Chapter 15: This Doesn’t Make Sense, What Now

“I’m also called Song Yeqing. I’m from Huaguo, Nan Province, in the year 2022,” she said, then gave the location of one of her properties in the provincial capital, Nan City, as her address, and followed up with a string of ID numbers.

She shared some basic information but didn’t tell him what she did for a living. Since she couldn’t practice cultivation anymore, what was the point of mentioning it? To reminisce about past glory?

Besides, if an ordinary person found out her identity, most would get curious about the whole Xuanmen world, maybe even dig into the roots of it all. After all, that world was quite mysterious to the average person.

She didn’t want to complicate things. A quick resolution was better. In her mind, this felt like a census registration.

Although her official household registration was at the old Song family residence, the address she gave him was indeed the place she had lived in the most in Nan Province.

“Oh, so you’re also from the modern era! What a coincidence—I’m from Nan City too. My real name is He Yanxin. Before I crossed over, I was a student at South University.”

He Yanxin took a moment to process Song Yeqing’s information and then also shared some of his own basic background.

Naturally, he also gave an address where he lived alone. Who knew if they could ever return to the modern world—he wasn’t about to put his family at risk.

One lived in a quiet villa district on the outskirts, the other in a bustling city-center high-rise.

No wonder they never ran into each other, despite living in the same city.

“It is quite the coincidence.” Song Yeqing paused, deciding not to reveal her theories about their transmigration just yet.

He Yanxin exhaled, seemingly letting his guard down, his face relaxing into a smile. His body eased, though he still didn’t move closer.

“There’s a French restaurant that opened near your place last year. Their bouillabaisse and tiramisu are pretty good.”

After saying this, He Yanxin smiled and looked at her, waiting for a reaction.

Song Yeqing: …

Song Yeqing was embarrassed.

She didn’t like Western food, so she’d never paid attention to whether there were new Western restaurants nearby, let alone what dishes were good. She truly had no idea.

And even though she’d stayed in that apartment for longer than any other place, she still only spent one or two months there per year due to frequent work travel.

“I don’t like Western food, so I never noticed the restaurant you mentioned.”

“Oh, no problem. I don’t like it either,” He Yanxin changed his tune casually, as if he didn’t really care about her answer. But he didn’t follow up.

He really didn’t like it; he’d only been there once—because a client who lived in that villa district picked the place. But as a dessert lover, he did think the tiramisu was quite good.

The atmosphere stalled. Both seemed to be silently bracing themselves.

He Yanxin stuck to his principle of “if the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move,” calmly waiting it out. It was a negotiation tactic he often used with business partners—at times like this, it was all about patience.

Song Yeqing genuinely didn’t know what to say next.

Should she pull out her ID to show him? Absolutely not. Until she could be sure he was trustworthy, she couldn’t expose the fact that she had a spatial dimension.

Still, she wasn’t in a rush. What was a little patience?

Lying in wait for days to catch ghosts was normal for her.

She wasn’t afraid at all.

Both of them were endurance experts, so although the atmosphere was a bit awkward, they were each fairly at ease.

Song Yeqing’s patience was impressive, but in this sort of negotiation-like setting, she was no match for the smooth and composed He Yanxin.

He noticed her gaze starting to drift and her fingers occasionally twitching. He smiled to himself.

Tsk. Why act so deep and serious at such a young age? It really made him think she was dangerous.

He had been confused at first, but he was slowly piecing things together.

He hadn’t seen clearly the face of the person who had saved him before he died, only vaguely knew she was a young woman. The ID number she gave just happened to confirm that.

Nineteen years old—same as Song Niangzi, just born in a different month. He even remembered that he and the original He Yanxin shared the same birthday, which squashed the wild theories popping up in his head.

Too much gaming, maybe? Thinking about past lives and reincarnations?

But would someone who risked her life to save him be a bad person?

Of course, there was also the chance she only saved him because it was her job. He Yanxin thought about those strange items in her possession.

His assumptions were off. He thought she was on the fifth level, but she was really on the tenth.

He had guessed all the way to “special agent,” and yet she turned out to be… what was the word again?

A Taoist priest from Mount Mao? Now that’s absurd.

He Yanxin had heard that some real estate developers would consult Feng Shui masters before starting construction, and he knew Feng Shui had some scientific principles.

His parents were practical businesspeople—staunch atheists. He had never encountered anything supernatural, so Xuanmen was a completely foreign concept to him.

Meeting Song Yeqing was his first experience with anything unscientific, but before he could even be properly shocked, he died and transmigrated.

Wonderful. Things got even less scientific.

Most of what he knew about this stuff came from novels, TV shows, and games.

It wasn’t that He Yanxin was wasting time reading novels—it was just that reading fantasy novels was practically a job requirement for a game company CEO.

The game his company was about to launch was based on a licensed novel, adapted from its story.

Not a Mount Mao priest? Then maybe a modern cultivator?

Either way, given that she was the one who saved him (even if neither of them survived), his wariness toward her dropped by half.

Not wanting to keep her waiting too long, he was about to break the silence.

Trust me, I’m a good guy too!

But just as he opened his mouth—

Creak—the main room’s door opened, and a round little head peeked inside.

“Mom, need paper.”

These past few days, Song Yeqing had been using tissues from her space for the two boys. They had gradually gotten used to the soft, snow-white tissue instead of rough grass paper.

Time for a bathroom break.

She stood up and told He Yanxin, “Stay here. Don’t come out.”

His carefully composed speech was cut off. He rubbed his nose. So mysterious?

“Okay.”

After handling the boys’ hygiene needs, Song Yeqing took out the trash bag from the waste bin and threw away the used tissues. She then placed the bag in a specially partitioned corner of her spatial dimension, reserved for waste.

Everything inside was neatly organized—no risk of contamination.

The tissues were biodegradable, so it wouldn’t have mattered much if she left them. But until she knew exactly what was going on, she wouldn’t leave behind anything that didn’t belong in this era.

She secretly dispensed a bit of hand soap, then took the boys to the well to wash up using the water she’d used earlier to rinse vegetables.

There were no hygiene slogans here, and nobody knew about bacteria or anything like that.

So when their hands were dirty, they just rinsed with water until there was no visible grime. Clean freaks might use soapberries or homemade lye soap.

She poured the soapy water into a bucket and returned it to her space, saving it for later to be treated with a waste processor.

Looking up at the sky, she realized it was already the hour of Si—a little past 9 a.m.

More than an hour had passed since breakfast, and those two still hadn’t finished their talk.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Qing-niang, it’s me,” came a soft voice from outside.

It was Granny Ge. Song Yeqing found it odd that her voice was so quiet today, but she still went to open the door.

“Granny.”

“Ah, where’s Yanxin?”

(End of Chapter)