What Should I Do If I Time-Traveled Forty Years Later and My Lover Has Become an Old Man? - MLFYL: 30

As Yu Yao strolled through the chilly streets, her rounded belly leading the way, a concerned voice called out to her, “Hey, shouldn’t you be taking it easy, especially on a cold and slippery day like today?”

It was the neighbor’s grandmother, who always treated her like her own granddaughter, doling out kindness and warmth whenever they met. The last time they crossed paths, she’d even slipped Yu Yao a juicy apple from her grocery bag, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Yu Yao smiled and chatted with the grandma for a bit, exchanging pleasantries about her love of walking and the grandma’s latest grocery run.

As they parted ways, Yu Yao continued on her solo journey, wrapped snugly in her new down jacket—a cozy, high-tech coat that kept her toasty despite the winter chill. The extra padding didn’t hurt, either—her cheeks were rosy, her face fuller than before, thanks to a recent increase in appetite.

As she walked, her mind began to wander to her post-baby body—would she be able to shed the extra pounds and regain her pre-pregnancy shape? Her gaze drifted downward, where a prominent belly seemed to be cradling a giant watermelon, a constant reminder of the life growing inside her.

As Jiang Zhonglin stepped out for the day, she was left to her own devices, indulging in a gaming marathon at home. But as her eyes began to ache, she decided to swap her screen time for a stroll, changing into something comfy and heading out into the crisp air.

With Jiang Zhonglin’s cautious nature towards pregnant women in mind, she made sure to stick close to home, limiting her wanderlust to the quaint square adjacent to their community.

The chill in the air was palpable, and the square was eerily quiet, with most pedestrians hurrying along, bundled up in coats and hunched against the cold.

Yu Yao, hands tucked into her pockets, observed the scene with a casual air, her gaze drifting over the passersby. To her, the world seemed divided along a clear timeline—those who belonged to her era, and those born in a time that felt utterly foreign, with forty years old serving as the boundary.

As she strolled, her eyes landed on teenage girls, their skirts and thin socks a testament to their fearlessness in the face of cold. It begged the question—had clothing technology advanced so significantly in the four decades since Yu Yao’s time that these whisper-thin socks had become incredibly effective at retaining warmth?

Her mind began to wander back to her own youth, when she, too, had favored clothing that seemed to defy the chill of winter. Beauty and a sense of style had been paramount, and she had been willing to brave the cold for the sake of looking good.

Even as she entered her twenties and started working, her love for all things fashionable had endured—the beautiful clothes, the cosmetics, the meticulous hair styling, and the light makeup that had become an integral part of her pre-going-out routine. And when the day drew to a close, she would unwind with facial masks, pampering herself before bed.

But as she stood there, lost in thought, Yu Yao couldn’t help but wonder—at what point had she begun to let go of these things, to slowly lose interest in the beauty rituals that had once brought her so much joy?

It wasn’t long after she tied the knot with Jiang Zhonglin that the reality of married life began to sink in.

In the early days of their marriage, he had an insatiable curiosity about every little thing she did. Mornings were a ritual, as she’d wake up to get ready, and he’d stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed, to sit behind her and watch with wide eyes as she transformed before his very eyes.

The way she’d carefully pick up each makeup product, dabbing and blending with precision, was like a foreign language to him, and he’d gaze at her with a mix of caution and respect, as if she was navigating uncharted territory.

“I don’t get it,” he’d say, his voice laced with genuine confusion, “how do you keep track of all this stuff? It looks like a minefield of identical tubes and jars—aren’t you worried you’ll mix something up?” The young husband’s innocence was almost palpable as he posed his questions.

As she lined her eyes with a steady hand, she shot him a withering glance, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Honestly, I think it’s exhausting to put on a full face every day,” she told her disheveled husband, “but just look at the difference it makes.”

She turned to him, her lips brushing against his cheek in a gentle kiss, “Makeup can work wonders.”

Jiang Zhonglin’s face flushed a deep crimson as he turned away, his shoulder instinctively rising to meet his cheek, as if to ward off the deliberate air kiss.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, “I think you look stunning without any makeup, and even more breathtaking after a shower, when your skin is all glowing and fresh.”

Yu Yao wasn’t about to let him cling to his illusions, though.

With a sly smile, she shattered his innocence, “You think it’s easy to wake up looking like this? Newsflash: every night, after my shower, I blow-dry my hair to perfection. And as for my skin, I slather on a cocktail of moisturizers and serums to keep it looking smooth and supple.”

The young husband’s response was a comically stunned “Ah…” as the truth began to dawn on him.

As she finished wiping her hands, she strolled over to her husband and gave his face a playful pinch.

“You’re such a goofball,” she said with a grin.

Later that night, after stepping out of the shower, he caught her off guard by opening the door to watch her blow-dry her hair.

After observing her for a moment, he commented, “You look exhausted, but a good night’s sleep should fix that.”

Yu Yao let out a sigh as she held the hair dryer, “I’m feeling pretty drained, too.”

He jumped at the opportunity, offering, “Let me take care of your hair for you.”

Yu Yao agreed, and he proceeded to blow-dry her hair into a wild, explosive mess. Her locks were a tangled disaster, and it took some time to comb out the knots.

As Jiang Zhonglin worked out the tangles, he reassured her, “Honestly, I think you look stunning just the way you are.”

In his eyes, Yu Yao was a vision of loveliness, whether she was glammed up or barefaced. She was captivating when she savored Western cuisine with elegance, and just as charming when she devoured crayfish with her hands at a street food stall, her face smeared with chili oil.

She rocked a flowy floral dress, and she was just as adorable in that ratty old shirt and shorts she’d been wearing for years. She looked sexy with her legs propped up on the couch, and she was equally appealing when she rushed out to the balcony in the dead of night to yell at the guy downstairs who insisted on playing his electronic drums. Even the way she picked her ears was somehow more alluring than anyone else.

Whenever she asked, “Does this look good on me?” Jiang Zhonglin would nod enthusiastically, his eyes shining with sincerity that left no room for doubt, and reply, “You look amazing, every time.”

Before tying the knot, Yu Yao had this nagging suspicion that she was stuck in his idealized world. She figured that once they were married, the illusion would shatter as he witnessed her everyday habits—eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom.

But as it turned out, he was completely unfazed, and if anything, his adoration only intensified.

As time passed, she started to feel like putting on makeup was a total waste of time, since Jiang Zhonglin seemed oblivious to her efforts.

This sense of futility slowly crept in, making her increasingly lazy. At first, she just couldn’t be bothered with eyeliner and lipstick, but soon she was too apathetic to even wash her face on weekends—it was like she was back to her solo days.

However, there’s a world of difference between living alone and sharing your space with someone.

Whenever Yu Yao felt like being lazy, she’d yell out Jiang Zhonglin’s name, and he’d come running, toothbrush in mouth.

“What’s up?” he’d ask, toothpaste foam and all.

She’d be sprawled out on the bed, looking like a total sloth, and ask him, “Do I have sleep in my eyes?”

Jiang Zhonglin would nod silently, head to the sink to wet a towel, and gently rub it on her face.

Yu Yao’s face would contort under his ministrations, and she’d suddenly jerk her hand up to tweak her nose into a pig snout, just to tease him. He would burst out laughing, toothpaste foam spraying everywhere, including all over her face.

“Nice one! You just sprayed toothpaste foam all over me!” She’d pretend to lunge at him, but Jiang Zhonglin would grab his toothbrush and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, “My bad, but you started it.”

He was being super immature, hiding in the bathroom and refusing to come out, no matter what anyone said.

When Jiang Zhonglin was younger, it didn’t take much to make him laugh—just one little tease from someone and he’d be giggling uncontrollably. He was like a joke machine, always ready to crack up at the slightest thing. Even something as silly as making a pig nose would have him laughing so hard he’d almost pass out.

One night, while helping her blow-dry her hair, he suddenly burst out laughing and couldn’t even speak. Yu Yao, feeling confused, tugged on her half-wet hair and turned to look at him, clearly wondering what was so funny.

What was he laughing at, anyway?

Jiang Zhonglin, being his usual honest self, laughed and explained, “I used to have a dog at home, and I’d blow-dry its fur just like this—it just reminded me of that.”

Yu Yao freaked out, jumping up and shouting, “Hey, you’re calling me a dog—come here and get punished!”

He, still holding the hair dryer, rolled and crawled to the corner of the wall, trying to explain himself with a smile and waving hands, “No, no, haha, no—I didn’t mean to insult you, I just thought you and the dog were both really cute and fluffy.”

Sje shared a story about a little boy in her kindergarten class who got beaten up by a little girl, but the next day, he still gave her the handmade flower he’d made.

His response was, “That little boy must have had a thing for that little girl.”

She shot back, “Why, because you’re into being beaten up too?”

As he gazed at her, a chuckle escaped his lips, “I just can’t get enough of it.”

Yu Yao’s eyes sparkled with sudden understanding, and she lifted her hand, her eyes locking onto his, “You want a taste of your own medicine, huh? Well, let me indulge you.”

The smile that had crossed her face back then still lingered, and she found herself standing under the evergreen tree in the square, a subconscious grin spreading across her face, just like it had all those years ago.

A teenage girl on a hoverboard slid to a stop beside her, eyeing her curiously, “Auntie, what’s got you laughing?” She glanced up at the towering tree, “Is there something up there? A bird’s nest, maybe?”

Yu Yao’s expression turned maternal, “No, sweetie, aren’t you freezing in those thin stockings? Why not wear something warmer?”

The girl twirled around, her movements as carefree as a butterfly, “I’m not cold, auntie. Only old people like you worry about us freezing. We’re not afraid of the cold.”

Yu Yao couldn’t help but find the comment amusing—it was the first time she’d been called old. But as she thought about it, she realized it was true—she was old from this teenager’s perspective.

This young girl couldn’t even fathom turning thirty, just as Yu Yao struggled to imagine herself at sixty.

Lately, she’d been observing the younger kids in the neighborhood with a curious eye, trying to get inside Jiang Zhonglin’s head. When he looked at her, did he feel the same way she did when she gazed at these children?

As she pondered these questions, she struck up a conversation with the feisty little girl who was shivering in the chilly wind before her, “Do your socks have some kind of magical heat-generating properties or something?”

The little girl thought Yu Yao was just messing with her and burst out laughing, clearly amused by the absurdity of it all.

Yu Yao couldn’t help but think to herself, it’s crazy that after four decades, they still haven’t figured out how to make thin stockings that won’t leave you freezing in the winter.

She ended up chatting with the quirky little girl for a pretty long time, and the little girl had no idea that Yu Yao was actually from forty years ago. The little girl just thought her words were hilarious and couldn’t stop giggling like a little songbird.

But then Yu Yao had an epiphany—she thought to herself, “Wait a minute, it’s not that Jiang Zhonglin had a super low laugh threshold when he was younger, it’s just that young people in general are more prone to laughter. As people get older, they just don’t find as many things funny anymore.”

After saying goodbye to the little girl on her skateboard, Yu Yao headed home, and as she walked into the residential area, she ran into Jiang Zhonglin, who had rushed out to look for her. He was all bundled up in an overcoat and scarf, and his face was etched with worry, but the anxiety seemed to melt away as soon as he laid eyes on her.

“What are you doing back so soon?” She asked, taken aback.

He had told her he wouldn’t be back till the afternoon, which is why she had decided to slip out for a walk without a care.

As Jiang Zhonglin strolled up to her, he said, “You’re back pretty early, huh? You must be freezing—it’s crazy windy out there. What’s with the minimalist wardrobe, didn’t you think to bundle up a bit more?”

The words struck a chord with Yu Yao, echoing a conversation she’d just had with a little girl, and the similarity was almost laughable.

She found herself giggling at the absurdity of it all, and playfully grabbed his chilly hand, “Do you think I’m like a delicate little oriole or something?”

Jiang Zhonglin was taken aback by her random question, and he stood there for a moment, clearly perplexed, before finally shaking his head.

“It’s not the oriole that comes to mind,” he said with a gentle smile, “but a flower that never loses its beauty, one that stays vibrant and stunning no matter the season.”