When Xiahou Dan died, Yu Wanyin fell gravely ill.
The ministers feared she might succumb to grief, for the love between these two had already been recorded in the annals of history. Yet after just half a month of rest, she returned to the court.
The parting did not shatter her heart because, in the years they had wrested from fate, they had spent nearly every day together. Springs adorned with blossoms, autumns graced by mountain moons, summers alive with fireflies by the lake, winters warmed by fireside conversations. Every item on their long wishlist had been checked off, leaving no room for regret.
The wise emperor and empress made efficient use of every moment, ushering in a golden age for Xia and raising a child they could be proud of.
When Xiahou Dan first arrived in this world, he was met with nothing but schemes and murderous intent. But when he departed, he was surrounded by those he loved.
His final words to Yu Wanyin were: "Your story is still long."
After that, Yu Wanyin, whose authority was deeply entrenched, ascended the throne with the will of heaven and the people. A few stubborn old ministers raised cries of "propriety" once or twice, but their voices were drowned out by the thunderous cheers of "Long live the Empress!"—like a couple of firecrackers popping in the distance.
Empress Yu Wanyin looked down upon her assembled courtiers and calmly declared, "Let all continue as before."
It was as if she had a schedule in her heart, methodically attending court sessions, diligently overseeing affairs of state, and bringing closure to the projects she had initiated. The renowned empress rarely indulged in leisure or pleasure, save for the occasional cup of tea at places where she had once secretly met the late emperor, sitting there for an entire afternoon.
Years later, just as the world had grown accustomed to Empress Yu's reign, she suddenly issued an edict as calmly as she had when she ascended the throne, passing the imperial seat to her child before leaving the capital with light baggage.
On that day, she resigned from the whims of heaven.
Yu Wanyin had no regrets. She had given enough to this world—now, the rest of her life would be for herself.
She traveled far and wide, witnessing the transformed lands of Xia.
Golden grains swayed in the fields year after year, factory assembly lines clinked and clattered, and the skeletons of urban architecture began to rise. Under Er Lan's leadership, the Female Academy expanded continuously, while Xie Yong'er's envisioned freight transport shuttled back and forth along well-connected roads.
The once unfamiliar and cold world, through the joint efforts of two generations, faintly reflected the shadow of a distant homeland.
As for how this world would evolve in the future, that was something she would not live to see.
The original male lead, Xiahou Bo, had died long ago, yet the world did not collapse. According to the Nameless Traveler's theory, once the Imperial Star returned to its rightful place, destiny had already shifted. Yu Wanyin understood this world as a parallel universe—though it had originated from the book Transmigration: The Devil's Beloved Consort , by now, it had completely broken free from the original work, expanding into an independent, self-sustaining microcosm.
Even after her own death and the dissipation of her soul, she believed the story here would continue, generation after generation, endlessly.
Yu Wanyin journeyed across countless mountains and rivers, visiting many old friends. Only when she could walk no further did she return to the capital, spending her twilight years in peace.
Just as Xiahou Dan had foretold, the story of her life had indeed been magnificent and extraordinary.
If there was one regret in this lifetime, it might have been failing to invent a camera before Xiahou Dan's departure—so much so that even the memory of his face had blurred beyond recognition.But in the end, that face only belonged to a character in the book—Xiahou Dan, not Zhang San. No one would ever know what her beloved truly looked like.
The only thing that remained vividly clear in her mind was his eyes.
Perhaps it was the habit of concealment forged in endless political struggles, or perhaps it was the toll of years of illness, but his eyes had always been devoid of reflection. They left an impression not just of the dark pupils but of an entire void of darkness, like a swamp that drowned its prey.
Yet whenever she gazed into them, all she encountered was an unfathomable gentleness.
If there was a next life, she wanted to see them again.
Yu Wanyin’s aged eyes stared into the void as she let out one last, soft sigh.
Her vision darkened.
—And then abruptly brightened again.
Harsh white fluorescent lights.
The slight sway of a subway car.
Her phone was still lit in her hand, displaying the half-read novel on its screen—white background, black text, the title in the top-left corner: Transmigration: The Devil's Beloved Consort .
Wang Cuihua jerked her head up, instantly feeling the world spin around her. Her phone clattered to the floor as she nearly toppled forward.
The passenger beside her startled and reached out to steady her. "Are you okay?"
Wang Cuihua slumped back against the seat, her gaze blank, and numbly shook her head.
Another kind stranger picked up her phone and asked, "Is it low blood sugar?"
Wang Cuihua struggled to speak. "...I'm fine, thank you..."
Ah—this voice was unmistakably her own. It just sounded distorted, as though she hadn’t heard it in decades.
Distant memories slowly resurfaced.
She had actually returned to 2026, to the exact moment she had transmigrated into the book.
Yu Wanyin’s long, eventful life had lasted only a microsecond in the real world. All the joys and sorrows, the highs and lows, had dissolved into the subway’s icy air-conditioning without so much as a ripple.
Life is but a fleeting speck of dust in the wind.
Wang Cuihua took her phone and opened the front-facing camera.
The screen displayed a face that felt both familiar and foreign.
The standard corporate drone commute outfit, unkempt long black hair, and the faint traces of makeup that had nearly worn off after a day’s work. Her features could be described as "sharp" or "delicate," and on days when she put in effort, she might even be called pretty. But compared to the breathtaking beauty of Yu Wanyin in the novel, she seemed utterly plain.
This was her, yet not entirely her.
Still, she recognized herself instantly—not by this youthful shadow, but by these aged eyes.
Wang Cuihua sat motionless in her seat, listening to the conversations around her.
Gossip about classmates, embarrassing stories about bosses, stock market updates, celebrity scandals.
They said it would rain tomorrow.
Where to eat out this weekend.
All topics she had once cared about—back in her youth, in her past youth.
Wang Cuihua eavesdropped for three stops before her brain began piecing together the fragmented words. By the fifth stop, she remembered where she lived—but by then, she had already missed her station.
Wang Cuihua shuffled out of the subway and hailed a cab home.
Neon lights and billboards rushed past, only to be left behind. A dazzling world, so close yet utterly disconnected from her.It was ironic. When she was in the world of the book, she had missed this world every single moment. Even when surrounded by friends and family, she had always felt like a stranger from another land, with an inescapable loneliness lingering in her heart.
She had dreamed of returning home her entire life, only to realize, upon finally breaking free, that she no longer belonged here either.
No longer part of either world, she had become a drifting soul with no anchor.
This predicament… aside from her, only one other person had ever experienced it.
She had always loved Xiahou Dan, but it wasn’t until this very moment that she truly, deeply understood him.
Ah, Xiahou Dan… in this world, he should be called Zhang San.
Did he truly exist here? Or was he just part of that fleeting dream? When he died in that other world, would he return like she had?
Come to think of it, they had discussed this once.
In a winter retreat somewhere, they had been soaking in a hot spring. The evening after snowfall, wisps of steam slowly dissipated into the twilight above them. They leaned against each other in the pool, lazy and content, like a pair of hibernating animals.
Xiahou Dan suddenly broke the silence. "You traveled into the book in 2026, but I did in 2016. If we both return to reality, what year would it be?"
Half-asleep, she counted on her fingers. "At a conservative estimate, it’d be 2036 now… Even if I’m not buried yet, I’d have been a vegetable for ten years."
"Then I’d have been one for twenty. If I woke up, it’d probably make the news."
Yu Wanyin chuckled, avoiding the depressing details—like how a decade or two as a vegetable would leave muscles atrophied beyond recognition, or whether normal life would even be possible. Frankly, "not buried yet" was already an optimistic assumption.
But Xiahou Dan was undeterred. "I’d come find you. As long as I had a breath left in me, I’d stand before you."
"Why don’t you ask if I’d come looking for you?" Yu Wanyin teased.
Xiahou Dan seemed genuinely surprised for a moment before grinning. "You’d miss me so much it’d drive you crazy."
"Don’t flatter yourself!" She splashed water at him.
As it turned out, she hadn’t woken up as a vegetable.
Did that mean Zhang San’s situation was the same as hers—returning to the exact moment of his departure? For him, that would be 2016.
Could it be—
Wang Cuihua suddenly burst out laughing. The thought struck her: Could it be that the formidable Xiahou Dan, after returning, had to go back to preparing for his high school entrance exams?
Ten years had passed since then. Where would he be now? Had he tried to find her during this time?
They could still reunite. She could still see him.
The thought was like a shot of adrenaline, finally giving her a tangible sense of "revival." Yes, first settle down, then make a plan… She had even been an emperor before. Finding one person should be child’s play.
Wang Cuihua dug out her home address from the depths of her muddled mind, only to be stumped at the front door.
The electronic lock’s passcode was a detail she truly couldn’t recall.
After three consecutive incorrect attempts, the lock emitted a sharp alarm and automatically locked her out. Standing there, Wang Cuihua thought for a moment before pulling out her phone and making a call. "Mom, my door lock’s broken. Can I stay with you tonight?"
Wang Cuihua’s parents lived on the other side of the city. She had moved out to rent a place for the sake of an easier commute.The moment she saw her parents, the tears in her eyes gushed like a fountain effect, startling the couple. They frantically tried to console her, "Who bullied our girl? If that lousy job makes you unhappy, just quit. Mom and Dad will take care of you."
Wang Cuihua immediately cried even harder. "I'm just a little tired..." She looked at her mother with pleading eyes. "Didn't you say yesterday you'd researched some new recipes?"
Between yesterday and today, a century had passed.
Having wandered half a lifetime, she returned still a daughter.
"Wait here, it'll be ready in ten minutes," her mother said, heading into the kitchen.
In the quiet of an ordinary night, warm food filled her stomach, and the world began to settle.
Wang Cuihua coaxed her worried parents to bed, took a hot shower, and began to sort through her thoughts.
In the early hours of the morning, she lay on her bed, phone in hand, and opened the search bar.
It was already 2026, and there were still over six thousand Zhang Sans in the country. The search results showed a few photos, and Wang Cuihua flipped through the faces for a moment before sighing.
As expected, relying solely on "intuition" to find a needle in a haystack without knowing what the person looked like was futile. Besides, the Zhang San she was looking for might not even be among them.
She remembered some basic information, like his birthdate and hometown. Xiahou Dan had also mentioned the name of his middle school—what was it again?
Wang Cuihua racked her brain, filled in all the details she could recall into the search bar, and tried again, her heart sinking.
Still no results.
Wang Cuihua, wide awake, mechanically scrolled through her phone.
The only good news was that the middle school Xiahou Dan had mentioned actually existed. At least this proved he wasn’t entirely a figment of her dreams.
But the school seemed indifferent to online publicity—its official website hadn’t been updated in at least five years, with only a few scattered news articles proving it hadn’t shut down.
Wang Cuihua booked the earliest flight to that city for the next morning.
At 3 a.m., she set an alarm, planning to rest for a few hours to recharge. Only as she closed her eyes did it suddenly hit her—she’d forgotten to ask for leave.
Having wandered half a lifetime, she returned still a corporate drone.
The next day, by the time her plane landed, it was already noon.
Her boss was furious about her sudden leave and demanded she work remotely, ensuring her project deadlines weren’t delayed.
Wang Cuihua couldn’t even remember what project she was handling, yet she remained calm—after decades of hellish multitasking and high-intensity training, looking back at this workload now, the logic seemed as simple as child’s play.
She quickly reviewed the project files, typing responses to her colleagues while hopping into a taxi and giving the driver the name of Zhang San’s middle school.
She planned to visit the school—it was the easiest lead. If he had studied there, records would exist.
She could come up with an excuse to access the archives, find his home address or his parents’ contact information, and then...
Wang Cuihua laughed at herself.
She was acting like some kind of stalker.
If Zhang San had successfully returned to 2016, he’d had a full decade to look for her. She, too, had repeatedly shared her past during their conversations, mentioning plenty of key details. If she could think of these methods, so could he. With a little effort, he could probably even track down her home address.
So why, in her memories as Wang Cuihua, had there never been a single person named Zhang San in the past ten years?From last night until now, she had come up with several possible reasons, none of them pleasant.
The taxi driver had glanced at her in the rearview mirror several times before finally speaking up, "Young lady, are you alright? You look terrible."
Wang Cuihua was startled and looked up at her reflection in the mirror. After crying the night before and only getting a few hours of sleep, her eyelids were still swollen, her eyes bloodshot. Combined with her pale face, she looked like she had suffered some great calamity.
She took a deep breath and turned to gaze out the window. "I'm fine, just a bit carsick."
"Oh, I'll slow down then. Want me to roll down the window?" The driver was worried she might vomit in the car.
Wang Cuihua didn't answer.
"Young lady?" The driver grew anxious. "At least find something to—"
"Driver," Wang Cuihua suddenly said, staring fixedly at something outside the window, "please end the ride here. There's something urgent—I need to get out."
The driver hastily pulled over, thinking this passenger was quite considerate.
Wang Cuihua got out and jogged back along the road, stopping before a billboard she had glimpsed moments earlier.
The billboard displayed a poster for a TV drama.
Demon Consort.
A long, long time ago, Xiahou Dan had once complained to her: "A story from 2016, and you're still getting recommendations for it in 2026? How could such a terrible story stay popular for ten years?"
Now she finally understood why.
The story hadn't stayed popular for ten years—it had simply been adapted into a drama a decade later. That's why the platform had dug up this old work and pushed it to the homepage, where she had clicked on it during her subway ride.
At the center of the poster, the most prominent figure was Xie Yong'er, the female lead from the original story.
Wang Cuihua quietly studied this "Xie Yong'er's" face, her eyes growing slightly warm. By some coincidence, the newcomer actress the production team had cast bore a striking resemblance to the Xie Yong'er in her memories. Especially that stubborn glint in her eyes—it was almost identical.
So similar that just by looking at her, those faded memories were suddenly tinged with vivid colors.
It had been so many years since she'd last seen her.
After a long while, Wang Cuihua finally shifted her gaze to the figure beside Xie Yong'er, curious about the actor playing Prince Duan.
She was shocked.
Beside Xie Yong'er, in the male lead's position, stood a character carrying a medicine chest—unmistakably Xiao Tiancai. Meanwhile, the original male lead, Xiahou Bo, had been relegated to a corner, grouped with Xiahou Dan and Yu Wanyin.
Even more bizarre was that every one of these actors, in appearance and demeanor, gave her an uncanny sense of déjà vu.
Standing together like this, they were like reflections of that fleeting dream cast into reality.
The ground beneath Wang Cuihua's feet seemed to slowly spin.
One or two coincidences might be explainable, but could this entire scene really just be a coincidence?
She pulled out her phone and searched for the drama.
Online reviews were mixed. Most viewers treated it as light entertainment, while a handful of original novel fans angrily criticized the drastic changes—how it had given the "villains" Xiahou Dan and Yu Wanyin excessive screen time, even going so far as to break up the original main couple, inexplicably pairing the female lead Xie Yong'er with the minor character Xiao Tiancai instead.
One comment mocked:
How could the original author not sue them for this?
The author did curse out the screenwriters at first, but after a few days, she suddenly went quiet. Her reason was ridiculous too—something about the female lead appearing in her dreams to say she was happy now.
What the hell??? The author must have been influenced by the production team's PR and couldn't say it outright, so they had to explain it in such a sarcastic way.
But you have to admit, the villainous couple in the show was actually adapted quite well...
Wang Cuihua found a nearby convenience store to sit in and quickly opened the cast and crew list of Demon Consort , scanning through it from top to bottom.
Nothing.
She then checked the production and distribution companies' corporate information, searching each name one by one.
Still nothing.
How could there still be nothing?
Aside from the person she knew, who else would adapt this decade-old trashy novel into a series? And who else would change the plot like this?
It was as if someone had spent a fortune to hang a massive banner across the sky, screaming: I'm back, I'm right here, do you see me?
Wang Cuihua grew restless, her fingers tapping randomly on the screen.
I see you, of course I see you! I'm not blind!
But where are you? Why can't you just appear in front of me?!
—The next second, her frantic tapping stopped.
She had accidentally clicked into the parent company's link from the production company's profile page.
With a sudden, overwhelming premonition, Wang Cuihua looked at the legal representative listed under the parent company.
Headquarters of the parent company.
The receptionist on the first floor, impeccably trained, maintained her professional smile even as Wang Cuihua drifted in like a sleepwalker. "Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?"
Wang Cuihua said, "...No."
"Alright, who would you like to see?" The receptionist pulled out a registration form.
Wang Cuihua replied, "Zhang San."
The receptionist froze for half a second.
Wang Cuihua added, "He knows me. He knows I'd come."
"Understood. I'll contact Mr. Zhang's secretary. May I have your name?" The receptionist picked up her phone.
"Wang Cuihua."
The receptionist froze again, seemingly unsure if this was a prank, but under Wang Cuihua's earnest gaze, she eventually made the call.
The secretary arrived quickly, slightly out of breath, and said respectfully, "Miss Wang, Mr. Zhang asked me to take you to the lounge. He'll be here shortly."
Nearby employees pricked up their ears, eager for gossip.
Wang Cuihua lowered her head and followed the secretary toward the elevators. "Is he in a meeting?"
"No, no," the secretary hurriedly denied. "He's in his car—he hasn't arrived at the office yet. Mr. Zhang had some personal matters yesterday and left the city. He only flew back this morning..."
Left the city?
Right. In their past life, she had repeatedly shared stories of her past during casual conversations, mentioning many key details.
Among those details... could she have mentioned the date she transmigrated into the book?
Had he somehow remembered?
Wang Cuihua slowed her steps, forcing her voice to remain steady as she asked, "Can you tell me where Mr. Zhang went yesterday?"
The secretary hesitated. "Well..."
"He went to your doorstep," a voice answered from behind.
All noise faded into silence.
Like a soundless hurricane sweeping through, the secretary beside her and the passing employees vanished. The high-rise buildings and streets evaporated one by one, replaced by an endless expanse of pure white beneath her feet.
In this empty universe, someone walked toward her and smiled helplessly. "I waited outside your door all night. The flowers I brought even wilted."
Several hours later, at Mr. Zhang's home.
"Again?"
"No more... I need a break..."
"Alright." The young, healthy, and vigorous Mr. Zhang rolled onto his side, lying next to Wang Cuihua, idly playing with her hair.Wang Cuihua closed her eyes and held his hand. "I have so many questions to ask, let me sort them out..."
"What a coincidence, I have some questions too."
"You go first."
Zhang San chuckled softly. "Why didn't you come home last night?"
"I did go back, but I forgot the door code, so I went to my parents' place. You probably arrived right after I left, so we missed each other." Wang Cuihua frowned and poked the back of his hand. "Why did you just wait there like a fool? Why not call me?"
"I wanted to surprise you in person. I even had this perfect plan—meet you and whisk you away on a vacation flight right then, showing off my Overbearing President charm."
Wang Cuihua didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Overbearing President, how come I can't find any info about you online?"
"Silence is golden, understand? I just got back to 2016, and it hit me—you’ve already spilled all the major events of the next decade to me. It’s like you handed me a cheat code. But a lot of corporate decisions are hard to explain. If people caught on that I could predict the future, wouldn’t that be trouble? So I had to keep it low-key, extra low-key. Any trace of me online, I had it deleted."
"Aren’t you afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you?"
"I never planned for you to come looking... I told you, as long as I have breath in me, I’ll always find my way to you."
Wang Cuihua tilted her head to look at him, her gaze tracing his eyes almost greedily.
Zhang San seemed to sense something, his smile fading slightly. "How long has it been since you last saw me?"
"I died of old age," she said, her voice tinged with melancholy.
"Ah..." He nodded. "That really is a long time. Much longer than my ten years."
She didn’t respond.
Zhang San’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Suddenly, as if unable to bear it any longer, he confessed. "I thought about it—thought about being with you sooner. In high school, or college. I could’ve tested into your school, struck up a conversation, pestered you into dating me. We could’ve been an ordinary couple, and by 2026, we’d surely have been married.
"I don’t know how The Way of Heaven chooses people. Maybe if your life’s path changed, you wouldn’t have been pulled into that book, wouldn’t have had to suffer through all that, become an oddity like me.
"I even went to your city a few times, watched you from afar. Each time, I came so close to speaking to you.
"But I thought about it for a long time, Wan Yin. We never talked about this. I never asked you—if you had the choice, would you give up that world? Leave behind those friends and family, the storms and dangers, the great achievements, the soaring passions..."
His eyes reflected the warm glow of the lights, gazing at her tenderly yet sorrowfully.
"I agonized over it, afraid to make the decision for you. Because your story—I was only part of half of it. But I was also terrified of choosing wrong, terrified that after I left, you’d be suffering in that world, and I’d never know...
"I wrestled with it for years. Every year, I’d reread that damned book, Transmigration: The Devil's Beloved Consort , like some devoted fan. And then, I watched as it faded into obscurity, sinking into the depths of the internet, year after year, until no one mentioned it anymore.
"That’s when I started wondering—if it was so forgotten, how did you end up getting a push notification for it in 2026? By then, I was something of a president myself, so I had someone reach out to the platform’s management to ask about the book. But they misunderstood, thought I wanted to buy the rights, and started hyping it up, saying if it got adapted, the platform would give it top promotion, the best push slots.
"And then, somehow, it suddenly dawned on me.""So it was me who let you into that world after all."
Time and space tumbled and twisted, carrying with them all the elusive connections of the mortal realm, merging into a torrent of causality.
While she grew old alone within the pages of the book, he was growing up lonely outside its covers.
As if all the waiting had been just for this moment—two aged souls gazing silently at each other from within youthful bodies.
Eight thousand meters above their heads, the strong winds still hadn't ceased.
The drifting clouds dispersed, revealing the full moon in its perfect roundness.
Wang Cuihua wiped the corner of her eye and smiled. "I'll tell you the rest of the story slowly."
"Alright."
"Where should I begin..."
"Did that peach tree by the window ever blossom?"
"It did. It bloomed the very next year, and even bore fruit."
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