Chapter One: Rebirth in 1986

Shen Guodong slowly opened his sleepy eyes.

“What time is it? Why didn’t my secretary wake me for the meeting?”

He was the chairman of a large foreign trade conglomerate, currently preparing for a public listing. There were countless matters to attend to, and every side demanded his attention. Lately, he’d been so busy he could hardly see straight. At business dinners, to please his guests, he often drank to excess.

“Ugh, my mouth is so dry…”

He pressed a hand to his forehead and rolled over to get out of bed.

Clang! His foot struck a glass bottle, sending it rolling to the wall. Focusing his gaze, he saw it was an emerald-green, unlabelled liquor bottle, reeking of cheap, abrasive spirits.

“Hilton’s room service is getting worse by the day, how could they leave such a mess?”

He scowled, but soon noticed something even more astonishing. The floor wasn’t the gleaming tile or polished hardwood he expected, but rough, gray cement. The bed beneath him wasn’t a soft and comfortable Simmons, but a squeaky iron bunk with a hard wooden board for a mattress.

The room was barely twenty square meters, with a burgundy wooden wardrobe in the corner, exuding an old-fashioned charm.

“Where am I?”

Shen Guodong was baffled. He slipped on a pair of faded plastic slippers and stepped outside.

The bedroom opened onto a living room: a sofa draped in sheer white cloth, a black, spring-driven wall clock, and a fourteen-inch black-and-white television…

“Is this the set of some period drama?”

Shen Guodong had weathered many storms in his life. Though bewildered, he kept his composure. He glanced around, then suddenly noticed a woman crouched in the corner.

She was huddled there, shoulders trembling, softly sobbing—clearly crying. She wore a thin, pink silk slip dress that revealed her fair and luminous shoulders, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Which little starlet is this?”

Though Shen Guodong was now middle-aged, he had never married. In his youth, poverty and the demands of starting a business had left him little time for romance. By the time he’d achieved success, he found himself unable to harbor feelings for anyone. He didn’t believe in so-called love. When he needed companionship, he simply kept a few young actresses or models. When bored, he paid them off and sent them away. He moved through a sea of flowers, never letting a single petal cling to him. Anyone who thought they could latch on to him was thoroughly mistaken.

He frowned and walked over, intending to hand this “performer” a check and show her the door.

At the sound of his footsteps, the woman stood up.

“You… you’re going to hit me again? I really have no money left.”

She shrank back in fear, her eyes wide with panic.

Shen Guodong was taken aback. Even without makeup, her features were exquisitely sculpted, almost unnatural in their perfection. The slip dress revealed a flawless figure that could rival any leading actress. Yet there was a scholarly air about her brows that set her apart. Her eyes were red and tears clung to her cheeks, making her all the more pitiable.

Even more bizarre, on the wall behind her hung a photograph—a wedding portrait. In the photo, he and the woman were smiling sweetly, as if genuinely in love.

“What the hell is going on?”

Suddenly, his head throbbed with pain. A flood of memories surged into his mind.

“I’ve transmigrated? It’s 1986! And this woman is my wife—Liu Yueru!”

Even Shen Guodong, with his seasoned mind, was stunned. The kind of melodrama found only in soap operas was happening to him.

“Through forests deep and snowy plains, my spirit soars to the sky…”

From the corridor outside came the distinctive singing of an old Peking opera, snapping Shen Guodong out of his stupor.

“Well, since I’m here, I might as well make the best of it.”

A wry smile flickered across Shen Guodong’s lips.

“Are you cold?” he asked, noticing the slight tremble in Liu Yueru’s body.

“Ah? I… I’m not cold.” She was startled, instinctively shaking her head.

But Shen Guodong simply took off his shirt and draped it over her shoulders.

Startled like a frightened fawn, Liu Yueru wanted to dodge, but dared not. She lowered her head, her lashes fluttering.

He noticed a conspicuous bruise on the corner of her mouth.

He had done that.

What a bastard!

The original Shen Guodong, after graduating from technical school, had become an employee—indeed, a cadre—at Fengcheng’s First Machine Tool Plant. After marrying the beautiful Liu Yueru, their life should have been happy and complete. But under the influence of disreputable friends, he fell into gambling. In a short time, he lost everything. When the money was gone, he drank and beat his wife.

Worse yet, he suffered from a severe condition that rendered him impotent—a man in name only.

What a cruel joke.

But at this time, traditional values were strict: a woman went where her husband went, no matter the circumstances. Even when she discovered his problem, Liu Yueru never thought of divorce. She was a primary school teacher, and for the sake of her reputation, she never spoke a word of her suffering to anyone.

Shen Guodong examined his new body. It was brimming with vitality, clear and energetic. And when he looked at Liu Yueru, he felt a definite reaction.

“At least that’s a benefit of transmigrating—I’m a normal man again.”

That was a relief.

“To waste one’s youth like this is a crime!”

It was 1986. In a few years, the massive state-run enterprises dominating the north would crumble. Trade, automobiles, computers, the internet—one new wave after another was about to sweep in. In this age of turbulent change, opportunities would abound, far more than in the future.

The thought made Shen Guodong’s heart race with excitement. Since fate had brought him here, he might as well seize the chance to make something of himself!

Bang, bang, bang!

Someone pounded fiercely on the door.

Liu Yueru hurried to answer.

“Liu Yueru, didn’t you promise to pay for my bicycle repairs today? I’m here for my money—five yuan and sixty cents!”

A woman with a pockmarked face, wearing an apron, stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“Sister Hongmei, can I pay you after I get my salary?” Liu Yueru’s face was filled with sorrow. All her money had been taken by Shen Guodong; she’d just been beaten for not having enough to hand over.

“Wait for your salary? That little bit won’t even cover Shen Guodong’s drinking!” Sun Hongmei rolled her eyes.

“Stop wasting my time—pay up!” she snapped, her sharp eyes glaring fiercely.

“I really don’t have the money right now. Please give me a few more days,” Liu Yueru pleaded, on the verge of tears.

“Oh, so you want to renege on your debt? I’ll let everyone be the judge!” Sun Hongmei raised her voice, shouting down the corridor.

“Everyone, come and see—Liu Yueru broke someone’s property and won’t pay for it. How shameless!”

“And she calls herself a teacher? Disgraceful!”

It was dinner time. Most of the neighbors were home. Hearing the commotion, they peeked through their door cracks to watch the spectacle.

Liu Yueru’s face turned ashen with anxiety. As a teacher, to be saddled with such a reputation was unbearable. Yet, gentle by nature, she had no idea how to defend herself.