My Dad Fell in Love… With Someone My Age - Chapter 2

Tao Xin had always been a restless soul, ever since she was a child. By the time she was four or five, she was already obsessed with thrill-seeking sports like skiing and surfing. On family trips abroad, while other children were taken sightseeing, she’d insist on trekking through snow-capped mountains, vast grasslands, or untamed forests—drawn to landscapes that were both primitive and full of challenges.

If there was one thing she truly mastered, it was mountain climbing. When she graduated high school at just sixteen, she embarked on a full-pack trek along Nepal’s ATC circuit. The team leader praised her non-stop during the entire expedition and even learned a Chinese phrase just for her: “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Those compliments made Tao Xin soar with pride. In fact, they inflated her ego so much that she lost her reverence for nature. She never imagined she would suffer a serious accident not in some foreign land, but right on a remote mountain in her own country. Even though she sensed something was wrong early on, she couldn’t outrun the sudden, unpredictable wrath of nature.

When the landslide hit, Tao Xin felt a flicker of fear—but just a flicker. She thought her luck couldn’t possibly be that bad. In fact, in those final moments, she was already making plans: once she got rescued, she’d marry the boyfriend who had tightly held her hand, spend more time with her parents, and even send a belated wedding gift to her estranged older half-brother.

The chances of encountering a landslide in one’s lifetime are already minuscule. Surviving one is even rarer. But surviving one and waking up eighteen years later? That’s the kind of statistical anomaly you’d write into a novel just to pad the word count.

And yet, Tao Xin defied those odds.

When the local police found the “mentally disturbed” Tao Xin and brought her to the station, the chief immediately recognized her resemblance to a missing person from a 2002 landslide. He pulled up the file and quickly reported the case to the Time Rift Administration Bureau.

This bureau, officially known as the Bureau of Temporal Rift Affairs, is a top-secret government agency. Time rifts were first caused by an illegal underground experiment conducted by a civilian organization in the early 2000s. When a task force busted the operation, the experiment had already gone haywire. As a result, temporal rifts began to appear across the province, leading to a string of mysterious disappearances.

Most of these “time rift victims” reappeared five to eight years later.

After the turn of the millennium, with rapid developments in technology and internet connectivity, any public disclosure of the rift incidents would have sparked massive social unrest. To prevent that, the Bureau was officially established in 2006 to handle all post-incident affairs involving time rift victims.

Among all the cases, Tao Xin’s was the most extraordinary. Not only was hers the longest time displacement ever recorded, but the disruption to her social and familial relationships was also the most extreme.

Eighteen years had passed. Though Tao Xin was technically an adult, the world she returned to was entirely alien. She had no legal capacity to live independently, so the Bureau provided both psychological support and social reintegration training while also seeking a suitable legal guardian to help her transition back into society.

Initially, no one even considered Zhou Tingzhi. After all, he was just a teenage boyfriend from nearly two decades ago—a relationship that lasted less than six months. In Director Chen Ping’s mind, the ideal guardian was Tao Xin’s half-brother, Tao Shuhua.

By bl00d, Tao Shuhua was her closest living relative. Socially and economically, he was a university professor, offering stability and a familiar lifestyle for someone like Tao Xin, who had grown up in comfort.

Practically speaking, he was twelve years older than Tao Xin and now in his fifties, childless, with only a wife to lean on in his old age.

Chen Ping thought it would be perfect to introduce Tao Xin into society as Tao Shuhua’s distant cousin—an orphan raised abroad who had returned to China to live with her only remaining family. It would give

Tao Xin someone to depend on, and Tao Shuhua someone to depend on in return.

But Chen Ping badly miscalculated.

He had assumed that despite being half-siblings, Tao Xin and Tao Shuhua were close. Tao Xin always referred to him fondly as “big brother,” so he expected Tao Shuhua to be overjoyed to learn that his long-lost sister was still alive. Chen even brought fast-acting heart medication to their meeting—just in case the surprise was too much.

What he didn’t realize was that the term “half-siblings” concealed years of unresolved resentment. Tao Xin was completely unaware, but Tao Shuhua knew it all too well. Chen’s attempt to appeal to his emotions only enraged him further.

Tao Shuhua not only refused to become her guardian—he even refused to see her.

But perhaps out of some sense of responsibility, before throwing Chen out of his house, Tao Shuhua gave him Zhou Tingzhi’s contact information.

After a bit of investigation, Chen discovered that Zhou had maintained contact with Tao Xin’s parents up until their passing, and even handled much of their funeral arrangements.

Most importantly, Zhou Tingzhi had never married. His relationships were clean, and he was highly successful in his career. The fact that he had a child from a previous relationship was considered a private matter and not something that disqualified him as a guardian.

In fact, it seemed no one in Tao Xin’s life was better suited for the role.

So, with unanimous internal approval from the Bureau and Tao Xin’s own consent, Chen Ping called Zhou Tingzhi at noon to discuss the situation and requested a face-to-face meeting.

Most families of time rift victims react with disbelief, often asking the same question: “Did you find the remains?”

Zhou Tingzhi, however, simply asked for the address and said, “I’m on my way.”

His calm response suggested he had somehow been expecting this moment all along.

After hanging up, Chen Ping couldn’t help but think, This man is truly exceptional. No wonder he built his empire from scratch. At the same time, a sliver of worry crept in—he feared Zhou might be too capable, too dominant. That someone like Tao Xin, who came straight out of 2002, would be completely overwhelmed by him.

Overcome with concern, Chen started nagging. “If you feel uncomfortable living with him, just tell me. We can always switch guardians. Message me on WeChat any time. And don’t forget to video check-in with your case officer every day.”

Tao Xin knew he meant well, but his repeated instructions were getting tedious. She nodded impatiently and asked, “When is Zhou Tingzhi getting here?”

By 2 p.m., Zhou arrived at the Bureau. After signing the non-disclosure agreement, going over the details, and completing all formalities, he finally saw Tao Xin at around 4 p.m.

It felt strange.

For Tao Xin, they had only been apart for less than a month. In her memory, Zhou was a slender, gentle boy with short hair, pale skin, and sunburned cheeks. He had always looked fragile.

But the man standing before her now seemed much taller. He had rushed over in a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, revealing broad shoulders and strong arms. Just standing there, he radiated intensity and unfamiliarity.

Still, Tao Xin composed herself quickly and broke the awkward silence. She looked at him and asked, “Are you sick? Why are you wearing a mask?”

“No,” Zhou Tingzhi replied, voice hoarse like rusted gears grinding. His white medical mask concealed his expression completely.

Tao Xin turned to Chen Ping. “Director Chen, can we leave now?”

Chen had actually wanted to invite her for a farewell meal—to see her off, reward the team for their month of hard work, and observe how she and Zhou interacted. But clearly, Tao Xin just wanted to get out of there. It disappointed Chen, who viewed himself as her surrogate guardian of sorts.

But Tao Xin had no idea what was running through his mind. All she wanted was to leave.

Once she got into Zhou Tingzhi’s car, she let out a long breath of relief. “Finally free. Living there felt like prison. I had more guards than an inmate—had to file a report just for rolling over in bed.”

The Bureau’s strict rules were the result of their first time rift victim: Zhong Qing, a 23-year-old first-time mom. An orphan who had just graduated college and started a family, she vanished into a time rift when her baby was just three months old—only to reappear five years later.

By then, her husband had moved on, remarried, and her daughter called someone else “Mom.” Zhong Qing’s place in the world had been erased. She eventually took her own life, and it was Chen Ping himself who had watched it happen.

Since then, guardianship of time rift victims had been managed strictly by the Bureau, independent of traditional legal channels.

Zhou Tingzhi had heard the whole tragic story from Chen. As he drove, he glanced sideways at Tao Xin and said softly, “You’ll be staying at my place. If anything makes you uncomfortable, just let me know.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hold back,” she replied. Then, after a moment, added, “First things first, I need to buy pajamas and underwear, take a proper bath, and binge on junk food. I want burgers, fries, soda—the works.”

Zhou Tingzhi chuckled. This time, it wasn’t the polite laugh of a stranger—it was the same warm tone Tao Xin remembered.

“No problem,” he said. “Miss Tao has just been released from prison. Of course I’ll treat you to a proper welcome.”