The dough figurines on So-young's counter trembled—delicate, hand-shaped renditions of a woman in mourning white, her jade hairpin rendered in spun sugar. Before So-young could react, they collapsed into a fine, almond-scented powder.
"Arsenic".
Jeong's voice slithered from the air vents, colder than she'd ever heard it:
"Find the child."
Then—silence.
NEXT DAY
The velvet box arrived with the morning tea. Mother took one look at the jade hairpin inside—delicate plum blossoms carved into pale green stone—and her cup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the hardwood.
"That's Zhou Meixiu's pin." Her voice was a trembling. "She gave it to me at our wedding. Said it would bless our womb."
Father's chopsticks clattered against the table.
Dae-ho burst into the dining room, phone in hand. "That receptionist at Moon & Son—she sobbed when I gave her the apricot twists. Said Zhou adopted a kid back in—"
"1970." Grandfather's voice was hollow. "The year Meixiu's husband died in our fermentation vats."
A beat of silence. Then Uncle Min-woo snarled, flour still crusted on his knuckles: "Accident, my ass."
Jeong had retreated into the starter jar in the test kitchen. The usually placid mixture now bubbled violently, foam rising in sharp, deliberate strokes—forming Korean characters:
"동생을 찾아라."
(Find the younger sibling.)
Dae-ho squinted. "Is your magic yeast telling us to—"
"Li Na." So-young pressed her palm to the glass. Frost spread beneath her touch, revealing a faded photograph trapped inside—Zhou Meixiu, young and unsmiling, cradling a baby outside the White Jade Orphanage, its wrought-iron gates shaped like twisted dough braids.
Han Corporate Black Sedan – 3:17 PM
Uncle hacked into Moon & Son's database (using skills he "absolutely didn't learn from embezzlement") and froze at the screen.
"Li Na. Born 1970 to 'unknown parents.' Zhou listed as guardian after the '70 factory fire." He zoomed in on a scanned birth certificate. "This seal… it's from our old medical center."
Grandfather made a sound like a gutted animal.
White Jade Orphanage – 4:49 PM
Posing as volunteers, So-young and Dae-ho brought boxes of songpyeon. The children swarmed them—until a little girl tugged So-young's sleeve.
"You're the dough sister." She pointed to a half-scrubbed mural. Beneath the fresh paint peeked Seong-ho's smiling face, his hands shaping dumplings.
Dae-ho stiffened. "That's—"
"Hush." A voice like honey cut through the air.
Li Na emerged from the kitchen, her jade hairpin—identical to Zhou's—glinting in the light. She plucked a songpyeon from their box and took a slow, deliberate bite.
"I wondered when you'd come, little sister."
Li Na's office walls were a shrine to the past:
Seong-ho's handwritten recipes, preserved behind glass.
A 1970 newspaper headlining the Han factory fire.
A 1970 autopsy report: Choi Eun-ji, cause of death—arsenic poisoning, 8 months pregnant.
Seong-ho's last journal entry: "They're replacing my flour order with something lethal. If I'm gone, protect Eun-ji—" (rest burned).
A mold culture from their bakery—identical to the poison in Eun-ji's stomach.
"You." So-young's throat tightened. "You're his—"
"Zhou didn't adopt me out of kindness." Li Na's jade pin glinted. "She needed proof the Hans killed two generations."
"Zhou's revenge." Li Na stirred honey into tea, her smile razor-thin. "She took me after the fire that also killed my mother. Fed me stories like you were fed poison." She pushed forward a petri dish—their apricot twist samples, now blooming with the same black mold as Mother's miscarried son's autopsy report.
"But dough never lies, does it?"