tham,” my father said calmly from the main table.
“She spent most of her childhood with her maternal grandparents. When she was registered abroad, she continued using the Tham surname.”
His gaze became colder.
“That does not make her adopted.”
Someone in the crowd gasped.
Another guest whispered:
“So she’s Ta Van Tranh’s biological younger sister?”
My brother finally stood.
“Yes.”
One word.
It was enough.
Doanh Doanh’s face turned completely white.
Everything she had presented as evidence suddenly became ridiculous.
Why could I enter the Ta residence whenever I wanted?
Because it was my home.
Why could I stay in the family courtyard?
Because my room had been there since childhood.
Why was my brother connected to my trust account?
Because he was one of its trustees.
And the man she had accused me of “clinging to”…
was my biological brother.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
The pale yellow comments floated before my eyes again.
[She’s finished.]
[No. Look at the bracelet.]
[That’s the real problem.]
My smile slowly disappeared.
The bracelet.
I looked toward Doanh Doanh’s wrist.
Earlier, when someone complimented it, she had immediately hidden it beneath her sleeve.
At first, I had thought she was simply nervous.
Now I noticed something else.
A tiny jade bead hung from the bracelet.
My mother noticed it too.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Doanh Doanh instinctively covered her wrist.
“My mother gave it to me.”
Mrs. Vu stepped forward.
“Yes. It belonged to Doanh Doanh when she was little.”
My mother slowly rose.
“That is impossible.”
Mr. Vu frowned.
“What do you mean?”
My mother walked toward Doanh Doanh.
“That jade bead was carved from a unique piece of imperial-green jade owned by my mother.”
Doanh Doanh took a step backward.
My mother continued.
“Only three beads were made.”
She lifted her own bracelet.
One.
Then she looked at me.
I pulled a thin chain from beneath my collar.
The second bead rested against my neck.
The room became restless.
Someone asked quietly:
“Then where is the third?”
My mother answered without taking her eyes off Doanh Doanh.
“It disappeared eighteen years ago.”
Mrs. Vu’s expression changed.
Doanh Doanh suddenly laughed.
“Auntie, jade can look similar.”
“Not this one.”
My mother reached for the genealogy book again.
Inside its back cover was a small envelope.
She removed an old photograph.
Three jade beads lay beside a ruler.
Each contained a naturally occurring dark streak.
Together, those streaks formed a continuous pattern.
My bead matched the first.
My mother’s matched the second.
And the bead on Doanh Doanh’s bracelet…
matched the third.
Nobody spoke.
My brother’s expression hardened.
“Where did you get it?”
“I told you!”
Doanh Doanh’s voice became sharp.
“My mother gave it to me!”
Everyone turned toward Mrs. Vu.
She looked frightened now.
“That bracelet was among Doanh Doanh’s belongings when we found her.”
Found her.
The words immediately caught my attention.
Doanh Doanh had supposedly been separated from the Vu family as a child and had only recently been recognized and brought home.
That was why everyone excused her mistakes.
She had “suffered.”
She was “insecure.”
She “didn’t understand upper-class rules.”
But suddenly, the yellow comments exploded across my vision.
[Wrong.]
[The bracelet never belonged to her.]
[Ask about the fire.]
My fingers tightened around the teacup.
“What fire?”
Doanh Doanh stared at me.
“What?”
I wasn’t sure why I had asked.
The words had simply escaped.
But Mrs. Vu dropped her glass.
It shattered across the floor.
My brother immediately looked at her.
“What fire?”
Mrs. Vu’s face had lost all color.
Mr. Vu turned sharply toward his wife.
“You told me there was no fire.”
The atmosphere changed instantly.
This was no longer about a foolish accusation at an engagement banquet.
Something older was buried here.
Something dangerous.
Mrs. Vu bent down as if to pick up the broken glass.
My mother stopped her.
“Leave it.”
Then she looked at the butler.
“Bring the box.”
The butler hesitated.
My father nodded.
Minutes later, he returned carrying a small wooden case.
My mother opened it.
Inside was a newspaper clipping from eighteen years earlier.
The headline described a fire at a private maternity clinic.
Three infants had temporarily disappeared during the evacuation.
Two were quickly returned to their families.
The third case had never been publicly resolved.
My skin turned cold.
Because beneath the article was a photograph.
A nurse carrying two babies through smoke.
Around one infant’s wrist was a red string.
And attached to that string…
was the same jade bead Doanh Doanh was wearing.
Mrs. Vu suddenly shouted:
“Enough!”
Everyone turned.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Doanh Doanh stared at her in confusion.
“Mom?”
Mrs. Vu grabbed her hand.
“We’re leaving.”
My brother stepped between them and the door.
“No one leaves.”
“Van Tranh!”
“This concerns my family.”
His voice was colder than I had ever heard it.
Doanh Doanh finally lost control.
“What does any of this have to do with her?”
She pointed at me.
“She humiliated me!”
I laughed softly.
“You accused me of being my brother’s mistress.”
Her face twisted.
“You could have explained immediately!”
“I tried.”
I pushed the untouched teacup toward her.
“But you wanted evidence.”
I looked at the genealogy book.
“So I gave you evidence.”
Then I looked at her bracelet.
“Now I want the same.”
Doanh Doanh’s eyes filled with tears again.
But this time, nobody rushed forward to comfort her.
My mother suddenly spoke.
“Take off the bracelet.”
“No.”
“Doanh Doanh,” Mrs. Vu whispered urgently, “give it to her.”
“No!”
She backed away.
Her sleeve slipped upward.
And beneath the bracelet, I saw something.
A scar.
Small.
Crescent-shaped.
My mother stopped breathing.
The genealogy book slipped from her fingers.
My father caught her shoulder.
“Lenh Nghi?”
She did not answer.
She simply stared at Doanh Doanh’s wrist.
Then, very slowly, she turned toward me.
Her face had become frighteningly pale.
I had never seen my mother look at me that way.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She crossed the room, grabbed my left wrist, and pulled back my sleeve.
There was a nearly identical crescent-shaped scar.
Mine had been there for as long as I could remember.
My mother looked from my wrist…
to Doanh Doanh’s.
Then she whispered something that made even my brother freeze.
“That night at the clinic…”
Her voice trembled.
“There were two baby girls wearing those identification marks.”
I stared at her.
“Two?”
Before she could answer, the main doors suddenly opened.
An elderly woman entered with a lawyer beside her.
The moment Doanh Doanh saw her, the blood drained from her face.
The old woman looked directly at the jade bracelet.
Then at me.
Then at my mother.
“I suppose,” she said quietly, “after eighteen years, it is finally time to tell the Ta family which child was actually taken from that clinic.”
And suddenly, I understood.
The genealogy book had answered one question.
But it had just opened a far more terrifying one.
