Rebirth of the Villainess: I Became a Cleaner

The hallway had returned to silence.

The medical staff had cleared out, the doors had been shut, and the entire ward fell into a hush—punctuated only by the soft, regular beeping of the IV monitor behind the wall.

Shen Yichen stood at the corner, back against the cold tile, unmoving.

His mind was still echoing with the voice that had come roaring from inside the ICU just moments ago:

"This is my life—my body!"

The one who shouted—nearly screaming—was the woman now registered under the name Lin Yueying.

But to him, that voice, that fury… belonged unmistakably to Su Rui.

Everything about her outburst should've been dismissed. It was classic emotional collapse: identity confusion, incoherent claims, extreme agitation.

He should have walked away.

Called a doctor. Suggested psychiatric evaluation. Moved on.

But he hadn't.

He stood rooted to the spot—because those words weren't just the hysterics of a dying woman.

They had stirred something long buried in his memory.

A few days ago, he'd returned to his office early from a lunch meeting. The television in the lounge was still on, playing a re-run of a daytime variety show.

He hadn't meant to look. But a particular scene made him pause mid-step.

A middle-aged cleaning woman in a white dress was dancing a waltz with Lin Xiang.

Her figure was nothing like Su Rui's—rounder, older, slightly hunched.

But her movements were smooth. Too smooth.

Each step, each pivot, each draw of the hand… flowed with practiced ease.

Shen Yichen's first thought: That's not how a janitor moves.

But then she turned—just slightly—lifting her arm, tilting her chin, smiling with barely a shift of her eyes.

And in that second, his blood went cold.

Because he had seen that exact expression before.

On their wedding night, when Su Rui danced with him.

She had worn a white satin gown. She hadn't told him she could dance, and he'd expected to lead awkwardly.

But the moment the music started, she took the floor like she'd done it a hundred times.

Confident, poised, radiant.

She'd smiled up at him during a spin, and he remembered thinking—She doesn't just know how to dance. She owns it.

And now, years later, he'd seen that same micro-expression… on a cleaning woman.

He hadn't thought much of it at the time. He'd turned back to his laptop, convincing himself it was nothing more than a strange coincidence.

But then today—he heard her shout it with his own ears.

"Give me back my body!"

Those weren't the words of a delusional stranger.

That was a voice he knew too well.

The fierce pride. The unwillingness to surrender. The pain she always tried to hide behind anger.

And suddenly—he couldn't stop himself from asking:

The woman in that bed… is she really Lin Yueying?

Could it be—just maybe—that what she said was true?

Could Su Rui really be trapped in that body?

No.

No, that was impossible.

He shook his head hard. This was nonsense. Fantasy. He didn't believe in fate, spirits, or any of that pseudoscientific trash. He was a rational man. A man of systems and control.

He pulled out his phone almost defensively.

Tapped open an old wedding video.

In it, Su Rui spun across the dance floor in her gown, chin tucked, wrist arched, eyes gleaming.

He paused the screen on that familiar turn. That upward glance.

He stared at it for a long time.

Could two women make the same exact movement? The same exact expression?

Was that coincidence?

Or memory?

A thread of doubt coiled tightly in his chest.

He wanted to dismiss it. Needed to. But something instinctual refused to be silenced.

And that—more than anything—unsettled him.

Shen Yichen slowly lowered the phone, eyes still locked in the direction of the ICU door.

He had never been the type to believe anyone easily.

But for the first time—

he was starting to doubt even himself.