Chapter 01
*
Yu Sen and I had fought every three days for half a century small arguments, big arguments, the kind of fights neighbors could probably hear through the walls.
We raised three kids, all grown now, but none of them could stand the chaos at home for long. One by one, they all moved away.
This divorce isn’t some impulsive tantrum of mine. I’ve thought it through.
But the people around us don’t understand. They say, "You’re nearly eighty. What’s the point in breaking up now? Just endure it."
I’d like to not divorce. But waiting for Yu Sen to die? That might take another fifteen or twenty years.
Look at my dreaded rival across the street, Madam Li Fen. Her husband died last month and now she’s practically glowing. Every time she passes by, her hands are full of shopping bags or travel brochures. Just yesterday she bragged she’s off to ride horses in Inner Mongolia. The smugness in her smile, it could kill.
Meanwhile, my husband still stomps around the apartment, cranky as ever. And recently, he’s been sending winks across the dance square to Madam Li’s group leader, like some washed-up Casanova.
But I never expected the universe to interfere in our marital warfare. The morning before our divorce papers were to be finalized, I woke up fifty years earlier back when we were in our twenties.
The bright pink ticket in my hand read: Yu Sen Private Fan Meeting. The hottest idol of the time.
I didn’t hesitate. I crumpled it and threw it straight into the trash.
This time around, I swore I would not be Yu Sen’s fan. I would be his worst critic, his number-one anti-fan.
This life, I wanted nothing to do with him.
"Yan Xing.... " A younger girl tugged my sleeve breathlessly. It was another fan, a senior from our online forum. "You dropped your ticket. Luckily I saw and rescued it for you."
I stared at her blankly. Didn’t I throw that away on purpose?
Before I could refuse, she dragged me into the venue. Inside the stadium, fans were screaming, banners glittered, and the smell of glowsticks filled the air. The crowd pushed forward for autographs.
Yu Sen stood at the center, radiant, no longer aloof. He smiled warmly at each fan, posed for hugs, selfies, even answered questions with patience.
I, however, only felt dread.
And just when my turn came, a different kind of voice whispered inside my head. It wasn’t spoken aloud. It was his inner voice.
"Check out these abs I’ve been working on. Eight-pack, baby."
"That old lady she still can’t resist me."
"Wait until I charm the hell out of her."
I froze.
I thought I was imagining things. Until Yu Sen took the photo from my hand, signed his scrawl across it in seconds, and looked me in the eye.
"I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before," he said smoothly, voice carrying over the speakers. Then he leaned in slightly, lips curved. "You get to make one request anything at all. A photo, a hug. It’s up to you."
Fans behind us screamed like fireworks exploding in unison.
Yu Sen winked at me.
And in my head....
"See that? If I hug her now, every woman in this audience will turn green with jealousy."
"I even drowned myself in cologne so she wouldn’t call me smelly again."
"If only I could show off the muscle definition up close eight abs, tight chest she’ll melt, guaranteed."
I smiled slowly. I wasn’t imagining it.
Yes. I could hear Yu Sen’s inner voice.
So he wanted to play games? Fine.
I tilted the microphone under my chin, shifted it toward him with a polite smile, and said sweetly, "Since you said I could ask a question..... I do have one. Just pure curiosity, you know?"
Yu Sen’s eyes glittered, lips charming. "Of course. Ask me anything."
I asked softly, full of innocence, "They say men with weak digestion often suffer from hemorrhoids. Have you ever had that problem?"
The microphone carried my words loud and clear across the entire venue.
The whole hall froze. Fans blinked left and right. A dozen cameras zoomed in.
My lips curled, wicked amusement spreading across my face.
Then came his thoughts, exploding inside my skull:
"Don’t get mad. Don’t get mad. Remember when she nursed me after that surgery? Three whole days, sleepless. She did care once."
"Wait.... oh my God! she’s here too. She… she also traveled back in time!"
"She’s pretending not to know me. She’s toying with me. She doesn’t want to marry me again."
You guessed right, Yu Sen. This time.... I am not marrying you.
Back in my first life, Yu Sen always said he fell for me at this meet-and-greet.
But what he never admitted was what followed. That same night, a deranged stalker in a black hoodie trailed him from the venue, clutching a small bottle of acid.
In my old timeline, I threw myself in front of Yu Sen at the last second. My arms and shoulders burned, scarred forever, and just like that, my career as a dancer was over.
Yes, he married me years later. Yes, he valued my sacrifice. But he would remind me constantly, as though repeating a mantra of reluctant gratitude:
"If you hadn’t shielded me then, I wouldn’t have married you. Not really."
Cold words that burrowed deep.
Now this time around I refused to play the martyr again.
That evening, as I scanned the crowd before leaving the hall, I spotted her: the stalker, black hoodie pulled tight over her head, lurking two rows back.
I leaned in toward Yu Sen briefly, lowering my voice. "Be careful tonight. Watch your back."
Then I strode out of the arena before he could respond. This time, my arms remained untouched.
And sure enough, the headlines came flooding in hours later;
Pop Idol Yu Sen Outsmarts Acid Attack. Heroically Rescues Himself
According to reports, when the stalker lunged, Yu Sen dodged, spun, and subdued her himself until security and police arrived. Cameras captured his swift moves; fans went wild, praising his reflexes and strength. Online chatter exploded: "So handsome. He should star in action films."
Meanwhile, my arms unscarred. My body, whole.
And for the first time since waking up in this younger body, I felt freedom.
I poured everything back into what I loved the stage. My instructors praised my technique. No longer weighed down by injury, I danced like wildfire through competitions and showcases.
One afternoon, the dean of my program at Tonghai Conservatory summoned me. "Yan Xing," he said, fingers steepled over a folder, "a representative from Youth Stage 101 requested our department nominate a candidate. Exposure could mean everything for traditional dance. You’d be the perfect choice."
Youth Stage 101. I froze. I remembered this competition show. A hundred female trainees, all vying to debut in a new girl group. It had been a cultural phenomenon.
In my first life, I had only watched it cheering at home with milk tea in hand. I even remembered who debuted.
But this time, I was stepping onto that stage myself.
We raised three kids, all grown now, but none of them could stand the chaos at home for long. One by one, they all moved away.
This divorce isn’t some impulsive tantrum of mine. I’ve thought it through.
But the people around us don’t understand. They say, "You’re nearly eighty. What’s the point in breaking up now? Just endure it."
I’d like to not divorce. But waiting for Yu Sen to die? That might take another fifteen or twenty years.
Look at my dreaded rival across the street, Madam Li Fen. Her husband died last month and now she’s practically glowing. Every time she passes by, her hands are full of shopping bags or travel brochures. Just yesterday she bragged she’s off to ride horses in Inner Mongolia. The smugness in her smile, it could kill.
Meanwhile, my husband still stomps around the apartment, cranky as ever. And recently, he’s been sending winks across the dance square to Madam Li’s group leader, like some washed-up Casanova.
But I never expected the universe to interfere in our marital warfare. The morning before our divorce papers were to be finalized, I woke up fifty years earlier back when we were in our twenties.
The bright pink ticket in my hand read: Yu Sen Private Fan Meeting. The hottest idol of the time.
I didn’t hesitate. I crumpled it and threw it straight into the trash.
This time around, I swore I would not be Yu Sen’s fan. I would be his worst critic, his number-one anti-fan.
This life, I wanted nothing to do with him.
"Yan Xing.... " A younger girl tugged my sleeve breathlessly. It was another fan, a senior from our online forum. "You dropped your ticket. Luckily I saw and rescued it for you."
I stared at her blankly. Didn’t I throw that away on purpose?
Before I could refuse, she dragged me into the venue. Inside the stadium, fans were screaming, banners glittered, and the smell of glowsticks filled the air. The crowd pushed forward for autographs.
Yu Sen stood at the center, radiant, no longer aloof. He smiled warmly at each fan, posed for hugs, selfies, even answered questions with patience.
I, however, only felt dread.
And just when my turn came, a different kind of voice whispered inside my head. It wasn’t spoken aloud. It was his inner voice.
"Check out these abs I’ve been working on. Eight-pack, baby."
"That old lady she still can’t resist me."
"Wait until I charm the hell out of her."
I froze.
I thought I was imagining things. Until Yu Sen took the photo from my hand, signed his scrawl across it in seconds, and looked me in the eye.
"I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before," he said smoothly, voice carrying over the speakers. Then he leaned in slightly, lips curved. "You get to make one request anything at all. A photo, a hug. It’s up to you."
Fans behind us screamed like fireworks exploding in unison.
Yu Sen winked at me.
And in my head....
"See that? If I hug her now, every woman in this audience will turn green with jealousy."
"I even drowned myself in cologne so she wouldn’t call me smelly again."
"If only I could show off the muscle definition up close eight abs, tight chest she’ll melt, guaranteed."
I smiled slowly. I wasn’t imagining it.
Yes. I could hear Yu Sen’s inner voice.
So he wanted to play games? Fine.
I tilted the microphone under my chin, shifted it toward him with a polite smile, and said sweetly, "Since you said I could ask a question..... I do have one. Just pure curiosity, you know?"
Yu Sen’s eyes glittered, lips charming. "Of course. Ask me anything."
I asked softly, full of innocence, "They say men with weak digestion often suffer from hemorrhoids. Have you ever had that problem?"
The microphone carried my words loud and clear across the entire venue.
The whole hall froze. Fans blinked left and right. A dozen cameras zoomed in.
My lips curled, wicked amusement spreading across my face.
Then came his thoughts, exploding inside my skull:
"Don’t get mad. Don’t get mad. Remember when she nursed me after that surgery? Three whole days, sleepless. She did care once."
"Wait.... oh my God! she’s here too. She… she also traveled back in time!"
"She’s pretending not to know me. She’s toying with me. She doesn’t want to marry me again."
You guessed right, Yu Sen. This time.... I am not marrying you.
Back in my first life, Yu Sen always said he fell for me at this meet-and-greet.
But what he never admitted was what followed. That same night, a deranged stalker in a black hoodie trailed him from the venue, clutching a small bottle of acid.
In my old timeline, I threw myself in front of Yu Sen at the last second. My arms and shoulders burned, scarred forever, and just like that, my career as a dancer was over.
Yes, he married me years later. Yes, he valued my sacrifice. But he would remind me constantly, as though repeating a mantra of reluctant gratitude:
"If you hadn’t shielded me then, I wouldn’t have married you. Not really."
Cold words that burrowed deep.
Now this time around I refused to play the martyr again.
That evening, as I scanned the crowd before leaving the hall, I spotted her: the stalker, black hoodie pulled tight over her head, lurking two rows back.
I leaned in toward Yu Sen briefly, lowering my voice. "Be careful tonight. Watch your back."
Then I strode out of the arena before he could respond. This time, my arms remained untouched.
And sure enough, the headlines came flooding in hours later;
Pop Idol Yu Sen Outsmarts Acid Attack. Heroically Rescues Himself
According to reports, when the stalker lunged, Yu Sen dodged, spun, and subdued her himself until security and police arrived. Cameras captured his swift moves; fans went wild, praising his reflexes and strength. Online chatter exploded: "So handsome. He should star in action films."
Meanwhile, my arms unscarred. My body, whole.
And for the first time since waking up in this younger body, I felt freedom.
I poured everything back into what I loved the stage. My instructors praised my technique. No longer weighed down by injury, I danced like wildfire through competitions and showcases.
One afternoon, the dean of my program at Tonghai Conservatory summoned me. "Yan Xing," he said, fingers steepled over a folder, "a representative from Youth Stage 101 requested our department nominate a candidate. Exposure could mean everything for traditional dance. You’d be the perfect choice."
Youth Stage 101. I froze. I remembered this competition show. A hundred female trainees, all vying to debut in a new girl group. It had been a cultural phenomenon.
In my first life, I had only watched it cheering at home with milk tea in hand. I even remembered who debuted.
But this time, I was stepping onto that stage myself.
Comments
Post a Comment