Zhong Jianguo sat down and stared at Song Zhaodi. “What new story are you planning to make up this time?”
“Have I ever lied to you?” Song Zhaodi cut him off before he could speak. “I’ve just withheld some of the truth.”
Zhong Jianguo let out a sound of acknowledgement. When he heard the door opening, he quickly stood up. “That’s probably Xiao Li. He must be checking on me since I haven’t gone in yet.” Peeking outside, he saw that it was indeed Xiao Li. “Tell Comrade Zhang that there’s something going on at home. I’ll come in later.”
“Understood,” Xiao Li replied before turning to leave.
Zhong Jianguo returned and said, “Go on, I’m all ears!”
“I’m not who you think I am,” Song Zhaodi stated.
Zhong Jianguo didn’t look surprised. “I figured as much. What I can’t understand is how you managed to fool Song Zhaodi’s family and the entire Xiao Song Village.”
“You really want to know?” Song Zhaodi asked. “If I tell you, you might have nightmares tonight.”
Zhong Jianguo smirked. “I won’t lie, when I was in training, I once slept on a grave and had a full night’s rest.”
“Impressive!” Song Zhaodi admitted. “The original Song Zhaodi never considered changing her fate through knowledge before she started university. Her original plan was to graduate and return to the county to become a high school teacher. But when she went to register at Binhai Normal University, she and her mother visited your family—specifically, your stepmother’s house. Your stepmother—”
Zhong Jianguo interrupted, “Wait, they visited my house? Then why doesn’t my stepmother know she was a university student?”
“Hold on, let me finish,” Song Zhaodi said patiently. She then recounted how the original Song Zhaodi went to the Zhong family and her plan to find a boyfriend at university. “In the second semester of her third year, which was the spring of 1966, Song Zhaodi and her boyfriend became intimate, dreaming about getting married after graduation. But neither of them expected things to change so drastically.
“Her boyfriend secretly ran away, leaving Song Zhaodi heartbroken. Before she could recover, the Cultural Revolution began, and classes were suspended. Fearing that someone would uncover her relationship with that man, she returned to Xiao Song Village. And you know what happened after that.”
Zhong Jianguo frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Her boyfriend was gone, her studies were interrupted, and she refused to marry either Wang Degui, an ordinary worker, or Zhong Jianguo, a military officer with a child. That left only one option—staying single,” Song Zhaodi explained. “And why was that?
“By last year, Song Zhaodi was twenty-two. In the city, that’s just about the age for university graduation, maybe even earlier. But in the countryside, most girls her age were already married. The young men who were better-looking and had better family conditions than Wang Degui were all taken.
“She wanted to find someone with a decent family background, similar in age, and well-educated. That meant looking in the city. But what was happening in the city? The Cultural Revolution was in full swing—anyone with a good family background didn’t even dare go outside, let alone think about marriage.
“Realising all this, plus the pressure of your return, Song Zhaodi was so distressed that she cried for several nights. I suspect she had a weak heart, and with the emotional stress and exhaustion, she just… cried herself to death.”
Zhong Jianguo clapped his hands. “Nice story.”
Song Zhaodi rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you curious about how I dealt with her body? I didn’t.” She paused before asking, “Have you read Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio? The story Lu Pan?”
Zhong Jianguo stiffened. “A head swap?”
“If you asked Wang Degui, he’d probably say he had no idea,” Song Zhaodi said.
Zhong Jianguo scoffed, “Stick to your story. Don’t drag in others.”
“Alright.” Song Zhaodi lifted her chin. “It wasn’t a head swap. I don’t even have neck wrinkles. Honestly, I don’t know how I ended up here. I was originally from a hundred years in the future.”
Zhong Jianguo’s eyes widened. Realising his tension, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He reminded himself—he couldn’t afford to show fear in front of Song Zhaodi.
Song Zhaodi glanced at him and smiled. “I was on a flight from the U.S. to France when the plane crashed. I thought I was dead for sure, so I took a photo and posted it to—how should I explain it? The technology of that time was too advanced to describe here. It was like leaving a digital will. After posting it, I lost consciousness.”
“Let’s skip that part,” Zhong Jianguo clenched his fists, feigning composure. “Continue.”
Song Zhaodi said, “When I woke up, I had become Song Zhaodi—the person you see now. The body belongs to her, but the soul is mine. When I arrived, her soul hadn’t completely disappeared yet, so I merged with it and gained her memories.
“I played along at first, which is why her family never noticed that her soul had vanished. That’s my theory, at least. As for whether souls and spirits exist, I never saw them in my past life, and I haven’t seen them in this one either. But I do believe in karma. That’s why I treat her family as my own.”
Zhong Jianguo was sceptical, but it was the only explanation that made sense. “Why didn’t you just keep pretending? You were doing a good job—you could have kept up the act forever.”
“My body is only twenty-three. What if I live to seventy-three or ninety-three? Would I have to act for seventy years?” Song Zhaodi gave him a look. “Life isn’t a stage play. I wasn’t born an actress, and I wasn’t a performer in my past life. Even if I wanted to keep up the act, I wouldn’t be able to do it forever.”
Zhong Jianguo filled in the blanks for her. “So you decided to stop acting altogether and just do whatever you wanted?”
“Exactly,” Song Zhaodi confirmed. “The person living with you is me—the one from a hundred years in the future. Not the original Song Zhaodi. I want to be myself. And I don’t want you to treat me as someone else.”
Zhong Jianguo swallowed hard and discreetly pinched his thigh—he couldn’t let his nerves show. “Were you a seamstress in your past life?”
“I was a fashion designer,” Song Zhaodi corrected him. “I only designed clothes for celebrities and political elites. As for actors—like the famous opera performers of this era—whether or not I designed for them depended on my mood.”
Zhong Jianguo smirked. “That tracks, given your attitude.”
“You sure are sharp-eyed,” Song Zhaodi retorted, rolling her eyes.
Zhong Jianguo’s face showed a hint of a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Aren’t you worried about your family after coming here?”
“I don’t have any family,” Song Zhaodi replied. “My father didn’t care about me, and my mother didn’t love me. The only reason I got to study fashion design at a university in France was because of a kind-hearted person who sponsored me. Don’t overthink it—it was a woman. A very rich, gentle and beautiful woman. Unfortunately, before she could graduate, a wolf took her away.”
Zhong Jianguo was speechless. “Even if she didn’t get married, there was no way anything would’ve happened between you two.”
“My preference is men. I never intended for anything to happen with her,” Song Zhaodi muttered. “Ask whatever else you want in one go, so you don’t accuse me of lying again later.”
Zhong Jianguo had a headache just looking at her nonchalant attitude. “You never got married either?”
“No marriage, no children,” Song Zhaodi replied. “I was born into a cold family where my father didn’t care and my mother didn’t love me. Even though I hoped to have a warm home one day, I never tried. I died at thirty-seven, right in the year 2067. If you still don’t believe me, you can find someone to test me—my French is better than my English.”
Zhong Jianguo said, “I believe you’re not the real Song Zhaodi, that you have an extraordinary background, and that you know how to make clothes. As for how much of what you said is true—”
“Even if it’s all fake, you have no way to verify it,” Song Zhaodi said confidently. “If you manage to live to a hundred, maybe you’ll see me again then. But even if you do, you won’t know which little girl is the past me.”
Zhong Jianguo choked on his words, resisting the urge to slap her. “Then shouldn’t you at least tell me your real name now?”
“Liu Ling,” Song Zhaodi said. “Same surname as Commander Liu, and ‘Ling’ as in clever.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Zhong Jianguo. My soul is seven years older than you,”—yeah, right—“but my body is eight years younger.”
Zhong Jianguo gripped her hand tightly, making Song Zhaodi inhale sharply before he let go. “I bet you dated quite a few people in your past life.”
“A few,” Song Zhaodi admitted. “Back then, people got married and divorced faster than they finished a meal. Wait a second—when did you figure it out?”
Zhong Jianguo said, “The moment you said the kitchen wasn’t bad, I stopped believing you’d only had one relationship.”
“You’re quite observant,” Song Zhaodi acknowledged, then suddenly widened her eyes. “Zhong Jianguo, are you sulking because you think I had too many partners and that I’m not a decent woman?”
A flicker of discomfort flashed across Zhong Jianguo’s face. “That’s not important.”
“It’s very important,” Song Zhaodi said seriously. “Even though I was involved in the entertainment and fashion world in my past life, I was lucky to have a benefactor who helped me, so I never had to exchange my body for anything.
“My benefactor disliked people with messy personal lives, so even for her sake, I wouldn’t have been reckless. As for the kitchen comment, I was just teasing you. You’re so easy to rile up—one little tease and you freeze up, turn bright red, and get all stiff.”
Zhong Jianguo realised she was deliberately messing with him. “So, did you dress like this today just to mess with me too?”
“Of course.” Song Zhaodi pulled her tucked-in shirt out of her pants. “This shirt is long enough to cover my backside. With the hem untucked, no one would say anything if I wore these pants outside.” She stood up and gestured for Zhong Jianguo to see for himself.
Zhong Jianguo frowned. “It’s a little tight on top. Did you alter it yourself?”
“Alter what?” Song Zhaodi asked. “This shirt was made by my mother when this body was seventeen. Then I grew, and now it’s a bit small. If you stop sulking, I’ll take this shirt apart and make vests for your three kids.”
Zhong Jianguo sized her up. “You think this one shirt can make three vests?”
“It can’t,” Song Zhaodi admitted. “I won’t know how many I can make until I take it apart. If there’s not enough fabric, I can piece something together. When my mother made this shirt, she hoped the original Song Zhaodi could wear it for three to five years. She just didn’t expect that my chest would keep growing.”
Zhong Jianguo rubbed his forehead. “Fine, I can tolerate you talking about your chest and backside in front of me, but please, for the love of God, be more reserved when you’re outside. I’m begging you.”
“I’m not stupid,” Song Zhaodi said. “Besides, I still want to live a long life.”
Zhong Jianguo finally relaxed. “Just be mindful in front of the kids too.”
“Wait, you’re not going to ask any more questions? You’re just accepting this?” Song Zhaodi was shocked.
Zhong Jianguo snorted. “You’re full of flaws, and you don’t even try to hide them. I figured out a long time ago that you weren’t the real Song Zhaodi from Xiao Song Village. I was waiting for you to slip up more so I could guess your real identity. But in my wildest dreams, I never expected your talent to be tailoring instead of hidden weapons, marksmanship or espionage.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Captain Zhong,” Song Zhaodi—no, Liu Ling—said. She wasn’t from this era, and her behaviour and habits didn’t match the time period. She could pretend outside, but at home, she didn’t bother—it was too exhausting. Still, she hadn’t planned to reveal herself to Zhong Jianguo this quickly. “You know I’m not Song Zhaodi, yet you still dare to sleep in the same bed as me. You’re pretty bold.”
Zhong Jianguo said, “Helping the school’s teachers doesn’t benefit you. Burning those unaccounted-for clothes didn’t do you much good either. If you were a spy from across the strait, it wouldn’t make sense for you to do these things. Old Jiang would love for the island to fall into chaos.
“And don’t tell me it’s to win people over. You hide in the house all day, barely socialise and sleep like the dead at night. If you were a spy, you’d need a thousand lives to survive.” He paused and took a breath. “Unless the Jiang family no longer exists.”
“Should I be thanking you?” Song Zhaodi said sourly.
Zhong Jianguo waved her off. “No need. Figuring out you’re not a spy is more important than my own safety. But now I’m even more curious—why did you marry me? Now I know. I’m heading to the base.”
“Hey, you asked your questions, but I haven’t asked mine yet,” Song Zhaodi called after him. She knew Zhong Jianguo liked her—otherwise, he wouldn’t have accepted her so quickly. But despite his feelings, he refused to admit it. He probably thought she was too experienced and was waiting until he could move past it before taking things further. “Don’t you want to know about the future?”
Zhong Jianguo said, “You already told me.”
“When did I say anything?” Song Zhaodi was confused.
Zhong Jianguo said, “You told Qian Qinghua that within twenty years, the country would resume college entrance exams. Seeing how confident you were, I knew the chaos was temporary and the future would be better.
“I did want to ask about the military, but you’re just a tailor who didn’t even know the rank system was abolished. Asking you would be pointless. I might as well read the newspapers and listen to the radio.”
Song Zhaodi grabbed whatever was within reach and threw it at him.
Zhong Jianguo quickly grabbed her wrist. “I was joking! Don’t be mad. Tell me—what’s China’s military strength like in a hundred years?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Song Zhaodi admitted. “I just know we have aircraft carriers and can go toe-to-toe with the Americans. The U.S. considers China its biggest rival.”
Zhong Jianguo frowned. “Not the Soviet Union?”
“No, the Soviet Union collapsed. I don’t know when—I studied fashion design, not history.”
Zhong Jianguo nodded. “If the U.S. sees China as a rival, it means China is strong enough. That’s all I need to know.”
“It’s thanks to your generation’s endurance that China got there,” Song Zhaodi said.
Zhong Jianguo smiled bitterly. “A fat man can’t be built in one bite. We had nothing—enduring was the only option. I’m off.”
“So, are we just going to stay like this, or are we going to be a real couple?” Song Zhaodi asked as she walked him out.
Zhong Jianguo stumbled slightly and rubbed his forehead. “Song Zhaodi, could you be a little more subtle? I understand what you’re saying.”
“There’s no one else around,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Why should a married couple beat around the bush? Just say it—yes or no? If no, then give me the key to the guest room.”
Zhong Jianguo’s eyelid twitched. “I threw the key into the sea a long time ago.” Before Song Zhaodi could respond, he rushed to the door. As he glanced back and saw that the house was still there, he pinched his arm. The sharp pain made him hiss, and he couldn’t help but mutter, “The heavens really sent her to torment me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze. Song Zhaodi had once said she was sent by the heavens.
So…?
She really hadn’t been lying.
“Dad, Dad! Are you heading to work?”
Zhong Jianguo turned his head and saw Dawa and Erwa holding Sanwa’s hands as they walked out of the Lin family’s house. “What do you want, Zhong Dawa?”
“I need to talk to Mom,” Dawa said.
Zhong Jianguo raised an eyebrow. “So you’re here to chase me away?” As he walked closer, he asked, “What do you need from your mom?”
“Ma Zhenxing said my clothes look nice and wants Mom to make him a set. He’s already gone home to ask his mom for fabric,” Dawa grinned. “Dad, do you think Mom will agree?”
Zhong Jianguo instinctively glanced back at the woman in the house, remembering that she once said she only made clothes for celebrities and high-ranking officials. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Your mom would be absolutely delighted. Lin Zhong, if your family has any spare fabric, you can also bring it over and ask your aunt to make you a vest or shorts for summer. Her craftsmanship is excellent—her clothes look good and save fabric too.”
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