The red carpet was long, but her high heels didn't make it to the end.
Su Rui's last memory was of the Golden Sphere Awards—camera flashes, screaming fans, her silver couture gown trailing behind her. Her smile was impeccable, each step deliberates, poised, perfect.
She turned for one final, dramatic glance toward the cameras.
And then—her heel slipped.
Gasps erupted as she tumbled down the marble steps, her skirt fanning out like a dying meteor. The last sound she heard was a burst of shutters, someone shouting "Su Rui fell!"—and then, darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the air smelled like floor disinfectant mixed with fried grease. Her back ached. Her knees throbbed.
She blinked at a cracked ceiling with a dangling mosquito repellent strip.
Where the hell am I?
She tried to sit up. Every joint screamed in protest. She looked down.
Blue-gray pajamas. A pair of yellowing socks. Her hand—her hand! —was rough, the nails chipped and packed with years of dirt.
And then she saw it: the bucket of water, the mop, and the plastic employee badge on the nightstand.
[Lin Yueying | Cleaning Staff]
"Lin who?!"
She scrambled to a tiny mirror nailed to the peeling wall—and screamed.
Staring back at her was a swollen, dull-skinned woman in her fifties, with dark eye bags and hair tied up with a rubber band. There were two deep lines framing her mouth.
"That's not me. That's NOT me!"
She checked under the pajamas. Still female. Still clothed. Still wrong.
From the corner of the room, a gruff voice interrupted:"You good now? You passed out in the stairwell. We brought you back and let you rest."
Su Rui turned sharply. A stout middle-aged woman was chewing on a piece of salted radish.
"Did you touch me?!" Su Rui shrieked. "Did you film anything?! This isn't some illegal shoot, is it?! I'll sue!"
The woman squinted. "...Lin-jie, are you okay? You're fifty, not fifteen. Don't start with your drama today."
"Fifty?!"
Ten minutes later, she was holding a mop, standing in the office building's break room, staring at a coffee machine she once endorsed.
A week ago, she'd have walked into this very space as a VIP guest. There'd be an assistant clearing the path, and a backdrop of fans screaming her name.
Now, she was here to clean spilled coffee.
She looked down at the mop in her hand and back up at her reflection in the shiny surface of the fridge.
The woman in the mirror looked like someone who'd seen too much, aged too fast, and definitely hadn't been to a spa in decades.
Su Rui took a deep breath."Okay. Fine. So this is a reality show. A hidden camera challenge. Hilarious."
No one answered. Except the pounding of her heart and the squeak of rubber soles on tile.
She started mopping.
First stroke: slippery.Second stroke: pulled her lower back.Third stroke: surprisingly smooth.
She frowned. Adjusted her posture. Started spinning the mop in small circles. Then large figure-eights.
Wait a second.Was she... good at this?
A coworker passed behind her and muttered to another, "Weird. Lin-jie didn't curse anyone out today."
"I heard her muttering to herself like she was hosting a talk show."
At lunch, she queued up with a tray of white rice and scrambled eggs. The cafeteria smelled like soy sauce and boiled cabbage. Someone handed her the last piece of red-braised chicken.
She sat in a corner, staring at the tray.
The last time she ate something this plain, she was filming a rural drama—and had a nutritionist waiting backstage.
Now? She took a bite.
...It was good.
She almost smiled—until a sharp pain stabbed her gut.
She flinched. Hands over her stomach.
Was it gas? Or... something worse?
She shook it off. Not the time. First, she needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
That night, back in the tiny room, she stared into the mirror again. Practiced smiling.
Nothing worked.
No matter how she angled it, the face staring back at her looked exhausted and vaguely annoyed—like a grumpy auntie who'd just missed her favorite soap opera.
She lay down on the creaky bed, pulled the faded blanket over herself, and sighed.
"Alright, Su Rui. This time... you're playing the role of a 50-year-old janitor named Lin Yueying. Your audience is just you."
She turned off the light.
Meanwhile, in the same office building—
At the top floor, a man in a tailored suit stood by the security room monitor.
He watched the replay feed. The janitor woman—Lin Yueying—was seen mumbling to herself while cleaning windows, occasionally striking weird poses in her reflection.
He narrowed his eyes.
"She looks... different today," he murmured.
The assistant beside him responded, "She fainted this morning in the stairwell. The infirmary said she's fine, but maybe a little... off."
The man said nothing.
His gaze lingered on the screen for another second before he turned away.
Unaware that this middle-aged cleaner he just glanced at—used to be the woman he once knew best.
And she has no idea what kind of body she just woke up in.