Blinding white light.
This was Qiyue's first sensation after regaining consciousness. He forced his heavy eyelids open, and the sharp scent of antiseptic immediately pierced his nose. The LED tube lights on the ceiling emitted a glaring, cold illumination, forcing him to close his eyes again.
"Director Qiyue? Director Qiyue, can you hear me?"
An unfamiliar female voice sounded beside his ear, carrying a distinct tone of anxiety. Qiyue tried opening his eyes once more. This time, having adapted to the light, his vision gradually focused on an unfamiliar woman. She was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, wearing black-framed glasses and a professional suit. Holding a tablet computer, she was looking at him nervously.
"Where... am I?" Qiyue's voice was so hoarse it startled even himself.
"The City Center Hospital. You've been in a coma for three days," the woman said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank God, you're finally awake. The company has been absolute chaos, especially with Ms. Lin and President Zheng—"
"Wait," Qiyue raised his hand with great effort to interrupt her. "Who are you? What company? What Ms. Lin?"
The expression on the woman's face froze instantly. She turned her head toward the doorway and shouted, "Doctor! Doctor! Director Qiyue doesn't seem right!"
Qiyue attempted to sit up, and a sharp pain immediately radiated from his head across his entire body. Only then did he notice that he was wrapped in bandages from head to toe, with his left leg suspended in the air—clearly, he was not lightly injured. But what terrified him even more was this body: though equally lean and powerful, it was obviously not his original host body. There was a clear ring mark on his right ring finger, and an expensive Patek Philippe watch adorned his wrist.
"Did I get into a car accident?" Qiyue asked tentatively. His last memory was driving his second-hand Toyota through a torrential downpour, losing control and skidding, followed by glaring headlights and a deafening crash.
"Yes. Your Porsche lost control and crashed into the guardrail on Riverside Avenue," the woman replied quickly. "The doctor said you have a mild concussion, but we didn't expect it to affect your memory..."
A Porsche? Qiyue felt a jolt in his chest. As an ordinary programmer earning no more than twenty thousand a month, how could he possibly afford a Porsche?
The doctor soon arrived and conducted a series of examinations. "Your bodily functions are recovering well, but your memory might take some time," the doctor said to the woman. "Ms. Zheng, I suggest observing him for a few more days."
Ms. Zheng? Catching this surname, Qiyue recalled the "President Zheng" the woman had mentioned earlier.
"Ms. Zheng, could you tell me your full name?" Qiyue asked.
"I am Zheng Xue, your assistant." The woman—now known to Qiyue as Zheng Xue—wore a puzzled expression. "Do you really not remember anything at all?"
Qiyue shook his head, alarm bells ringing loudly in his mind. This was wrong, deeply wrong. Either he had lost his mind, or...
An absurd thought surfaced in his mind: he had time-traveled.
"Can you give me a mirror?" Qiyue suddenly requested.
Hesitating for a moment, Zheng Xue took a compact mirror from her bag and handed it to him. Reflected in the glass was an unfamiliar, handsome face of about thirty-five, with a high bridge of the nose, deep eye sockets, and a faint scar just above his right eyebrow. This was not his face.
Qiyue's hands trembled slightly. He had traveled through time, and into the body of someone who was obviously far more successful than his original self.
"Who... who am I?" Qiyue asked with difficulty.
Zheng Xue gasped softly. "You are Qiyue, the CEO of Tianyue Financial. You've been married to your wife, Lin Yaru, for seven years, and the company was co-founded by you and Zheng Mingyuan—your best friend."
Tianyue Financial? CEO? Married for seven years? Every single word felt like a heavy hammer striking Qiyue's heart. How could an ordinary programmer like him suddenly become the CEO of a financial firm?
Just as Qiyue wanted to continue asking questions, the ward door was pushed open abruptly. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit strode in, followed by a beautifully made-up, richly dressed woman.
"Old Qiyue! You're finally awake!" The man walked briskly to the bedside, his face wearing an exaggerated expression of concern. "The company has been turning upside down. If you hadn't woken up soon, the board of directors would have voted to oust you!"
Zheng Xue lowered her voice to introduce them. "This is President Zheng Mingyuan, your partner. That is Ms. Lin Yaru, your wife."
Qiyue observed the two of them closely. Zheng Mingyuan was around forty, kept in great physical shape, and wore a watch even more expensive than his own. His smile was warm, but his eyes darted about restlessly. Lin Yaru looked to be in her early thirties, with exquisite features as though meticulously sculpted. Her figure inside a Chanel suit was slender and graceful, but she stood two meters away from the bed, showing not the slightest inclination to step forward and care for her husband.
"The doctor said he has amnesia," Zheng Xue explained.
Zheng Mingyuan's smile stiffened for a split second before becoming even more enthusiastic. "No problem, Old Qiyue. Memories can be recovered slowly. The crucial thing is the current situation of the company—"
"What's wrong with the company?" Qiyue asked instinctively.
"Several major projects you were handling before the accident have all run into trouble," Zheng Mingyuan sighed. "Especially the Star Harbor financing case; the other party suddenly withdrew their capital, and our stock price has plummeted by 30%. The banks are calling in their debts, and the board is in a panic..."
Lin Yaru finally spoke up, her voice cold and indifferent. "The doctor said you need rest. Just leave company matters to Mingyuan."
Qiyue sharply noted that she addressed Zheng Mingyuan as "Mingyuan" rather than "Director Zheng" or "Zheng Mingyuan"; the familiarity in her tone far exceeded that of ordinary friends.
"I need to know the specifics," Qiyue insisted, though he knew nothing about finance; his intuition told him he had to seize the initiative.
Zheng Mingyuan and Lin Yaru exchanged a glance. This subtle movement did not escape Qiyue's notice.
"Alright," Zheng Mingyuan said, taking a stack of documents from his briefcase. "These are the latest financial reports and project progress updates. Honestly, the situation doesn't look good. If we can't find a new capital injection before next week, we might face bankruptcy."
Bankruptcy? Qiyue took the documents. The dense numbers and technical jargon made his head spin. A coder by trade, what did he know about any of this?
Just as he was staring blankly at the papers, a sharp pain suddenly struck. Qiyue's vision went black, and then a string of strange numbers and a date surfaced in his field of view: 2023-06-15, +37.5%.
The numbers lasted for about five seconds before disappearing, and the headache subsided along with them. Qiyue blinked in confusion, unsure of what had just happened.
"Are you alright?" Zheng Mingyuan asked, the concern in his voice of questionable authenticity.
"I'm fine," Qiyue shook his head. "I need to rest for a while. We can discuss company business tomorrow."
Zheng Mingyuan seemed quite satisfied with this answer. "Of course, get well. The company is in my hands." He patted Qiyue's shoulder, a gesture that was familiar yet firm enough to land right on Qiyue's injury.
From beginning to end, Lin Yaru did not approach the hospital bed, merely offering a faint "Get some rest" before leaving.
Once they left, Zheng Xue looked at Qiyue, hesitant to speak.
"If you have something to say, just say it," Qiyue said.
"Director Qiyue... I'm not sure if I should say this, but before your accident, you told me you suspected someone in the company was keeping false accounts, and that you intended to launch a thorough investigation..." Zheng Xue lowered her voice. "The very next day, you got into the car accident."
A shock rippled through Qiyue's heart. If the original host really had discovered something, then this "accident" was probably not so simple.
"Zheng Xue, I need you to do something for me," Qiyue resolved. "Gather all my personal files and company documents, as detailed as possible. Also, don't tell anyone I'm looking into this."
Zheng Xue nodded, a flash of determination in her eyes. "I understand."
In the dead of night, Qiyue lay in his hospital bed, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He had transmigrated into a CEO betrayed by his wife and business partner, with his company teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. To make matters worse, he knew nothing about finance and had no idea how to rescue this mess.
Just as he felt a wave of despair, that strange string of numbers appeared in his vision once more: 2023-06-15, +37.5%. This time, accompanying the numbers were four words: "NT Technology".
Qiyue sat up abruptly, wincing in pain as he pulled at his injuries. NT Technology? What was this? Why was he seeing these things?
The television in the ward was broadcasting financial news, and the anchor's voice drifted into his ears: "...NT Technology announced a breakthrough today, with its stock price surging by 15%..."
Qiyue shuddered all over. NT Technology actually existed! And its stock price really had surged, though the percentage didn't match the 37.5% he had seen.
Could it be... that he had gained some kind of prophetic ability? Was that date the surge for NT Technology on a future day?
The idea was utterly absurd, but right now, it was his only hope. Qiyue picked up his phone—thankfully, fingerprint unlock still worked—and searched for NT Technology's stock code and recent trends.
If his guess was correct, then on June 15th—three days from now—NT Technology's stock price would skyrocket by 37.5%.
A bold plan began to take shape in Qiyue's mind. If he could utilize this "prophetic" ability, perhaps he could save this bankrupt company and secure a foothold for himself in this unfamiliar world.
But first, he needed to verify whether this ability was real.
Qiyue gazed out the window at the night sky, the stars obscured by city lights just as his thoughts were shrouded in layers of mysteries. Why on earth had he transmigrated into this body? Where had the original Qiyue gone? Was this car accident really just an accident?
More importantly, what secrets were hidden behind Zheng Mingyuan's seemingly concerned yet shifty eyes, and his wife Lin Yaru's cold detachment?
The monitoring equipment beside the hospital bed emitted a steady "beep-beep", reminding Qiyue like a countdown timer: time was running out. He had to figure all of this out as quickly as possible; otherwise, what awaited him wouldn't just be bankruptcy, but perhaps—death.