The green train rocked endlessly with a rhythmic clatter, and the smell inside was almost unbearable—a mix of sweaty feet and pickled vegetables. Emma Johnson held her breath, her head pounding like a drum.
Just a moment ago, she was still in the 21st century, receiving a top medical award and preparing to become a hospital's associate director. Then she slept, and woke up in the body of another Emma Johnson—this one from the 1980s.
This Emma was twenty, from Shangyang Village in Changjiang County. After slogging through years of study to get accepted into college, she never received her admission letter. When she investigated, she discovered someone had taken her place. Angry and unwilling to take it lying down, she went to the county to confront them and ended up beaten badly and dumped outside. The local hospital couldn’t do much for her. With no other options, her mother, Grace Smith, took her to the city hoping for better treatment.
Grace looked rough and skinny, always seeming nervous. Right now, she was holding Emma tight, carefully pulling her daughter’s legs toward herself to avoid bumping into the passengers next to them.
"Mom..."
Emma moved her lips for a long time before the word finally came out, her voice low and hesitant.
Growing up in the orphanage, Emma had never really called anyone "Mom." Saying it now felt odd, unfamiliar.
Grace’s eyes were bloodshot, her voice hoarse from days of exhaustion. "Is it hurting again? Do you want another painkiller?"
Emma had a bad head injury. When the pain got intense, Grace would give her Analgin, an old-school pain reliever that was already out of use in the 21st century. But back in the 80s, every household kept some on hand.
"I’m okay now, Mom. No need to take more."
Emma struggled to sit up, gazing out at the mountains and lush greenery beyond the train window. The summer heat inside the car was stifling, and her stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster.
"Where are we going for treatment, exactly?" she asked.
Grace always spoke softly. Emma, still relying on the old memories of this body, knew her mother had always been this timid type who just kept her head down and worked hard.
Michael Johnson, Emma’s dad, had been gone seven years. Grace did everything alone, carrying the entire household on her shoulders. People in the village often said she worked harder than two men combined.
"Your dad’s in Jiangcheng. We’re going to see him," Grace said.
Back when Michael was sent to Shangyang Village for work, he married Grace. But once he got the opportunity to return to the city, he left his wife and daughter behind.
From the original Emma’s memories, Michael never cared much about them—rarely helped with farm work, always had a book in hand. Grace, always making excuses for him, would say he was a scholar and wasn’t used to labor.
After bumbling along on the train for two full days and nights, mother and daughter finally arrived in Jiangcheng. They were so tight on money they couldn’t even consider staying at a guesthouse. Instead, they asked around and followed directions to reach Linxin Textile Factory.
Emma was so overheated she could barely breathe. Grace’s face was red from the sun, and she used an old worn-out bag to shade Emma from the sunlight.
"Mom, are you sure Dad works here?"
It was Grace’s first time in a real city. She couldn’t read much, but she remembered the name of the factory clearly—Michael had mentioned it in letters long ago.
"I’m sure. This is the place," she replied, casting a nervous glance at the gatehouse, hesitating to step forward.
Emma sensed her mother’s anxiety and took the lead.
"Excuse me, sir, sorry to bother you. Is Michael Johnson working here?"
The guard was fiddling with an old radio, crackling out bits of static and broken news.
At the name ‘Michael Johnson,’ he looked up and gave her a once-over. "Who are you? Got something for him?"
"I’m his daughter, Emma Johnson," she said, then gently brought Grace forward, "This is my mom, his wife."
The guard’s face twisted oddly. His eyes scanned them with barely disguised contempt."Hey little girl, are you trying to get some favor from Director Johnson or what? How can you go around calling people your dad? We all know Director Johnson, his daughter sure doesn’t look like you."
Of course, the old gatekeeper didn’t say the rest out loud—truth was, this girl in front of him was way prettier than Johnson’s daughter, just a bit too plain and country-like. She clearly wasn’t in the same league as the director’s girl.
Director? His daughter? Emma couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Something didn’t sit right. But Grace didn’t seem to care at all what the gatekeeper said. She clutched Emma's hand tightly, her face full of hope as she nodded hard.
"That’s right, this is the place. I didn’t take a wrong turn. He's your dad."
Turning to the gatekeeper, she asked, "Sir, that Michael Johnson from your factory—is he tall? Big eyes and kind of a… noticeable mouth?"
The old man peeked outside through the gate, quickly set his radio aside, then stood up with a big welcoming smile.
"Director Johnson! You’re back!"
Emma and Grace turned their heads sharply. A middle-aged man was wheeling a bicycle into the factory gate. He wore a crisp white shirt with two pens in the chest pocket and black trousers. He looked neat, serious.
"Old Liu, your radio’s way too loud. I could hear it from outside."
"Got it, Director. I’ll turn it down right away..."
Michael Johnson walked closer slowly, giving the mother and daughter only a brief glance.
"These people are… looking for someone?"
Emma's expression darkened—he didn’t even recognize them.
She felt a sudden pain in her hand. Glancing over, she saw Grace’s red eyes locked onto him, trembling yet stubborn.
"Michael… it’s me, Grace."
The gatekeeper had just assumed these two women were trying to get him to do something and made up a tale, but seeing Michael's face suddenly shift, he smartly kept quiet.
Michael’s eyes widened as he looked Grace over. “You… you’re…”
Grace pointed at Emma, voice shaking badly, pushing her towards him. "This is Emma, our daughter. I… I’m Grace Smith, from Shangyang Village."
Michael’s gaze froze then. The names clicked. Sure enough—it was his wife and kid from the village. But there was no joy on his face. Only shock and irritation.
He shot a glance over at the gatekeeper, then quickly pulled Grace aside and started dragging her away from the factory.
"What are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay in Shangyang? What’s the point of coming all the way here?"
Grace staggered behind him, not resisting. She looked like she was about to collapse from guilt, not daring to argue.
"I know you didn’t want me to come looking for you, but the child—she’s hurt. The county doctor said she needs a big hospital. That’s the only reason I brought her here."
"You could’ve just taken her to a hospital yourself. Why show up at my factory?"
Emma stood off to the side, watching her so-called father. He wasn’t even a little bit happy to see them. No concern, no warmth—only anger. As for her injuries? He didn't even glance at her.
She realized right then—this man… he couldn't care less about them.
"You need to leave. Now. And don’t come back. Look at you—showing up like this, trying to embarrass me? You just want to ruin my life, don’t you?"
Grace looked at her husband of seven years, hearing those cold words. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed all over again. But in a soft voice, she still tried to explain, not even daring to sound mad.
"Please… Emma’s really hurt. She needs proper care, quickly..."
Michael, clearly fed up, dug into his pocket and yanked out some crumpled bills, stuffing them into her shaky hand.
"Here. Take her to the doctor. Just don’t come here anymore."
