Ever since that night on TV—when "Lin Yueying" danced the waltz with Lin Xiang—
Shen Yichen's mind had not been at peace.
Her rhythm, her steps—too familiar.
It wasn't something an average person could imitate.
It was muscle memory—something he and Su Rui had practiced again and again, late into the night.
Still, he refused to believe it.
Until the day she stood outside the hospital room, screaming and crying at the unconscious "Su Rui" in the bed, her voice full of anguish.
He heard her from behind the door.
And for the first time, his hands trembled.
The tone, the desperation, the raw emotion—it was unmistakable.
But how could he accept it?
Soul-swapping? That belonged in pulp novels and supernatural dramas—not in the real world.
Not in his world.
Still… her reactions were too real.
The panic in her eyes, the instinctive familiarity, the accidental slips in her words.
It couldn't be coincidence.
So he tested her.
He had his assistant schedule "Lin Yueying" to clean the president's office.
He said nothing.
Just sat quietly and watched her work.
She behaved like a seasoned janitor—head down, efficient, meticulous.
Until she reached his desk.
Until she saw that photo.
A wedding portrait.
He and Su Rui—he in his dark suit, she in her wedding gown, laughing with eyes that sparkled like stars.
They were dancing the waltz, captured in the happiest moment of their brief marriage.
And "Lin Yueying" froze.
He saw it—the flicker of recognition, the tremble in her lashes, the way she instinctively stepped back, knees giving slightly, hands clenched tight.
That wasn't Lin Yueying.
That was Su Rui.
—
Memories came flooding back.
The way she used to collapse onto the couch after a late shoot, and he would silently warm up a bowl of congee.
She would scold him—"You're spoiling me"—but finish every drop.
When she had a cold, he'd rub ointment on her back. She'd say nothing, just raise a thumb with a silent, raspy "Thanks."
Back then, he thought she was happy.
But their happiness didn't last.
He hadn't protected her.
He had turned a blind eye when his mother made things difficult. Let her suffer in silence under the weight of expectations, of lineage, of status.
She never complained.
That was her pride—quiet, unyielding.
And now, she was back.
In a different body. In a different life.
Cleaning floors like a stranger in his office.
He gave the order.
Told Assistant Chen to monitor her every move.
Sure enough, she filed for a week-long leave, claiming she needed to recover in her hometown.
He said one word: "Denied."
Let her squirm.
Let her show her hand.
Let him see what secrets she was chasing.
He thought he had it all under control.
What he didn't expect was—
She'd storm into his office.
While he was talking to his mother.
Madam Shen, the sharp-eyed matriarch of the Shen family, sat on the leather sofa, porcelain teacup in hand, gaze cold and piercing.
She was the kind of woman who judged worth by pedigree alone.
Back then, she had never approved of Su Rui.
Shen Yichen rose to his feet at once, his face composed—but sweat had already begun to gather in his palms.
He couldn't let his mother suspect anything.
Even if he and Su Rui had long divorced.
Even if he had once let her down.
Even if they were now worlds apart.
Because the woman standing before him—
Wearing a janitor's uniform.
Eyes wide with panic.
Was still Su Rui.
He inhaled slowly and walked toward the door, masking the storm inside.
"You barged in without knocking, Mdm Lin," he said, his voice calm and cool.
But only he knew—
The lake inside him was already rippling.