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No matter the past or present life, ten years is such a long time.
How could Gu Qiaoqiao not recognize her grandfather's handwriting?
It was a handwritten manuscript.
The strokes were still somewhat immature.
Similar to her own when she was fifteen.
Gu Qiaoqiao's eyes blurred, her heart thudding as if someone was hammering away at it.
She felt weak and sat down on the floor.
Then she took a deep breath, pinched the inside of her thigh, and forced herself to calm down.
She glanced at the door, which was quiet now.
Gu Qiaoqiao lowered her head and began to read from the first page.
The characters were written vertically, making it somewhat difficult to read, but she eagerly devoured every word.
It was knowledge about gemstones, excerpted by her grandfather from other books.
It was comprehensive, and it even included diagrams of the gemstones.
One look at the diagrams and she knew they were drawn by her grandfather.