Time Travel

After an argument with Zhou Mingyu, I jumped from the thirtieth floor with my five-month-old daughter in my arms.

When I opened my eyes again, time had actually returned to yesterday.

On this day, because the baby wouldn’t stop crying, Zhou Mingyu snapped at me for the first time: “Chen Ran, you don’t have a mother yourself, so it’s no wonder you don’t even know how to take care of a child!”

Our relationship had always been good, so I thought he hadn’t meant it; I blamed it on my own volatile temper and for taking things too hard.

But time continued to flow backward, and I discovered that this wasn’t the first time Zhou Mingyu had said such things: During my postpartum recovery month, he joked, “If your mother were still alive, my mother wouldn’t be so exhausted.”

On the day I was hospitalized to give birth, in response to the nurse’s questions, he said with a smile, “Her mother passed away, so who else could be her caregiver but me?”

At our wedding, he held my hand and vowed, “Chen Ran, I will definitely take good care of you in your mother’s stead!”

… It turned out he had always cared about the fact that I didn’t have a mother.

But the strange thing was, why didn’t I have any memory of my mother at all?

Had she ever truly existed?

If time continued to flow backward, would I eventually see her?

I was a palace maid serving at the emperor’s side when I accidentally started seeing floating comments.

The comments said the emperor was hopelessly love-brained.

By day, when Consort Gui treated him coldly, he acted as if he couldn’t care less.

By night, he would sob under the covers, terrified his eyes would turn red from crying, then sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to press ice against them.

I didn’t believe it. Was this really my cold-blooded, ruthless, domineering emperor?

Later, I discovered the comments were right.

He really was love-brained.

Only, the target of his obsession had become me.

But I… didn’t love him.

I suspect my cat has someone on the side.

Lately, it keeps coming home late, and there’s always a sweet cucumber scent lingering on its fur.

Even more infuriating, winter has only just arrived, and it’s already wearing a flashy red vest that clearly costs four figures!

I took this as a provocation, so I rolled up a note and attached it to the cat’s collar: “Thank you for the vest, but this cat already has an owner.”

The next day, my cat came home, and the note around its neck had been replaced by one in an unfamiliar hand, written with absolute certainty. “Sorry, but this cat can only be mine.”

The noble consort who had been cherished all her life said on her deathbed that she regretted everything.

“If there is a next life, I would gladly trade places with you. I would be a lowly palace maid, endure until I turned twenty-five, then leave the palace and be free.”

“The emperor’s favor, all this hollow wealth and splendor – whoever wants it can have it.”

Tears ran down her face as she said that all she wanted was a love that was pure and true.

Just before she closed her eyes, she clutched my hand.

“Cherry, will you do it? Will you trade places with me?”

Weeping, I pressed my lips to her ear.

“This servant is willing.”

I had spent a lifetime cleaning up her messes.

I was so tired.

The night I went to collect Prince Jing’s corpse, I saw my own jade bracelet and sleeping robe inside the coffin. My husband, returned from the dead, choked me and said, “Lanyin, die once in my place.”

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to three months ago. This time, I will be the one collecting their corpses first.

On the night of February 2, 2011, my daughter was lured to a park under the guise of a part-time job.

There, she was raped and her body was discarded. At least three people were involved in the assault, but the killers were never found.

On New Year’s Eve, 2026, I prepared a table full of poisoned food and looked at my daughter’s photograph. “It’s been fifteen years, and I still haven’t found the people who destroyed you.

I don’t want to spend another New Year without you. I’m coming down to join you now.”

As the poison began to take effect, I set down my chopsticks and leaned over the table, retching. Just then, my phone rang.

When I answered, a familiar voice came from the other end: “Dad, I’m at the park. Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.”

It has been ten years since I died.

After a decade, I have finally seen the first person to come and pay their respects at my grave.

It is a man, limping as he walks toward me.

It is my father.