The twilight deepened.
Lights flickered on one by one in Hibiscus Manor.
Rong Yu stepped out of the car, strode through the gates, and headed straight indoors.
Old Master Ji sat by the bed, clutching a pencil sketch in his hand. His aged eyes were bloodshot, darting glances toward the doorway from time to time...
Finally, a figure entered.
This figure was far too young—not even twenty years old.
A thick wave of disappointment washed over the old man’s expression.
He let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
His mother had long passed away—seventy years ago. What was he deluding himself about?
In the end, dust returns to dust, and earth to earth. At seventy-eight, his days were numbered. Soon, his mother would come to take him home.
Rong Yu curved her lips into a smile.
She had thought it would be hard to accept her once-little boy now an old man.
But standing here, the natural bond between mother and child surged in her chest, overwhelming her with emotion.
All of it melted into a tender smile at the corners of her lips.
She spoke: "Yingbao."
Old Master Ji shuddered violently.
He straightened abruptly, barely containing his emotions. "W-what did you call me?"
This was his childhood nickname.
After his mother’s death in the car accident, no one in this world had ever called him that again.
"Yingbao." Rong Yu took step after step toward the bed. "It’s me, your mother."
Ji Shunying’s eyes widened.
What had he just heard?
Mother?
Whose mother?
An eighteen-year-old high school student—who could she possibly be the mother of?
His mind spun with questions.
Rong Yu had already reached the bedside and sat down. She picked up one of the pencil sketches. "Yingbao, do you remember what this dog was called?"
Old Master Ji snapped out of his daze, shifting his gaze with difficulty to the drawing of an adorable little dog.
Memories from over seventy years ago rushed back—his first pet, a dog he had never replaced after losing it.
"Forgotten?" Rong Yu said gently. "His name was Pinecone. When we first found him, he was covered in mud. You boiled water and bathed him yourself. The moment he was clean, he vanished. We searched and searched until we found him under a pine tree—that’s why you named him Pinecone. Do you remember how long he stayed with us?"
"Five months. Less than half a year." Old Master Ji’s voice was hoarse. "Someone stole him."
Rong Yu picked up the next sketch. "You might not remember this scene. It was your grandfather’s birthday, and many children came over. They took the bullet casing your father left you. You fought four of them alone... and lost. You sat on the ground, bawling, asking me, ‘Mom, why didn’t you give me more siblings? Then I’d have someone to help me fight...’"
Suddenly, tears streamed down her face.
She reached out, touching that weathered cheek. "If I’d known you’d be left alone in this world, I would have given you brothers and sisters, no matter what... Yingbao, after I left so early, you must have suffered so much alone..."
Old Master Ji’s tears burst forth uncontrollably.
He didn’t want to ask why.
He didn’t want to question how absurd this was.
All he knew was—his mother had returned.
"Mom!"
The old man threw himself into Rong Yu’s arms, weeping like a child.
Rong Yu wrapped her arms around him, patting his back gently. "It’s me. Mom’s back. I’ll never leave you alone again..."
Old Master Ji wailed.
Just like a little boy.
Ji Zhiyuan rubbed his eyes, then opened them again—but the scene remained unchanged.
His grandfather—Old Master Ji, founder of the Ji Group, a titan of the business world, the man who could make Haicheng tremble with a single step—was now sobbing in the arms of an eighteen-year-old high school student, calling her "Mom" over and over.
This was... unbelievable.
He turned abruptly and slammed the door shut.
This surreal sight was something he alone should witness.
Massaging his temples, he gulped down water, pacing back and forth in the room. But neither Rong Yu nor Old Master Ji paid him any attention.
Old Master Ji cried for a good twenty minutes.
Finally, he spoke, voice trembling. "Mom... what exactly happened?"
The word "Mom" made Ji Zhiyuan cover his face.
He simply couldn’t accept it—an eighty-year-old man calling a high schooler "Mom," and doing it so naturally.
Rong Yu replied softly, "That day, the car accident..."
The moment she mentioned "car accident," Ji Zhiyuan cut in sharply. "Miss Rong, the old master is sensitive to those words. Please mind your language—"
"Why are you still here?" Old Master Ji turned, frowning. "Don’t interrupt our reunion. Get out."
Ji Zhiyuan: "..."
He, too, wanted to know what the hell was going on.
Silently, he clamped his mouth shut.
"After the accident, I thought I was dead. But when I opened my eyes, I found myself seventy years in the future, in another person’s body." Rong Yu’s voice was calm. "I’m just glad we could meet again in this lifetime."
Ji Zhiyuan spoke slowly. "So you’re saying... a car accident turned you from the Ji family’s matriarch into Miss Rong?"
Rong Yu nodded. "In simple terms, yes."
"Don’t you think this lie is ridiculous, Miss Rong?" Ji Zhiyuan stood, his presence radiating intimidation. "Forget defying science—even if such a thing were possible, how could a few sketches prove you’re the Ji family’s late matriarch?"
Thud!
Old Master Ji slammed his hand on the bedside table.
His face darkened instantly, his aura overpowering Ji Zhiyuan’s. "This is your great-grandmother! How dare you speak to your elder like that!"
Ji Zhiyuan pressed his lips together. "She has no evidence—"
"Nonsense!" Old Master Ji was truly incensed. "A mother is a mother. What evidence is needed?"
His anger made his mouth tighten into a cold, hard line.
Ji Zhiyuan took a deep breath.
Who was being unreasonable here?
"Yingbao, why get upset over something so small?" Rong Yu smiled. "Zhiyuan isn’t the brightest, and he’s still young. There’s time to teach him."
Ji Zhiyuan nearly exploded.
Since childhood, he had been hailed as a genius, the center of attention wherever he went.
And now, a high school repeater was calling him "not bright"?
He prided himself on self-control, but right now, he wanted to flip the table.
Then he heard his grandfather—who had always taken pride in him—say, "He does seem a bit slow. Mom, how do you think we should teach him?"
Rong Yu looked at Ji Zhiyuan. "Call me ‘Great-Grandmother.’"
Ji Zhiyuan’s lips pressed into a thin line.
He believed in science. There was no way he’d entertain such absurdity.
"Stubborn. Just like you were as a child." Rong Yu sighed. "Someone not too bright probably can’t steer the Ji Group’s ship. Yingbao, do you really think he’s fit to be president?"
Fooled by Secretary Lan and her daughter—clearly lacking in brains.
Old Master Ji declared, "There are five grandsons in this generation. I’ll summon them all. Mom, you can personally choose the heir."
