Attention!
My language is not English.
This is a Chinese novel; I have no power to alter the story.
The first 20 chapters are somewhat mildly suggestive, but there's a reason for
it.
___....____
On the stage of Lincoln Center, a young girl slowly emerged from the back.
She looked to be about ten years old, with an adorable little face, long platinum-blonde hair tied back, and large blue eyes fixed straight ahead. She was wearing a black ballet costume, white tights, and pointe shoes, and she held a tambourine in her hand.
Then the music began.
The girl started to dance.
Emma Edson and Bruce Edson sat in the audience, deeply moved as they watched their daughter's performance.
"Oh, Kate!" Emma exclaimed, covering her mouth with emotion.
After all, this was the final.
At that moment, the girl executed a difficult backward kick, her left leg arcing above her head as she struck the tambourine in her right hand. The judges seated in the front row nodded in approval.
The girl was performing a drum dance called Esmeralda, which lasted only about eighty seconds.
After a series of movements, she spun around the entire stage, lifted the drum above her head, and began kicking it repeatedly. Her very first kick left the audience stunned. Even professional ballet dancers usually start at a 90-degree angle and gradually work up to 180 degrees over several kicks. Yet this girl's kicks—from the first to the ninth—consistently exceeded 180 degrees.
Even more remarkable was her ability to maintain the same power and height with every forward kick, a truly exceptional feat.
"Applause, applause, applause, applause!"
When the performance ended, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. The girl bowed and exited the stage.
As expected, she won the championship.
…
If someone asked me—setting aside subjective factors of gender—whether it's better to be a beautiful woman or a handsome man, I would choose to be a beautiful woman.
But if time travel and reincarnation were real, I would choose to be a man.
I long for the opposite sex, and fantasizing about feminine beauty makes my hormones surge.
Frankly, many men who fantasize about becoming beautiful women do so purely out of curiosity.
Maybe it's because I've read too many questionable novels, but in those stories, women always seem to have more fun than men, which makes me think women are better off than men.
If that were true, it wouldn't matter.
But I'm not sure whether I would still have that drive after becoming a woman.
Besides, truly beautiful women are rare. If I traveled back in time, who could guarantee I'd become one?
And after forty, women begin to lose their youthful looks, while men are often at their most charming.
If the choice were between a beautiful woman and an ugly man, I'd probably choose to be the beautiful woman. But if it were between an ugly woman and an ugly man, or a beautiful woman and a handsome man, I think I'd choose to be the man.
When I was a child, I hated growing up. Now that I'm an adult, I hate growing old.
I've never wished for immortality, but I hate the feeling of aging. If people could die looking like they were in their thirties or forties without changing their lifespan, that would be perfect.
In truth, so-called time travel and reincarnation were nothing more than fantasies in my mind, because I was an atheist. Even if someone told me the Loch Ness Monster was a pet of Martians, I'd probably find that more believable than Jehovah or Laozi.
Perhaps my thoughts truly offended the gods, or perhaps one of them was trying to convince me of their existence.
Clearly, they succeeded.
I began to grow paranoid. When I went to church, I bowed my head reverently; when I saw monks, I pressed my hands together in prayer; and if I ever went to a Taoist temple, I would probably light incense and make a wish.
It could also have been the work of aliens. Maybe they saw me as a "loyal atheist" and gave me a chance to experience it all firsthand. Perhaps the Stargate in Somalia should be sealed off to prevent those aliens from playing pranks on Earth—assuming such a thing even exists…
Back at home, Catherine casually set the trophy on the table and returned to her room, exhausted.
Even though she had been training in pointe shoes for more than two years, she still found them unbearable.
She collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
After all, she had already been here for twelve years, hadn't she?
The calendar read 1960. Counting the years, she had been studying ballet for eight of them. What choice did she have? Her mother was a dancer. Although Emma had stopped performing after giving birth, she had placed all her hopes on her daughter.
Her parents were immigrants, orphans of World War II, which was how they met. Her mother had British and Scandinavian ancestry, while her father was of French and Jewish descent. This "hybrid advantage" was obvious in Catherine. Even at just twelve years old, she was already strikingly beautiful and charming.
"I should do something… Hmm, come to think of it, 'that' should be arriving soon, right?"
As a reincarnated person—albeit with a change of gender—Catherine felt she needed to do something meaningful. Her family lived in the suburbs of New York, solidly middle class. But she couldn't allow her life to be wasted like this. Even though she was still a child, there was plenty she could do.
After lying down for a while, she sat up and began massaging her feet.
Although ballet looks beautiful, improper technique can lead to bulky calves and pigeon toes, and frequent use of pointe shoes can cause toe deformities. Emma had been a professional ballet dancer, and the New York School of Ballet (SAS), where Catherine studied, was a highly professional institution—part of Lincoln Center, housed in the same complex as the prestigious Juilliard School, with a rich artistic atmosphere.
She didn't give up, despite the unpleasant experience of being a woman. And although being reborn in 1950s America was difficult to adapt to—
Emma knocked on Catherine's door.
"Kate, there's a Mr. Robert here to see you. He says he's a volunteer from the Paper Book Company… Kate, what's wrong?"
"Kate" was Catherine's nickname at home.
So soon?!
Catherine was delighted, surprised to discover her talent for writing, even though much of the plot relied on "references."
"I wrote something!" she exclaimed excitedly as she jumped up and opened the door.
Paperbook Publishing Company was the oldest and largest publishing house in the United States, located in New York.
Normally, an editor would send a letter first and then call to arrange an appointment—so why would they come straight to the door?
When Catherine followed her mother into the living room, she saw a young man in his early twenties, sitting awkwardly on a chair. She immediately understood.
"Ah… oh… are you… are you Miss Catherine?" Robert looked at the girl walking toward him, his face full of disbelief.
This young man, clearly a newcomer, was stunned by Catherine's age.
Harry Potter.
Yes—Catherine had "written" this novel. She had written three parts at once and submitted them together.
After all, she wasn't sure whether such a novel would be popular in another era, or whether the recipient would truly have the foresight to recognize its value.
But clearly, her plan seemed feasible.
The fantasy craze sparked by The Lord of the Rings had only begun a few years earlier, and a decade later it would likely trigger another surge in popularity. One could even say that later works like Dungeons & Dragons and various video games were influenced by Tolkien's orcs, elves, and world-building.
However, Harry Potter's modern setting caught the attention of the editors at Paperbook Publishing.
This novel—this story—clearly subverted Tolkien's magical world, opening up an entirely new one.
Another reason Catherine chose this novel was that the Harry Potter series could barely be considered a fairy tale, and writing it at her age wouldn't seem too far-fetched.
"You guessed right, sir."
Catherine's words made Robert extremely uncomfortable.
Was this going to be his first deal—with a twelve-year-old girl?
Was she… was she joking?
He had imagined the author to be a woman in her thirties, brimming with maternal charm!
"I assume you're here about my novel?" Catherine said, unable to bear his awkwardness.
"Ah… yes, that's right!"
Robert pulled a document from his briefcase.
"We're offering a 10% royalty and an advance of $50,000, but we want to purchase the copyrights to all three books…"
A royalty refers to a share of retail sales revenue. For example, with a 10% royalty, a $50 book would earn the author $5 per copy sold.
The 1960s were the golden age of American development. The Bretton Woods system had not yet collapsed, and the U.S. was still on the gold standard. The dollar was strong—truly strong.
Catherine genuinely wondered how this naive young man had passed his interview. The contract actually stipulated a 7% royalty and $20,000, but he immediately announced his final offer.
Even so, a 10% royalty was already generous for a newcomer.
Seeing such an inexperienced young man, Catherine naturally laughed.
"Kate—oh my God, Kate—you really wrote a novel?" her mother Emma stared at her in disbelief.
Emma had already confirmed that Catherine was a genius. She had been accepted into the Griere School, an all-girls school with only about 300 students per year. It was, in fact, one of the top 100 high schools in the United States, and admission required considerable ability. Catherine had scored as high as 1 on the CI test (a reading assessment for girls).
The CI test measured reading comprehension. Third graders typically scored around 100, which was the highest possible score; even among fifth graders and above, very few achieved a score of 1.
Catherine had chosen to read The Children's Bible.
In fact, if her English had been better, she might even have considered reading Das Kapital. The CI (Individual School) program was specifically for students with an IQ of 145 or higher. At least before George W. Bush cut funding for gifted education to support programs for students with intellectual disabilities like himself, these schools were well established and excellent.
American education was very responsible, at least in most places—especially during the 1960s and 1970s, the nation's golden era, a time of rapid change and development when education was a top priority.
Still, Catherine knew her limits. She was simply foresighted, not necessarily possessed of an exceptionally high IQ—well, let's call it an exaggeration.
So Catherine rejected the initial proposal.
Only after talking further with Robert and having Emma, her guardian, sign the contract did she fully grasp what was happening.
"What novel did you write?" Emma asked.
"Harry Potter—a story about magic."
Emma nodded. Children generally love fantasizing about strange and wonderful things.
"Mm, I'm really looking forward to it. I'll tell your father."
Western education often includes an encouraging element; parents sometimes talk to their children like friends, motivating them with supportive words and expectant looks.
"Of course I'm a genius." If knowing more than fifty years of history didn't make her a genius, she would be utterly ashamed.
In her previous life, Catherine had been a college graduate, majoring in software engineering. But this world hadn't even seen the invention of personal computers yet; the founder of Intel was still working at Fairchild Semiconductor. In a world like this, what use were her professional skills?
So after arriving in this world, Catherine never neglected her studies. With her precognitive advantages, she could be considered a minor "genius."
Catherine's goal was to earn enough money for fifty years before turning eighteen—and then waste it all.
After all, she was a woman now. Why not try something "new and unique"?
Of course, she wouldn't touch a man.