Jiu’er had never cared about such things.

Fame and fortune meant nothing to her.

The only thing she cared about was one person—

“Qiaoqiao, my phone’s broken. Would you mind looking up some information for me right now?”

“Your credit got stolen from you and you’re still thinking about something else right now? What… what do you need to look up?”

That was just how Qiaoqiao was—she’d complain the whole time, but whatever Jiu’er asked her to do, she would always do it.

Qiaoqiao pulled out her phone and opened the browser.

“Look up a country called the Beimu Kingdom, from history.”

“What Beimu Kingdom in history?” Qiaoqiao glanced at her. “Did you hit your head so hard when you fainted that you scrambled your brain?”

But that couldn’t be right! If her brain had really been scrambled, how could she have saved the Lu family’s young master?

Still, Jiu’er’s grades, though better than Qiaoqiao’s, had always only been average.

So how had her medical skill suddenly become this extraordinary?

If it weren’t Jiu’er—if Qiaoqiao didn’t trust her unconditionally in everything—she probably wouldn’t have believed it either: that someone even Dr. Li and Director Wang together couldn’t save, Jiu’er had somehow pulled back from the brink.

No wonder everyone outside preferred to believe the credit belonged to Dr. Li.

Even Qiaoqiao couldn’t understand how Jiu’er had come to possess such astonishing medical skill.

Could it be that after their Jiu’er took that fall, her brain had finally switched on?

Was this what they meant by hidden potential being unlocked?

Qiaoqiao glanced at her again, only to find Zhen Jiu’er staring at her with a deadly serious expression.

That look… goodness, it was a little frightening!

Qiaoqiao straightened her spine at once and matched the seriousness. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll look it up right away!”

As for the Beimu Kingdom—historically, no such country had ever existed.

Qiaoqiao had already scrolled through more than a dozen pages of search results, and still found nothing.

“There is one in a novel, though…”

“What novel? What’s it called?”

“Here, see for yourself.” Qiaoqiao held the phone screen out to her. “Is this the one—Beimu?” (displaying a similarly written but different name)

Zhen Jiu’er snatched the phone from her and scanned through it quickly.

Beimu—no, that wasn’t right, this wasn’t the right Beimu at all!

She kept scrolling, another ten, twenty pages—still nothing.

“No. I need a computer.”

Jiu’er got up from the bed at once and dashed out in her hospital slippers.

“Jiu’er… hey! Wait for me, you’re not fully recovered yet, be careful, don’t fall—”

Sure enough, Qiaoqiao’s jinxed words proved true once again in an instant.

Jiu’er, striding quickly ahead, not only tripped and fell but crashed straight into a man seated in a wheelchair.

Around the man stood several burly men in black suits.

The moment Jiu’er fell into his arms, several hands shot out at once, grabbing at her work uniform, ready to yank her up and throw her aside.

Their speed was like lightning.

But Jiu’er’s speed was faster still.

She spun around in an instant and struck a palm strike straight at the first hand reaching for her.

The burly man let out a muffled grunt and was knocked staggering backward by her single blow.

The other two men’s hands closed around her arms, trying roughly to haul her up.

Zhen Jiu’er’s reflexes were astonishing—both palms struck out at once, left and right, and the two tall, broad-shouldered bodyguards were both sent stumbling back two full steps.

Not far off, a tall, slender figure was rushing forward to intervene.

But then, the man seated in the wheelchair raised his hand slightly.

Everyone froze at once, withdrawing their hands, and called out respectfully in unison: “Young Master Jiu.”

Young Master Jiu?

It was only then that Zhen Jiu’er realized half her body was pressed against the man’s legs.

She turned her head and looked up—and in that instant, her gaze plunged straight into two eyes as deep and bottomless as an abyss…