Most people believed that after death, there was an afterlife—a peaceful journey where one would reunite with loved ones who had passed on before them.
When Zhou Hongchuan opened his eyes, he instinctively searched for the familiar figure of his beloved wife, Fang Zhuxin. She went first before him, so where was she to welcome him?
Confusion clouded his eyes when he woke up and his old lady was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his gaze fell on the crumbling walls of a small, dilapidated room. A faint smell of earth and mold hung in the air, a scent reminiscent of the past when he was still a poor farmer struggling to support his family back in 1972.
Instead of the afterlife, he was sent to reminisce about his past life?
For a moment, he was thrown back into those difficult days, but something felt off. No matter how vividly the memories of his youth flooded his mind, he knew this room was not his. Even when he was at his poorest, his family's home wasn't like this.
His bed, for one, was different. It wasn't the narrow, wooden bed that his late dad had built for him. Instead, he was lying on a much wider bed, though still shabby and far from luxurious. The sheets beneath him were coarse and smelled of dust, and when he looked down, he saw patches on the blanket that seemed hastily sewn together with uneven stitches.
He glanced around the room. Despite being poor, his wardrobe didn't look as bad as the one placed in the corner of the room, where its hinges were crooked, the doors sagging, as if ready to fall apart at any moment. There was no sign of the green curtains his elder sister had lovingly sewn for him long ago. Instead, the window across from him was wide open, letting in a stream of golden morning light. There was no covering, no curtain to block the sun, just the raw light of day.
He glanced down at his hands.
"Whose hands are these!?"
His breath caught in his throat as he raised them to eye level. They were youthful, tanned, and calloused—but strong. They were nothing like the wrinkled, frail hands he had when he died at the age of 85, after a long life filled with both hardship and joy.
His heart raced as he touched his face. The lines and creases from his old age were gone. His body, too, was unfamiliar, leaner and filled with the strength of youth.
Just as he began to grasp the reality of his situation, a sharp, searing pain tore through his skull. A horrible headache struck him without warning, unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. It felt as if his mind was being split open, and he gritted his teeth to endure the agony. His vision blurred, and before he could comprehend what was happening, memories that were not his own flooded into his consciousness.
Images, sounds, names, and faces, all foreign yet strangely familiar, flashed before his eyes, playing out like a chaotic dream. He saw a small village, a family, fields being tilled under the sun, and people he had never met before.
Zhou Hongchuan clutched his head, struggling to make sense of the barrage of memories assaulting his mind.
As the pain finally subsided, he was left gasping for breath, but his confusion slowly cleared. He now understood. He had been reborn—in the body of a 15-year-old boy from a farming family.
Qin Hongchuan. That was his name now. The memories belonged to this youth, the firstborn son of Qin Dalang, a farmer living in Shangjing Village. The dynasty he found himself in was entirely unfamiliar—something that did not exist in the history books he had known. This was the Yu Dynasty, and the current year was the 105th of its reign, under the Jianlong Emperor.
His heart raced again, but not with fear—this time, it was excitement, tempered with disbelief. He had been granted a second life, a second chance, but in an entirely different world, one removed from the history he had lived through.
Through the fog of new memories, Zhou Hongchuan—now Qin Hongchuan—learned that the Qin family was a large clan in Shangjing Village, located at the foot of a mountain. Though they were not wealthy, they were well-respected among the villagers. The clan's roots ran deep, with three main families: the Qin, Ma, and Li Clans. Qin Hongchuan's father, Qin Dalang, was the eldest son in his generation, and Qin Hongchuan was the firstborn of this family.
As he sifted through Qin Hongchuan's memories, he pieced together the intricate relationships within the family. Qin Dalang had married Yu Shi, a strong-willed woman from a hunting family in a neighbouring village. Together, they had three children: Qin Hongchuan, the eldest; a younger brother; and a baby sister. The Qin family owned twelve acres of land, divided equally among the three sons after their parents passed away. Qin Dalang worked hard to maintain their livelihood, cultivating their small portion of the land with Yu Shi's help.
Zhou Hongchuan marvelled at the details that poured into his mind, but despite the fascination of this new life, his thoughts quickly turned to Fang Zhuxin.
"Zhuxin," he whispered, his chest tightening with longing. Was she here too? Could it be that she had been given the same second chance?
His hands clenched as he tried to calm himself. The thought of living without her, in this new world, was unbearable. He could face anything this life threw at him, but only if she were by his side. His memories of her were still vivid—the soft curve of her smile, the warmth of her presence. Theirs had been a love that spanned decades, growing stronger with each hardship they faced together.
"I need to find her," he murmured, his voice firm with determination. He wouldn't rest until he knew whether or not she had been given the same gift. The women of the village may have cast glances in Qin Hongchuan's direction, but they meant nothing to him. In this life or the next, Fang Zhuxin was the only woman he desired.
As the morning light spilled further into the room, Qin Hongchuan—no longer the frail old man, Zhou—began to accept the reality of his new life. This was a second chance, one he never imagined receiving.
But first, he had to find her.