Zong Bolin first felt a sharp pain, then lost consciousness. When he regained awareness, he realized that every part of his body hurt.
It felt like being run over by a car.
Speaking of car…
Zong Bolin seemed to remember something, and suddenly recalled the blinding headlights, the frantic secretary, and the out-of-control car.
In those final moments, their car lost control and crashed into the roadside. The car behind them couldn’t dodge in time and slammed right into them, hitting the exact spot where Zong Bolin had been sitting.
Zong Bolin assessed the severity of the crash and figured he must have been badly injured.
But gradually, the pain began to concentrate in his throat, burning like fire. He tried to lift his hand to touch his neck but found he couldn’t control his body. The pain in his throat was unbearable, and his subconscious survival instinct pushed him to fight to stay conscious, to escape this endless darkness.
He began to hear voices around him.
Amid the noise, someone said in panic, “He’s not dead, right? This is serious.”
“Bullshit! It’s no big deal! Just a rookie, even if he sinks into the lake, no one will care,” a rough voice responded. It sounded harsh, but there was a hint of bluster in the tone.
“Ah, the floor manager’s here.”
With the hurried sound of footsteps, a new voice appeared, “What’s going on? This isn’t good, he needs to go to the hospital.”
Zong Bolin felt someone pushing him, another person pinching his pressure point, pressing on his chest as if trying to wake him up.
“Ah! There, there! He’s breathing! Damn, he stopped for a moment, scared the life out of me!”
“I told you, people don’t die that easily. Damn, it cost me a lot of money, we can’t just let him slip away like this.”
The rough voice made Zong Bolin feel disgusted, but he was too weak to open his eyes. His throat still burned with pain, and he could smell the stench of smoke and alcohol. In the distance, faint music could be heard.
He was beginning to understand where he was.
It was one of those places—a sleazy, indulgent club filled with smoke, liquor, and debauchery.
But why was he here? After the car crash, shouldn’t he be in a hospital?
“Boss, you went way too hard this time,” a man who seemed to be the manager remarked. “Ease up, will you? If something happens, it won’t look good for us either.”
“Damn it, who knew this guy would be so uncooperative? I thought we were just messing around, pinched him a few times, and next thing you know, it’s like a chicken’s neck—one wrong move and he nearly croaks,” the rough voice panted, sounding still frustrated. “Fine, whatever. If we have to send him to the hospital, I’ll take the hit and pay.”
The manager suddenly lowered his voice. “It’s not just about that. We’ve got a big VIP upstairs tonight. You’re causing a scene and ruining their mood—it’s making things really difficult for us.”
“What VIP? Screw that! I’ll go meet them myself.”
As if on cue, Zong Bolin heard footsteps at the door.
Unlike the earlier chaos, these footsteps were slow and deliberate.
“Young Master Yan.” The manager immediately stood up to greet them, not daring to be careless.
The room fell silent. No one spoke; only the distant sound of singing floated through the air.
Zong Bolin felt a lot better. The earlier noise had made his head pound. Someone walked up to him, gently touched his face.
“Such a rough way of handling things, no sense of fun.”
Zong Bolin felt the voice was somewhat familiar, but he was too exhausted to think about where he’d heard it before.
It was as if he was a drowning man who had just been rescued, gasping for air. Someone propped up his head, and Zong Bolin finally had enough strength to lift his eyelids. When he opened his eyes, he saw a person staring at him.
More accurately, a group of people surrounded him, each one different—some looked like lackeys, others wore service uniforms, and there were even some rough-looking, country-bumpkin types.
But the one holding his head was tall, with strikingly handsome features. His deep, black eyes gleamed, his outfit was refined and elegant, and he exuded a lazy yet charismatic aura, one that was far from sharp but left a sense of admiration in the air.
Zong Bolin stared at him blankly.
He didn’t have the energy to care about the person’s appearance, but this man…
He recognized him.
Just moments ago, he’d been teasing his lover about this very person in the sweet haze of intimacy.
Zong Bolin couldn’t fathom why this person was here. He parted his lips, tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy sound.
Yet, he still managed to say the man’s name with perfect clarity.
“Yan… Yixuan?”
Yan Yixuan raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised, then smiled. “Not bad-looking, too bad.”
The manager, who was clearly a seasoned player in this world, quickly sensed Yan Yixuan’s meaning and commented, “He’s still a bit shy, overdid it with the resistance and paid the price.”
“Is that so?” Yan Yixuan casually replied, “Interesting, I thought this kind of forced-to-sell-yourself drama went out of fashion decades ago.”
Zong Bolin only felt a buzzing in his head, too tired to care about the conversation around him. Exhausted, he closed his eyes again, and in the haze, he heard Yan Yixuan’s voice, laced with a smile, saying, “Send him to the hospital. This one’s mine.”
Zong Bolin didn’t fully wake up until he was in the hospital.
And that’s when he realized his world had turned completely upside down.
His neck was still wrapped in bandages. Leaning against the pillow on the hospital bed, he coldly scrolled through the news on his phone.
‘The backbone of the Zong Corporation, Zong Bolin, tragically killed in a car accident on a rainy night. Industrial sector faces yet another blow. Younger son, Zong Jiqi, returns urgently from abroad—can he turn the tide?’
Even for him, it had taken several days to digest the fact that he was, indeed, dead.
He had faced countless dire situations in the past, moments when it felt like his empire might collapse in an instant. But he had always pulled through. Never, however, had he confronted something as final as death.
Yes, Zong Bolin had died that rainy night. And now, he had inexplicably become someone else.
He had taken over the body of a young man named Ji Ling, replacing him.
In the past, Zong Bolin would never have believed in such supernatural nonsense, but now, he had no choice but to believe.
He pulled up his phone’s camera and looked at his face again.
The person in the screen had a sharp chin, large, gentle eyes, and a nose that was well-shaped but not aggressive—handsome, with a youthful look, almost childlike.
This Ji Ling was signed to an entertainment company, but his current work seemed to be limited to just showing up for events and taking photos. He wasn’t even close to making a debut as a new artist; he was just scraping by on the edge of the industry.
Someone with looks like that would inevitably end up in a vulnerable position, unable to avoid being taken advantage of. If they refused, it might cost them everything, leaving them with no trace of their soul.
It seemed that around the same time Zong Bolin had his accident, he mysteriously took over this young body.
The sheer absurdity of the situation left Zong Bolin both shocked and deeply concerned.
He had tried calling the office from Ji Ling’s phone, and the voice on the other end was one of his administrative secretaries. The secretary was shocked that he could even get the number but could only give him a vague, unhelpful response.
He couldn’t reveal his true identity to anyone, not even to his own subordinates. He himself found this whole situation too insane to believe.
Zong Bolin rarely sighed, because he believed that sighing or feeling sad wouldn’t solve anything. But faced with this situation, he couldn’t help but let out a silent sigh.
Because his neck was badly injured, he couldn’t speak properly yet. The doctor said his vocal cords had been damaged and he might never be able to sing properly again.
Zong Bolin didn’t think losing the ability to sing was anything to mourn.
He looked around the room—it was a single-bed hospital room. Apart from a visit from someone from the company, no one else had checked on him. Scrolling through the contacts in Ji Ling’s phone, he didn’t see a single number from a relative. It seemed Ji Ling didn’t have a family to rely on.
Zong Bolin couldn’t help but feel sorry for Ji Ling. How desperate must he have been when someone strangled him?
Suddenly, Zong Bolin remembered that night, the words his secretary had said to him, filled with nothing but despair.
His car had lost control in the secretary’s hands, and his current situation was entirely due to the secretary’s actions. Yet, now, he couldn’t bring himself to fully hate him.
The secretary had died on the spot, yet the news only mentioned it briefly.
Zong Bolin wondered if the secretary had shared his luck—whether he had, like him, ended up inhabiting a soulless body.
Zong Bolin paused for a moment.
He had been feeling a sense of injustice these past few days, but when he thought about it, wasn’t this, in fact, a stroke of luck for him?
Had the heavens not given him this chance, he would probably be standing by the River of Three Paths, staring blankly at his secretary in the afterlife.
Thinking this way, Zong Bolin actually felt a little better.
But now, he was deeply concerned about his company.
His accident would surely have widespread consequences, and it wouldn’t be surprising if someone took advantage of the situation to stir up trouble. The news mentioned that Zong Jiqi had returned to the country, but his younger brother had never been involved in the business, and Zong Bolin feared that malicious people would exploit the opportunity and lead him into a trap.
Zong Bolin lifted his arm and looked at his now pale, slender wrist, wondering how much chaos was unfolding at the Zong family headquarters thousands of miles away.
At that moment, he vaguely remembered the last words his secretary had said.
‘You can’t control everything—not people’s hearts, not life and death.’
He tried to clench his fist, but it felt so weak. Though he felt resentment, fate had played its hand, he was now Ji Ling.
Hello, everyone ヾ(＾∇＾). I hope you enjoyed the story! If you’re feeling generous, please buy me a coffee, share/comment on my translated works! Check out the link below for early chapters. (๑>ᴗ<๑)
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