King of the Seas
“And the winner of the 30th Best Screenwriter Award is…”
As the words faded, cheers erupted in front of Zhang Tan. A middle-aged man with a small braid jumped to his feet, punched the air twice, and shot Zhang Tan a taunting glance over his shoulder.
Zhang Tan’s lips moved silently, cursing under his breath. His right hand instinctively reached for the pocket of his suit, where a small slip of paper lay—the acceptance speech he’d spent an hour preparing last night, never imagining he wouldn't need it in the end.
They say “third time’s the charm,” but Zhang Tan, a hot favorite for the Golden Rooster Awards, had now accompanied the ceremony for three consecutive years without ever taking the prize.
He had thought this time would be different, but reality struck again. Applause and murmurs of surprise mingled around him, proving he wasn’t the only one caught off guard.
Zhang Tan skipped the evening reception, drinking himself into oblivion at a bar, ending up sprawled on the roadside… Waking the next day, he felt as if dozens of needles pierced his skull, pain surging in waves. He clutched his head, knocking it hard.
As his eyes opened, noise flooded his ears. Above him spun a blue ceiling fan, whirring loudly.
Turning his head, he saw a group of young men and women eating breakfast. He, himself, lay stretched across a row of dining tables.
He quickly sat up, surrounded by people who ate and sized him up, whispering in hushed tones.
“Where am I?”
He remembered drinking at the bar last night, then stepping out the door, then… Then he walked beneath the spotlight, ascended the stage, and accepted the Golden Rooster Award from the hands of the Best Actress. Her hand was soft and smooth, and his heart fluttered…
Zhang Tan shook his head. There was no spotlight above, only the roaring ceiling fan that seemed poised to drop and wake him up for real. The alluring Best Actress was gone, and his own thigh was astonishingly smooth… Thankfully, he hadn’t slipped any further.
“This is Beiping Film Academy,” said the short-haired girl closest to him.
Zhang Tan was stunned—an academy? How did he end up at an academy? Wait, Beijing? No, Beiping??
He reached into his pocket and found nothing. Only then did he realize he wasn’t wearing the suit he’d worn to the Golden Rooster Awards, so the speech thanking the organizers was nowhere to be found.
...
The sun blazed in the sky as Zhang Tan stepped out of the cafeteria. Everything seemed dazzling and unreal. A bright red five-star flag fluttered atop the flagpole, and the bulletin board was plastered with job postings. The most prominent read:
“Beiping Bank Campus Recruitment—June 25th at the First Hall!”
Beiping Bank!
It really was Beiping! Zhang Tan felt dizzy, unable to believe it.
Passing students eyed him curiously. Following their gaze, Zhang Tan reached behind him and peeled off a slip of paper.
“Die, scumbag!”
The handwriting was delicate.
Zhang Tan: -_-||
Who put this here??!!
“Ugh, scumbag!”
A pretty girl flashed through his mind, glaring at him and spitting on the ground. Her dimples were adorable, but her eyes were filled with disgust.
“Ugh! Scumbag!”
Another girl, this time spitting right at his face.
...
After several such encounters, Zhang Tan had to shake his head, driving away the swarm of girls who came to curse him in his mind.
The scumbag was already dead; there’s no need for collateral damage.
He sat on a bench by the lake, thoughts swirling in his mind, needing to sort them out.
He had crossed over.
Incredible.
Not far away, a group of graduates were taking photos, dressed in black academic robes, laughing and chatting as their voices drifted on the breeze.
“That looks like the playboy~~”
Zhang Tan perked up. Huh? These faces looked familiar, and one of them had just appeared in his mind, spitting at him!
He remembered—they were his classmates!
Today was their graduation day—a milestone in their lives!
Everyone was busy taking graduation photos, while he sat alone by the lake, reeking, and lost in thought?
Instinctively, Zhang Tan stood up to join them, but stopped, glancing down at himself. Shirt and jeans—entirely out of place.
He searched his memory and realized he had no idea today was graduation photo day. No one had told him?
While he hesitated, the group photo ended, cheers erupted, and mortarboards soared into the air.
“Zhang Tan, why are you so late?”
“He smells terrible.”
“The playboy showed up late, probably went drinking again.”
“Haha, there’s the playboy.”
...
Some teased, some mocked, others reveled in his misfortune...
Apparently, the original owner of this body wasn’t well-liked. Zhang Tan forced a smile and turned to leave without hesitation.
He remembered more—his poor standing among classmates, and his nickname, “Playboy.”
It wasn’t a compliment; it was coined and spread by a former girlfriend in his class. The full title: “Playboy-type scumbag.” When you thought you’d entered Zhang Tan’s heart, you’d only swum into his fish pond. You thought he had just one pond, but he was the playboy, master of the seven seas.
Such was the playboy-type scumbag—open-hearted enough to accommodate a harem.
“Ugh! Scumbag.”
Now that Zhang Tan understood “himself,” he echoed their disdain.
The next day, in the dormitory.
Zhang Tan woke to find his headache finally gone. His phone buzzed relentlessly at his bedside, the class WeChat group showing 999+ unread messages. With graduation upon them, everyone was bidding heartfelt farewells. The latest message was from his roommate, expressing affection and reluctance to part.
Sitting up, Zhang Tan surveyed the room. The dorm was empty, save for him. No one had said goodbye.
He looked at the lively phone and the deserted dorm and shook his head. He seemed to be ostracized.
He got up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and examined himself in the mirror—standing over 180 cm tall, slender, pale, and handsome, with long hair tied into a ponytail. His original name was also Zhang Tan, age twenty-two, a graduate of Beiping Film Academy’s directing department. Over four years of college, he had pursued women vigorously, cycling through many girlfriends—hence the nickname “Playboy.”
As for why he’d slept on a cafeteria table all night?
Not long ago, through connections, he’d joined a TV drama crew as the director’s assistant. But thanks to a meddling ex-girlfriend, he was fired. Angry and disappointed, he drank himself senseless, and, like him, ended up dead drunk.
“A good-looking shell, but so much failure as a person,” Zhang Tan said to his reflection, rummaging through his pocket and pulling out a train ticket.
Beiping West—G7008—→ Pujiang East
The date was June 28th at 11 a.m.—today, an hour and a half away.
Zhang Tan’s parents had died young; he grew up with his grandparents in Pujiang. Both passed away last year, leaving him an ancestral home and a kindergarten.
After being fired from the crew yesterday, he bought a train ticket south in a fit of pique.
If Zhang Tan were still the original Zhang Tan, he would have eventually tossed the ticket away, intent on making a life in Beiping. But now, Zhang Tan hesitated little and resolved to head south to Pujiang.
Pujiang here was equivalent to the Shanghai he knew. Until today, he had spent nearly ten years there, familiar with its ways.
He packed his bags, closed the windows and doors, descended the stairs, and waved farewell to the campus he’d lived in for four years—waving goodbye to both the former Zhang Tan and those wild years of youth.
At 11, he boarded the train. By 4:30 in the afternoon, he arrived at Pujiang East, following the crowd off the train, curious about this world’s Pujiang, so reminiscent of the Shanghai in his memory.
“Pujiang Grand Theatre—next stop~”
The announcement came over the subway speakers, and Zhang Tan realized he’d unknowingly taken the route to Pujiang Grand Theatre.
Yesterday, he was there attending the 30th Golden Rooster Film Awards. After a night’s sleep, he’d found himself in Beiping, inhabiting another body.
After a moment’s hesitation, he got off, left the station, and approached the Pujiang Grand Theatre. Night had already descended; the area was quiet, and the plaza lights glowed. Few people strolled about.
The notice board displayed the theater schedule for the week:
“A Symphonic Concert: My Country and I”
“Large-scale Comedy: Oh, Mama!”
...
There was no mention of the 30th Golden Rooster Awards—confirming the two worlds were utterly unconnected.
“The times have changed. The world is completely different now.”
Staring at the splendid building, Zhang Tan re-entered the subway, switched to Line 1, and got off at West Chang’an Street, seeking the ancestral home left by his grandparents.
West Chang’an Street was a bustling area of Pujiang, but within it lay a sprawling urban village. Zhang Tan’s ancestral home was there.
It spanned over 500 square meters, dilapidated and uninhabitable. After inspecting it, Zhang Tan went into a barbershop. The only barber was an elderly man in a faded white vest, belly bulging, old enough to be his grandfather.
The barber was shelling peas for dinner. Seeing Zhang Tan enter, he looked up, squinting, and laughed aloud.
“Hey, finally you’re here.”
He set aside the peas and grabbed his big scissors, snipping off Zhang Tan’s braid and leaving him with a buzz cut.
Zhang Tan examined his reflection. His style had changed completely—fresh and clean. With this new Zhang Tan being so different, even his classmates might not recognize him as the former “Playboy.”
“How much?”
“I’ll pay you! I’ve been itching to cut off that braid for ages.”
Everyone in the village knew each other. The barber had always disliked Zhang Tan’s braid, wanting to pay him to get rid of it. Today, his wish was fulfilled.
Chuckling, Zhang Tan left with five yuan in hand and found Little Red Horse Kindergarten.
This was another property left by his grandparents, also in the urban village, right beside bustling West Chang’an Street. On one side of the street were village houses shaded by trees; on the other, skyscrapers, malls, shops, bars—glittering nightlife, music, and lights.
Night had deepened. A crescent moon hung in the sky, and Little Red Horse Kindergarten was brightly lit.
Zhang Tan checked his watch—it was 6:30 p.m. Normally, a kindergarten would have closed, but this one operated only at night.
A pink electric scooter was parked at the entrance. Its owner, a man in his thirties, wearing a yellow delivery uniform, lifted a three- or four-year-old girl from the seat, helped her with her backpack, and urged her to go inside and play with friends.
The little girl wanted only her father, clinging to his pants and refusing to let go.
The man had to kneel beside her and speak gently.
“Daddy has to work. Go inside, Xiao Qian, and play with your friends, okay? We promised…”
The girl wiped her tears and, pitifully, entered the kindergarten.
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