Chapter 1: Fifteen Years

“Your ID card has been revoked.”

“The number you provided is out of service.”

As the household registration officer finished speaking, the girl who had been talking suddenly burst into tears—wrenching, heartrending sobs.

Ji Huaqing watched the crying girl in a daze. The overlapping words rang in her ears, and the phrase she heard most often was: “The number you provided is out of service.”

She clutched the ID card tightly in her hand, a little dazed. She had simply been taking a plane home. How, in all that was good and normal, had fifteen years suddenly passed?

On June 20, 2009, the senior year had ended, and she’d gone home for the break, just like her students.

A journey that should have taken three hours had taken fifteen years.

Ji Huaqing’s palm hurt from how hard she was gripping the card. All around her, people were crying—people who couldn’t find their homes, couldn’t find their contacts.

A helplessness she had never known swallowed her whole.

Line after line of “The number you provided is out of service” hammered at her, sending tears streaming down her face.

The girl in front was still sobbing. Ji Huaqing remembered her—a college student going home for the break. Three hours ago, before boarding the plane, she’d been happily calling her parents to report in. After the plane landed, she’d suddenly lost everyone. She had no home to go back to.

The registration officer was young herself, twenty-something, as if fresh to the job. She tried her best to console the girl.

Once that was done, she turned to Ji Huaqing. “Hello, may I see your ID card?”

A bit stunned, Ji Huaqing handed it over hesitantly. She asked, her voice uncertain, “It’s June 20, 2024, right?”

The officer felt a great swell of emotion. It was eerie, but the people in front of her were all vividly alive, and hospital examinations had confirmed that their bodies were perfectly healthy.

The plane they’d been on had flown from Jiang City to Hang City on this very day fifteen years ago, then vanished without a trace—not even the black box had been found. The incident had dragged on for a long time. The passengers’ families had gone gray almost overnight. In the end, it took a payout from the airline to finally quiet things down.

Fifteen years later, that plane had suddenly landed without error. It was beyond bizarre, as if it had wandered into a spacetime tunnel.

She took the ID card and checked it. Without exception—the ID had been revoked. She looked at the other woman apologetically. “Your ID has been revoked.”

Having just seen the young girl go through the same experience, Ji Huaqing wasn’t surprised. Her head was spinning. She nodded, reining in her emotions. “I have my parents’ phone numbers. I have the home number too.”

But fifteen years had passed since 2009. Those numbers might not connect.

Ji Huaqing wrote down a string of digits and handed it over. “Sorry for the trouble.”

The officer glanced at Ji Huaqing. Cool and aloof, the white shirt gave her an air of unapproachable elegance. Her dark eyebrows were slender and long, her lashes long. She raised her eyes slowly, without a trace of anxiety.

The officer dialed a string of numbers. Either they were out of service, or whoever answered didn’t know Ji Huaqing.

The officer looked at her with pity. “Do you have any more? Give me as many as you remember. We’ll try them one by one. Someone will eventually come to take you out of here.”

Ji Huaqing wrote down two colleagues’ numbers. The officer pressed on with renewed effort. Without exception, none connected.

“See? Any more?”

Ji Huaqing’s gaze swept over the girl from before, who was still dead-eyed. The crying had stopped, but her eyes were vacant. She’d been traveling after the exams, and word had it she’d scored exceptionally well—a 985 Project university was a sure thing.

“Are you listening?” the officer urged. She was helpless too, dealing with something this preposterous.

Ji Huaqing nodded. She hesitated, then said, “There’s… I also have a student…”

She paused again. The officer said, “Your student would be in her thirties by now. But people tend to change their phone numbers from their school days. The odds of it connecting aren’t high.”

Ji Huaqing grabbed the pen on the table and, without thinking, wrote down a string of digits and handed it over. “Try it.”

What if it went through?

The officer was equally resigned. She’d been making calls all night and hadn’t found a single contact. People were crying, people were falling apart, and she was about to lose her mind along with them.

The call connected. Two rings. Ji Huaqing lowered her lashes. Yesterday, she’d been thinking about forgetting this person. Less than twenty-four hours later, she was forced to think of her again.

After the third ring, the line opened. The officer spoke directly: “This is Kangcheng Road Police Station. Do you know Ji Huaqing?”

The other side was silent.

The officer wore a look of utter lifelessness and repeated, “This is Kangcheng Road Police Station. Do you know Ji Huaqing?”

“I do.”

Those two simple words made the officer smile. “Good. Please come to the station—she’s waiting for you.”

The other end went silent again. Ji Huaqing couldn’t place the voice. After all, fifteen years had passed on this side; that girl must have grown up by now, no longer the careless high schooler she once was. She reached for the phone—and then, abruptly, the call ended.

“I wasn’t finished talking,” the officer grumbled, puzzled. She dialed again. The call connected, and the other person spoke first: “I’ll be there now.”

“Alright, I’ll wait for you.” The officer raised an eyebrow. After hanging up, she said to Ji Huaqing, “That student of yours is reliable. I really thought she’d take me for a scam call. You have no idea how rampant phone fraud is these days. Go wait over there. Good luck.”

Ji Huaqing inexplicably felt a weight lift off her. She looked back at the girl—she had gone blank, dazed and vacant, her lips moving endlessly, but no sound coming out.

The passengers from the plane were all registering their information, looking for their families. Crying, staring in shock—no one was in a normal state of mind.

Ji Huaqing was just as lost. She was a Chinese teacher; she believed in science. But faced with all of this, she couldn’t believe in science anymore.

Had she wandered into a spacetime tunnel?

The hall was in disarray. Barriers stood outside the doors, and a documentary was playing on the screens—a scam-prevention film.

Ji Huaqing stared blankly at it, tired, her whole body tense, every nerve pulled taut. Her pale fingertips rubbed the edge of her ID.

Yesterday, she had rejected Gu Yining’s confession. There was a ten-year gap between them.

Gu Yining was her student—someone she had guided all the way through. Her exam scores had been excellent; she could easily have a brilliant future.

Last night, Gu Yining had been drinking with her classmates and gotten drunk.

She had held Ji Huaqing’s hand, her clean face beaming with a contented smile, youthful and radiant. She said, “Ji Huaqing, I like you. Wait for me.”

Eighteen-year-old Gu Yining had been rebellious, refusing to be disciplined. Ji Huaqing was the one who had, step by step, pushed her back onto the right path.

Back in her first year of high school, Gu Yining’s parents had gotten into a fight. Her mother had accidentally pushed her father down the stairs. Her father died; her mother went to prison. After that, Gu Yining went from being an honor student to a regular at the internet café.

In her second year, Ji Huaqing took over their class. She walked into the café, trailing behind Gu Yining. “Playing games? Take me with you.”

Gu Yining, her hair dyed blond, cast a sidelong glance at her. “You any good?”

“If you can, I can.” Ji Huaqing chuckled, turning on a café computer. “You teach me games, I teach you homework. Let’s see who learns faster.”

A sudden wail broke through Ji Huaqing’s memory. She started. The girl from before let out a cry and fainted.

Ji Huaqing’s heart lurched. She looked down at her sweating palms and smiled a thin, cold smile.

Just then, the hall doors were pushed open. Medical staff in protective suits came in, and amid the crowd, a figure in a long red dress moved swiftly, glancing around—then abruptly stopped.

Amid the white sea of protective suits, the red was striking. The fitted-waist long dress showed off a flawless figure, her skin white as fine jade. Ji Huaqing spotted her at once. Tall, pale, searching the room—she looked faintly like the girl from years ago.

Fifteen years had passed. She’d grown taller, her features matured, become far more sophisticated.

A flicker of wonder passed through Ji Huaqing’s eyes. After fifteen years, Gu Yining was thirty-three.

And Ji Huaqing was still frozen at twenty-eight.

Gu Yining rushed in, striding straight for the registration desk. Her slim back fell into Ji Huaqing’s view. She stood there in a stupor—the girl of “yesterday” had grown up overnight.

Suddenly, the registration officer pointed at Ji Huaqing in the crowd and told Gu Yining, “That one—is she your teacher?”

Gu Yining whirled around, her gaze sweeping the crowd. It landed on Ji Huaqing almost immediately.

The hall lights were blazing, spilling over Ji Huaqing. Amid the din, Gu Yining frowned slightly. Without a second thought, she walked toward Ji Huaqing.

Ji Huaqing watched her approach. The earrings beneath her wavy black hair glittered in the lamplight, bright and luminous.

The once-fair, childlike face had fully matured. Ji Huaqing froze on the spot, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind—then, meeting those deep, heavy eyes, her mind went completely blank.

“Ji Huaqing?” Gu Yining’s voice was very soft, as though she feared that speaking any louder would blow the woman in front of her away.

Ji Huaqing nodded. “It’s me. Ji Huaqing.”

At the confirmation, Gu Yining fell silent. The stiffness in her face shifted subtly, her eyes transforming from dull ash to clear, crystalline light. She said, “I thought it was a scam call.”

Ji Huaqing didn’t know what to say. Gu Yining stared at her, a delicate smile curving her lips, and went on: “Teacher Ji, you’re still so beautiful.”

Ji Huaqing flushed, tempted to scold her for being disrespectful to an elder. But then she thought better of it—this woman was now five years older than her. The words died in her throat. “Thank you,” she replied.

Their eyes met. Ji Huaqing looked away in shame. At that moment, the registration officer walked over. “Gu Yining, sign here and leave your contact information. Then you can take her.”

Gu Yining smiled—eyes and brows cool, in her long dress, elegant and poised. She asked the officer, “Does that make me her guardian?”

“No, and she’s not some child. ‘Guardian’ isn’t the right word. ‘Watcher’ fits better.” The officer laughed at her own joke and handed her the form. “Fill this out and keep in contact. And—Ji Huaqing, congratulations. You’re the first one out of here.”

Ji Huaqing turned aside, not daring to look at Gu Yining. In her time, she’d rejected Gu Yining’s confession only yesterday. Tonight, she would be going home with her.

Beneath her calm surface, Ji Huaqing’s heart was in turmoil.

She never would have dreamed that a day like this would come.

Gu Yining took the form and looked down. A strand of hair slipped loose, and she tucked it back, her slender arm especially fair, even her profile unusually white beneath the lights.

Ji Huaqing couldn’t help looking at her again. Her throat moved. The carefree girl of yesterday had become an elegant, dignified woman today. It was like looking at two different people.

Having filled out the form, Gu Yining returned it to the officer with a quiet thanks.

Her voice had grown colder, deliberately lowered, carrying a deep, husky quality.

The officer quickly scanned the form, confirmed it was correct, then smiled at them. “Good luck to you both. Don’t leave the city—someone will be in touch soon. Don’t wander off; without proper identification, you’ll run into a lot of misunderstandings.”

Gu Yining nodded and said politely, “Thank you.”

Then she turned to Ji Huaqing, her tone gentle. “Where’s your luggage? I’ll take you back. It’s been fifteen years—the outside world has changed a great deal. The only thing that hasn’t changed is your face.”

Startled, Ji Huaqing pointed at the screen in the hall. “What is that?”

Gu Yining glanced at it, then explained as if teaching a child: “Beware of telecom scams. Slip once, and you’ll wake up missing a kidney.”

At that moment, Ji Huaqing felt utterly, deeply ashamed.