“If everyone had one chance to be reborn, which period of your life would you choose to return to?”
This was a street survey questionnaire.
With rebirth and transmigration-themed films and shows sweeping the internet, even someone as perpetually busy as Wen Ying had picked up bits and pieces of these concepts.
She received the questionnaire on an utterly ordinary afternoon. She was accompanying her assistant, at a client’s invitation, to the city centre’s commercial district to negotiate a commission contract.
If this contract went through smoothly, the agency fees allocated to Wen Ying, combined with her existing savings, would be enough for her to truly establish herself in this ultra-tier-one metropolis.
Indeed, Wen Ying had her eye on a 120-square-metre flat with a river view in the inner ring.
The flat had great light, stunning views, and a prime location—naturally, it didn’t come cheap.
No matter. Once this commission was secured, she’d have enough for the down payment.
At just 31, having arrived in the Magic City (Shanghai) only six years ago, Wen Ying had managed to save three or four million yuan for a down payment through her own efforts. Even by the “Zhihu standard”—where everyone supposedly earns a million a year—she was more than holding her own.
Considering Zhihu’s nicknames like “Brag-hu” or “Boast-hu,” where million-yuan salaries aren’t exactly commonplace in real life, Wen Ying, at 31, calling herself “moderately successful” was far from arrogant.
Never mind others—her own assistant, trailing behind her, had the grand life ambition of becoming a second Wen Ying.
Sister Wen wasn’t just a career success; her love life was enviable too. The assistant often saw Wen Ying’s boyfriend pick her up after work. They’d head to posh restaurants for fine dining or squeeze in a concert amidst their busy schedules—their romance was like something out of a film!
So when Wen Ying got that street survey, she paused for a moment, dazed. Her assistant peeked over and burst out laughing.
“They’ve given this to the wrong person! If even you need a rebirth, us little minions might as well reincarnate and start over!”
Wen Ying smiled. “It’s just a gimmick from some survey outfit—don’t take it seriously. And don’t sell yourself short. Six years ago, when I first came to the Magic City, I was just an assistant to a big-shot lawyer too.”
Her encouragement lit a fire in the assistant’s belly.
Wen Ying didn’t dwell on the questionnaire. She tossed it in the bin, checked with her assistant that her outfit was crease-free and her makeup flawless, then led the way to the client’s office building.
…
So, that day, she hadn’t filled out the survey or entertained any thoughts of rebirth. Yet when she woke up, she found herself sitting in the 2004 secondary school entrance exam hall.
At first, Wen Ying didn’t realise she’d been reborn—she thought it was a dream.
The 2004 entrance exam was a frequent visitor in her dreams.
She’d taken the final English paper while ill, barely finishing before her mother, Chen Ru, waiting outside, rushed her to the hospital.
Her fever had spiked close to 40 degrees Celsius.
Naturally, her English score tanked. Out of 150, Wen Ying—who usually scored over 130—managed only 91 that year. It kept her below the cutoff for her dream high school. Though she eventually got in, it was only thanks to her dad, Wen Dongrong, pulling strings.
That failure made her summer miserable and left her head hanging throughout high school.
Any hint of slacking, and her mum, Chen Ru, would dredge up the 91, accusing her of choking when it mattered most.
Teenage Wen Ying, far less confident than her 31-year-old self, wilted under her mother’s dominance.
The criticism piled up until even Wen Ying saw that 91 as a massive blunder—a stain on her life.
Even after university, she’d occasionally dream of sitting in that exam hall, staring blankly at the English paper, waking with cold hands and feet.
But after rejecting the civil service exam and striking out alone in the Magic City, those dreams had mostly stopped.
So why was she dreaming it again now?
Wen Ying glanced around. Everyone had youthful faces, all hunched over their papers—a little exam trick. The invigilators handed out papers early, but you couldn’t write until the start. Those two or three minutes were too precious to waste; skimming the paper was fair game.
As long as you didn’t pick up a pen, the invigilators wouldn’t intervene.
This dream felt too vivid.
Even years after uni, she still remembered these exam hacks.
“No looking around—the listening section’s about to start. This is your last subject, so I hope you’ll take it seriously. Relax after it’s done, but for now, focus and do your best!”
The forty-something invigilator frowned.
He’d noticed this candidate when she entered—flushed face, unsteady steps, nearly crashing into a desk.
She looked unwell.
Not ideal.
The entrance exam was crucial—this was the final English paper. She had to hang on!
Hearing the invigilator, Wen Ying looked up, locking eyes with him. She thought she might be seeing things—there was encouragement in his gaze.
This dream was ridiculously clear.
Wen Ying marvelled again.
Not wanting to waste the dream’s kindness, she lowered her head to the paper.
The 2004 Rongcheng Secondary School Entrance Exam English paper.
Unlike past dreams—where the questions were a blur, leaving her, a Level 6 English passer, helpless—this time, she could read them clearly.
Black ink on white paper.
Every letter, word, sentence, and punctuation mark.
Crystal clear!
So, she was to redo the 2004 English exam in her dream?
Wen Ying chuckled.
The listening section began.
Her smile widened.
Piece of cake!
Back then, she’d strain to catch every word, still missing some and guessing the rest. Now, revisiting it, the pace was slow, pronunciation standard, and dialogues dead simple. It might’ve stumped 16-year-old Wen Ying, but not 31-year-old Wen Ying.
She breezed through the listening.
Then sailed through the other sections.
After finishing the essay, she let out a long breath.
This time, she’d completed the paper in her dream. No more nightmares about this, surely?
But how to wake up?
Wen Ying glanced around.
On the podium, the invigilator’s brows were knitted.
He didn’t think she’d finished properly—more likely, she was unwell, scribbled nonsense, and wanted to hand in early. That wouldn’t do. This exam wasn’t just about high school—it shaped your university prospects and, further down the line, your whole life!
No leaving the front line with a minor injury.
Being sick was rough, but if she could push through, she should.
“Those done early, don’t rush—check it over a few times before submitting!”
