Chapter 1: Awakening Memories, First Encounter with a Kindred Spirit

Year One of the New Era marked the founding of the Interstellar Federation, bringing an end to years of war and establishing a new order.

—Excerpt from A History of Interstellar Civilization

·

Feng Jingyu deftly opened a private forum on her personal terminal, located the post by the author “Autumn Whisper,” clicked it open, uploaded the latest update, made a quick edit to the title, and then closed the thread.

It was already late at night. The sci-fi scenery outside her window, now viewed through the lens of her gradually awakening memories from a previous life, struck Feng Jingyu with a different kind of feeling.

She switched off her terminal, lay down on her bed, and soon drifted into sleep.

·

“Hold on, Jingyu, hold on!”

The surgical lamp above her wavered, her body gradually losing its warmth. In the operating room, her colleagues’ anxious calls and the orderly commands for resuscitation echoed, but in the end, they could not save her.

Feng Jingyu’s eyes flew open. She lay powerless on her bed, limbs cold, her pajamas soaked in sweat. Ever since she had begun to awaken memories of her past life at sixteen, she had dreamt of fragments from that life every night. This time, she had finally witnessed her own death in that former existence, which meant that all her memories from before had now returned.

She had worked diligently as a nurse for so many years in her previous life, never expecting that a medical dispute would cost her her life. Yet she did not regret stepping in to shield her colleague from that fatal blow; it was better than witnessing a double tragedy. Who would have thought that, upon closing her eyes, she would cross over to another world? When she awoke again, she found herself in a welfare institute.

·

It was said that her parents in this life had met with an accident—her father died on the spot protecting her pregnant mother, and her mother, after giving birth to her with her last strength, also passed away. Fortunately, the state’s policies were comprehensive enough that she received a full education and found a job that allowed her to get by. The income wasn’t high, but it was enough to support herself.

Technology in the interstellar age was highly advanced; even with a modest income, one could live in great comfort. Feng Jingyu was not a person of extravagant desires—her current life satisfied her deeply. The only thing lacking… was perhaps spiritual nourishment.

“Lacking? It’s more like there’s none at all!” Feng Jingyu finally regained a bit of strength. Even though she still felt unwell, she couldn’t help but complain, “It’s already the interstellar era, so why has the entertainment industry regressed to pre-liberation days? Nothing is allowed—this isn’t allowed, that isn’t allowed. It’s even more conservative than the old broadcasting authority! And fan culture is considered a spiritual poison? What a joke! An entertainment industry without fandoms can’t even be called an entertainment industry, can it?!”

When her memories of fan culture from her previous life first resurfaced, Feng Jingyu had been overwhelmed with excitement. After all, the entertainment scene on present-day Earth was nowhere near as vibrant as it had been before—every night had been a new world. Now, by comparison, it was like growing accustomed to delicacies and then being forced to gnaw on tree bark. The gap was staggering.

·

She lay motionless in bed for more than ten minutes before attempting to move her limbs; good, she could move again. Struggling, she got up, took a shower, and changed into a fresh set of pajamas.

By now, Feng Jingyu was no longer sleepy. So she opened her terminal again, this time not to the private forum, but to a chart called the Galactic Music Rankings.

She clicked through the top ten tracks in order of popularity, instructing the terminal’s AI to note each song’s play count, click rate, popularity, and rate of ascent. She then opened the comment sections and skimmed through the remarks. After letting all ten songs cycle through three times, she had the AI record the data again, then compared it with the earlier figures.

“Tsk, what a crude thing,” Feng Jingyu smirked. “Since that’s how it is, don’t blame me for being impolite.”

She then closed the music chart and played an audio file stored on her terminal. The recording’s quality wasn’t great, but the singer’s voice made that easy to overlook.

With this audio as her lullaby, sleep soon overtook her. Feng Jingyu’s last thought before slipping into dreams was: everything is ready, all that’s missing is the east wind.

·

Yu Huaiyin finished his performance for the day, his gaze habitually drifting to a certain spot—and sure enough, he saw the familiar figure.

He was well acquainted with what would happen next: she would give him a slight smile, then turn and leave. Yu Huaiyin had already prepared to nod in response, but this time, her actions caught him off guard.

She walked toward him, smiling, and politely asked, “Hello, may I take up a bit of your time?”

Yu Huaiyin had intended to refuse, but he recalled how, two months ago, the girl had looked at him as if she were clutching at a lifeline, her eyes rimmed with red as she asked whether he would come here to sing again. The words of refusal caught in his throat, and instead, he agreed, “Of course, please go ahead.”

They found a bench and sat down. This was a park by the roadside, with few people passing by. Yu Huaiyin had chosen this spot to sing precisely because he didn’t want too many interruptions. He hadn’t expected that this casual decision would bring him into contact with this rather peculiar girl.

When she listened to his songs, the emotions in her eyes were utterly different from everyone else’s—first disbelief, then wild joy.

Originally, Yu Huaiyin had planned to leave after this performance, but the girl’s reaction had moved him to say, almost involuntarily, that he would be here every Saturday to sing.

The two of them had thus become, by unspoken agreement, a singer and an audience with no further interaction.

But this time, why had she come to speak with him?

·

“Let me introduce myself first. I’m Feng Jingyu, currently an ordinary nurse.” Feng Jingyu extended her hand with an easy grace.

Yu Huaiyin took her hand in return. “Yu Huaiyin, currently just an ordinary music enthusiast.”

Their identical introductions made Feng Jingyu smile again before she continued, “I really like your music. It has the power to move people. Would you like more people to hear it?”

Yu Huaiyin frowned slightly. “My music doesn’t fit the current mainstream aesthetic.”

“That’s not your concern. If you’re willing, I can make it resound throughout the entire interstellar world.”

Had anyone else made such a boast in front of Yu Huaiyin, he would have thought them out of their mind. But the confidence and ambition flickering in Feng Jingyu’s eyes made him feel as if she were simply stating an inevitable future.

“Why… do you like my songs?”

Feng Jingyu was taken aback, clearly not expecting Yu Huaiyin to ask that—not why she believed in his music, but why she liked it.

A faintly sorrowful smile slowly appeared on her face. “Just like you, I’m also longing for the past.”

Yu Huaiyin felt as if something had struck him in the heart, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Unaware of the turmoil inside Yu Huaiyin, Feng Jingyu went on, “Actually, your musical style is very, very similar to a musician I deeply admired. During my hardest times, his music gave me strength. Sadly, he died young, and left behind only a few works.”

Yu Huaiyin finally found his voice. “Is that so? That’s truly a pity. I hope my songs can offer you some comfort.”

Feng Jingyu shook her head. “You are not the same person. To treat you as a substitute would be to belittle you, and to disrespect him.”

Yu Huaiyin gazed at Feng Jingyu in silence for a moment before speaking. “What do you need me to do?”

“Huh?” Feng Jingyu was puzzled.

“Aren’t you going to make my songs resound throughout the interstellar world? What do you need me to do?”