But that's not necessarily the case, because the evolution of language can be fast or slow. Sometimes a single upheaval can change the official language, while at other times, even after several dynasties, people's accents barely change, making it hard to judge anything by accent alone—besides, people in ancient times also spoke with all sorts of regional accents; it's not like everyone spoke the "official language" of their era.

The family waiting room wasn't very big. That man, perhaps realizing that being too close might risk an indecent exposure incident, moved two meters away from Dylan Foster, leaning casually against the wall: "Little demon, your bloodline is pure, your family background is deep—what are you doing mixing in with humans?"

One sitting, one standing—the long-haired man had to lower his head slightly when he spoke, a few loose strands of hair falling over his shoulders. His voice was gentle and soft, looking down from above with an almost doting air.

"What do you mean by that?" Dylan Foster bit his e-cigarette, thinking warily, "Are these demons nowadays so depraved that they try to seduce people right off the bat?"

Dylan Foster: "Am I supposed to be asking you, or are you asking me?"

The "demon" seemed to have a pretty good temper, not offended at all. He thought seriously for a moment, then answered, "I don't remember."

Dylan Foster asked, "You don't remember who you are? Is 'Gavin Carter' your real name or a fake one?"

The "demon" shook his head again, looking innocent: "I don't know. It feels familiar, so I borrowed it for now."

"Where did you come from?"

"Underground."

"Underground?" Dylan Foster couldn't tell if this was meant literally or if it was some kind of special reference, so he pressed further, "What do you mean by 'underground'?"

"In a thin coffin underground," the man who called himself Gavin Carter explained patiently, "I suppose my family was poor when I was alive."

Dylan Foster frowned, took a deep drag of his e-cigarette, and for the first time felt like he'd hit a "knowledge blind spot."

The two of them were talking at cross purposes, almost as if they were speaking different languages, each having to guess at the other's meaning. Communication was a real struggle. Dylan Foster felt that, if he wasn't mistaken, this guy was saying he was an old ghost, dead for who knows how many years, judging by his accent.

But in broad daylight, he could run, jump, and breathe, not only casting a long shadow on the ground, but also with a head of hair so thick it was almost miraculous.

What on earth was this?

Gavin Carter stared curiously at his e-cigarette for a while, then kindly reminded him, "It's poisonous."

"I know, the ads say so." Dylan Foster muttered, and with a flick of his hand, the scorched coin flew back into his palm. He seemed lost in thought, idly flipping the coin, tossing it out and catching it again and again.

"So you're saying you were buried in a coffin underground—since you were already laid to rest, why get up in the middle? It's not like eternal sleep comes with bathroom breaks, right?"

He spoke a bit quickly, so Gavin Carter might not have understood. He leaned in slightly, his gaze especially focused, as if there was no one else in the world but the person before him.

Dylan Foster's fingers instinctively curled—a moment ago, his troublesome ring had started heating up again, probably because of the connection between his fingers and his heart, making his heart skip a beat.

He quickly cleared his throat: "I'm asking, what are you here for?"

That one he understood. Gavin Carter replied, "I was forcibly awakened by someone."

"Who? Why did they wake you up?"

"That person was raving, speaking in an accent I'd never heard before. I wasn't fully conscious at the time... I don't really understand." Gavin Carter seemed a bit helpless. "I happened to run into those friends outside. I was in disarray, not fit to show myself, so I just followed them in secret for a while. Unexpectedly, a tree demon started causing trouble. I saw that they didn't notice anything, so I imitated their appearance, conjured up some clothes, and led them into the cave."

Dylan Foster: "You could understand what they were saying?"

"Not really, but there were clues. If I listened carefully for a while, I could guess some of it. I was afraid of saying too much and making mistakes, so I just copied their tone and said things I could guess the meaning of. Luckily, it was all so chaotic at the time that I didn't give myself away. But that magical device," Gavin Carter pointed at the TV, "the people inside speak clearly, and every sentence has subtitles. Is it for children to learn to read?"

"You can read simplified characters?"

"Oh, simplified characters," Gavin Carter repeated the term with great interest, mimicking Dylan Foster's pronunciation and tone exactly, his learning ability astonishing. As he spoke, he glanced at the TV hanging on the wall. "Some are missing strokes, some look like cursive script, but also seem to be written in regular script. It's quite interesting. Reading word by word is a bit of a stretch, but with people and scenes, I can guess about half the meaning."

Standing there, he exuded a gentle, jade-like aura that made people instinctively feel goodwill toward him.

"Just woke up, still groggy, and got an earful of gibberish—not a word made sense. Crawled out of a coffin, still wearing a grass skirt made of leaves, and immediately jumped in to save people. What kind of living Lei Feng is this?" Dylan Foster thought, "I actually believe him, damn it."

The backup that Little Thompson called for arrived and knocked on the door outside: "Director Foster, what's going on?"