Ch 213: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World

By the time Lu Yao left the palace, it was already past midnight.

She had a pass given by Her Majesty the Empress, so she passed through all the checkpoints without trouble.

Once back at the theater, the three of them returned the projection equipment to the storeroom and then went their separate ways to rest.

The next day, Lu Yao delivered the palace orders to Yan Zhi Pavilion.

The total volume of orders from the consorts in each palace was substantial. Even some young eunuchs and maidservants had placed their own small orders—mostly a few scattered lipsticks—but they added up to quite a bit.

Lu Yao discussed with Madam Xu about including a batch of new products using glass lipstick tubes the next time they delivered to the palace.

With the weather turning colder, Lu Yao also mentioned to Susu her idea of creating a multipurpose cream—one that would moisturize, prevent frostbite, and treat cracked skin. She planned to launch it alongside a new line of mirrors.

As for the planned makeup brushes, Lu Yao decided to postpone their release, since there weren’t yet enough complementary products for them.

She also worked with Madam Xu on a new marketing angle: they could now openly advertise the brand as “the lipsticks loved by the consorts of the imperial palace”—sure to catch attention and draw customers.

Returning to the theater, Lu Yao found that the master from the glassworks had arrived, bringing freshly fired glass tubes.

These were even clearer than the ones Jin and Lu had delivered earlier. Lu Yao couldn’t help chatting with the master about glassmaking techniques again, and handed him a new design for a glass bottle with a special engraved pattern—intended for packaging the multipurpose cream. She asked the glassworks to make a prototype.

After the master left, Zhao Guanghong came looking for Lu Yao.

He wanted to take a batch of lipsticks to sell in Jiangnan, along with a few crates of fruit-flavored soda and some movie merchandise.

Lu Yao considered it. The quantity wasn’t large. The Mid-Autumn Festival mooncake promotion had gone well, so she approved the shipment.

After handling all those tasks, Lu Yao called Dieqi up to the second-floor tearoom.

Business at the theater in Liangjing was booming—not just the film side, but other ventures were expanding too. She needed reliable staff to hold things down.

Take Yan Zhi Pavilion, for example. Susu and Madam Xu were already stretched thin. With new products on the way, they’d need more help for sure.

While assembly line workers could be hired easily, management-level staff needed to be trustworthy.

Lu Yao had been eyeing the “little number” agents for a while. Seven or eight of them had already appeared—clear signs they liked the theater, and thus ripe for recruitment.

She also considered the “radish heads” from Gouzi’s family as backup.

Lu Yao had already spoken with Gouzi. Come spring next year, the theater would take in two interns.

Gouzi was thrilled and reportedly already training the kids.

Now, sitting across from Dieqi, Lu Yao got straight to the point.

Dieqi froze for a moment before speaking. “When did you figure out who we are?”

Who slipped up? Kuba? Jinlu?

After thinking for a while, Dieqi started to get nervous. Was it her?

Lu Yao folded her arms and thought back. “Probably when Kuba showed up.”

The moment she met Kuba, Lu Yao had felt he wasn’t cut out for a normal job.

Then came a string of little digits, and finally Ye Xiao—it wasn’t hard to figure out.

Dieqi lowered her head—so they’d been exposed from the beginning.

Lu Yao narrowed her eyes, smiling just enough to be unsettling. “I don’t mind your reasons for coming to the theater. But now that most of my key positions are filled by your people, if you all suddenly left, I wouldn’t be able to function. Training replacements from scratch—who knows how long that would take. Qiqi, tell me—who do you think should be responsible for that loss?”

Dieqi: “…”

She knew it—the shopkeeper was not the harmless little thing she appeared to be.

Lu Yao saw her hesitation and soothed, “Don’t look at me like that. I really don’t care why you came. I imagine your real jobs carry quite a bit of risk. I just think—why not take this chance to switch professions? You’re all used to the theater by now anyway.”

Dieqi blinked, eyes widening slowly. “…Shopkeeper, do you mean… you actually want to hire us for real?”

Lu Yao nodded. “Qiqi really is sharp. Got it in one. Judging by the names, there’s probably a Xiao Er and Xiao Yi too? Bring them along—I don’t mind. You already know the pay and working conditions here.”

Dieqi said, “Shopkeeper, I can’t make this decision myself. May I write a letter back to the Pavilion? I might not have an answer for half a month.”

Lu Yao nodded kindly. “Take your time. No rush.”

After leaving the tearoom, Dieqi called all the digits into the washroom for a meeting.

Aside from Ye Xiao, the rest were shocked to hear their identities had been exposed.

After the surprise came serious contemplation of the shopkeeper’s offer.

Honestly, working at the theater, most of them had nearly forgotten they were originally assassins.

Dieqi’s reminder hit like a splash of cold water.

After much discussion, they wrote a letter and sent it back to Lingxiao Pavilion by express courier.

Half a month passed with no reply.

Worried something had gone wrong, they asked Lu Yao for permission to send Jinlu and Qiwu back to check on things.

Another half month passed, and the weather continued to grow colder.

The theater’s snack counter introduced new winter items—light, warming oden and steaming pearl milk tea.

In the past month, the theater added two more 3D screening rooms—now totaling three. Recent showings included the disaster film Escape from Doomsday, the thriller The Seventh Drop of Blood, the action anime Legend of the Demon Dragon, and the magical girl anime Dream of the Magical Girl.

The next drama to air after Seeking Immortals, the historical series The Crown Princess, had also dropped its first teaser.

On the second floor of the theater, next to the 3D projection rooms, another door now bore a sign: “Under Construction.”

The system couldn’t hold back any longer. It popped out and complained:
【It’s been a month, Shopkeeper! Are you just going to ignore the final mission now?】

Lu Yao was going over the budget—running the theater was getting more and more expensive. The deeper she crunched the numbers, the more her heart ached. Without looking up, she replied, “What’s the rush? Didn’t you say there’s no time limit?”

System:
【…Technically, yes. But if you keep dragging your feet, the mission won’t progress. Don’t you want to move on to the next world?】

Lu Yao shook her head. “I want to. But my wallet doesn’t.”

Her already thin wallet now felt like a frail old man, barely clinging to life and in no shape for stress.

System:
【……】

Actually, a lot had happened this past month. A fusion of illusion, magic, and technology—the full-hologram projection system—had finally become reality.

All that remained was final maintenance, and the first holographic screening room would be open to the public of the Great Wu.

As for the short drama script she’d submitted through the snack shop channel, production had long since started. The first six episodes were already filmed and edited.

It was a short series, twenty minutes per episode.

The full show would be released in three arcs, twelve episodes each, thirty-six in total.

Lu Yao planned to update two episodes at a time, every five days.

The series would premiere in the new holographic screening room.

That day, the post-production team handed over the official trailer for the premiere.

With both the holographic theater and the series ready to go, Lu Yao sought out Chang Ming and gave him a letter to deliver to the palace.

Chang Ming, too, was shocked that his identity had been exposed.

He had always kept a low profile at the theater, certain he hadn’t revealed anything—and had never imagined the shopkeeper had known all along.

But when Lu Yao mentioned “Chang Rong,” he understood.

Chang Ming and Chang Rong were both trusted confidants of the Emperor—unlike the publicly visible Chief Eunuch Qin.

They were not only the emperor’s trusted aides, but also his deathsworn.

The letter Lu Yao entrusted to Chang Ming appeared on the emperor’s desk within an hour.

Soon after, Lu Yao received a reply:

At hai hour (9–11 p.m.), the emperor will arrive in person.

—

By nightfall, the cinema had already closed.

A carriage emerged from the darkness and stopped beneath a tree at the street corner.

Moments later, the emperor, accompanied by Eunuch Chang Rong, crossed the stone-paved road and stopped at the theater’s entrance.

The emperor looked up at the glowing marquee:

“Lu Yao’s Interdimensional Cinema”—bold and brazen.

Chang Rong, seeing such a strange building for the first time, tilted his head back, mouth slightly open, at a complete loss for words.

Chang Ming came down from upstairs, bowed to the emperor, and said softly, “The shopkeeper is waiting upstairs for Your Majesty.”

The emperor stepped into the lobby. His gaze swept across the space, his expression unreadable.

Chang Rong, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking up at the ceiling—astonished by the chandelier overhead.

Though it was already deep into the night, the cinema was bright as day, lit by strange glowing orbs.

And not just the lighting—every piece of furniture and decor was unlike anything he’d seen before.

Chang Ming led the way upstairs.

Once there, Chang Rong was instantly drawn to the claw machine and vending machine in the lounge. He followed as they entered the projection area, constantly turning to look back.

They stopped at the door to the holographic screening room. Chang Ming turned to the emperor. “The shopkeeper is inside.”

Chang Rong stepped forward, but the emperor stopped him. “You two wait outside. I’ll go in alone.”

Chang Rong glanced at Chang Ming, who simply lowered his head without speaking.

The emperor pushed open the door and entered.

Inside was a sea of white—walls, floor, and ceiling all the same bright hue.

It was as bright as daylight, yet there were no chandeliers like those in the lobby.

The floor was empty—no chairs, no furnishings of any kind.

Lu Yao stood in the center of the room. Hearing footsteps, she turned. “Your Majesty, you’re here.”

The emperor’s brows were furrowed, his expression cold. “What is it you want me to see?”

Lu Yao walked toward him slowly. “A short drama soon to be screened here at the cinema. It’s called I Come from a Thousand Years Ago. Please, take a seat.”

She lightly tapped the floor with her foot, and two faint chair-shaped projections slowly emerged, materializing into solid seats in the empty room.

Before them, a light gray screen appeared, suspended in the air.

Lu Yao sat down first and gestured for the emperor to do the same. “In two days, this short drama and this screening room will open to the public. At that time, the chairs won’t appear out of thin air. You are the first viewer, and this is the room in its original form.”

The holographic screening room had a total of twenty seats, but only materialized them when the system was activated.

At this moment, Lu Yao had only activated two.

So with just the two of them seated, the space around them remained vast and empty.

If not for his second life, the emperor might have leapt up in alarm at the sight of chairs materializing from nothing.

But faced with such a scene, even he was momentarily stunned. He strode forward and sat beside Lu Yao.

On the right armrest of each chair was a button. Pressing it opened a drawer-like compartment containing a special pair of glasses.

These glasses—transparent from frame to lens—were required to watch holographic films. They felt almost weightless.

But they weren’t meant to enhance vision—they acted as conduits for multisensory immersion.

The emperor and Lu Yao both put them on. The screen before them lit up.

In the blink of an eye, they stood on an ancient battlefield strewn with corpses.

All around were nameless bones. Harsh winds whipped across the sand, stinging their skin. The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay.

The emperor froze, startled. He stood abruptly, looked down at his limbs, then tried moving. No restriction—he could move freely.

He heard distant fighting and walked toward it, finding a general in bloodstained armor locked in combat with enemy soldiers.

That general had already taken several arrows—his body drenched in blood.

Suddenly, an enemy soldier flanked him and drove a sword through his back.

Splurt—

The general dropped to one knee as blood spilled onto the sand.

The emperor raised a hand to his face. It was clean—no blood.

But his skin still felt warm, and the sharp tang of blood lingered in the air.

That sword struck a vital point. The general died.

Moments later, the wind picked up, slowly burying the body beneath the sand.

The emperor’s vision went black—and when light returned, he was still in the desert.

But this time, there were no corpses. The smell of blood had faded, leaving only the scent of dry sand.

Then a sand mound ahead stirred.

Poof— A figure burst from the ground—a man in ragged armor. The very same general.

The emperor’s body tensed. His heart raced.

How was he alive again?

Could he have gone through the same kind of experience?

He followed the man aimlessly through the desert, watching him collapse once more from exhaustion.

Then, a helicopter appeared in the sky—hovering like a kite, approaching the unconscious general.

The emperor stared, puzzled and amazed.

He thought of The Moon Landing, and though this was different, it wasn’t too far-fetched.

But unlike The Moon Landing, this was right in front of him—vivid, real.

Someone jumped from the flying machine and ran to the general.

The emperor watched as the general was lifted and carried inside.

Later, the general awoke in a hospital, surrounded by strangers.

After some effort, he learned the name of the current era—

And realized a thousand years had passed since the time he was born.

The emperor jolted in understanding.

So that’s why it was called I Come from a Thousand Years Ago.

When the general had first woken up, he spoke oddly, with a thick, unintelligible accent. He had no ID, no records, and was diagnosed as mentally impaired.

Unable to pay his bills, the hospital contacted a facility to take him in.

The general, knowing nothing, followed the white van that came to pick him up.

At the psychiatric hospital, he gradually realized something was wrong and found a way to escape.

What followed was a laughable, bizarre journey through the modern city.

The emperor gradually understood where the story was going. His initial suspicion faded, replaced by curiosity and awe as he saw the world through the general’s eyes.

The most remarkable part was how real everything felt—what the general ate, saw, smelled, and even felt emotionally, the viewer could experience too.

It was as if he himself had walked through the world of a thousand years into the future.

Eventually, after many setbacks, the general finally found a job that didn’t require ID.

He jumped up and down in joy, shouting with excitement, and went to report to work.

Bang!

A bright flash. The environment vanished.

The emperor looked down in a daze and slowly removed the glasses.

He hadn’t moved. He was still seated in the same chair.

Beside him, Lu Yao also removed her glasses and turned to him. “Your Majesty, that was episodes one and two of I Come from a Thousand Years Ago.”

The emperor looked at her, expression complex. “You…”

Lu Yao nodded. “It’s likely just as you’re thinking. I came here with the task of easing Your Majesty’s burdens. I didn’t explain before—because I didn’t know how to earn your trust.”

The emperor looked at her—eyes shifting, heart clearly shaken.

He remained silent for more than ten minutes before finally speaking.

“Even you,” he said, “cannot resolve the troubles that weigh on me.”

Lu Yao leaned in slightly. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk about it.”

The emperor wrestled with the words, torn and uncertain, unsure how to begin.

Lu Yao waited patiently, urging nothing.

After another long pause, the emperor suddenly noticed the number floating above Lu Yao’s head.

It had grown larger since he last saw her.

His expression shifted subtly. “That number above your head—where does it come from?”

Lu Yao was inwardly startled but kept her face calm. “So, Your Majesty can see it… which means you’re also aware of the number above your own head.”

The emperor, reassured, relaxed a little. So, she could see it too.

With that as a start, everything became easier to discuss.

He spoke vaguely at first, describing how he had suddenly acquired a set of strange memories—memories that allowed him to know what would happen in the next five years of the Great Wu dynasty: its fortunes, its pivotal events.

Among all of it, the matter that troubled him most was the question of the heir to the throne.

In the future he had seen, five years from now, he would pass the throne to the Eighth Prince.

The emperor believed the Eighth Prince, though still young, had the bearing of a ruler and the talent for governance. He simply needed time to mature.

The emperor had already been quietly paving the way for him. Loyal ministers had been instructed to guide and support him.

Yet lately, the emperor had been plagued by nightmares.

In his dreams, after the Eighth Prince ascended the throne, Princess Deyi harbored resentment and secretly plotted a coup.

The most terrifying part was: in the dream, she succeeded.

Because he saw, with unmistakable clarity, the new young emperor—the Eighth Prince—hanging lifeless from a beam in the Hall of Diligent Governance.

Lu Yao frowned. “You truly saw Princess Deyi planning a coup in your dream?”

The emperor thought carefully. The dreams had been fragmented, filled with unclear details.

But as dreams often go, while specifics were hazy, the overall picture was unmistakable: Deyi, leading an army through the Vermilion Bird Gate, forcing the Eighth Prince to his death.

Lu Yao lowered her gaze and reached into her pocket, pulling out the Key of Time and Space. She turned to the emperor.

“Then how about we go take a look—at that future you’ve dreamed of?”

The emperor’s eyes widened.

Lu Yao said no more. She tossed the Key of Time and Space into the air. Threads of white light unraveled from its key-like shape, stretching out before her—each one connecting to a different future… or perhaps, a different past.

Those strands were lined with bead-like nodes, each carved with fine writing.

Every bead represented a decision powerful enough to change the course of the world. Different choices would lead to different futures.

But among all the threads tied to the Great Wu dynasty, every single one branched into countless possibilities, each leading the dynasty down a different path.

And yet—no matter the line, they all converged at one single bead.

That bead was inscribed with the word:

Extinction.

The emperor saw the threads and beads as well.

He understood those nodes better than anyone—many represented his own choices. Even though the order and reason for each event varied across timelines, the decisions he had made in both this life and the last could all be traced.

Suddenly, the emperor understood something.

“So… is it Heaven’s will for the Great Wu dynasty to perish?”

Lu Yao didn’t notice the shift in his expression. She pointed at one thread. “Is it this one?”

The emperor looked up, comparing it to the others. At last, he nodded. “Yes, that’s the one. But what does it matter now? Whether Deyi exists or not… Great Wu still—”

Lu Yao grabbed the thread firmly and said, “How can it not matter? Have you seen the words ‘cinema’ on any of these threads?”

The emperor froze.

Indeed—not a single thread mentioned cinema.

Lu Yao held out her hand. “Then perhaps… this is a new thread. But before anything else, we need to go look clearly at what you’ve never fully seen—Deyi. Perhaps we can still find a way to save it all.”

The emperor took her hand. Guided by the thread that had haunted his thoughts, they arrived—seven years in the future.

At this point, the Eighth Prince had been emperor for two years.

The capital seemed calm. But Deyi was nowhere to be found in her princess residence.

That night, an army suddenly appeared outside the city and launched a fierce assault on the gates.

Lu Yao and the emperor stood as if watching a holographic film—present, unseen, able to observe every detail.

Torches multiplied, revealing the full scale of the attacking forces.

The emperor’s face darkened. “Northern barbarians… and the western Jiguo. They’ve allied.”

Liangjing was under siege.

Only after the enemies breached the city did the people wake from their dreams—many perished the moment they opened their eyes.

The city was thrown into chaos—then, Deyi appeared.

She wore silver armor, sword in hand, and rode a white horse through the enemy ranks, flanked by an elite guard. She struck with shocking precision—unexpectedly beheading the enemy commander in a single charge.

Lu Yao and the emperor were both stunned.

Lu Yao had never seen a woman wield a sword with such power—her presence was overwhelming, like a force of nature.

The emperor looked utterly dazed.

The enemy general’s head rolled to the ground, blood spraying everywhere.

But the 200,000-strong army had already poured into the capital. Even without a leader, they ravaged everything in their path.

Deyi and her loyalists fought as they retreated, holding their ground all the way to the Vermilion Bird Gate.

This was exactly what the emperor had seen in his dreams—Deyi’s army breaching the gates.

The imperial guards arrived late and were powerless against the chaos.

Of Deyi’s followers, only the blind maid Hongyu remained.

Deyi wore her silver armor, and Hongyu—recognizing her by touch—had followed her loyally.

But in the chaos, with blood everywhere, identities were blurred.

Hongyu was seized by a rebel and stripped of her clothes—seconds from being assaulted.

Deyi rushed in to save her, taking a blade to the back.

A ring of rebels surrounded the two women, laughing crudely.

Hongyu pulled twin daggers from her boots and killed two of them, before having her neck snapped—lifeless in an instant.

Deyi drew her soft sword, fighting with all she had left. Covered in wounds, she finally collapsed in a pool of blood.

Lu Yao couldn’t hold back—she rushed toward Deyi, even though no one here could see her.

She knelt beside the fallen princess, heart shaken.

The emperor stood far off, unable—unworthy—to approach.

With Deyi gone, the guards scattered. The rebels stormed into the inner palace.

Lu Yao stood up, her voice hoarse. “Come. Let’s see how the Eighth Prince met his end.”

The prince had already ordered the women of the inner palace to escape.

In the Hall of Diligent Governance, the young emperor was accompanied only by a single attendant.

He stood by the window, face full of regret.

“Father once said—every official may be used, but never get too close to Deyi. Deyi… Oh Deyi, both he and I were blind…”

The rebels broke in. The young emperor had already poisoned himself.

Liangjing fell.

The emperor’s remaining sons each raised armies, claiming they would reclaim the capital—but infighting consumed them all.

Within five years, the Great Wu dynasty was gone.

As it turned out, the assault on the capital had been incited by the second and fifth princes—furious that the Eighth Prince had taken the throne. In secret, they conspired with outsiders, exploiting the rift between the new emperor and Deyi to disrupt palace intelligence.

By the time Deyi received word, it was too late.

She’d been under house arrest in the princess’s residence, unable to see the emperor. With no other way, she tried to stop the invasion herself.

But one person’s strength… was not enough.

The emperor fell into silence.

Lu Yao stood by, giving him space to gather himself—until she suddenly felt something was wrong.

The thread in her hand was fading—the light growing fainter.

The Key of Time and Space was running out of power.

Lu Yao walked over and grabbed the emperor. “Come on—we need to get back.”

The emperor was still in a daze when she let go of his arm.

The white thread vanished.

Lu Yao immediately tried to call for the system—unsurprisingly, there was no response.

And without the system, she couldn’t access her personal inventory, nor retrieve any of the items stored inside.

Lu Yao froze. Without the thread to guide them… were they stuck here?

This was bad. Very bad.

The emperor, seemingly crushed by the truth he had just witnessed, still stood in a daze. In that moment, he looked like an utterly useless old man.

Lu Yao imagined spending the rest of her life in this timeline with the emperor by her side—and she still had over seventy thousand years left to live…

Suffocating.

It was absolutely suffocating.

She tried casting magic—but spells related to time and space traversal? Only Harold on the entire continent of Alexandria could use those.

She started patting her pockets again, wondering if there was anything useful left on her.

Suddenly, she paused—then slowly drew her hand out.

…How was this still in her pocket?

Resting in her palm was the tiny lotus-shaped earring that A had once given her. Lu Yao didn’t believe it was a coincidence.

She clearly remembered storing the earring in her personal inventory, along with the rest of her tools.

But how was she supposed to use it?

Lu Yao held it up, examining it closely, trying to find a trigger or hidden mechanism. But no matter how long she fiddled with it, it just grew warm in her hand—nothing happened.

The emperor had returned to his senses at some point. He frowned at her for a while before casually saying, “Since it’s an earring… why not try wearing it?”

Lu Yao blinked. “You think I should… wear it?”

The emperor: “Do you have any better ideas?”

Lu Yao sighed and pinched her earlobe.

She did have a piercing—just one, on the left.

She carefully put the tiny lotus earring on.

A single golden thread drifted down from the sky.

Lu Yao reached up and grabbed it—and in the blink of an eye, she was back in the holographic screening room.

Ye Xiao was leaning against the doorway, holding the other end of the thread.

Lu Yao ignored everything else and walked straight toward him. “You—”

Ye Xiao seemed to be quietly studying her. The corners of his lips lifted slightly, voice low and soft: “It suits you.”

Lu Yao paused. “???”

Ye Xiao tilted his chin a little, indicating her ear.

Lu Yao raised her hand and felt the small lotus. Her lips pressed together.

There was something oddly delicate about this moment. It didn’t feel right to say anything at all.

Ye Xiao continued, “You shouldn’t take it off.”

Lu Yao: “Oh.”

Ye Xiao: “I’m out of time.”

Lu Yao: “…Then, see you next time.”

From that night on, Ye Xiao disappeared.

He left behind a letter for the rest of the Lingxiao Pavilion members, simply saying he had gone traveling.

Only Lu Yao knew—he wasn’t coming back to the cinema.

The emperor, having experienced that journey through time and space—and having witnessed Deyi, the Eighth Prince, and the fall of his empire—seemed utterly exhausted.

Before leaving, the emperor asked, “Thank you, Lu Yao. Is there anything you desire? Anything I have is yours.”

Lu Yao blurted out, “Then please grant the cinema a plaque inscribed with your own hand.”

—

The next day after returning, Lu Yao found two bones in her personal inventory. “When did I get these?”

The system muttered, sulking,

“You had them on you when you came back with the emperor last night.”

Lu Yao was surprised. “So those bones were hidden in that world? What about the quest? Did it count?”

System:

【Not completed yet.】

Lu Yao frowned. “I thought that trip would help the emperor see clearly. Why’s this so complicated?”

The system had no idea either.

That afternoon, the cinema received a delivery from the palace.

Changrong arrived with two squads of imperial guards, beating drums all the way to the cinema—drawing a crowd of onlookers from the entire street.

The plaque bore four characters, written in the emperor’s own hand:

望远知新 – Look to the distance, learn what is new.

As Lu Yao lifted the red silk covering the plaque, a bone fell out and hit the ground.

【Mission complete: Relieve the emperor’s worries. Congratulations, Shopkeeper. You’ve earned the trust of the emperor of Great Wu. You may now proceed to the next world!】

Lu Yao didn’t even have time to react: !!!

She called for Kuba and Wen Jian to help hang the plaque right in the center of the main hall—it would definitely attract curious guests.

While the staff and customers bustled around to take a look, Lu Yao slipped into the break room.

The moment she sat down, she felt a faint warmth from her coat pocket. Reaching in, she found—

A long-missing clue slip. On it, only two words:

Childhood.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️