Chapter One: Da Min’s Reversal of Fate

This summer, Ma Weimin was truly down on his luck.

He had already been working for two years since graduation, but swept along by the materialistic atmosphere of the big city and the relentless pressure of soaring rents, he had not managed to save a single cent. On top of that, a stack of debts from his recent shopping spree during the June 18th sales event still waited to be settled.

At that very moment, his fierce landlady knocked on the door. “Ma Weimin, do you think you can hide in there and no one will know? Come out and pay the rent, or suffer the consequences.”

She wasn’t a bad person, but her broad shoulders, thick neck, and booming voice made Weimin somewhat afraid of her.

He had no choice but to open the door and face her. “Sister Hua, could you give me a few more days? This time the company’s quarterly bonus was delayed—ten days have passed and there’s still no sign of it.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Sister Hua replied. “The rent was due on the first. Now it’s already the twenty-second. I’ve come looking for you several times, and you’ve been avoiding me.”

Weimin felt awkward. “I haven’t been avoiding anyone. Just give me a few more days—at worst, you can just throw my stuff out if I still can’t pay.”

Sister Hua said, “It’s not just about kicking you out now. You owe me nearly a month’s rent. If I have to re-rent the place, there will be delays—and that is a loss for me. I’ll take your laptop for now. When you get your quarterly bonus, you can come redeem it.”

Damn it!

With the confidence of a local tyrant and double his body weight, she easily pushed past Ma Weimin and confiscated his newly bought laptop.

And as if that wasn’t enough, word at the company was that, aside from withholding the quarterly bonus, layoffs were coming soon. Given his usual relationship with his supervisors, Ma Weimin was likely on the list. In the grand scheme of things, no one was dying—it just meant getting another job. But losing the bonus and his 7K monthly salary at this critical moment was truly a disaster...

He trudged downstairs, feeling numb.

This wasn’t a residential complex, but a neighborhood with a few local faces—most of whom he knew.

He grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the small store’s fridge, when a young girl called out behind him, “Big Min, I’m thirsty—I want iced tea.”

Her name was Wang Xiao’ai, nine years old, always dressed in cheap clothes. She came from a single-parent family; her father was a gambler and a drunk who was rarely seen. He wasn’t violent, but he didn’t care for her either—she was left to fend for herself.

Once, when her father forgot to give her lunch money, she sat silently on the stairs. Ma Weimin bought her a hamburger, and from then on, she declared they were friends.

This little girl rarely asked for much, but every time they met, she would demand a three-yuan drink. If he refused, she’d say, “You’re not a real friend.”

She even once told Ma Weimin, in a mysterious tone, that she had traveled here from the Northern Song dynasty.

“Big Min, I’m thirsty,” Xiao’ai repeated.

He had no money in his pockets and could only shake his head.

“You’ve changed, Big Min. Not a good friend anymore,” the little girl said.

Weimin sighed. “You pick the worst times. I don’t even have money now, and you’re still extorting me—yet I’m the one who’s changed?”

She replied, “Your failure in life has little to do with me asking for a drink. I, Xiao’ai, haven’t changed—I still only want a drink. It’s you who has changed, Big Min.”

Weimin was speechless, but realized she had a point. He quickly grabbed a bottle from the fridge and handed it to her. Off she went, backpack bouncing as she skipped away.

He turned to the shop owner. “Put it on my tab.”

He wandered aimlessly around the streets, but it was pointless—no money was going to fall from the sky.

Later that evening, his stomach still empty, there was another knock at the door. He opened it to find Wang Xiao’ai again, her mouth twisted in pain.

She said her stomach hurt, then added, “Since you’re still my friend, help me buy some medicine for my stomach. If I die from the pain, you won’t have any friends left—I’m your only friend.”

Despite her words, seeing the poor girl in such pain, Ma Weimin quickly gave her half a cup of hot water and hurried out to buy medicine for her.

This wasn’t the first time—it was an old problem of hers. She always asked for drinks, but when it came to medicine, she’d get the money from her father and pay Weimin back.

He borrowed some cash from the shop owner, checked the time, and realized the pharmacy was about to close. He started running, but as he crossed the street, a car sped toward him, too fast to dodge. The world spun, and he was sent flying, blood gushing from his mouth.

His last thought was: So this is what a car accident feels like...

A custom 797 private jet soared through the sky.

The plane was equipped with a tennis court, spa, cinema, bar, and more, but none of the attendants had the mood for entertainment now.

A medical suite had been set up, with all kinds of equipment monitoring vital signs. Dr. Master, a renowned authority from New York University Medical Center, was leading his team in a desperate attempt to save a patient.

The plane had taken off from Manhattan in a storm, racing toward Haizhou, because the young man on board was at death’s door—barely clinging to life, hoping to take his last breath in his homeland.

Beeps and alarms blared from every machine.

At one point, the noise ceased—the heart monitor showed a flat line.

Dr. Master pulled down his mask in resignation, glanced at the clock, and announced, “Resuscitation failed. Time of death: September 7th, 8102, 22:19.”

Thus, all present bore witness to the passing of a man with a background so powerful it was frightening.

A short-haired woman, her figure striking, stood at the bedside for a full ten seconds before turning away with a complex expression to make a phone call.

Suddenly, thunder roared. The young man, declared dead, opened his eyes.

“I just got hit by a car—why are there so many people in white coats around me? Are they going to experiment on me, or take my organs?” Ma Weimin wondered as he woke.

He didn’t feel pain, but he couldn’t move his limbs—was he paralyzed?

A nurse noticed the heart monitor was active again and instinctively nudged Dr. Master, pointing at the screen.

“What the hell! What’s going on?”

Everyone rushed over to check the patient’s vitals.

The final conclusion: aside from some weakness, he had miraculously come back to life.

No one knew how it had happened. Dr. Master’s assistant was sweating profusely, trying to figure out how to explain this “medical mishap,” especially since the patient was someone with untouchable status.

Dr. Master waved two fingers in front of Ma Weimin. “How many fingers?”

The simple English question was easy for Weimin. “Two.”

As soon as he spoke, he realized he could move his mouth—and his hands were starting to “thaw” as well. He quickly checked himself. Thankfully, nothing was missing.

“What day is it today?” Dr. Master asked again.

“September 7th, 8012,” Ma Weimin tried.

The facts were clear. As Dr. Master led his team out, he muttered, “He was clearly dead... It can’t be a problem with the machines—not just one, and we checked manually too.”

Weimin understood enough to be stunned. Had he been sent onto a film set by mistake?

He looked around in confusion. He was on a plane, in mid-flight.

The screen at the front of the cabin was broadcasting Haizhou’s evening news—September 7th, 22:30. It was now 22:37.

Just ten minutes ago, he’d gone downstairs to buy medicine, even checking the time. In a world with no magic, it was impossible to go from there to a plane in flight in ten minutes.

Could it be... he had been reborn?

But if so, why not return to before he owed rent and debts? This situation was just too bizarre. What use was it to go back only three minutes?

“Chairman.”

The short-haired woman, elegant and efficient, entered carrying a large briefcase.

Ma Weimin searched his mind for any information about her—but found nothing.

If this was one of those legendary body swaps, wasn’t it common to inherit memories? True, two sets of memories and personalities could cause schizophrenia, but at least he wouldn’t be so clueless.

Still, being called “Chairman” when he was used to owing rent felt pretty promising.

“Your gaze since waking up has been... odd,” the woman ventured.

“A person who isn’t a bit odd can’t run a big company. I have many sides others don’t know about,” Ma Weimin replied, bluffing as best he could.

She hesitated, but nodded. “That’s true.”

He had guessed “big company” based on her demeanor and the fact that a small company couldn’t afford an assistant of her caliber. Even her belt was a two-thousand-dollar Hermès.

So, the company he now headed had to be substantial. Though this rebirth wasn’t quite the “change your fate” kind, it was at least as good as winning the lottery.

Still thinking like someone who owed money, Ma Weimin couldn’t help but ask, “Chartering such a big jet—this must be expensive, right?”

The woman’s expression froze for a moment. She hesitated, then whispered, “This is your plane.”

Wait, what?

Excitement surged through him, his soul and body seemingly out of sync. “Even Apple’s CEO only gets a private jet smaller than this. Isn’t this a bit too flashy?”

Her face became even stiffer. “What’s wrong with you? Apple is your company... Years ago, you gained actual control through a series of holding companies and investment banks.”

What!

Apple is mine?