Zhen Jiu’er was still a bit dazed. After Qiaoqiao’s excitement had settled, her thoughts returned to what Ninth Master had just told her.

In the dream, that girl had called him Ninth Imperial Uncle.

And his memories before the age of eighteen were a complete blank. He had no idea how he had come into this world, nor what had happened to him before he turned eighteen.

Most importantly—why did he resemble the Ninth Imperial Uncle so closely?

Was she simply projecting her own thoughts into her dreams? Or was it that he truly was the Ninth Imperial Uncle, who had lost all memory of the past after arriving here?

And had she and the Ninth Imperial Uncle arrived in this world ten years apart?

Was that even possible?

Jiu’er’s brow furrowed tighter and tighter, feeling her mind grow more and more muddled. What was she even thinking about?

Could Lu Beicheng really be the Ninth Imperial Uncle?

Like her, his appearance and body had changed entirely, but perhaps his soul was still that of the Ninth Imperial Uncle?

Otherwise, how could he resemble him so much…

“Jiu’er, Jiu’er?” Qiaoqiao waved a hand in front of her face, but she still showed no reaction at all.

Finally, Qiaoqiao couldn’t help but give her a push.

“What?” Jiu’er jumped, startled, nearly sliding off her chair. “Qiaoqiao, why did you push me?”

“What were you thinking about? I’ve been calling your name for ages, couldn’t you hear me? What were you thinking about so intently? We haven’t seen each other in so long, don’t you miss me at all?”

Qiaoqiao pouted, her face full of resentment.

“I traveled all this way, went through so much trouble to follow the construction crew here, all for your sake—I was worried you’d be bullied by Ninth Master’s people while you were here alone…”

“Uh, that’s not what I meant. Actually, Ninth Master… should be a very, very good person.”

Having accepted his kindness, with Ninth Master having brought her father’s company back to life and given it a bright future, she supposed she ought to feel grateful toward him now.

Besides, Jiu’er seemed to be doing quite well here—no one had bullied her at all!

Seeing this, Qiaoqiao relaxed, then went right back to complaining. “Look at me, going through all this hardship for you, and you don’t even know to be grateful? You won’t even pay attention to me—how unfair is that!”

Zhen Jiu’er looked at her.

Qiao Mu’s face, Xiao Yingtao’s temperament—so familiar, so intimate.

She even knew exactly how to handle Qiaoqiao.

“My head hurts a little.”

Sure enough, with just that one sentence, all of Qiaoqiao’s complaints instantly turned into nervousness and concern.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Should we see a doctor? Wait, no, you’re a doctor yourself—can’t you just prescribe something for yourself? Or, should I take a look at you? Though my medical skills are pretty terrible…”

Jiu’er watched her rummage busily through her bag, and the smile in her eyes couldn’t help but rise, little by little.

It really was Xiao Yingtao’s soul—even her voice sounded more and more like her.

But her face, even her figure, belonged to Qiao Mu.

So then, this world, which looked like the twenty-first century but was completely different from her original twenty-first century—could it too hold all sorts of impossible, brand-new things?

Could Lu Beicheng really be the Ninth Imperial Uncle?

“Jiu’er, I have a bottle of medicated oil here. Wherever it hurts, let me rub it for you.” Qiaoqiao finally pulled something useful out of her bag.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Zhen Jiu’er took her hand. “Things haven’t been quite peaceful in the group lately. Sleep here with me tonight—don’t wander off on your own.”