Chapter One: Cursing the Heavens
In the old residential district, Ren Qian staggered along, supporting himself against the wall. Today, by chance, he’d run into his college roommate from twenty years ago. They’d drunk too much, far too much, and he couldn’t help but start humming a tune.
“To spend a lifetime, chasing an endless dream...”
Suddenly, a thunderclap split the sky. Ren Qian thought of Li Yuanba, who cursed the heavens, and burst out laughing.
“Damn you, heavens! I don’t blame you, but for this face and this height, how many doors have been slammed in my face? If you dare, strike me down with lightning as a reply! Let’s argue it out!”
Boom!
A deafening crash, a blackened crater at his feet, and Ren Qian was reduced to nothing but ashes.
...
Ren Qian was dead—or perhaps not. In a daze, he saw himself boldly singing on stage, shaking hands with fans, then suddenly stumbling and falling...
He saw himself feeding countless pills with liquor, then smiling as if finally freed...
He saw himself climbing a high building, looking out over a sea of city lights, then leaping into the void...
Ren Qian understood none of these were truly him.
The one who fell from the stage was Wong Ka Kui. The one who drank himself into oblivion with pills was Danny Chan. The one who leaped from the building was Leslie Cheung. He saw dazzling crystals floating around each of them, drifting slowly into his own body, pulling him into boundless darkness...
...
“Can’t you remember anything at all?
By the Weiyang Pond, you suddenly shouted, ‘Am I truly loyal and righteous?’
Then, in a fit of rage, you spat blood and fainted...”
Lying in a hospital bed, Ren Qian’s face was pale and bewildered beneath his weakness. He remembered nothing but a splitting headache, and every word the young nurse spoke made no sense to him.
When had he taken a phone call? When had he shouted at passersby about loyalty and righteousness? He’d only gone drinking with a few rowdy friends, maybe babbled some nonsense while drunk, but he couldn’t recall a thing.
“For the next few days, don’t worry about anything. Eat whatever you want. If you have any regrets, go and try to fulfill them. Do things that make you happy—distract yourself as much as possible!”
The nurse sighed as she comforted him, her fair hand smoothing the pristine white sheets beside his head.
She knew how it must feel—to pour one’s soul into writing a song, only for it to be stolen, and then be accused in return. No wonder his emotions had broken down. All she could do was urge him to find distractions, to release the pain.
Ren Qian: “...”
Was that supposed to be comforting? It would be better not to say anything at all!
...
“Why not listen to some music? Didn’t you say music was the best medicine?”
The nurse flashed a gentle, healing smile, waving her phone before Ren Qian, lighting up the screen and opening the “Sudden Return” music box.
Ren Qian, who had only ever seen QQ Music, Kugou, and Kuwo, suddenly felt uneasy.
A gentle prelude played, soothing and laced with ancient charm; the strings rang out like petals falling heavily to the earth, each note steeped in sorrow, seeping into the heart.
There’s a saying: the layman watches for spectacle, the expert listens for craft. The moment Ren Qian heard it, he knew at once this song was a classic. The singer’s melodious voice, carrying the weight of ancient times, sounded like a blend of Fei Yu-ching and Li Jian—a flawless union of melody and lyric.
“Lost in thought? Not even your favorite ‘Please, Sir, Sweep the Fallen Flowers in Jiangnan’ can save you now?”
So that was the song’s name—“Please, Sir, Sweep the Fallen Flowers in Jiangnan”—and apparently, it was his favorite.
But in his forty years of life, he had never heard a melody even remotely like this. Never.
“Drinking alone, a pot of wine, drunken dreams can’t match the pain of longing—what’s past is but a fleeting beauty, and the scattered flowers of Jiangnan are wounds...”
Interesting at first listen.
Yet Ren Qian was not fond of “Guofeng”—the ancient, flowery style—in his opinion, such ornate lyrics stripped the music of its innocence, piling on words for the sake of sounding poetic.
“I’d like to hear some Cantonese songs,” he said.
“Cantonese songs? What are those?” the nurse exclaimed, stunned. She’d never heard of Cantonese songs in her whole life; wasn’t everyone only listening to Chinese-style music these days? Where did Cantonese songs come from? There had been a few odd new songs lately, but they were only a novelty—soon enough, people grew tired of them.
“Oh, Cantonese... you mean songs sung in your dialect?” The nurse suddenly understood. She loved music, and ever since she’d caught Ren Qian performing with his band on campus, she’d been smitten with his rebellious yet magnetic voice.
“I have no idea what she’s saying, and she has no idea what I’m saying...” Ren Qian, still dizzy, felt rather awkward. This nurse was so forward—smoothing his sheets, stroking his hair, caring for him as if they’d been close for years.
He glanced up at her. Though her cheeks were tinged with bashful pink, her large, sparkling eyes stared eagerly at him.
“Bold and spirited—that’s my first impression of this nurse,” he thought, taking a deep breath as he propped himself up.
“Don’t get up, you need to rest,” she protested.
Ren Qian waved her off, forcing himself to sit. The next moment, his eyes stared blankly at the back of his own hand.
A body only twenty years old—finally, he understood. He had arrived in a parallel world. Cursing the heavens, struck by lightning, the deaths of Wong Ka Kui, Danny Chan, Leslie Cheung—all flashed before his eyes, along with the memory of collapsing by the lake, coughing blood.
Ren Qian forced down the tumult in his heart, pinched his now much younger arm, and in the sharp pain, confirmed what he already suspected: he had truly crossed into another world.
“Could I... take a look at your phone?”
The nurse handed it over without hesitation. Their hands brushed, and Ren Qian felt the smoothness of her skin.
The phone was a brand he’d never seen. The browser, a domain he’d never heard of.
Unwilling to give up, Ren Qian searched for Wong Ka Kui—nothing but “no results found.”
At last, he was forced to accept a basic truth: there were no Cantonese songs here. Wong Ka Kui, Danny Chan, Hacken Lee, Alan Tam, Leslie Cheung... none had ever shone, perhaps had never even existed.
People, events—nothing was the same.
As for other songs in Mandarin or English, Ren Qian couldn’t say for sure; that would take time to discover. But one thing was certain: he now possessed a vast trove of musical treasures.
Searching further, Ren Qian realized these two worlds were profoundly different.
In this world, at the end of the Qing dynasty, the Hundred Days’ Reform had succeeded. Empress Dowager Cixi had lost her power, the monarchy faded, capitalism boomed, and with its massive population, the Constitutional Empire of China’s industry exploded. In a short time, the nation reclaimed a place among the world’s top powers.
In the chaos that followed, the empire annexed the Korean Peninsula, dominated Southeast Asia, pushed north into Siberia, and even forced Russia to sell Alaska to them, instead of the United States.
Now, the empire’s territory was nearly three times the size of China’s.
Three times!
Such a national situation was almost overwhelming...
So, Ren Qian had come to a world both foreign and familiar.
Before crossing over, his body’s former owner had also been named Ren Qian—a recipient of the top scholarship at Jiangnan University. The “original Ren Qian” had had a dream of music since childhood, and in university that dream blossomed. He taught himself instruments and composition, practicing his singing every morning in quiet corners.
In his pursuit, his extraordinary musical talent emerged. He made friends in the university’s music department, and together they formed the “Landing on Mars” band. In just half a year, they’d won a solid reputation on campus.
...
Three months ago.
Ren Qian scrimped and saved, burning the midnight oil, and wrote three remarkable songs, each with elaborate “Guofeng” lyrics.
Anyone with an eye for music could see these were high-quality works—enough to get the band signed to Mars Entertainment, the nation’s biggest music company.
But Ren Qian never anticipated such treachery. His three bandmates registered the songs under their own names first, then accused him of plagiarism, kicking him out of the very band he’d built from scratch.
And those betrayers went on to sign with Mars Entertainment!
Thus came that fateful day: Ren Qian, overwhelmed by anger, shouting “Am I truly loyal and righteous?” in the street, then collapsing in a fit of rage.
...
Listening to the nurse recount the story, Ren Qian pieced it all together and couldn’t help but smile bitterly. The body’s original owner must have been devastated.
Even now, as an interloper, he could feel the lingering resentment.
But just because the previous Ren Qian couldn’t let go, didn’t mean he couldn’t. He carried with him a wealth of masterpieces from another world. Those treacherous jesters were nothing to fear.
“I often went to Jiangnan University Square to hear your band perform. Hee hee~ I’m your number one fan,” the nurse giggled.
“I’m very glad to have such a beautiful fan. And so gentle and caring, too.”
Ren Qian was deeply grateful, warmth blossoming in his heart—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
For in China, there was only competition, never care. Musicians who failed to stand out in the fierce arena were gradually forgotten by their agencies, left to languish in obscurity. Without a breakthrough, there was no money, no social status, no one willing to pay attention.
That was how his previous life had been—watching his peers rise to stardom, seeing younger talents become overnight sensations, while he remained stuck at the bottom, his talent wrung dry.
But now, looking at the delicate, handsome face reflected in the hospital window, he knew: with this strange twist of fate, the past was gone with the wind...
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