Qin Yi’s expression was strange, and her gaze at Zhou Nian was even stranger—a mixture of pity, reluctance, and a barely suppressed excitement, as if she were about to share some juicy gossip. 

Under Zhou Nian’s bewildered gaze, Qin Yi stammered, “Um, Xiao Nian, we have a guest… a friend of your father’s. It’s the first time your dad’s brought a friend home, so you should be nice to them…” 

Friend? 

Zhou Nian’s mind worked quickly. He immediately realized this friend was almost certainly female, meaning his father had brought a girlfriend home, and she’d stayed until eight o’clock at night! 

This was strange. When did his father get a girlfriend? Why bring her home directly? Even if he wanted to introduce her, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to do so in a formal setting outside the house? 

Zhou Nian was suspicious of this sudden girlfriend, but considering his father’s newfound romance was good news, he felt Qin Yi’s warning was somewhat unnecessary. 

With a sigh of relief, Zhou Nian relaxed, changing his shoes as he said, “Are they waiting for me? Why didn’t they call?” 

Qin Yi stood beside him, hesitant, her face shifting like a kaleidoscope. 

Unaware, Zhou Nian was curious about his father’s girlfriend. He tossed his schoolbag onto the cabinet, and in slippers, he “pat-pat-patted” inside, “Dad, I’m home.” 

The house wasn’t as he’d imagined. He’d thought the guest would still be there, waiting for him to meet properly. But the spacious living room was empty. His greeting went unanswered. 

Instinctively, Zhou Nian headed towards the dining room, stopping short. 

A woman was sitting at the table. Zhou Nian guessed she was around his age—girls tend to mature earlier, so it was hard to say if she was older or younger. But his first impression was that she was younger, probably a rebellious teenager. 

She was wearing a slip dress, barefoot, casually eating takeout and drinking soda in someone else’s house. She certainly didn’t look like a mature adult. 

Zhou Nian understood. 

No wonder Qin Yi had been so hesitant. His father had found a single mother with a child. 

My God, he was going to have a sister! 

Tao Xin was inherently restless. At four or five years old, she enjoyed thrilling activities like skiing and surfing. On family trips abroad, she preferred wild landscapes like mountains, grasslands, and forests to sightseeing. 

Mountaineering was her forte. At sixteen, after graduating high school, she completed the Annapurna Circuit trek in Nepal with full gear. Her guide constantly praised her, even learning a Chinese phrase: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” 

The praise made Tao Xin overconfident, losing her respect for nature. She never imagined she’d have an accident on a wild mountain in China. Even noticing the danger, she couldn’t escape the sudden change in weather and the unpredictable mountain. 

When the mudslide came, Tao Xin was slightly afraid, but only slightly. She believed she wasn’t so unlucky, even thinking that after being rescued, she would marry her boyfriend, spend more time with her parents, and send a belated wedding gift to her estranged older brother. 

The probability of encountering a mudslide in one’s lifetime is extremely low, and surviving one is even lower. Surviving a mudslide and waking up eighteen years later is practically impossible—a plot device in a novel. 

Yet, Tao Xin experienced it. 

Local police brought the “mentally unstable” Tao Xin to the station. Seeing her face, the chief found missing person reports from the 2002 mudslide and reported it to the “Time Rift Management Bureau.” 

The Time Rift Management Bureau was a state secret agency, officially the “Space-Time Rift Comprehensive Management Bureau.” Space-time rifts were the result of illegal experiments conducted secretly by a civilian organization around the millennium. When the special task force destroyed the criminal base, the experiment was already out of control, leading to multiple space-time rifts and disappearances across the province in the following years. These victims often reappeared five to eight years later. 

After the millennium, technology and the internet developed rapidly. If the space-time rift incident became public, it would cause social unrest and public anxiety, possibly with worse consequences. Therefore, the Space-Time Rift Comprehensive Management Bureau was established in 2006 to handle the aftermath of time rift victims. 

Tao Xin was the victim with the longest time gap and the most significant changes in social relationships. 

Eighteen years had completely changed the world for Tao Xin. Even though she was an adult, she lacked full civil capacity. The bureau provided psychological intervention and social training while searching for a suitable guardian to help her reintegrate into society. 

Initially, Zhou Tingzhi wasn’t considered. A boyfriend from eighteen years ago, dating for less than six months, wasn’t a suitable candidate. The director, Chen Ping, considered Tao Xin’s half-brother, Tao Shu Hua, the best choice. 

Tao Shu Hua was Tao Xin’s only direct blood relative; economically stable as a university professor, he wouldn’t cause a huge lifestyle change for Tao Xin; practically, twelve years older than Tao Xin, he was now over fifty, childless, and only had his wife for support. 

Chen Ping believed presenting Tao Xin as Tao Shu Hua’s distant cousin would be ideal. A cousin raised abroad, returning to China after her parents’ death, would provide Tao Xin with family support and Tao Shu Hua with companionship in his old age. 

But Chen Ping didn’t get a positive response from Tao Shu Hua. Chen Ping assumed the siblings had a close relationship, expecting Tao Shu Hua to be overjoyed to learn his missing sister was alive. He even brought nitroglycerin tablets for Tao Shu Hua. 

However, the phrase “half-brother” concealed much resentment. Tao Xin knew nothing, but Tao Shu Hua knew everything. Chen Ping’s attempts to appeal to his emotions completely angered Tao Shu Hua. 

Tao Shu Hua not only refused to be Tao Xin’s guardian but also refused to meet her. 

However, as siblings, before throwing Chen Ping out, Tao Shu Hua gave him Zhou Tingzhi’s contact information. 

Chen Ping later learned that Tao Xin’s parents had maintained contact with Zhou Tingzhi, who handled many matters after their deaths. 

Most importantly, Zhou Tingzhi was unmarried, had a clean relationship history, and was successful in his career. He only had one son, making him the most suitable guardian. 

The bureau unanimously approved the decision, obtaining the victim’s consent. At noon, Chen Ping contacted Zhou Tingzhi, explaining the situation and requesting a visit. 

Tao Shu Hua’s first reaction upon receiving the call was to ask if Tao Xin’s remains had been found—a common reaction from families of time rift victims. 

But Zhou Tingzhi only asked for the address, saying, “I’ll be right there.” He seemed unsurprised, as if expecting this day. 

After hanging up, Chen Ping found him extraordinary, capable of building a successful career. Simultaneously, he worried that the thirty-eight-year-old Zhou Tingzhi might overwhelm the Tao Xin from 2002. 

Worried, Chen Ping became overly cautious, repeatedly telling Tao Xin, “If you’re uncomfortable, tell me. Changing guardians is fine. Need help? Message me. Remember to video call the observer daily.” 

His good intentions became tiresome. Tao Xin agreed, asking when Zhou Tingzhi would arrive. 

Zhou Tingzhi arrived at the bureau at 2 PM, signing confidentiality agreements, understanding the details, and completing procedures. He finally met Tao Xin around 4 PM. 

It was strange. For Tao Xin, only about a month had passed since she last saw Zhou Tingzhi. She remembered him as a thin, handsome boy with short hair, fair skin, sunburnt cheeks, and a gentle demeanor. 

But Zhou Tingzhi seemed taller, wearing a shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up, his shoulders broad, his arms strong. His mere presence felt imposing and unfamiliar to Tao Xin. 

Tao Xin quickly adjusted her attitude, breaking the silence. She said to Zhou Tingzhi, who was staring intently at her, “Are you sick? Why are you wearing a mask?” 

“Not sick,” Zhou Tingzhi’s voice was hoarse, like rusty gears struggling to turn. His face was hidden behind a white medical mask. 

Tao Xin looked away, asking Chen Ping, “Director Chen, can we go now?”