You saved me. This, I’m giving to you, as a token of thanks.

This matching lock is a treasure passed down in my family. You must wear it carefully—remember, you mustn’t lose it.

Lose it, and it’s as if you’ve lost me.

Jiu’er.

Jiu’er…

Mu Mu!

Jiu’er’s eyes snapped open, her hand instinctively reaching for her own wrist.

Her wrist was empty—no chain, and certainly no matching lock.

She finally accepted the truth… this was a completely different era, a thousand years removed from the one they had known.

No matching lock, no Mu Mu, and even her Ninth Imperial Uncle’s whereabouts were unknown.

There was nothing left at all…

That night, while everyone gathered to discuss how to excavate the tomb within the tomb the next day, Jiu’er walked alone to the riverside, sitting quietly on the ground, watching the occasional ripples drifting across the water’s surface, lost in her own thoughts.

She didn’t know what she was thinking about—so absorbed that she didn’t even notice when someone came up behind her.

A tissue was held out in front of her.

Jiu’er startled, coming back to herself, and looked up to find Lu Beicheng, who had arrived at her side without her noticing.

A breeze blew past, cool against her face, and only then did Jiu’er realize her entire face was covered in tears.

So, without realizing it, she had been crying.

She took the tissue and wiped her tears away, but as she looked again at the calm water, her heart simply wouldn’t settle no matter what.

Meeting Mu Mu, coming to know him—it felt as if it had happened only yesterday. She could even remember clearly the faint, barely visible creases at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.

But the reality was, Mu Mu had already been gone for over a thousand years.

He lay there in that tomb within a tomb, long since turned into…

Jiu’er took a deep, forceful breath, not wanting to dwell on it, yet unable to stop herself.

Once she started, her heart ached, deeply.

When she couldn’t see her Ninth Imperial Uncle, she could still comfort herself—tell herself he must still be alive, that he must have crossed over into this era together with her.

But now, having seen Mu Mu’s mausoleum with her own eyes, she had no way to convince herself that her Ninth Imperial Uncle was still alive.

She couldn’t even manage to deceive herself.

Jiu’er had expected Lu Beicheng to ask something. In truth, her heart was already troubled enough that she didn’t want to say a single extra word right now.

But what she hadn’t expected was that Lu Beicheng handed her the entire pack of tissues, then had his wheelchair stop by the river, quietly watching the water himself.

He said nothing, asked nothing, made not even a single unnecessary movement.

Jiu’er suddenly felt a sense of relief. Her restless mood, because of his stillness, gradually settled.

She had to admit—beside Lu Beicheng, there was, surprisingly, a feeling of ease.

Even a faint sense of peace.

Just like being beside her Ninth Imperial Uncle.

Slowly, she leaned against Lu Beicheng’s wheelchair and closed her eyes.

Neither of them said a word, simply sitting quietly by the river.

One sat in the wheelchair, the other sat on the ground, leaning against it.

The wind blew gently past, lifting the strands of Zhen Jiu’er’s hair.

Strand by strand, drifting lightly upward—at this moment, it was beautiful beyond words.

Lu Beicheng’s gaze withdrew from the river’s surface. He lowered his head, looking at the girl leaning against the wheelchair, eyes closed, unsure whether she was lost in thought, resting, or still grieving.

The softness in his eyes—even he himself hadn’t noticed it.

From the very first time they’d met, he had felt that this girl gave him a strange sense.

Peace.

He had never felt this in anyone else.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Zhen Jiu’er suddenly murmured softly, “…Ninth Imperial Uncle.”