Andrew had been in high spirits these days. It had been two years since he left Hong Kong for London to study, and he had never gone home—until now. As one of the very few Hong Kong students admitted straight from secondary school as an exchange student at both Oxford University and MIT, he would graduate with degrees from both institutions, a distinction valued anywhere in the world and vanishingly rare.
He had not seen his mother since leaving Hong Kong at seventeen. She had raised him alone, a hardship he understood all too well. To save on airfare and earn extra money during holidays, Andrew had taken every job he could find—tour guide, interpreter, even waiter in a Chinese restaurant when he first arrived.
Hong Kong, a port city leased to Britain during the Qing dynasty, would return fully to China in twenty years, yet much still ran on British lines. For top Hong Kong students, Britain remained the first choice for study abroad, and it was in this climate that his widowed mother pressed him to go.
This summer break gave him forty-five days; in early September he would report to MIT in America to finish his final two years. Thinking of seeing his mother soon, Andrew boarded the plane with gifts he had bought long ago.
Other Hong Kong students were on the same flight, but since they moved in different circles they quickly ignored him. Though not strikingly handsome, his 178 cm frame and faintly melancholy air, coupled with the prestige of his universities, could still catch a girl's eye.
Yet the Hong Kong boy who spent every spare moment between lectures, labs, and part-time jobs gave no one the chance. In Oxford, packed with prodigies, his performance was only middling; before long the female students forgot him and he faded into the background.
That suited him perfectly, leaving more time for work and study. He had attended only two of the London Hong-Kong-student gatherings, so in the eyes of his compatriots he was an oddity. While others read finance or architecture—mainstream passports to Hong Kong's elite—he alone studied aero-engines and mechanical manufacturing, a quintessential tech nerd.
As clusters of passengers chatted, Andrew sat by a window poring over a book on research trends in cnc machine tools—readable by only a handful at Oxford. A middle-aged man nearby glanced at the volume with interest, then spoke to the daughter beside him.
The man was about forty-five and carried the aura of someone in authority, his gaze especially sharp. Andrew did not know that he was Cheung Yuk-leung, second-generation scion of a powerful Hong Kong clan whose influence ran deep though the family kept a low profile. While Cheung was the fourth son, anyone perceptive knew his talent would edge out his three elder brothers and make him the next patriarch. In London on business, he learned his daughter was flying home; after wrapping up he sent his staff ahead, waited two days, and took the same flight—economy class because the booking had been last-minute.
His daughter was Zhang Youran, twenty, a third-year accounting student at Cardiff University. Pretty enough to rate eighty out of a hundred, she was reserved in front of her father—hardly surprising in the strict Cheung household, especially as she was the child of his third wife; Hong Kong had still allowed plural marriages in the fifties and sixties, though the law was repealed only recently.
Noticing her awkwardness, Cheung Yuk-leung turned his attention to the young man beside them. From boarding to cruising altitude the youth had looked at nothing but his book, as though knowledge alone could bring him joy, and Cheung's curiosity was piqued.
To help his daughter relax, Cheung Yuk-leung leaned close and whispered, "Yoyo, do you know the boy next to us?"
"He doesn't go to our school—must be from the London side—but I've never seen him at any Hong Kong student gatherings. From the title of his book, though, I've heard a few rumors about him."
"Is he famous?"
"Not really. He's one of the few Hong Kong students who chose science and engineering, and he's supposed to be at Oxford. He never shows up at our get-togethers, so people only know him by name."
"What's he reading?"
"Something about machine tools, I think."
Unable to contain his curiosity, Cheung Yuk-leung turned to Andrew and said, "I'm Cheung Yuk-leung. Could you tell me what book that is? I've never seen anything like it and I'm rather curious—just asking."
Bao Zixuan closed the book and replied, "Hello, Mr. Zhang—so you're from Hong Kong too! This is an internal text on cnc machine tools, a research guide we use at my university. No surprise you haven't seen it."
"May I ask your name and which university you attend?" Cheung Yuk-leung added, gesturing toward his daughter. "This is my daughter; she's at Cardiff." Zhang Youran gave a polite nod.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Zhang—no need to stand on ceremony. I'm Andrew, at Oxford. Just call me Little Bao."
"Then I'll take the liberty—Little Andrew, what's your major and what year are you in?"
"Aerospace propulsion and mechanical engineering; I'll be starting my third year."
"My daughter begins her final year; you two should get to know each other—having a friend in the U.K. helps."
"I'm afraid I'll disappoint you, Mr. Zhang. I'll be spending my last two years in America."
Cheung Yuk-leung chuckled. "A top student, I see!" He didn't mind the blunt reply, and they chatted idly until dinner arrived.
In those days the plane had to refuel in Singapore before reaching Hong Kong; the full journey took twenty hours, but at least passengers could stretch their legs at Singapore.
The next morning, two hours out from Hong Kong, Zhang Youran reached for her overhead bag while the aircraft lurched in thick cloud. Cheung Yuk-leung was in the lavatory; the suitcase slipped from her grip and crashed squarely onto the sleeping Bao Zixuan.
A sharp cry rang out and a stewardess hurried over. Zhang Youran had lost her grip; blood streamed from Andrew's head as he lay unconscious. The crew began emergency first-aid at once.
When Cheung Yuk-leung returned and saw the scene, he understood immediately, hugging his daughter. "Leave it to Daddy, don't worry."
Under the crew's care Andrew woke an hour later—but he was no longer the Hong Kong teenager who had boarded. Sharing his body was a top Chinese aero-engine Engineer from Rolls-Royce Company, flung fifty years back into the past, on the same London-to-Hong Kong flight and in the same name. All memories of this life remained intact.
Still dazed, Andrew stared at the long-retired DC-8, scarcely believing his eyes. After bandaging and a few questions, the stewardess returned to her station, saying the airline and insurers would contact him about compensation.
Back in his seat, Cheung Yuk-leung apologized on his daughter's behalf and promised a full explanation once they landed, even as the plane began its descent into Hong Kong.