Chapter 1: Live Well

History has a curious inflection point. Rewind the reel once, and the world becomes both familiar and strange.

It was still that China, busily promoting the "Three Represents"; still that city of Hefei, one of the four great centers of science and education; still that same Zhang Tan, son of Zhang Quanshun and Tan Mingxia.

Yet, China now lacked much of what it ought to possess, and was burdened with things it never should have had.

How much Hefei had changed remained unknown; but why, Zhang Tan wondered, did the character for "Fei" in the city’s name have three water radicals?

He felt a sense of disbelief—his world had changed, and even he himself was not the same. He was no longer that half-awake teenager about to enter high school.

The calendar, the television, the newspapers, and the words of everyone around him insisted that this was 2001 and August was drawing to a close. He was about to start high school.

Everyone spoke with conviction, but only Zhang Tan knew that this year should, in truth, be 2016.

They say a man stands firm at thirty, and in this very year, fate had played a trick on him, rewinding his life straight back to his first year of high school. Perhaps the reel had even been swapped by mistake, for all the things he remembered had grown blurred and unrecognizable.

Because next year was the Communist Party’s general election, his uncle and third uncle, who loved nothing more than discussing national affairs, would sit in the front yard each evening, enjoying the cool air and chatting about personnel changes. President Jiang was stepping down; President Bai was coming up.

“The next General Secretary isn’t President Hu, but President Bai? How strange! It’s as if President Hu never existed, and who is this President Bai who’s suddenly appeared?”

Zhang Tan felt compelled to figure out what on earth was going on—a thought that diluted the complex emotions brought by his rebirth.

He rummaged through boxes, making a mess of the newspapers his grandfather had neatly collected. At last, he obtained a not-quite-clear but still serviceable understanding of his circumstances.

Thankfully, this was still Earth, and the broad trajectory of events matched his memories. The tides of history were unstoppable, but the details had twisted beyond recognition.

The singers and celebrities in his memory—some had vanished, some remained, but their works were all different. The TV dramas and variety shows he recalled, except for the Central Television’s “Zhengda Variety Show” and “Journey to the West,” had all changed. The classic films, music, and books—some had disappeared, some endured.

“Could it be that QQ has vanished too? This is my chance!” Zhang Tan’s heart fluttered with excitement, but as he flipped through the Hefei Evening News’s technology section, he saw a report: Tencent’s instant messaging software QQ, based in Shenshen, had surpassed two million users online at once, and registered users reached thirty-five million.

His face fell, but he quickly consoled himself: “It’s fine, QQ exists—what about Taobao? Looks like that won’t work either, Alibaba was founded early on… Weibo and WeChat, though, those could be done… But it’s still too early, without smartphones, Weibo and WeChat don’t make sense… Maybe I should try my luck in the stock market… But which year was the bull market?”

After nearly ten years in the workforce, traveling far and wide, Zhang Tan realized, somewhat dispirited, that he’d never paid attention to the stock market.

He flipped through newspapers, gathered information, and pondered the future.

A wave of discouragement washed over him. His previous life had amounted to nothing, and this one seemed no more promising. He’d never played the stock market, couldn’t remember lottery numbers, and even for next year’s World Cup, all he recalled was that China had lost nine goals and slunk home in defeat. Who was the champion—Germany? Brazil? Or was it shameless South Korea?

Ah yes, the notorious South Korean referee scandal—that much he remembered. They made it to the semifinals, it seemed.

“I used to love playing soccer; why didn’t I pay attention to the 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup?”

He wanted to slap himself for not preparing better for his rebirth—he should have done more research online. But almost instantly, he realized that in this altered era, the details were already warped. Could he even trust his memories to deliver the right outcomes?

What if, next year, China’s team exploded onto the scene and won the World Cup?

“If even President Hu can be erased, what’s so strange about the Chinese football team winning the trophy… Actually, that would be quite odd, considering the current state of Chinese football is still terrible. Well, at least they made it through qualifiers. Last night, in the final round of the Asian zone, China beat Oman two to zero—not bad.”

The shifting details of history left Zhang Tan disheartened; those ideas for making a fortune seemed useless now.

But soon, he perked up again. All roads lead to Rome, and he thought of other golden opportunities. He’d checked—many classic works were missing from this era, especially movies, novels, TV dramas, and songs. The older the work, the more likely it still existed, but the closer to 2001, the more had vanished.

“Is this the butterfly effect of rebirth? A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon and two weeks later a tornado forms in Texas…?”

Zhang Tan fell into a deep reverie: his songs sweeping the nation, his novels translated into countless languages, his films winning award after award—an extraordinary artistic life.

Yet after the daydream, he suddenly realized he couldn’t compose music, couldn’t remember all the words to those novels, and making films was even more troublesome.

“But I can learn—those classics are right there. I can recreate them… But is my true ambition really to become famous and powerful?”

A fifteen-year-old body with a thirty-year-old soul—Zhang Tan was lost.

His previous life had been mediocre but not destitute. He’d fallen in love and broken up, been fired and resigned, lived hand to mouth, and muddled through the days.

It seemed he had never harbored any grand ambitions.

Ambition is often the pursuit of youth; the more mature one grows, the more realistic one becomes. With the passing of his fantasies, Zhang Tan finally saw that he didn’t crave earth-shattering greatness. Deep down, what he desired most was simply to live freely and unburdened.

Those he’d failed to cherish before, he would cherish doubly now.

Things he’d lacked the courage to do, he would now find the nerve for.

Mistakes he’d made, he was determined not to repeat.

Where he’d caused his parents heartache, he would now show only filial piety.

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll be a happy man.”

“I’ll read, create, and live with joy.”

Since the heavens had granted him another life, there must be a reason for it. Zhang Tan felt that Xu Sanduo’s words were true: if something is meaningful, then one ought to live well; to live well is to do meaningful things.

Looking up, Zhang Tan caught sight of the calendar on the wall.

August 31st, 2001—a Friday, the thirteenth day of the seventh lunar month, the Year of the Snake. He had been born April 13th, 1987—a Monday, the sixteenth day of the third lunar month, the Year of the Rabbit.

Fourteen years old by Western count, fifteen by traditional reckoning.

Thin arms, slender legs, a distinctly boyish look, and an old-fashioned buzz cut. At 1.65 meters, he was a bit short, though he’d eventually grow to 1.75—a result he could accept. Downy hairs now sprouted at the corners of his mouth, a sign that he was in the throes of adolescence.

“School starts tomorrow—Shuangdun High School. How nostalgic that is.”