It was 5:30 in the morning.
Outside, the sky was still dark.
A garbage truck honked faintly in the distance. Inside the dorm, the only sound was the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.
Su Rui curled up in bed, clutching her stomach. A dull pain radiated upward, like something was being pulled tight from the inside.
She fumbled through the cleaning department's standard-issued medicine kit, hoping to find some forgotten antacid. Instead, she pulled out a wrinkled plastic bag.
Inside was an old, worn notebook. The cover was a faded green, and across the top, scrawled in blue ink, were three characters:
Lin Yueying.
She froze.
That was her current name—or rather, the name of the body she now inhabited.
Everyone in the dorm called her "Auntie Lin." To them, she was just another aging janitor. No one knew that she had once been Su Rui—a starlet who had graced magazine covers, walked red carpets, and famously collapsed in heels at an awards show.
Su Rui had never given much thought to the real Lin Yueying. She had assumed this woman had no story, no presence—just someone to mop the floors and fade into the background.
She opened the first page of the notebook.
"Stomach hurts again. Not going to the hospital. Can't afford bad news. If I can still work, I'll work."
Her fingers paused.
She turned the page, then another, and another.
Some pages were grocery lists. Some were grumblings about coworkers. But others… others felt like peeking into a hidden room of someone's heart.
"Lin Xiang was on TV again today. Still dances like a dream. So handsome.
Back then, if I'd been braver and signed up for that ballroom class…
Maybe I wouldn't have so many regrets now."
"I still think about her… the one I sent away.
It's been years. But some nights, I can't sleep."
"If I could wear a white dress and dance a waltz with Lin Xiang…
even once in this lifetime, I could die with no regrets."
Su Rui sat still for a long time, the notebook trembling slightly in her hands.
She hadn't expected this. Not from this quiet, invisible woman whose life she'd stumbled into. There was pain in those pages, yes—but also romance, longing, and a kind of fragile hope.
She shut the book and pressed it against her chest. Her stomach still ached. But this time, the pain felt like it came from somewhere deeper.
She looked up at the ceiling and whispered, to no one in particular:
"Then let me dance that waltz… for you."
Three days later, she sent an email.
Subject line:
"Dream Fulfillment Proposal: Five Minutes with Lin Xiang"
The recipient was an old variety show director who owed her a favor back in her entertainment days. She didn't sign with her real name—just included a blurry photo of herself in janitor uniform and a handwritten note:
"It's not my dream. But I'd like to make it real for someone who never had the chance."
Two days later, the director called.
"You serious? You're actually coming back? For a janitor special?"
"I won't be on camera," she replied smoothly. "I'm just giving you the idea. You handle the rest."
On the day of filming, Su Rui changed into a white uniform skirt, pinned her hair like the older ladies at work, and stood quietly at the side of the stage.
The director had turned it into a "Community Heroes Special," inviting local sanitation workers as audience guests. Lin Xiang had agreed to appear as the mystery star—wearing his old suit, dancing to a waltz version of "Falling Leaves Prelude."
The lights dimmed.
The music began.
Lin Xiang stepped onto the stage, timeless and elegant, and bowed to the audience. Then, he turned and extended a hand toward her.
Time froze.
Su Rui took a deep breath and walked out to meet him.
She hadn't trained for this. Her steps were unpolished, her rhythm uneven. But she didn't hesitate.
Because this wasn't her waltz to perfect.
This was Lin Yueying's.
A dance for the girl who once pressed her cheek to the TV screen, dreaming of twirling in a white dress.
A dance for the woman who gave up everything quietly—and never asked for it back.
She took Lin Xiang's hand and whispered:
"This is for someone who never got her chance. I'm only standing in."
Lin Xiang didn't ask questions. He simply nodded and smiled.
And they danced.
When the final note played, the crowd applauded wildly.
Su Rui bowed once, quietly, then turned to walk backstage.
The director chased after her. "You sure you're not an actress? That looked real."
She just smiled and shook her head.
As she stepped out of the lights, she touched her stomach. The ache returned—gentle, but persistent.
She exhaled.
"I'll go to the hospital," she said softly.
Not for herself.
But for this body.
For the words in that notebook.
For the woman who'd written them—Lin Yueying, who once dreamed of dancing, even if no one ever knew.