[GL Mystery] Lost Tracks - Chapter 4

Dingdang sat in front of the computer screen, carefully reviewing the entire conversation twice. On the third time, she and Ximo listened to Gu Yue’s words again.

Dingdang spoke first, “Her team leader and a client went missing together, yet she’s too calm. But her story doesn’t seem to have any obvious issues.”

“Check her call records again, after we called her,” Ximo said slowly, after thinking for a long time.

Dingdang immediately made a call to have it checked.

When she sat back down, Ximo, as if already knowing the answer, asked, “She didn’t contact Wang Jie, did she?”

Dingdang was shocked.

“How did you know?”

“You’re right—she’s too calm. This morning, when I saw her out, I checked her car’s fuel gauge and mileage. The tank was full, which could mean she just filled it, but the mileage was odd—only a bit over a hundred kilometers, clearly a new car, barely driven. Lying about this alone doesn’t prove she’s directly tied to Xiyan’s disappearance. But you just said she didn’t contact Wang Jie after we called her—that’s suspicious. She told me she couldn’t reach anyone, then dialed Wang Jie’s number in front of me, meaning she already knew it was disconnected. This shows they’re likely in it together. Make Wang Jie disappear, pin it all on her, and she walks away clean. Too cunning!”

“Now that we’re sure Gu Yue is involved in Xiyan’s disappearance, it’s easier. I’ll arrange for someone to follow her, dig into her background, and check on Wang Jie,” Dingdang said, then left after saying goodbye to Ximo.

Before going, she told Ximo to wait for her news at home, rest well, as the past few days were exhausting, and to take care of herself.

She’d notify her immediately with any updates.

Ximo gave a faint smile, assuring her she’d look after herself.

After seeing Dingdang off, Ximo returned to the bedroom, staring at Gu Yue’s video on the screen, feeling unspeakable anger and confusion.

If this person kidnapped her sister, what was the motive? No matter the reason, Ximo wouldn’t let her off easily.

She closed the video and opened photos of Xiyan’s travels on the computer. She couldn’t help thinking: these years, her own presence was absent from Xiyan’s journeys. Looking at Xiyan’s solitary figure in the photos, she suddenly felt Xiyan was so far away. If she had stayed by her side, this wouldn’t have happened.

At that moment, Ximo truly regretted it.

She hugged herself, trembling, her eyes stinging with tears.

Before university, Ximo never left Xiyan’s side.

They ate, went to school, and slept together. When Xiyan was little, she was terrified of thunderstorms, clinging tightly to Ximo, burying her head in her chest to feel safe.

At some point, Xiyan stopped fearing thunder, joking that as long as her sister was there, she wasn’t afraid of anything.

Ximo loved Xiyan depending on her, loved those stormy nights when they slept in each other’s arms. In their little house, just the two of them, it felt warm and secure.

Though their parents were gone, Ximo never felt lonely or burdened.

Xiyan often said, “Sister, even if you get married, I’ll stick to you every day.” Ximo would silently reply in her heart, “I’ll stay with you forever.”

She promised to be by her side forever, so why didn’t she keep it? Ximo blamed herself deeply for not protecting her sister.

Two days weren’t long, but for Ximo, they were tormenting.

During that time, Gu Yue contacted her, saying the documents were sent.

Ximo checked her computer and found only standard travel procedure files, with no useful clues.

Dingdang didn’t contact her during those two days.

On the third day, Dingdang finally appeared. Ximo knew she must have found something, or she wouldn’t show up without calling.

Seeing Ximo, Dingdang, without a word, pulled her to sit down. Too eager, she choked on her own saliva. Ximo quickly poured her a glass of water. After a while, Dingdang caught her breath.

“These two days, I’ve been following Gu Yue. She goes to her company on time daily, occasionally visits the club, nothing unusual. My family’s detective agency checked her assets. In town, she only owns a three-story house, no other properties, and her bank account has a few million. Her company isn’t big, dealing in average foreign trade with modest annual transactions. The club’s profits are hard to trace since it’s not commercial—fees are managed by members voluntarily.”

Dingdang paused, then continued:

“Since your meeting, Gu Yue’s been very cautious. We monitored her calls—mostly business, with even fewer club contacts than before, as if avoiding our attention. As for Wang Jie, her club registration details are fake. The only confirmed thing is her photo. We privately contacted an insider who manages club member files nationwide, paying them to keep quiet about our contact. According to this insider, Wang Jie rarely appears at the club; Gu Yue contacts her directly. Some members, handled only by Gu Yue, have no contact info shared with others. In recent years, the insider said, members—mostly women, some not from town—go missing annually. Observant staff noticed this. Initially, people were concerned and asked Gu Yue indirectly. She claimed they didn’t vanish but quit mid-project, saying police would’ve investigated if they were missing. But the insider didn’t buy it—quitting members are recorded in the system, and leaders report to headquarters. As the file manager, he checked and found no quit records for those rumored missing. He kept this quiet and wouldn’t have spoken if we hadn’t approached him. I gave the police his recording about the club’s disappearances. They’ll coordinate with other stations to investigate. This organization isn’t simple.”

Dingdang finished, looking at Ximo with worry.

The club’s issues suggested Xiyan was likely kidnapped by an illicit group, possibly in grave danger, as past missing members never reappeared.

Dingdang didn’t voice this pessimism, but Ximo, being sharp, could see it.

Ximo listened, silent for a while, torn between fear and analyzing Dingdang’s words—likely both. She knew panic wouldn’t help; she had to focus on finding her sister.

“Come with me,” Ximo said, leading Dingdang upstairs.

Over the past two days, she did something: after receiving Gu Yue’s email, she replied with questions.

When Gu Yue opened it, a Trojan program embedded in her computer, monitoring it 24/7.

Any activity—emails, chats—would be sent to Ximo’s inbox.

Opening the computer, Dingdang saw Xiyan’s travel photos, clearly viewed recently by Ximo.

Looking at her childhood friend’s pictures, Dingdang’s eyes welled up.

Seeing Dingdang lag behind, Ximo looked back with concern.

Unable to hold back, Dingdang’s shoulders trembled, and she leaned on Ximo, tears streaming.

Ximo patted her shoulder as Dingdang, overwhelmed by days of worry for Xiyan, sobbed loudly.

Dingdang was only a year older than Xiyan but started school a year later, so they were in the same grade, though different classes. Ximo was a grade above.

Dingdang’s home was close—just across a street, a five- or six-minute walk—so the three grew up together, especially close after the sisters’ parents passed.

Dingdang’s family cared for the sisters, inviting them over for holidays.

In Dingdang’s eyes, Ximo was always mature.

Her father often praised Ximo’s beauty, intelligence, politeness, and care for her sister, treating Dingdang like a sibling too, making him see Ximo as exceptional in both appearance and character.

Xiyan was lively, adorable, and equally sensible, so Dingdang’s parents loved both sisters.

Dingdang and Xiyan’s studies were guided by Ximo, whose grades were outstanding. If not for Xiyan, Ximo might have skipped grades, but she feared early university would separate them.

Ximo got into a top city high school but stayed in town for her young sister, though she was only fifteen herself.

Dingdang envied Xiyan’s devoted sister.

Though she had no siblings, being close to them felt like having two sisters, which made her content.

Xiyan wasn’t always easy to handle—her innocence made her too trusting.

Once, buying soda, she nearly got lured away by a vendor.

Dingdang arrived in time, almost fighting the vendor. After that, Ximo stayed even closer to Xiyan, training in martial arts with Dingdang for years to protect her sister.

Dingdang laughed, “Don’t worry, I’m here. No one will touch a hair on either of you.”

Looking at Ximo’s slender frame, Dingdang saw a rare stubbornness and strength in her eyes, admiring her deeply.

Without Xiyan, Ximo might have been a carefree young woman, maybe in love.

But her life revolved around Xiyan.

Xiyan cared for Ximo too, knowing how to look after her. When Ximo was unwell, Xiyan would stay by her side, refusing school, tending to her with care, her eyes full of concern.

Dingdang would handle their schoolwork, taking notes for missed classes. For Ximo’s higher-grade work, she’d get others to organize it.

Watching the sisters’ bond, Dingdang sometimes felt they weren’t just sisters but like devoted lovers—then laughed at her own silly thoughts.

To her, Xiyan was a real sister, Ximo a real older sister.

Dingdang straightened, taking a tissue from Ximo to wipe her tears, giving a bitter smile. “Am I totally useless? You’re hurting more, and I’m making you comfort me.”

“Don’t say that. We’re good sisters. I know you’re hurting as much as I am. But now’s not the time to be sad—there’s too much to do. Come, let’s check Gu Yue’s computer for suspicious info from these two days.”

Ximo pulled Dingdang from her sadness. Glancing deeply at Xiyan’s photo, her lips pursed slightly, she closed it and opened the monitoring data.

They focused on the screen. Gu Yue’s sent and received messages were scattered and numerous, so Ximo printed them out. They divided the work to sift through, hoping for a clue about Xiyan’s whereabouts.

Over two hours later, Dingdang shouted, “Ximo, come look!”

On a printed email from Gu Yue, sent around 3 a.m. last night, it read, “WJ broke the rules, escaped with 021101.”

The reply was, “All k’d.”

Clearly, “k” meant “kill.”

Both instantly thought WJ was Wang Jie.

The code 0211 was the town’s area code, so 01 likely referred to the only local project participant—Mu Xiyan!