When Xiahou Dan died, Yu Wanyin fell seriously ill.

The ministers were all worried that she would succumb to grief, after all, the love between these two had already been recorded in history. But she only rested for half a month before returning to court.

The parting didn’t break her heart because during the years they had snatched from fate, they had spent almost every day together. Spring had its blossoms, autumn was its mountain moon, summer was its lakeside fireflies, and winter was its fireside chats. Their long wish list was filled with checkmarks, leaving no regrets.

The wise Emperor and Empress efficiently used every moment, opening up a prosperous era for the Xia Dynasty while raising children they were proud of.

When Xiahou Dan came to this world, he was met only with conspiracies and murderous intent. When he left, he was finally surrounded by those he loved.

His last words to Yu Wanyin were: “Your story is still very long.”

After that, the deeply respected Yu Wanyin yielded to heaven’s will and took the dragon throne. A few stubborn old conservatives in court shouted about “propriety” a couple of times, but were drowned out by the cries of “Long live,” like firecrackers that only went off twice.

Empress Yu Wanyin looked down at the assembled ministers and calmly said: “Everything shall continue as before.”

She seemed to have a plan in mind, methodically attending court, diligently managing the overall situation, and completing the final work on several projects she had initiated. This widely renowned Empress rarely played or enjoyed herself, except for occasionally going to places where she and the late Emperor used to meet secretly, to drink tea and sit for an afternoon.

Several years later, just when the world had finally grown accustomed to Emperor Yu, she suddenly issued an edict as calmly as when she had ascended the throne, passing the imperial position to her child and leaving the capital lightly equipped.

On this day, she fired heaven.

Yu Wanyin had no regrets. She had already given enough to this world, and for the rest of her life, she should live for herself.

Yu Wanyin traveled everywhere, seeing all of today’s Great Xia.

The fields had golden grain every year, factory assembly lines rang with activity, and city building clusters were taking initial shape. The women’s schools under Er Lan kept expanding, and the freight transport that Xie Yong’er had envisioned traveled back and forth on the roads that reached in all directions.

The once strange and cold world, through the joint efforts of two generations of talent, faintly revealed the shadow of a distant homeland.

As for how this world would evolve in the future, it was not something she would live to witness.

The original male lead, Xiahou Bo, had been dead for many years, yet the world had not collapsed. According to the theory of the Nameless Guest, after the imperial star returned to its position, the fate had already shifted. Yu Wanyin understood this realm as a parallel timeline. Although it originated from the book “Transmigration: The Demon’s Favored Consort,” by now it had completely departed from the original work, expanding into an independently operating small universe.

Even if her body died and soul dispersed, the stories here would continue for generations, never-ending.

Yu Wanyin traversed thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, visiting many old friends. Only when she could walk no more did she return to the capital, peacefully spending her twilight years.

Just as Xiahou Dan had predicted, her life story could be considered magnificent and brilliant.

If there was any regret in this life, perhaps it was not being able to create a camera before Xiahou Dan’s departure, resulting in his face becoming completely blurred in her memory.

But after all, that face only belonged to a character in a book, to Xiahou Dan, not to Zhang San. No one could know what her lover originally looked like.

All that could appear before her eyes were his eyes.

Perhaps because he was accustomed to concealing himself in endless power struggles, or perhaps due to years of illness, his eyes never reflected light. The impression they gave wasn’t just the ink of his pupils, but an entire void of darkness, like a swamp drowning its prey.

But whenever she gazed into them, she could only touch an endless tenderness.

If there was a next life, she wanted to see them again.

Yu Wanyin’s aged eyes looked into the void as she gently exhaled her last breath.

The vision dimmed.

—And then suddenly brightened.

Dazzling white light.

The subway car gently shook.

The phone in her hand still had its screen on, displaying a half-read novel interface, black text on a white background, with the title in the upper left corner: “Transmigration: The Demon’s Favored Consort.”

Wang Cuihua suddenly raised her head, feeling for a moment that the world was spinning. Her phone fell to the ground, and she pitched forward.

The passenger sitting next to her was startled and reached out to hold her, asking: “Are you all right?”

Wang Cuihua fell back against the seat backrest, her gaze fixed, shaking her head numbly.

Another kind person picked up her phone for her and asked: “Is it low blood sugar?”

Wang Cuihua opened her mouth with difficulty: “…It’s nothing, thank you…”

Ah—this female voice was indeed her own. Having not heard it for decades, it seemed somewhat unreal.

Distant memories slowly returned.

She had returned to 2026, to the moment when she had initially transmigrated into the book.

Yu Wanyin’s long life, projected onto the real world, had only passed in a microsecond. Joy and sorrow, partings and reunions, ups, and downs, all disappeared into the ample air conditioning of this subway train, not even causing a ripple.

Life is but a sojourn; it passes as swiftly as dust in a whirlwind.

Wang Cuihua took back her phone and opened the front camera.

The screen displayed a familiar face.

Standard commuter attire for office workers lazily maintained straight black hair and light makeup that had mostly faded after a day’s work. Her features could be described as “clever” and “delicate,” and on days when she took care of her appearance, she might even be called beautiful, but compared to the world-topping beauty of Yu Wanyin in the book, she appeared quite plain.

This was her, yet not entirely her.

But she still recognized herself immediately, not by this young reflection, but by these old eyes.

Wang Cuihua sat woodenly in her seat, listening to the conversations around her.

Classmate gossip, boss’s embarrassing moments, stock market dynamics, celebrity rumors.

They said it would rain tomorrow.

Where to eat out on the weekend.

These were all vaguely topics she had once cared about in her youth—her previous youth.

Wang Cuihua eavesdropped for three stations before her brain began to piece these fragmented words together. By the fifth station, she remembered where her home was, but by then she had already missed her stop.

Wang Cuihua stumbled out of the subway station and took a taxi home.

Neon lights and billboards rushed toward her, then fell behind. Brilliant colors, close at hand, yet unrelated to her.

Ironically, when she was in that book world, she had constantly been thinking of this world. Even surrounded by friends and family, with grandchildren around her knees, she had always felt like a visitor from another land, with a persistent loneliness in her heart that could not be dispelled.

She had dreamed of returning home all her life, only to find herself completely out of place when she finally broke free.

No longer belonging to either side, she had become a wandering soul with no place to rest.

This situation… only one other person had ever experienced it besides her.

She had always loved Xiahou Dan, but only at this moment did she truly and deeply understand him.

Right, Xiahou Dan… in this world, he should be called Zhang San.

Did he truly exist in this world? Was he part of that dream? When he died in that world, would he return like she had?

Come to think of it, they had discussed this topic before.

In a winter palace somewhere, they were soaking in hot springs. After a snowfall at dusk, wisps of white mist slowly merged into the twilight above their heads. They cuddled in the pool, lazy like hibernating animals.

Xiahou Dan suddenly broke the silence. “You transmigrated into the book in 2026, but I did in 2016. If we both returned, what year would the real world be?”

She had been drowsy then, counting on her fingers. “Conservatively, it’s probably 2036 by now… Even if I’m not buried, I’ve been in a vegetative state for ten years.”

“Then I’ve been lying there for twenty years. If I could wake up, it would probably make the news.”

Yu Wanyin laughed briefly, not mentioning depressing matters, such as what a vegetative patient’s muscles would look like after ten or twenty years, or whether they could still live normally. After all, “not being buried” was already an optimistic assumption.

But Xiahou Dan was enthusiastic. “I will find you. As long as I have a breath left, I will stand before you.”

“Why don’t you ask if I want to find you?” Yu Wanyin teased him.

Xiahou Dan seemed genuinely startled for a moment, then laughed: “You will miss me, miss me to the point of madness.”

“Stop being so smug!” Yu Wanyin splashed him with water.

In the end, she didn’t wake up as a vegetative patient.

Did this mean Zhang San’s situation was the same as hers, returning to the moment of transmigration? For him, that was 2016.

Could it be—

Wang Cuihua suddenly laughed out loud. She thought: Could it be that the great strategist Xiahou Dan, after returning, continued preparing for his middle school entrance exam?

Ten years had passed since then, where would he be today? Had he tried to find her during these ten years?

They could meet again, she could see him again.

This thought was like a shot of adrenaline, finally giving her a sense of “revival.” Yes, first settle down, then make a plan… She had even been an emperor before, finding someone should be a small matter.

Wang Cuihua dug out her home address from the depths of her foggy brain, only to find herself locked outside her door.

Details like the electronic lock password were truly forgotten.

After three consecutive incorrect entries, the electronic lock emitted a sharp alarm and automatically locked. Wang Cuihua stood at the door thinking for a moment, then took out her phone and made a call. “Mom, my door lock is broken, can I sleep at your place tonight?”

Wang Cuihua’s parents lived on the other side of the city; she had moved out and rented an apartment for a more convenient commute.

The moment she saw her parents, tears sprang from her eyes like a fountain effect, frightening the couple who anxiously tried to comfort her: “Who bullied our daughter? If that job makes you unhappy, just quit, Mom and Dad will support you.”

Wang Cuihua immediately cried harder. “I’m just a bit tired…” She looked expectantly at her mother, “Didn’t you say yesterday that you researched some new dish?”

Between yesterday and today lay a hundred years.

After wandering for half a lifetime, she returned still a daughter.

“Wait, it’ll only take ten minutes.” Her mother went into the kitchen.

On an ordinary late-night, warm food filling her stomach, the world began to be at peace.

Wang Cuihua coaxed her worried parents to bed, took a hot shower herself, and began to sort out her thoughts.

In the early hours, she lay on her bed with her phone, opening the search box.

It was already 2026, and there were still over 6,000 Zhang Sans nationwide. Among the search results were some photos, which Wang Cuihua flipped through for a while, then sighed.

Indeed, trying to find a needle in a haystack with just “intuition” when not knowing what the other person looked like was impossible. Moreover, the Zhang San she was looking for might not even be among them.

She still remembered some basic information, such as his birth date and registered city. Xiahou Dan also mentioned the name of his middle school, what was it called…

Wang Cuihua tried hard to remember, filled in all this information in the search box, and tried again, her heart sinking.

Still no results.

Wang Cuihua was wide awake, mechanically scrolling through her phone.

The only good news was that the middle school Xiahou Dan had mentioned truly existed. This at least proved he wasn’t entirely a dream phantom.

However, this school seemed not to care much about online publicity; its official website hadn’t been updated for at least five years, with only a few scattered news items proving it hadn’t closed down.

Wang Cuihua bought a ticket for the first-morning flight to that city.

At three in the morning, she set her alarm, planning to sleep for a few hours to gather strength, only to suddenly realize just before closing her eyes that she had forgotten to ask for leave.

After wandering for half a lifetime, she returned still a wage slave.

The next day, when the plane landed, it was already noon.

Her boss was furious about her sudden leave request, demanding that she work remotely as the progress of her project couldn’t fall behind.

Wang Cuihua couldn’t remember what project she was working on, yet remained composed—after decades of hellish-level multi-threaded, high-intensity training, looking back at this bit of work now, the logic seemed as simple as child’s play.

She quickly reviewed the files in the project group, typing to coordinate with colleagues while getting into a taxi and giving the name of Zhang San’s middle school.

She planned to visit that middle school—it was the simplest breakthrough point. As long as he had studied there, records would certainly remain.

She could make up a reason to look through the archives, find his home address or his parents’ contact information, and then…

Wang Cuihua smiled self-mockingly.

She was acting like some kind of stalker.

If Zhang San had successfully returned in 2016, he would have had a full ten years to find her. She had also repeatedly mentioned many key details about her past during casual conversations. If she could think of these methods, he could too. With a bit more effort, he could probably even find her home address.

So why, in her memories as Wang Cuihua, had a person named Zhang San never appeared in the past ten years?

From last night until now, she had hypothesized several reasons, none particularly pleasant.

The taxi driver looked at her several times in the rearview mirror and finally couldn’t help asking: “Young lady, are you all right? You look terrible.”

Wang Cuihua was startled and also looked up at herself in the rearview mirror. Having cried the night before and then slept for only a few hours, her eyelids were still swollen, and her eyes were full of red veins. Combined with her pale face, she looked like she had suffered some great misfortune.

She let out a long breath and turned to look out the window. “I’m fine, maybe just a bit carsick.”

“Oh, then I’ll drive slower. Do you want to open the window?” The driver was afraid she might vomit in the car.

Wang Cuihua didn’t answer.

“Miss?” The driver became anxious, “At least find something to catch it in…”

“Driver,” Wang Cuihua stared fixedly at something outside the window, “please end the trip, I need to get out urgently.”

The driver hastily pulled over, thinking this passenger was quite considerate.

Wang Cuihua got out of the car, jogged back along the road for a bit, and stopped in front of a billboard that had flashed by earlier.

On the billboard was a TV drama poster.

“The Demon’s Favored Consort.”

Long, long ago, Xiahou Dan had once complained to her: “A novel from 2016, and you still get recommendations for it in 2026? What makes such a terrible piece of writing popular for ten years?”

Now she finally knew the reason.

The novel hadn’t been popular for ten years; it had just been adapted into a drama ten years later. That’s why the platform had revived old content, pushing the original work to the homepage, which she had opened on the subway.

In the center of the poster, the most eye-catching figure was the original female lead, Xie Yong’er.

Wang Cuihua quietly gazed at the face of this “Xie Yong’er,” her eyes growing slightly warm. By some coincidence, the new actress the production team had found bore a considerable resemblance to the Xie Yong’er in her memory. Especially that hint of stubbornness in her eyes, which was almost identical.

So similar that merely gazing at her caused those yellowed memories to be tinted with vivid colors.

It had been many years since they last met.

After a long while, Wang Cuihua finally shifted her gaze to beside Xie Yong’er, wanting to see what the actor playing Prince Duan looked like.

She was surprised.

Next to Xie Yong’er, in the male lead position, the character carrying a medical box undoubtedly looked like Xiao Tiancai. The original male lead, Xiahou Bo, had been pushed to the corner, and placed alongside Xiahou Dan and Yu Wanyin.

More intriguingly, the appearance and temperament of all these actors somehow gave her a sense of déjà vu.

Standing together, they looked like reflections of that fleeting dream cast into reality.

The ground beneath Wang Cuihua’s feet began to slowly rotate.

One or two coincidences could be explained away, but could what she was seeing still be written off as a mere coincidence?

She stood in place, took out her phone, and began searching for this TV drama.

Online reviews were mixed; most people just watched it for entertainment. There were also a few original novel fans who complained it had been modified too drastically, giving excessive scenes to the villains Xiahou Dan and Yu Wanyin, and even breaking up the original male and female leads, making the female lead Xie Yong’er inexplicably find true love with the cannon fodder character Xiao Tiancai.

One comment complained:

*With changes like these, isn’t the original author going to sue them?*

*The original author did scold the screenwriter, but after a few days suddenly stopped, giving a ridiculous reason, saying something like the female lead appeared in a dream telling her she’s very happy now.*

*What the hell??*

*The author was definitely paid off by the production company, but couldn’t say it outright, so could only explain it in this passive-aggressive way.*

*But you know what, this villain couple was adapted quite well…*

Wang Cuihua found a nearby convenience store to sit down and quickly opened the cast list for “The Demon’s Favored Consort,” browsing from top to bottom.

Nothing.

She then searched the corporate information of the production and distribution companies, going through the names one by one.

Nothing.

How could there still be nothing?

Besides the person she knew, who else would adapt this decade-old terrible novel into a drama, and who else would modify the plot in this way?

Such a grand gesture was like hanging an all-encompassing banner that read: I’m back, I’m right here, do you see me?

Wang Cuihua grew agitated, her fingers jabbing randomly at the screen.

Seen it, of course, I’ve seen it, I’m not blind!

But where are you? Why can’t you just appear in front of me?!

—In the next second, her random jabbing finger froze.

She seemed to have just clicked from the production company’s profile page into a link for its parent company.

Wang Cuihua, with a sudden intense premonition, looked at the legal representative column of the parent company.

Parent company headquarters.

The beautiful receptionist on the first floor was well-trained; seeing Wang Cuihua float in like a sleepwalker, she still displayed a professional smile. “Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?”

Wang Cuihua said: “…No.”

“All right, may I ask whom you’re looking for?” The receptionist took out a registration form.

Wang Cuihua said: “Zhang San.”

The receptionist froze for half a second.

Wang Cuihua added: “He knows me, knows I would come.”

“Okay, let me contact Chairman Zhang’s secretary. May I have your name?” The receptionist picked up her phone.

“Wang Cuihua.”

The receptionist froze again for half a second, seemingly unsure if this was a prank, but under Wang Cuihua’s earnest gaze, she dialed the number.

The secretary quickly came running, respectfully saying: “Miss Wang, Chairman Zhang asked me to take you to the lounge to wait for a moment, he’ll be here shortly.”

All the passing employees perked up their ears for gossip.

Wang Cuihua followed the secretary toward the elevator with her head down. “Is he in a meeting?”

“No, no,” the secretary hastily denied, “he’s in the car, and hasn’t arrived at the company yet. Chairman Zhang had some personal business yesterday, was out of town for a day, and only flew back this morning…”

Out of town?

Right. In her previous life, during casual conversations, she had repeatedly talked about her past, mentioning many key details.

Among those key details… could they have included the date she transmigrated into the book?

Could he have coincidentally remembered it?

Wang Cuihua slowed her pace, trying to maintain a calm voice as she asked: “Could you tell me where Chairman Zhang went yesterday?”

The secretary hesitated: “Well…”

“He went to your doorstep,” someone answered from behind.

All clamor returned to silence.

Like a silent hurricane sweeping through, the secretary beside her, and the passing employees, all disappeared. The buildings and streets gradually evaporated, spreading endless pure white beneath her feet.

In the vast emptiness of space, someone walked toward her, smiling ruefully. “Sat outside your door all night, the flowers I brought even wilted.”

Several hours later, at Chairman Zhang’s home.

“One more time?”

“Can’t anymore, need a break…”

“All right.” The young, healthy, and vigorous Chairman Zhang turned over, lying down next to Wang Cuihua, playing with her hair.

Wang Cuihua closed her eyes and held his hand. “I have so many questions to ask, let me gather my thoughts…”

“Coincidentally, I have some questions too.”

“You go first.”

Zhang San gave a muffled laugh. “Why didn’t you come home last night?”

“I did, but I couldn’t remember the door lock password, so I went to my parents’ place. Maybe you arrived after I left, so we missed each other.” Wang Cuihua frowned and poked the back of his hand, “Why did you just wait stupidly without calling me?”

“I wanted to surprise you in person. I had planned it so perfectly, to take you straight to the airport for a vacation after meeting, showing off my tycoon style.”

Wang Cuihua didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Mr. Tycoon, why can’t I find any information about you online?”

“Making a fortune quietly, understand? When I returned to 2016, I realized you had revealed the major events of the next ten years to me, essentially giving me cheat codes. But for many business decisions, it’s hard to explain to people. If someone noticed my ability to predict the future, wouldn’t that be troublesome? I had to stay low-profile, extremely low-profile. Any information about me online has been deleted.”

“Weren’t you afraid I wouldn’t find you?”

“I never planned for you to come looking… I said before, as long as I have a breath left, I will stand before you.”

Wang Cuihua turned to look at him, almost greedily tracing his eyes with her gaze.

Zhang San seemed to sense something, his smile fading slightly. “How long has it been since you last saw me?”

“I died of natural causes,” she said bleakly.

“Ah…” he nodded, “that is a long time. Much longer than my ten years.”

She didn’t speak.

Zhang San’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Suddenly, as if unable to bear it any longer, he confessed voluntarily. “I thought about it, about being with you earlier. High school, or college, I could have tested into your school, approached you, pestered you to date me. We could have been an ordinary couple, and by 2026, we would certainly have been married.

“I don’t know how fate chooses people, but perhaps if your life trajectory had changed, you wouldn’t have been pulled into that book, and wouldn’t have had to suffer like I did, becoming an outsider like me.

“I even went to your city, secretly watching you a few times from a distance. Each time I was just on the verge of speaking to you.

“But I pondered for a long time, we never discussed this topic, Wanyin. I never asked you if, given the choice, would you give up that world, give up those friends and family, those ups and downs, those great achievements, that magnificent passion…”

His eyes reflected the warm light, gazing at her tenderly and sorrowfully.

“After much thought, I dared not decide for you. Because I only participated in half of your story. But I was also afraid of choosing wrong, afraid that after I came out, you might not be doing well in that world, and I would have no way of knowing…

“I was torn for many years. Every year, I would reread that terrible book ‘Transmigration: The Demon’s Favored Consort’ like a devoted fan. As a result, I watched helplessly as it faded from popularity, sinking like a stone into the vast internet, year after year, never mentioned again.

“I began to wonder, if it had become so obscure, how would you receive a recommendation for it in 2026? By then I was already something of a CEO, so I had someone contact the platform’s manager to inquire about this book. The other party misunderstood, thinking I wanted to buy the copyright, and gave an extravagant pitch, even saying that if it was adapted for the screen, the platform would cooperate with promotion, giving it the best recommendation placement.

“At that moment, somehow, I suddenly understood everything.

“It turns out that the one who led you into that world was still me.”

Time and space turning back and forth, embracing all the mysterious connections of the human world, merging into a torrent of cause and effect.

When she was growing old alone in the book, he was growing up lonely outside the book.

As if all the waiting was just for this moment, two aged souls silently gazed at each other in young bodies.

Eight thousand meters above their heads, the strong wind had not yet ceased.

The flowing clouds dispersed, and the moon became full.

Wang Cuihua raised her hand to wipe the corner of her eye and smiled. “I’ll tell you the rest of the story gradually.”

“Okay.”

“Where should I begin…”

“Did that peach tree by the window bloom later?”

“Yes, it bloomed the following year, and even bore fruit.”