What Should I Do If I Time-Traveled Forty Years Later and My Lover Has Become an Old Man? - MLFYL: 01

“Miss Yu, I am pleased to inform you that we have already made arrangements with Mr. Jiang, who will be arriving shortly to escort you.” With a courteous and professional smile, the staff member gently set a glass of water before Yu Yao, observing her with the attentive gaze of someone appreciating a rare and delicate specimen.

She accepted the cup of water graciously, expressing her gratitude, as her gaze subtly settled on the clock across the room—its display revealing the precise moment: 5:31 PM on July 15, 2058.

She lifted the glass, savoring a sip of water with quiet composure.

On July 15, 2018, commemorating her wedding anniversary with Jiang Zhonglin, she seldom chose to prepare a meal herself. Yet, on that day, as she was returning from her shopping trip, she unexpectedly tripped and fell.

Upon rising, Yu Yao was struck by the startling realization that her environment had transformed into a scene utterly unfamiliar to her. To this very day, she remains unaware that that fall had inadvertently transported her forty years ahead—leaping from the year 2018 directly into 2058.

After lingering in a dazed state for a moment, a compassionate passerby, who had observed her sudden appearance in the middle of the road, promptly stepped forward. With genuine kindness, they escorted her to the district’s citizen service center, where attentive staff efficiently coordinated to contact her husband, Jiang Zhonglin.

Currently, they await his arrival, hopeful that he will soon come to reunite with her.

Like a lost and found case.

“Actually, Miss Yu, you are, quite remarkably, the fifth documented case of time travel in recent years.” A young staff member, engaged in conversation, discreetly referenced the previous four instances—an elderly gentleman, a child, a lung cancer patient, and an individual in a wheelchair.

Collectively, these cases represented the archetypes of vulnerability—old age, frailty, illness, and disability—and now, she, too, has joined this rare and extraordinary group. It’s no wonder that, when she first mentioned time travel, the staff didn’t immediately consider hospitalization; after all, this phenomenon has a notable precedent.

Since her arrival, she has remained seated in this service center for nearly two hours. Periodically, a staff member approaches under the guise of offering her water, seemingly studying her intently as if she were an extraordinary visitor from another world.

After quenching her thirst, she set her cup aside and, momentarily bored, cast her gaze downward toward the plastic bag resting at her feet.

Within it lay an assortment of groceries she had purchased from the supermarket: eggs, tomatoes, chili peppers, eggplants, bok choy, green beans, tofu, duck blood, mushrooms, yams, a generous box of prepared food, and two mandarin fish.

Unsure of what to prepare for dinner, Yu Yao had instinctively gathered a variety of ingredients, planning to decide on a menu with Jiang Zhonglin upon his return.

As she began to count the peppers within the bag, she suddenly sensed a presence and looked up.

The large door swung open, and a figure entered. In the heat of midsummer, he was dressed in a shirt and long trousers, with delicate-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, clutching a large black umbrella—clearly, the rain had begun to fall outside at some point.

Water droplets were dripping from the umbrella. The man holding the umbrella stood at the door for a while, put the umbrella on the umbrella stand beside the door, and walked to her.

She looked at the white hair on his temples and the wrinkles left by the years on his face, and took a deep breath.

Mr. Little Jiang had indeed become Mr. Old Jiang.

Yu Yao’s husband who had only been married for a year had become an old man.

Damn.

“Yu Yao?” He stopped about a meter in front of her and called her name with a calm expression.

His voice was not as crisp and pleasant as it was forty years ago, but it was warm and soft, and his tone was very kind and gentle.

She had been sitting here quietly for so long, but at this moment she couldn’t help but curse in her heart, and she didn’t know where this anger came from.

“It’s me.” Yu Yao rose gracefully, casually retrieving the plastic bag from the ground, “Shall we go?”

Jiang Zhonglin adjusted his glasses, offered her a gentle nod, and patiently explained, “Just a little longer, please. I need to fill out a form. Your situation is a bit different; you’ll have to sign a temporary confidentiality agreement, and you’ll need to return later to complete the formalities. Please, take a moment to sit.”

She settled back into her seat with a gentle sigh, pondering whether his demeanor resembled that of a grandfather picking up his granddaughter from kindergarten.

Jiang Zhonglin then approached the service desk, engaged in a brief conversation with the staff, completed a few forms, and returned after about ten minutes.

“Let’s go,” he said softly.

As the door swung open, the sound of rain outside intensified.

He opened his large umbrella, ample enough to shelter both of them. Yu Yao followed him to the curb, watching as water splashed up beneath his steady, unhurried steps. His pace was measured and assured, embodying calm resilience amidst the rain.

Jiang Zhonglin, at sixty-five, bears no signs of hunchback or deafness; yet his hair has turned silvery, and his hand—wrinkled and trembling—clutches the umbrella with the quiet dignity of age.

The most striking aspect of the once-vibrant twenty-five-year-old Jiang, beside his expressive eyes, had been his hands—long, pale, and more captivating than hers.

Now, those hands were no longer within reach.

Yu Yao felt a constriction in her chest, a desire to speak swelling within her, yet their footsteps carried them swiftly to a roadside platform.

Jiang Zhonglin gently pressed the button on the bus stop sign, prompting an unoccupied vehicle to glide to their side. He opened the passenger door, inviting her inside, then took the wheel to drive away.

Silently, she observed the passing scenery—an automobile of forty years hence. Its exterior bore the same fundamental silhouette, yet countless details had transformed. The vehicle seemed to operate autonomously.

The car, the people, the streets, and the buildings beyond had all evolved—yet the essence of the moment lingered, timeless and poignant.

She gazed upon the unfamiliar buildings outside, noting that the roads and structures were laid out with an orderly precision that contrasted sharply with her memories of Shanghai.

Or was this still Shanghai at all? Her doubts only deepened until her eyes caught sight of a towering spire in the distance—once a renowned landmark of the city—confirming, at last, that she was indeed still within Shanghai’s bounds.

The car halted in a quiet residential neighborhood, characterized by charming three-story houses, each with its own modest yard. The lush greenery was evident everywhere—tall trees lining the streets and vibrant flowers and plants adorning each garden.

“We’ve arrived; this is the place,” Jiang Zhonglin, who had remained silent throughout the journey, said as he led her to the front of one of the homes.

Yu Yao watched the car disappear quietly on its own before turning her gaze to the house ahead.

Jiang Zhonglin approached the door, which opened smoothly with a soft click.

Though they had once resided in Huatian Community, Guangnan Road, in Apartment 502 of Building 2—after their marriage—she wondered when he had made this move.

Upon entering the house, Yu Yao’s gaze settled on the shoe rack and then shifted to the coat rack by the door.

She exhaled slowly, noting that only belongings belonging to the male owner were present—nothing indicating the presence of a woman or children.

It was clear that Jiang Zhonglin was without a wife at home.

As she moved through her thoughts, she pondered whether, upon seeing an elderly lady, she should call her sister or grandmother first—or perhaps address her immediately.

To be honest, her mood was unsettled, and a faint worry lingered that her frustration might lead her to scold the old man harshly, perhaps even causing him injury.

Jiang Zhonglin, with a gentle and courteous demeanor, invited her to sit and rest while he went to fetch some water after slipping into his slippers.

Observing from his perspective, Yu Yao reflected that his respectful attitude and manner of addressing her resembled the way he might greet a distant relative—someone long absent—who suddenly came to stay.

He was undeniably captivated by her presence, yet he found himself unable to draw near, burdened by a touch of embarrassment. Their past relationship, coupled with the current circumstances, rendered the situation painfully awkward.

Yu Yao was so exasperated she felt as if she might take to the skies in frustration.

In earlier times, she would have simply pulled him over to the sofa for a straightforward conversation. But now, she consciously recognized that there was no justification for her anger. After all, they had no control over the whims of time travel.

Ultimately, Jiang Zhonglin had done nothing to warrant blame. His distant demeanor was understandable, given that forty years had passed since they last saw each other.

Yet, for Yu Yao, this morning’s Jiang Zhonglin, who had risen with a bashful blush and an awkward promise to return earlier that evening, had looked at her with a clarity, brightness, and tenderness like gentle water. But now? Aside from that initial glance, the old man beside her avoided her gaze altogether, never once meeting her eyes directly.

As she observed him poised to move forward, she gently called out with an “eh,” prompting him to halt.

Jiang Zhonglin turned his head in response, and she extended the plastic bag she carried, her gaze meeting his as she softly remarked, “You mentioned wanting to have mandarin fish this morning, so I bought two.”

For a moment, he was stunned, as if momentarily dazed by her words, a rare crack in his usual composure.

Yet, swiftly, he lowered his head, removed his glasses to wipe them, then replaced them before reaching out to accept the bag. His smile was gentle, courteous—still that warm, refined expression.

Unable to contain her amusement, Yu Yao stepped forward and playfully patted the old man’s backside, startling him into steadiness by leaning on the nearby cabinet. Feeling a bit reassured, she slipped into the house in her slippers, made her way to the sofa, and reclined comfortably.

Jiang Zhonglin paused thoughtfully, the plastic bag lingering in his hand, before quietly following her inside.

His gaze first swept the living room, where he observed Yu Yao reclining naturally on the sofa, her demeanor at ease. Only then did he move to the kitchen to set down the bag.

After a moment, he returned with a glass of water, placing it gently before her.

Though Yu Yao had already sipped enough earlier and was reluctant to move, the sight of him calmly wiping his hands and silently watching the glass prompted her to rise.

She reached out, took a sip, and found it pleasantly sweet—honey had been added.

Having shared a home for over a year, it had become her habit to sweeten water with honey. Jiang Zhonglin, who preferred plain water and was not fond of tea or other beverages, was so young—yet she often wondered if something was amiss with him.

She was uncertain whether he still harbored this quiet quirk today.

“You…” Yu Yao looked at the old man opposite, hesitant to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

Perhaps there were too many things she wanted to ask, but she didn’t know what to ask first.

She scratched her hair irritably, lay down on the sofa, and kicked the pillow on the sofa.

Jiang Zhonglin, who was sitting opposite, still had the same good temper as when he was young, or even better.

Seeing her like this, he said, “I am the only one at home, you will live here temporarily, and there are special social assistance regulations for your situation. Tomorrow I will take you to apply for an ID card and buy some daily necessities.”

The old man offered her a gentle smile.

“There’s no need to rush,” he said softly. “Take your time—you’ll grow accustomed to it in due course.”

His words carried a soothing reassurance, untainted by any mention of his own past forty years, nor did he inquire about her circumstances.

Startled, Yu Yao sat upright, her brow furrowed as she responded, “Are you trying to coax me like a granddaughter?”

Jiang Zhonglin blinked thoughtfully, gazing at her with steady composure. A faint sigh escaped him, tinged with gentle helplessness.

“I’m already over sixty,” he admitted softly. “Allmost old enough to be your grandfather.”

A man of scholarly disposition since youth, he had always been kind and temperate, never one to quarrel. Now, in this moment, he embodied the image of a wise and benevolent elder—his gaze filled with quiet understanding, tinged with a hint of nostalgia and a touch of melancholy, as if he saw straight into her heart and knew her unspoken worries.