The alarm pierced the silence at exactly 5:00 AM. Yetao's eyes snapped open instantly, his hand moving with practiced precision to silence the device.
Unlike ordinary people who struggled with morning routines, Yetao embraced them. He rose from the bed in one smooth motion, muscles already anticipating the day's exertion.
The morning air caressed his skin as he completed his routine—an hour of pilates followed by an hour of jogging under the gentle embrace of the rising sun. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he paused, lifting his face toward the golden orb climbing steadily higher.
"It's going to be another good day," he whispered, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that had broken countless hearts across campus.
At twenty-one, Yetao had already mastered what many wouldn't achieve in a lifetime. The Dance and Music departments fought over who could claim him as their star pupil. Rather than his western dance, his ability to blend classical dance forms with martial arts, especially his sword dancing, which transformed deadly weapons into extensions of artistic expression, were what many couldn't achieve.
"You never cease to amaze me, Taotao," his instructor would say, shaking her head in admiration after his performances.
Yet perfectionism gnawed at him constantly. Each achievement merely became a stepping stone to the next challenge. While his peers spent weekends partying or dating, Yetao divided his time between practice and part-time jobs. The additional income funded extra lessons he couldn't bear to ask his parents to support.
Love can wait. Greatness cannot.
That philosophy had served him well, keeping his focus razor-sharp despite the trail of admirers—both male and female—who followed him across campus with hopeful eyes.
And thus, he has a campus name, "The untouchable prince"
Today proceeded like any other: morning routine, music theory, advanced choreography practice, evening shift at the hotel reception desk. Ordinary like any other day.
Until his phone vibrated against his thigh just as he finished his shift.
[Congratulations! Your performance group Next1de has qualified to participate in the International Arts Festival at ABBA Arena (Europe)]
Time seemed to stop. Yetao stared at the screen, reading the message three times to ensure he hadn't hallucinated.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" The scream erupted from him before he could stop it, startling passers-by who quickly sidestepped the apparently deranged young man having a public meltdown.
His fingers flew across the screen, forwarding the message to the group chat.
[Next1de Group Chat]
Dorn: NO WAY NO WAY NOWAY!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥
Shen: 😭 We did it!!! 😭😭😭
Omar: I'm literally shaking right now😱😱
Yetao: Let's make history in Europe😎🤩
That night, sleep proved impossible. Yetao's mind raced with choreography adjustments, costume ideas, and the impossible reality that in two weeks, he would stand on one of the most prestigious stages in the world.
....
The next fourteen days passed in a frenzy of rehearsals. Their routine evolved from merely impressive to transcendent—a performance worthy of international acclaim. When the day finally arrived, Yetao stood at the airport terminal two hours early, passport clutched tightly in his hand.
"Taotao!!! You're early," a familiar voice called out. Dorn waved enthusiastically, his perpetually unruly hair bouncing with each step.
"It's better to be early on such an important day," Yetao replied with a smile that didn't quite hide his anxiety. "If I accidentally miss my flight, then my three months' worth of allowance would go to waste."
Dorn rolled his eyes dramatically. "There you go with your stinginess again. If you missed the flight, I would've paid for your ticket."
Yetao's hand instinctively delivered a light smack to his friend's head. "Pay for me when you start earning yourself, instead of spending your family's money."
"Why are you nagging like a grandma?" Dorn shouted as Yetao walked away to check on the other members.
The flight from China to Europe stretched Yetao's nerves to the breaking point. Every minute brought them closer to either triumph or humiliation on an international stage. When they finally landed, the foreign air filled his lungs with something unfamiliar yet intoxicating—the scent of opportunity.
The ABBA Arena sparkled with thousands of lights, each seat filled with an expectant face. Behind the curtain, Yetao closed his eyes, centering himself. The costume felt like a second skin, the twin practice swords strapped to his back familiar weights.
"Next1de, you're on in three minutes," a stagehand announced.
The group formed a tight circle, hands piled atop one another and cheered up.
When they took the stage, the world beyond the spotlights ceased to exist. Music pulsed through Yetao's veins, each movement flowing organically into the next. The group's synchronization was flawless—five bodies moving as one entity.
Then came Yetao's solo.
The lights dimmed except for a single spotlight. He drew the twin swords, the metal catching the light as ribbons unfurled from their hilts. What followed wasn't merely dance or martial arts but something transcendent—a story told through controlled power and effortless grace.
Time slowed. The audience's collective breath held. When the final note struck and Yetao landed in a perfect stance, swords crossed above his head, the silence lasted three heartbeats before erupting into deafening applause.
They had done it. They had conquered Europe's love.
....
Back in their hotel, exhaustion and elation battled for dominance. Yetao collapsed onto his bed, every muscle aching gloriously. His phone pinged with an incoming email notification.
[From: XXX Entertainment Global] [Subject: Exclusive Solo Debut Opportunity]
Dear Mr. Yetao,
Your performance tonight showcased extraordinary talent that aligns perfectly with XXX Entertainment's vision. We would like to offer you an exclusive contract to debut as a solo performer under our label...
Yetao's heart thundered in his chest. This was it—the opportunity that could change everything. His fingers trembled as he read through the details.
The door burst open as Dorn bounded into the room, his face flushed with excitement.
"Taotao! You won't believe what happened!" he exclaimed, flopping onto the bed beside Yetao. "I got an offer from XXX Entertainment!"
"Wait, did you—"He paused, noticing Yetao's expression.
"I got one too," Yetao confirmed, a grin spreading across his face.
They erupted into laughter, jumping up and down on the bed like children.
"This is amazing! We're going to debut..." Dorn spun in a circle before abruptly stopping. "Oh, and I got a girlfriend."
The statement was so unexpected that Yetao needed several seconds to process it. "What?"
"I met her in the arena. We're going on a date tomorrow," Dorn announced, beaming.
Yetao's protective instincts immediately flared. "A date? When you just met today? Shouldn't you take things slow by knowing each other first?"
Dorn sighed dramatically. "And how do we do that?"
"Um... Maybe exchange numbers and speak through phone first?" Yetao suggested, painfully aware of his inexperience in such matters.
"And then what, speak on the phone for eternity? She's from London, Taotao. When am I gonna get the chance to meet her again?" Dorn countered.
Yetao's brow furrowed. "Then why are you dating her?"
"Taotao, I can date her and see if we connect first. If we don't, we can avoid each other since we'll go back to China anyway. If we connect, I'll find a way to continue things. It's simple. I'll even improve my English through her," Dorn explained with infuriating casualness.
"No, Dorn. This is an unfamiliar land. You can't suddenly go on a date with a stranger," Yetao insisted, anxiety building. "What if she's a serial killer or an organ seller? It terrifies me to even think about it."
Dorn's laughter filled the room. "I knew you'd worry! But what—" He sobered slightly, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "That's why you're coming with me too."
Silence.
"Absolutely not," Yetao stated flatly, turning away.
"Please, Taotao," Dorn pleaded, deploying his infamous puppy-dog eyes. "She said she'll always have a bodyguard with her. You can distract him so I can date her freely."
After twenty minutes of relentless begging, Yetao reluctantly agreed, recognizing his responsibility as the oldest in their group to keep his reckless friend safe.
....
The following morning found them standing awkwardly on a London street. A stunning blonde waved enthusiastically at Dorn, and beside her stood what appeared to be a mountain disguised as a human—her bodyguard, dressed in the stereotypical black suit and sunglasses.
"Could he be more than 6 feet?" Yetao whispered nervously.
"I'd guess closer to 6'5"," Dorn muttered through a forced smile.
The girl bounced forward, wrapping Dorn in a hug. "This must be your friend, then?" she asked, turning her attention to Yetao. "Hello, I'm Bridget. Nice to meet you."
Yetao shook her extended hand awkwardly, hyperaware of the human mountain watching them.
Bridget noticed his discomfort and leaned closer. "Don't be scared of him. Even though he looks big, he's a total softie," she whispered and added a wink. "He's Bison. Feel free to hang out with him. I'm taking Dorn with me!"
Before Yetao could protest, Bridget grabbed Dorn's hand and pulled him away. Bison immediately moved to follow, but Yetao hesitantly caught his sleeve.
"Can we just keep a safe distance?" he suggested with a nervous smile.
The bodyguard sighed but nodded, agreeing to follow the couple discreetly.
To Yetao's surprise, Bison briefly disappeared before returning with a small water bottle and handkerchief.
"You're dehydrated from sweating. Drink this," he offered, his deep voice unexpectedly gentle.
She was right. He is a softie, Yetao thought, accepting the water gratefully.
They followed the couple through their date—coffee shop, shopping mall, and finally to a museum. Throughout the day, Yetao found himself enjoying Bison's quiet company, occasionally exchanging observations about the city or comments about the lovebirds' interactions.
But near the museum entrance, disaster struck. The couple vanished.
Bison's professional demeanor returned instantly. He handed Yetao a Bluetooth earpiece. "You wait here. I'll search outside."
"I can help—" Yetao began.
"I'll be always connected to you with this device. If something happens, just speak," Bison assured him with a gentle pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Unwilling to stand idle, Yetao entered the museum. I'll just take a quick look around...
The vast halls stretched before him, filled with precious artifacts from civilizations long past. In his determination to be helpful, Yetao didn't notice when he crossed into a restricted area, eventually finding himself in a storage room where artifacts awaited display.
The soft click of the door locking behind him froze his blood.
"Hello?" he called out, rushing back to try the handle. Locked.
As he turned to look for another exit, something heavy fell from a nearby shelf, striking his head with alarming force. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and darkness claimed him.
....
Consciousness returned slowly, throbbing pain anchoring Yetao to reality. He groaned, rubbing his head as he pushed himself upright. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of emergency lights.
How long was I unconscious?
He fumbled for his phone only to find the battery dead. Panic rose in his throat as he surveyed his surroundings, trying to formulate a plan.
That's when he saw it.
Among the artifacts, one seemed to capture what little light existed—a sistrum[1], an ancient musical instrument, displayed behind glass. But unlike the other display cases, this one was broken, shards of glass scattered across the floor.
What if they think I broke it? The thought sent fresh waves of anxiety through him.
As he stared at the sistrum, something impossible happened. The eyes decorating its handle—carved to represent some forgotten deity—began to glow with an unnatural crimson light.
"What the—"
The sistrum emitted a soft jingling sound, though nothing had touched it. The sound grew louder, resonating at a frequency that seemed to vibrate through Yetao's very bones.
He scrambled backward, but it was too late. The crimson light expanded, engulfing him entirely. Yetao's scream died in his throat as reality itself seemed to bend and distort around him.
Then nothingness.
....
Heat. Overwhelming heat was the first sensation that returned. Yetao's eyes snapped open to find himself lying face-down in sand. Endless sand stretching to the horizon in every direction.
This isn't possible. I was in London!
He staggered to his feet, disorientation making him sway. No buildings. No people. Just an endless desert under a merciless sun.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice swallowed by the vastness. "HELLO?"
Only the wind answered, whistling across the dunes.
Panic threatened to overwhelm him, but years of discipline came to his aid. Breathe. Think. Survive.
He chose a direction and began walking, hoping to find some sign of civilization. The sun beat down relentlessly, and soon his throat burned with thirst.
After what felt like hours, something unexpected happened. The sand before him began to move—not blown by wind, but rising upward of its own accord, forming a wall that blocked his path.
This isn't natural.
Before he could process this impossibility, figures emerged from behind the sand wall—two armed men with curved swords that gleamed dangerously in the sunlight. They flanked a third man seated on a magnificent horse, his face partially obscured by a desert headdress.
"Assassin? This tiny one?" The mounted man's voice carried a mocking edge.
The armed men advanced, positioning their blades at Yetao's neck.
"Anyways, just kill this one fast," the rider continued casually. "We don't want to leave crumbs for them to chew, can we?"
Instinct took over. Years of martial arts training merged with dance reflexes as Yetao twisted away from the blades with super speed. One second, he stood vulnerable, the next he was spinning between his attackers, their swords slicing only air.
The mounted man's posture changed, interest replacing dismissal. "Looks like I finally found someone who can duel me," he declared, dismounting with fluid grace.
To Yetao's horror, the sand itself responded to the man's gestures, twisting into ropes that snaked around Yetao's limbs, immobilizing him despite his struggles.
The stranger approached, eyes wide with undisguised curiosity. He circled Yetao slowly, studying him with the intensity of a collector examining a rare find.
"Who are you?" the man finally asked, stopping directly before Yetao.
Yetao met the stranger's gaze, defiance overriding fear. "I should be asking you that. Where am I? How did I get here?"
The man's eyes narrowed.
"The audacity of you to question our king?", one of the armed men yelled.
King? Is it some kind of drama? But the sand rope and the wall....
As impossible as it seemed, Yetao knew with sudden, devastating clarity that the sistrum had done more than transport him across space—it had sent him tumbling backward through time itself.
The sand tightened around his limbs as the man leaned closer, his breath hot against Yetao's face.
"Now," the man whispered, "Who the hell are you?."
To be continued...
[1] It is an ancient egyptian musical instrument. It jingles when you shake it.