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It seemed impossible. How could such a miracle happen? Even identical twins had their slight differences! Yet, here was this man claiming their daughter had died over twenty years ago. What was the meaning of this?

Turning, she looked at Lin Xian, expecting some logical explanation from her usually resourceful senior. However, Lin Xian was unusually silent, his expression grave.

Unlike Chu An Qing, Lin Xian’s silence stemmed not from shock but from deep contemplation. This wasn’t his first encounter with such a bizarre situation. A year ago, he was taken aback by the uncanny resemblance between Chu An Qing and CC. Since then, despite his best efforts, he hadn’t uncovered any explanation for their similarity.

But today’s revelation added another layer to the mystery. The middle-aged couple’s daughter, affectionately nicknamed Qian Qian, also bore an exact likeness to Chu An Qing! To Lin Xian, this was no longer a mere coincidence. One instance was surprising, two was puzzling, but three? There had to be a deeper, significant mystery.

“May I… may I see a photo of your daughter?” Lin Xian asked, breaking the heavy silence.

The question seemed to reopen fresh wounds. The elderly woman, barely composed, burst into tears anew. The intersection, crowded with New Year revelers, felt even more constricted as nearby police officers began to manage the growing crowd.

The husband, a middle-aged man wearing glasses, sighed deeply. Shaking his head, he responded to Lin Xian’s request, “I’m sorry. To spare my wife further grief, I destroyed all our photos of her… hoping it might ease her pain. But, sadly, it didn’t help; she eventually had a mental breakdown.”

“I’m really sorry. Our daughter passed away over twenty years ago. I don’t wish to dredge up the past anymore. Sorry, sorry…”

After apologizing again, he gently guided his sobbing wife through the dispersing crowd.

As the commotion subsided, the pedestrian light turned green. The bustling intersection resumed its lively pace, with people continuing their New Year celebrations.

“Lin Xian,” a voice called out from Lin Xian’s Bluetooth earpiece. It was VV. “I found some information about the elderly couple. Find a way to distract Chu An Qing so we can discuss it.”

Lin Xian nodded slightly, then turned to Chu An Qing. “Are you okay? Did that upset you?”

Chu An Qing shook her head, her expression still somewhat dazed. “No… not really. It was shocking at first, but then I saw the old lady meant no harm. She’s probably just overwhelmed by her loss, still grieving after all these years.”

She then looked up thoughtfully. “But is it really possible for two unrelated people to look exactly alike? Even with twins, there are differences. But this tear mole… it’s usually a skin condition, not genetic. To have it in exactly the same spot… it’s too…”

Her voice trailed off as a realization dawned on her, and she looked at Lin Xian. “Lin Xian, didn’t you once say you had a—”

She gasped and abruptly stopped, remembering what Senior Tang Xin and Gao Yang had mentioned—that no high school classmate of Lin Xian resembled her. Gao Yang, who had known Lin Xian all his life, was certain of it.

So, the girl in Lin Xian’s sketch couldn’t be a high school classmate resembling her; given the timeline, Qian Qian had died twenty years ago and had never met Lin Xian. Bringing up that supposed classmate would only embarrass Lin Xian.

“What is it?” Lin Xian asked, curious.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Chu An Qing quickly dismissed, shaking her head energetically, her ponytail swaying. “Senior! We only have one day off today; let’s not waste it here! How about we go shopping instead?”

Chu An Qing seemed as flustered as ever, spinning in her thoughts like a disoriented bird.

“Let’s grab a drink first,” Lin Xian suggested, pointing to a crowded bubble tea shop across the street. “I heard their grape tea is really good. Let’s try it. The food at the space training center is great, but it’s too healthy. We need some sugary junk to balance it out.”

“Hehe, sure!” she agreed cheerfully.

They entered the shop, scanned their phones to place their orders, and took a seat at a small table to wait for their drinks. Lin Xian figured they would have about ten minutes.

“I need to use the restroom. Wait here for the drinks, okay? Don’t wander off. I’ll come back for you.”

“Okay, Senior,” Chu An Qing responded with a smile. “Don’t get lost! I don’t want to go looking for you!”

“Don’t worry,” Lin Xian chuckled. “I’ll definitely find you.”

As Lin Xian left the bubble tea shop, his expression turned serious again.

“VV.”

“I’m here,” VV’s voice responded through the earpiece, ready to relay the information.

“The elderly man’s name is Zhang Shi, 68 years old, from Qufu, Shandong. The woman’s name is Yan Qin, also from Qufu, and she’s 65. Both were born and raised in Qufu, where they married and had children…”

“In 1980, they had a daughter named Zhang Yu Qian. According to limited records, she died in a car accident in January 2000. The details are sketchy, but Zhang Shi mentioned that it wasn’t caused by another party; it happened because Yan Qin, Yu Qian’s mother, was driving while fatigued, lost control, and crashed into a tree…”

“That’s all I could find. Around 2000, X Country’s internet was still undeveloped, particularly in government offices, which relied heavily on paper records. Digital documentation was scarce, so many details have been lost unless preserved in old paper archives.”

“The couple never had more children. Yan Qin developed severe mental issues, and to seek better psychiatric care, Zhang Shi sold all their assets in Qufu and moved to the capital. Zhang Shi was quite wealthy; owning a car in 2000 was a status symbol.”

“They’ve lived here for over a decade, leading a quiet life until today’s chance encounter. It’s a small world, but finding someone with such an identical appearance is incredibly rare.”

“Do you have a photo of Zhang Yu Qian?” Lin Xian inquired, knowing the importance of visual evidence.

VV’s response highlighted the technological limitations of the time. In 2000, the internet was in its infancy, and digital archiving was uncommon. Most people used film cameras, and their photos were developed and stored in physical albums.

Even with VV’s extensive capabilities, accessing Zhang Yu Qian’s family album was impossible, especially since Zhang Shi had destroyed all reminders of her.

Thus, the internet provided both a shield and a gateway: it offered security but also allowed easy access to old memories. However, the early 2000s were a different era, marked by minimal internet use and the absence of social media. Personal computers and internet cafes only began to proliferate after the year 2000.

Lin Xian remembered his elementary school days when Gao Yang would always ask about his online social space:

“Did you visit Myspace?”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Don’t just browse!”

“Isn’t my avatar cool?”

Given the reliance on paper archives at that time, VV faced challenges in gathering more information. Seeing a photo of Zhang Yu Qian would be ideal, but if not, Lin Xian considered visiting Qufu to check physical records after the current mission.

“I have a black-and-white photo from her first ID,” VV finally said.

Before 2004, X Country used first-generation IDs, which were simple plastic cards with no advanced features and included only a black-and-white photo.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Beep beep—

Lin Xian’s phone vibrated as VV sent over the ID photo of Zhang Yu Qian.

“Hiss…”

Despite the photo’s low resolution and black-and-white format, the smile, the eyes, the familiar features—it was unmistakably Chu An Qing!

“Click.”

Lin Xian clicked his tongue, put down his phone, and stared into the distance, deep in thought.

“This is incredible. Three Chu An Qings… thankfully, they’re from different times, or they’d form a perfect triangle mystery.”

“What do you think, VV?” Lin Xian asked, seeking the AI’s perspective.

“Well…” VV paused before responding. “In my view, this isn’t a significant issue. To be blunt, it’s just that the girls look similar. We don’t have a clear, colored photo of Zhang Yu Qian to compare precisely, so declaring them identical isn’t rigorous.”

“And your dream girl, CC… over 600 years, three identical girls isn’t impossible. Even in 2023, there are many unrelated people who look nearly identical.”

“Remember, I’m being precise. Human vision often blurs things, creating illusions. What looks the same may not be. What looks different may not be.”

“The best way to confirm if two people are truly identical is through scientific DNA testing!”

VV continued, “You noticed CC in your dream looked like Chu An Qing, but dreams can’t provide physical samples for DNA comparison.”

“But now, this is a great opportunity! Both Chu An Qing and Zhang Yu Qian existed in the real world. You can obtain Zhang Yu Qian’s DNA and compare it with Chu An Qing’s to see if they are truly identical!”

The AI’s reasoning was sound. Visually identical features, even a tear mole, might not be definitive. DNA would be the ultimate proof. Even if they were exact copies in appearance, different DNA would mean they were biologically distinct.

But…

“Zhang Yu Qian is dead,” Lin Xian stated flatly.

“She died over twenty years ago. The man said he got rid of all her belongings. How am I supposed to get her DNA?”

“Exhume the grave,” VV suggested decisively.

“What?” Lin Xian’s eyebrow twitched.

“Lin Xian, X Country started enforcing cremation in 1999, but it wasn’t strictly implemented until years later. Given Zhang Yu Qian’s death date, she was likely buried, not cremated. After twenty years, her bones should still be intact for DNA comparison.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Lin Xian halted, standing at the restroom door, interrupting VV’s explanation.

“Are you telling a horror story? Exhuming graves isn’t something normal people do! People shouldn’t—”

“You don’t need to fear bones,” VV explained calmly. “It’s possible she was cremated. The lack of records doesn’t mean she wasn’t. Many crematoriums have closed or reorganized, so missing records are common.”

“So, it might not be as bad as you think. Maybe you’ll find ashes instead of bones.”

Lin Xian was speechless. The gap between AI logic and human reasoning was stark.

“It’s not about bones or ashes, VV,” Lin Xian spoke softly. “Besides, we don’t need Zhang Yu Qian’s DNA. We can use her parents’. If Chu An Qing’s DNA matches Zhang Yu Qian’s, we can compare it with the parents’ to confirm a maternal link. It’s less direct but still valid.”

“Not rigorous enough,” VV countered. “Chu An Qing’s lack of relation to the parents doesn’t rule out a connection to Zhang Yu Qian. Given the supernatural phenomena around you, our approach should be broad. What if Zhang Yu Qian was adopted? Or if Chu An Qing was?”

Lin Xian hadn’t considered this angle.

Thinking about their appearances, he mused, “They don’t look exactly alike; it’s subjective. Saying An Qing was adopted is far-fetched. Genetic inheritance is complex, and children often don’t resemble parents exactly. But I agree with your approach. Considering the many supernatural occurrences, we need a rigorous method: DNA comparison between An Qing and Zhang Yu Qian.”

“Exactly!” VV’s tone grew excited. “So, Lin Xian! Grab a spade, get Gao Yang, and let’s exhume Zhang Yu Qian’s grave!”