A second personality was naturally out of the question. After giving it some thought, Zhao Xiaoxiang boldly hypothesized that she might have taken the blame for Zhao Cheng.
The black aura from three days ago had clearly been aimed at Zhao Cheng. When it failed to deal with him, it picked her instead—the soft persimmon, easy to squeeze.
As for why she had come up with this hypothesis, she clearly remembered that three days ago, her mind had distinctly blanked out for a moment. At the time, she had thought it was normal, but now that she was tracing the result back to its cause, this seemed like the likeliest possibility.
Still, she was not worried in the slightest.
A long time ago, she had developed the impression that Zhao Cheng was practically omnipotent. There was nothing he could not do. She firmly believed that he would resolve this matter before long and take her home.
Of course, she knew perfectly well that no one in the world was truly omnipotent. But knowing was one thing; when it came to this, she was blind—blindly worshipful.
As for the voice she was hearing, it naturally belonged to the original owner of this body.
She had an excellent memory and still remembered what she had dreamed before waking.
In this world, her current identity was also Zhao Xiaoxiang: fifteen years old, a student, and a national idol.
There were also Father Zhao, Mother Zhao, and Zhao Cheng in greater detail, but they were all somewhat different. Starting from Zhao Cheng's grandfather's generation, the Zhao Family had diverged by just a tiny little bit.
In the real world, Zhao Cheng's grandfather had been an ordinary man. The Zhao Family had no Sword Saint grandfather or Sword Master father; their rise had depended on