Chapter Twenty-Six: Zhou Jingchen

While Yu Qian was deep in slumber, far away in Hangzhou, Zhou Jingchen—whose name had recently stirred up attention across the Six Realms—stood lost in thought before his office’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He felt as though he were caught in a dream, but the sharp pain when he pinched himself dispelled the illusion.

He distinctly remembered witnessing the explosion at the research institute, seeing the flames consume him, and feeling certain he had died. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he found himself somewhere entirely different. At first, awakening in this place, he thought it might be an illusion conjured by the River of Forgetfulness, but the youthful face he touched was undeniably his from over a decade ago—warm, supple, and very much alive. After ten years in the institute, he had grown accustomed to his emaciated, reclusive appearance. It felt strange, almost unsettling, to suddenly wear the face of a teenager again.

He stared at the nightscape beyond the glass for a long while, dazed. Perhaps, he thought, the ten years of research into time travel at the institute had finally borne fruit.

After his family’s business collapsed, he was left burdened with debt, unable even to afford university. If not for an old professor who recognized his talent and brought him into the institute, he might have died long ago. Zhou Jingchen’s feelings toward the institute were complicated: gratitude for the refuge it provided, revulsion for its disregard of human dignity, and disgust at the endless internal strife. The explosion that propelled him through time likely stemmed from yet another conflict between rival factions.

He turned back, sat in the executive chair, and powered on the computer. The sluggish boot time was jarring. Two whole minutes passed before the screen flickered to life—running Windows XP, no less. Zhou Jingchen winced, long accustomed to the sleek professionalism of Windows 7 and 10; this antiquated system felt like a relic.

He checked the date in the corner: November 14, 2005. Regret pooled in his heart.

He picked up a family photo beside the computer, gazing at the three beaming faces, lost in thought. With a sudden, desperate motion, he placed the photo face-down and buried his head in his arms, wracked with wrenching sobs.

It was 2005—thirteen years back. What did it matter? If only he’d arrived a few months earlier, back in the spring of 2005, he might have had a chance to save his parents.

At the time of his death, Zhou Jingchen was twenty-eight—a titan in IT, a researcher in a private institute in Yunjing, working with professors on time-travel experiments. The explosion, the result of factional sabotage, had seemingly doomed their research. He thought he’d perished, but fate had other plans: the project had, against all odds, succeeded.

Thirteen years ago, Zhou Jingchen had been fifteen; his parents had died in a car crash six months earlier, leaving behind a modest Internet company called Yunzhou. The business was small but profitable, with several foreign online game licenses, and was considered wealthy by Hangzhou standards. Tragically, his family included a destitute branch—his father’s cousin’s family—who had long relied on his parents’ generosity. After their deaths, these relatives, conspiring with a fraudulent lawyer, swindled Zhou Jingchen out of his shares and saddled him with debts, leaving him bankrupt as an adult.

When his parents were alive, Zhou Jingchen had known happiness—wealth, good looks, intelligence. After their passing, he lost everything: money, education, even his once-handsome features, wasted away by years as a research shut-in.

When the sobs finally subsided, he lifted his head and began to contemplate the future.

He had been gifted decades more of life and memories—an act of mercy from fate. At this moment, the fraudulent lawyer had not yet appeared, the scheming relatives had yet to devise their plan, and the company, suddenly without its founders, was now in the hands of a mere fifteen-year-old.

The first priority was to stabilize the company. The second, to utterly destroy the parasitic relatives and the fake lawyer.

His instinct was to check Weibo for trending topics, but searches yielded nothing; only after rummaging through his memories did he recall there were still four or five years before Weibo would even exist. A new project presented itself. Years ago, during a casual hacking exercise, he had memorized Weibo’s algorithm.

His parents’ company was teetering. Aside from a handful of tepid online game licenses, there was little to generate revenue. If he wanted to keep their legacy alive, these dwindling profits would never suffice. The company needed a flagship product. Weibo was a golden opportunity—he silently apologized to Langhua Corp before adding it to his company’s future plans.

Beyond that, games remained a lucrative avenue. Once Weibo was online and the money started coming in, he’d think about which blockbuster titles from the future he could either license or collaborate on.

With the company’s revival mapped out, it was time to deal with those who had wronged him.

“How amusing—such an opportunity,” he mused, drumming his fingers on the desk. The memory of that arrogant, grasping family in his previous life brought a cold smile to his face. “Not only in the future—every cent you took from my parents over the years, you’ll cough it back up.”

Zhou Jingchen’s father's cousin was the son of two famine victims; after their deaths, Zhou’s father had brought the boy with him, begging and hustling their way to Hangzhou. Zhou’s father grew up honest and industrious, met Zhou’s equally orphaned mother, and together they struggled for nearly thirty years to build a modest company. The cousin, always shielded by Zhou’s father, became lazy and feckless, even marrying a delinquent he met in an arcade.

Zhou’s parents were too kind, always giving in to the cousin’s family’s demands. Their soft hearts were repaid with greed and betrayal, ultimately dooming their own son.

“If you love to play and live recklessly, you must love to gamble,” Zhou Jingchen said with a faint smile.

With his plans laid, exhaustion set in. He stretched out on the sofa—too late and too unsafe for a child to walk home alone—so he decided to spend the night in the office.

At six in the morning, both Yu Qian and Zhou Jingchen opened their eyes almost simultaneously. One, in the capital of Sichuan, packed her bags to head for Yunjing. The other, after washing up in the breakroom, began writing code for the company’s new social platform. Two people, worlds apart but sharing a second chance at life, each striving for their future.

In their cave abode, Fuxi and Nüwa gazed into twin water mirrors, observing the pair’s progress. No one knew when these two, separated by a thousand miles, would cross paths or under what circumstances they might fall in love. Heaven’s laws forbade interference; they could only watch, unseen, from afar.

Yu Qian joined her teacher and team, departing for Shuangyang Airport. It was her first time in Yunjing, excitement bubbling within as she gazed at the clouds from her seat, heart pounding with anticipation.

Meanwhile, Zhou Jingchen left the office, bought a prepaid SIM and a cheap phone, and dialed a number—a contact from his past life, a local underworld figure known for handling gray-area matters. He intended to enlist him to lure his greedy relatives into gambling.

“Brother Cheng, I’ll leave this to you. I’ll send the deposit to your account shortly,” Zhou Jingchen said with a light laugh.

Whatever the man replied, Zhou’s voice grew softer, almost gentle: “It’s not a blood feud—just something that needs taking care of for a friend. Besides, they’ve lost their backing.”

“If you need anything, just call this number.”

Standing in the stairwell, Zhou instinctively reached for a cigarette, only to remember he had none. He chuckled.

Still smiling, hands in his pockets, he made his way toward the programming department.