Chapter One

The incessant ringing of the alarm clock yanked Zhang Yunyi from her sleep.

Bleary-eyed, she stared up at the top of the mosquito net, wholly unwilling to accept the heavy reality before her. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, wanting nothing more than to play ostrich for a little longer.

Her dorm-mates yawned as they got up, bustling about in a well-practiced but orderly way, lining up to wash up. Daijia, the dorm head and eldest among the six girls, noticed Zhang Yunyi still unmoving in bed and, assuming she hadn’t woken yet, came over and called gently, “Zhang Yunyi, wake up, it’s six o’clock.”

Senior year’s early self-study started at six-thirty. Though it was only the beginning of the term and the homeroom teacher might not be strict yet, what if someone got unlucky and was caught being late? At best, a scolding; at worst, standing punishment.

Seconds later, Zhang Yunyi propped herself up with an expression of utter defeat, her hair in wild disarray. “...I’m going to die.”

Daijia, ever the caretaker, found her so adorable at that moment that she reached out to ruffle her hair. “Nonsense. Weren’t you full of energy just yesterday? Come on, don’t waste time, get up.”

The Zhang Yunyi inhabiting this body yesterday had truly been a seventeen-year-old student, with nothing to trouble her but the vexation of unfinished English newspaper assignments.

But now, the soul inside was her twenty-seven-year-old self.

She’d woken up thirsty in the dead of night, and, with her eyes still closed, had tried to get out of bed. If not for the guardrail on the top bunk, she might have broken her leg. Her body’s reflexes kicked in faster than her mind, and she broke out in a cold sweat, snapping her eyes open. Moonlight spilled across the floor, the room dim but still visible.

The scene was straight out of a horror film.

Had Daijia, her bunkmate, not groggily woken and asked what was wrong, Zhang Yunyi might have screamed. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she crawled back into bed, groped for her phone under the pillow, and lit up the screen—only to be utterly stunned.

At that moment, she thought she was dreaming. She’d had worse dreams before—like sitting in the college entrance exam hall, faced with a test she couldn’t understand, anxiety clawing at her.

Perhaps it was her easygoing nature, but after the brief fright, sleep swept over her again. She thought to herself, better get some rest or else tomorrow she’d be dead tired at work and would have to rely on iced Americanos to survive.

But who could tell her why she was still stuck in a horror movie set?

“What year is it?” she asked, unwilling to give up.

This had to be someone’s elaborate prank. Otherwise, how could she wake up ten years in the past?

Daijia looked at her with fond exasperation. “I don’t know what year it is either. All I know is we’re taking the college entrance exam next year.”

Another one driven mad by senior year.

Zhang Yunyi closed her eyes in agony, but obediently climbed down, slipped on her slippers, and shuffled to the bathroom. Three girls were already crammed at the sinks brushing their teeth, so she had to wait her turn. Relying on memory, she found her comb, her mood as somber as a funeral, and began brushing her hair with a miserable face.

Glancing at her roommates—strange yet familiar—she still couldn’t quite come to terms with it. That summer after the college entrance exams, they’d parted reluctantly, promising to meet at least once every year. For the first couple of years, they kept it up, but as time passed, their gatherings grew fewer. The last time they’d all met was three years ago at Daijia’s wedding, and even then, their Room 602 hadn’t been complete.

Now, their only updates about each other came from WeChat Moments.

Squeezed once more into this cramped little dorm, Zhang Yunyi felt a mix of wonder and nostalgia.

To become roommates was a kind of fate. They’d had their arguments, but over trivial matters, always making up quickly. Everyone respected each other's habits. True to form, after finishing their morning routines, the three at the sink promptly made way for the others.

After ten years, Zhang Yunyi couldn’t immediately recognize her own toothbrush mug and hesitated for a moment. Daijia nudged her and mumbled around her toothpaste, “What’s wrong?”

Zhang Yunyi scanned the row of mugs, noticing some toothbrushes were still wet. She picked the one that matched her high school aesthetic, and since Daijia didn’t exclaim that she’d taken the wrong one, she relaxed, squeezed out some toothpaste, and started brushing.

Even in the early morning, the dorm was lively, with shouts echoing now and then—

“Ugh, my socks aren’t dry again! What am I supposed to wear?”

“Are you going to the canteen? Bring me a bun!”

“No time, just eat after self-study.”

She’d switched to an electric toothbrush in college, only ever changing brands since. Returning to a regular brush felt strange. After rinsing, she quickly washed her face. Even high schoolers had skincare routines—simple ones. On her desk sat a lone bottle of lotion, a far cry from the overflowing vanity she’d have ten years later, with even a glass case just for perfumes.

She poured some lotion into her palm, hesitated, then slapped it onto her face with resignation.

By the time her routine was done, more than ten minutes had passed. Footsteps echoed hurriedly down the hallway. Caught up in the bustling atmosphere, Zhang Yunyi slipped on her shoes and grabbed her schoolbag, rushing out with Daijia.

September in Jiangzhou still simmered with summer heat. Pale sunlight filtered through the clouds as Zhang Yunyi stepped out of the dormitory, dazed. Except for catching early flights during the holidays, it had been years since she'd risen this early. In college, she could sleep until seven-thirty and dash to her eight-o’clock classes. After starting work, as long as she clocked in before nine, she was safe.

Her schedule wasn’t the worst, but she never put her phone down before midnight.

To guarantee seven or eight hours of sleep, she’d always rented apartments near her workplace. If she left early, she’d grab a shared bike; if late, just two stops on the subway. Waking at eight, she never felt rushed.

But nothing compared to the plight of a senior-year student.

“What’s with you today? You’re acting weird.”

The road from the dorms to the teaching building was long. Daijia walked at a brisk pace, dragging Zhang Yunyi along so quickly she could barely keep up. Breathless, Zhang Yunyi heard the question and quickly found herself an excuse, “I don’t feel well. Probably my period’s coming.”

Daijia nodded, then murmured worriedly, “At the start of the month? What if it hits during next year’s exams?”

Zhang Yunyi: “…”

She managed her first real smile of the day. “Jia, you’re so funny.”

But after that, her heart clenched. The chance to be reborn was so precious, it should have gone to someone else—someone with deep regrets about the past. For her, it was a waste. No loved ones lost too soon, no missed moments of beauty.

From seventeen to twenty-seven, her life had been safe and happy. If she had any regrets, it was her failed adventure in the entertainment industry.

After the college entrance exams, she’d gone to Hengdian with friends for the sake of celebrity-chasing, played extras on a few sets, and even added an agent on WeChat. In her sophomore year, thanks to that agent’s connections, she signed a five-year contract. Drawn by the glamour of showbiz, she threw herself in, but spent years playing bit parts in obscure dramas. In the end, she was still a nobody.

Her parents, fed up, insisted she return to Jiangzhou.

After much deliberation, she didn’t hesitate to leave when her contract ended. She spent a few months at home as a full-time daughter, but soon grew bored, scattering her resume everywhere. At twenty-six, she officially became an office worker—nine to six, weekends off, stable benefits.

“No choice,” Daijia’s voice drew her back. “Whenever I’m home, my parents nag nonstop. They say if I just stick it out one more year, all the hardship of my life will be over. I’m sick of hearing it.”

Just one year of hardship?

Zhang Yunyi’s lips twitched as she recalled her own parents saying much the same. Was this some kind of universal parental script? They sure had the nerve to say it.

Maybe it was nostalgia’s rose-tinted lens, but in later years, whenever she looked back on senior year, she remembered it as fulfilling—more vivid than all four years of college combined.

But the truth was, the past belonged only to memory.

Now, back in senior year, she truly felt the pain, wishing she could wake up in her apartment again—or even, if need be, back at her office desk.

Zhang Yunyi laughed hollowly, not really present.

The teaching building loomed ever closer, and Daijia’s conversation carried on from the college entrance exam to the future. “My parents are already researching what major I should take in college. They keep asking what career I want, but I have no idea. What about you?”

Zhang Yunyi comforted her warmly. “Don’t overthink it. So many people end up working in jobs completely unrelated to their majors.”

High school students often dreamed about the future.

Even their daydreams about work were modeled on TV dramas: crisp suits, decisive attitudes, drinks after work with colleagues—romantic, carefree.

No one imagined subway cars during rush hour packed tighter than trains at spring festivals, or food delivery deals promising a sausage for nine cents more, or getting a two-yuan rebate for good reviews on discount apps. None of that ever showed up in those dramas—how could it fit into their vision of the future?

The future.

Just thinking of the word made Zhang Yunyi uneasy. Frowning, she climbed the steps, half-listening to Daijia, half trying to calm her swirling thoughts. There were only a few minutes left until six-thirty. Students hurried by in the hallways. Passing another class, she heard a lazy voice by the window reciting English words. Distracted, she didn’t notice someone rounding the corner and collided shoulder-first with them. The person was broad-shouldered and sturdy, sending her stumbling.

Before she could regain her balance, a clear, melodious voice reached her ears, “Are you alright?”

She looked up reflexively, her gaze landing on the sharply defined features of a teenage boy. He stood a full six feet tall, his build somewhere between lean and athletic, arms well-defined, hair tousled but neat, with striking brows and a straight nose.

Under his frowning gaze, she nearly blurted out, “Good morning, boss.”