Rebirth of the Hong Kong Millennium Conglomerate

This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Shanghai, 2025.

The early summer breeze, carrying the moist air from the Huangpu River, swept over the rows of skyscrapers, but could not dispel the stagnant, anxious atmosphere in the office buildings of the financial district.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the office on the 38th floor of the China World Trade Center was still brightly lit. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of thousands of homes in this city that never sleeps flickered, reflecting on the glass curtain wall the image of a man in a suit and tie with sharp eyes—Zhang Zeyang.

He rubbed his throbbing temples, the cigarette between his fingers burning to the very end, making him frown slightly from the heat, before stubbing it out in the ashtray piled high with documents.

"Mr. Zhang, the finishing touches are all done! This time we'll net at least 3 billion!" Assistant Xiao Chen's voice was full of excitement. When he pushed open the door, he was holding a freshly printed report in his hand. "This is a stroke of genius! Mr. Wang was praising you like crazy in the group chat just now, saying he'd give you double your year-end bonus!"

Zhang Zeyang forced a weary smile. He leaned back in his leather seat, his gaze sweeping over the numbers on the reports—those cold Arabic numerals, for which countless people had lost everything.

Ten years have passed. Since graduating from the Department of Economics at Shanghai University in 2015, he has gone from a clueless young man who was constantly hitting walls with his resume to a private equity fund manager through hard work and perseverance. His success is all thanks to his daring and risk-taking spirit.

The housing prices in Shanghai are outrageously high. A river-view apartment in Lujiazui can easily cost over 100 million yuan. He bought two apartments with his own money.

His former classmates who looked down on him are now either coasting along in state-owned enterprises or struggling to pay their mortgages and car loans, while he has become a "successful person" in other people's eyes.

However, behind this success are countless sleepless nights, intricate capital games, and the nerve-wracking struggle of walking on the edge of the rules.

Just like this operation, on the surface it was a compliant capital operation, but the leverage and related transactions behind the scenes were enough to make him dance on the edge of a knife.

"Alright, you should go home early too." Zhang Zeyang waved his hand, his voice slightly hoarse. "We'll talk about the rest tomorrow."

Xiao Chen responded and tactfully withdrew. Silence returned to the office, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner vents.

Zhang Zeyang stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the dazzling city below.

The night breeze seeped in through the cracks in the window, carrying a chill, and he felt as if every bone in his body was screaming with exhaustion.

It's time to relax. He thought, took out his phone, and wanted to call a friend to invite him to a club for a couple of drinks, but his finger paused on the screen.

For some reason, at this moment, he suddenly felt a little lost. He had earned so much money, lived in such a big house, and driven a luxury car worth millions, but in his heart, it felt like there was an empty piece.

He shook his head, banishing that inexplicable emotion from his mind. What was there to be sentimental about? Isn't this what life is all about? He picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair, draped it over his arm, and turned to leave the office.

The elevator descended to the underground parking lot. Zhang Zeyang found his black Bentley, and just as he opened the door, he heard a screeching sound of brakes behind him, accompanied by the sharp screech of tires against the pavement.

He instinctively turned around and saw an out-of-control car, like a wild beast, rushing towards him.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He saw the terrified face of a female driver and the blinding light of the car headlights.

Before he could even react, the enormous impact slammed into him.

Excruciating pain, overwhelming pain.

His body felt like a crushed rag doll, the sound of bones breaking was clearly audible, warm blood splattered across his vision, and his consciousness was like sand scattered by a gale, rapidly peeling away.

The last thing he saw was his expensive suit, stained a glaring red with blood, before he was plunged into utter darkness.

……

"Cough cough...cough..."

The violent coughing sounded as if he was coughing up his internal organs, and Zhang Zeyang suddenly opened his eyes.

All that could be seen was darkness.

Above him was a dilapidated thatched roof, with a few withered yellow straws drooping down and swaying at the tip of his nose. The air was filled with a strong smell of mildew and herbs, mixed with the earthy stench, which made him cough violently again.

This is where?

He struggled to sit up, but found his whole body weak and sore, as if all his strength had been drained away. Moreover, this body... was too small.

He looked down at his hands. They were thin, bony hands, dark-skinned, covered with tiny cuts and calluses, with dirt embedded under his fingernails. These were nothing like his well-maintained hands, the hands he used to hold pens and mice for years!

Panic, like an icy tide, instantly overwhelmed him.

He suddenly looked down at his body. He was wearing a coarse cloth jacket covered in patches, the rough material chafing his skin, and a pair of equally worn trousers, the cuffs too short, revealing his slender ankles.

This isn't his body!

"Brother...brother, you're awake?"

A soft, sweet voice rang in my ears, thick with nasal tone, as if the person had just been crying.

Zhang Zeyang stiffly turned his head and saw a skinny little girl squatting beside his bed.

The little girl looked about two or three years old. She was wearing a faded floral jacket, her hair was dry and yellow, and her face was sallow. However, her big eyes were exceptionally bright, and she was staring at him without blinking, her eyes full of worry.

"Who are you?" Zhang Zeyang asked, but his voice was terribly hoarse. Moreover, it was a childish voice, clear but weak, completely unlike the deep voice of a thirty-year-old man.

The little girl was startled by his voice, her eyes instantly reddening, her lips trembling, and large tears streaming down her face: "Brother...don't you recognize Yunyun? I'm Yunyun..."

Yunyun? Zhang Lingyun?

This name struck him like a bolt of lightning, piercing his chaotic mind. Countless unfamiliar fragments of memory surged up like a tide, crashing against his consciousness.

In 1970, in Qingxi County, southern China, at the Hongxing Production Brigade.

The original owner of this body was also named Zhang Zeyang, and he was ten years old this year.

The original owner's parents were both intellectuals who had been sent down from the city. The father's name was Zhang Jingzhi, and the mother's name was Shi Huida.

A year later, they had a daughter, whom they named Zhang Lingyun.

The birth of her younger sister brought some comfort to this struggling family, but it also took a toll on the already frail mother, Shih Hui-ta.

Shih Hui-da did not receive proper care after giving birth, and coupled with heavy farm work and mental stress, her health deteriorated day by day.

As if things weren't bad enough, in the first half of 1969, my father, Zhang Jingzhi, was accidentally hit by a falling rock while working on the construction of a reservoir and died on the spot.

The supporting pillar has collapsed!

This news became the final straw for Shih Hui-da. Already bedridden, she fell seriously ill upon learning of her husband's death, spending her days in tears, and her health rapidly deteriorated.

On the third day of the Lunar New Year in 1970, Shih Hui-da held the hands of her two children and breathed her last.

Both parents died, and the family was destitute.

Ten-year-old Zhang Zeyang and three-year-old Zhang Lingyun became helpless orphans.

The original owner was already malnourished, and the successive deaths of her parents caused her immense grief. She suffered from a persistent high fever for days, and last night, she finally succumbed to her illness and breathed her last.

And he, Zhang Zeyang, a private equity fund manager from 2025, transmigrated into the body of a ten-year-old at this moment.

"Brother...don't scare Yunyun..." The little girl cried even harder when she saw him staring blankly at her without saying a word, her little hands tightly gripping his clothes. "Mother said that you should take good care of Lingyun..."

The little girl's cries were like a small hammer, striking Zhang Zeyang's heart again and again.

He looked at the thin, heartbroken little girl in front of him, at her eyes filled with fear and dependence, and the fragments of memories in his mind gradually began to piece together.

He really... was reborn.

From the dazzling, treacherous metropolis of 2025, we return to the materially impoverished yet brutally simple city of 1970.

He was no longer the powerful private equity fund manager, but a ten-year-old rural boy who had lost both parents, lived in poverty, and couldn't even afford a full meal.

The stark contrast was hard for him to accept. He closed his eyes, and memories of his past life flashed through his mind—the luxurious office, the soaring stock charts, the lavish banquets, and the car that crashed into him…

It turns out that the car accident really did take away his past life.

Now, he lives in a completely unfamiliar era, an era where even food is scarce.

"Brother..." Zhang Lingyun saw that his eyes were closed and thought he was about to fall asleep again, so she cried even harder, gently patting his cheek with her small hand, "Wake up..."

Zhang Zeyang slowly opened his eyes, looked at the little girl's reddened eyes, and forced a smile that looked worse than crying: "Brother is fine... Lingyun, be good, don't cry."

He reached out to touch the little girl's head, but found his hand trembling slightly.

This body is too weak. At the age of ten, it is as thin as a seven or eight-year-old child, and a gust of wind could blow it over.

He looked around.

This is a dilapidated mud-brick house with walls plastered with yellow mud, pitted and drafty.

The room was extremely sparsely furnished. He was lying on a worn-out wooden bed, next to a peeling wooden cabinet with several chipped bowls and plates on it.

There was a pile of dry firewood in the corner, and the corner of the room was covered with layers of spider webs.

Their home was bare and they were destitute.

This is his home now.

Zhang Zeyang was filled with mixed emotions. In his previous life, he lived a life of luxury and never worried about food or clothing, but now, he didn't even know where his food would come from tomorrow.

What worries him even more is his three-year-old sister. With both parents dead and her brother "seriously ill," he fears that this little girl has been going hungry these past few days, keeping watch over him, this "dead man," and surviving on the occasional meager scraps of coarse food provided by the village.

He looked at Zhang Lingyun's chapped lips and her cheeks, slightly sunken from hunger, and a strong pang of sorrow welled up in his heart.

In his past life, he was all alone. His parents died early, and he had no siblings. He struggled in Shanghai for many years, surrounded by fair-weather friends with whom he had only business dealings. He never experienced the warmth of family.

But now, he has a younger sister, a younger sister he needs to protect with his life.

He had to survive and recover his health in order to take care of his poor sister.

A rooster crowed outside the window; dawn was approaching.

As dawn broke in the eastern sky, the faint morning light shone through the tattered window paper into the mud-brick house, illuminating the cobwebs in the corner and also Zhang Zeyang's eyes.

He lay on the hard wooden bed, listening to the clear birdsong outside the window, the even breathing of his sister, and feeling the faint but real heartbeat within his body.

The ups and downs of my past life are like a grand dream.

But now, the dream is over.

The wind of 1970, carrying the earthy smell, blew into this dilapidated mud-brick house, and also into Zhang Zeyang's heart.

He knew that from now on, he would no longer be Zhang Zeyang, who only knew how to operate capital.

He is Zhang Lingyun's brother.

He wanted to survive, not only to survive, but also to live a decent life with his sister in this impoverished era!

He closed his eyes, his mind racing with calculations.

In 1970, a special era marked by scarcity of resources, rationing, and the dominance of the collective economy, he also knew that this era was full of opportunities.

He comes from fifty years in the future; he possesses vision and knowledge that transcends this era.

Perhaps he could use these things to change his and his sister's fate.

For example, a few years later, when the college entrance examination is reinstated, he can use his knowledge from his previous life to get into university and take his younger sister out of this small mountain village...

Countless thoughts swirled in his mind.

A determined smile gradually appeared on the corners of his mouth.

The road ahead is long and fraught with difficulties.

But he was no longer confused.

Because he now has people around him who need his protection.

The sky outside the window is getting brighter and brighter. A new day has begun.

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