Parallel world.
Summer of 2002.
Northeast China.
The sun was sinking outside. A rusty fan kept swinging its head left and right, blowing hot air over the old desk by the window. An empty glass and two boxes of pills sat there silently.
Charles Haynes lay shirtless on the bed, drenched in sweat, eyes filled with confusion. He’d been like this for hours.
Who am I?
Where is this?
He vaguely remembered exhaling his last breath—and then suddenly, his body felt light. From above, he saw himself lying motionless on that hospital bed, surrounded by sobbing friends. So many familiar tear-streaked faces. His old body was skin and bones, eyes shut like it had gone in peace.
Then a strange force pulled him through a long, swirling tunnel full of flickering lights. When he opened his eyes again, he was... here.
He slowly sat up, lifted an arm. The skin was pale but healthy, the arms thin but not sickly. He grinned for a second—no smile came out.
Still dazed, he scanned the unfamiliar room.
Small white walls. A partially sketched still-life painting sat on a wooden easel in the corner—it looked like a student’s work. The desk beside the window was old and worn. The fan kept buzzing. He was on a rickety single bed with a creaky frame.
He glanced at the wall. A few faded posters of girls posing awkwardly were taped up. He didn’t recognize any of them.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head. Memories began pouring in—memories that weren’t his.
Lucas Bryant. Male. Nineteen. Senior at Spring River No.10 High School. His father, Lawrence Bryant, used to work at a lumber plant, laid off ten years ago. His mother, Denise Evans, died of cancer when he was six.
Everything clicked. He’d died.. and now his soul had landed somewhere else.
A completely different life... Lucas Bryant. That’s who he was now?
He sat motionless for a long time, trying to digest it all. Slowly, he started to come to terms with his new reality.
In his past life, he was a struggling keyboardist. Started playing in nightclubs at sixteen, followed agents across the country, barely getting by. Settled in the capital at thirty-two, taught music lessons on weekends, and gigged at bars and clubs at night—Sanlitun, Gongti, Houhai. Until he got bone cancer at forty. Two years of pain before he finally passed.
Musicians usually run broke. The spending always overtakes income. Still, music had its charm—struggling artists could somehow still catch people’s eye.
He had no house, no wife, no kids in Beijing.
Plenty of lovers, tons of friends. That’s why there were so many people at his bedside when he passed.
Sigh.
He let out a long breath.
“Well… it is what it is.”
Might as well see where this life goes.They say do good without worrying about the outcome—guess fate really does have eyes. Maybe the universe saw that, even though life was tough before, Charles Haynes still donated blood and gave to charity whenever he could. So instead of sending him across the River of Forgetfulness or making him drink that memory-erasing tea, it threw him a curveball—another shot at life.
Well then, why not really *live* this time?
He glanced at the old clock on the desk. 6:05 p.m.
Wait a sec... wasn’t there a talent show for the seniors tonight? Pretty sure it already started.
Charles hopped off the bed, looked around for a mirror—no luck. He wanted to check out how he looked now, but whatever.
He threw on a white tee and sneakers, stepped into the hallway, and spotted a super clean, old-school bicycle just sitting there, unlocked. Without thinking, he grabbed it and headed out.
...
By the time Lucas Bryant made it to the Spring River No. 10 High School auditorium, the show was already underway.
Sweat dripping, he finally found his class’s section. Ducking and shuffling through rows of annoyed knees, he managed to squeeze in next to the only open spot—right beside Mr. Christopher Haynes, his homeroom teacher, who gave him a side-eye and an annoyed grunt.
On stage?
Cringe-fest stand-up.
Some corny team poem praising teachers.
A group dance that tried to be synchronized but totally wasn’t.
Then a duet with makeup so heavy it looked like circus monkeys fell in love with a paint palette.
It was painful to watch.
Charles let his eyes wander, matching faces with names written somewhere deep in Lucas’s memory. He noticed Mr. Haynes had been checking his watch nonstop ever since he got there.
Soon after, the teacher leaned over and asked Samantha Brooks, the class’s arts rep, “Where the heck is Liam Evans? Why isn't he here yet?”
Samantha was in a traditional costume, probably just got off stage. Her makeup was melting a bit, but she still looked sharp.
She frowned, clearly stressed. “No clue! Everything was fine during the afternoon rehearsal.”
“How many acts left?” he pressed.
“Thirteen,” she said.
Mr. Haynes stopped talking, but his eyes kept drifting to the entrance. After two more acts and no sign of Liam, both he and Samantha were full-on door-watching.
Liam wasn’t some average student. Total star. Straight-A's, killer with a guitar, and always the final act at every school show. Everyone waited for *his* performance.
More acts passed. Lucas felt sleep creeping in.
No good. Can’t keep waiting like this.
Mr. Haynes wiped his sweaty forehead. Decision made.
“Samantha, as the arts monitor, help me out,” he urged. “Who can step in for Liam?”
“There's no one,” she said, panicking. “Like, seriously, no one else in the class plays guitar!”
“Not even one half-decent choice among the average?” he snapped, voice raised.
Lucas jolted awake.
Samantha gave a helpless laugh. “They’re not even half-decent…”
Mr. Haynes started scratching the few hairs left on his head. “What now? I swear, Liam’s so unreliable!”
“Ask around. Check with everyone. Anyone who can *perform*—anything will do!” he said, and after a beat, added, “If someone can sing and play guitar? Even better. Go! Quickly!”Samantha Brooks let out a sigh and got up reluctantly. She moved into the aisle, walking row by row to the back, bending down and speaking in a low voice to the students sitting there.
When she returned, she spoke to Christopher Haynes almost on the verge of tears. “Mr. Haynes... I’ve checked. No one.”
She wasn’t surprised at all—she knew her classmates too well. The result was exactly what she had expected.
Christopher slumped back into his seat like a balloon that just lost all its air. That’s it. Tomorrow, his colleagues were going to roast him alive. He could already picture that smug smirk on Mr. Li's face from Class 1.
Then, someone spoke up.
"Mr. Haynes... what if—what if I give it a shot?"
Both Christopher and Samantha's faces lit up and they turned quickly—only to see Lucas Bryant.
Their smiles froze instantly.
Samantha gave a bitter laugh. “Lucas, seriously? Now’s not the time for jokes, okay?”
Some of the other students overheard and started murmuring.
“Lucas? Wait, that guy?”
“He can sing?”
“Since when?”
“What’s he trying to pull?”
“Maybe he’s nuts.”
"..."
Lucas genuinely just wanted to help, seeing how frantic Christopher was. But after hearing his classmates' reactions, he was dumbfounded.
What the heck? Is he really that unpopular? Does everyone hate him or something? There was nothing like that in his memory. Maybe this body came with its own warped self-perception?
A bunch of doubts swirled around, leaving him unsure if it was him or the body itself that was the issue.
Suddenly, Christopher leapt to his feet. He was a short, round man with thick glasses and an intense look.
He spun around to face the students, arms flailing as he barked angrily, “All of you, just full of sarcasm! If it weren’t for Samantha’s dance piece, I’d be left here with nothing! Doesn’t that embarrass you?”
“You have the nerve to laugh? To make fun of Lucas? At least he has the guts to step up! He’s willing to fight for this class’s pride! And what about you? Have any of you done that? Huh?”
Lucas felt a wave of gratitude toward his teacher. He nodded along, feeling like someone finally got him. But then the last few lines hit, and he nearly choked from holding back laughter.
“Samantha, go get Liam’s guitar for Lucas,” Christopher ordered, his tone firm but slightly agitated.
Samantha hesitated. Her family lived right across from Lucas’s. Unlike the others, she had heard him sing growing up.
He wasn’t just "not good"—he was *awful*.
So awful it made her wonder if Mr. Bryant was punishing him every time he sang.
The issue wasn’t *whether* Lucas could sing. It was *how brutally bad* he was. He could sing an entire song without hitting a single note. A rare and terrifyingly consistent talent.
Letting him on that stage? It would be a complete trainwreck.
A disaster of epic proportions.
In her mind's eye, she could already see the entire school stampeding for the exits like they were fleeing a fire...