If this was a dream, today would definitely be the best part of it.

Although the rain seemed to never stop, a constant wind blew the clouds apart, letting sunlight leak through in patches.

Although he had only been touched by a bit of the cold wind, Luo Chi was still carried back to the room by Mr. Shadow for a timely hot shower. The two sides reached a consensus through negotiation: Luo Chi, being older than four and a half, could wash himself, but he had to sleep with Mr. Shadow at night.

Although he had played the guitar for too long yesterday and his right hand had no strength to lift today, the evening glow on the sea was so beautiful that inspiration overflowed. It was the perfect time to start paying his creative ‘debts’.

Although Mr. Shadow said many other people liked him…

Luo Chi promptly and strictly reined in his mind, not asking another question, believing it all without a second thought.

He took a hot bath and used his left hand to draw half a picture he was completely unsatisfied with, but which Mr. Shadow insisted was beautiful. He sank into an especially warm and comfortable drowsiness, leaning against the window with Mr. Shadow to watch the rain under the lights.

The cold air was firmly blocked by the window, and the rain formed golden threads under the lamplight.

…

Luo Chi hadn’t touched any electronic devices for a long time and was determined to play with one for a while before bed. Ming Weiting lent him his laptop and went downstairs to meet Xun Zhen, who had returned with Ming Lu, to confirm the times for Luo Chi’s last two pre-operative check-ups.

When he returned to the room with today’s medicine, Luo Chi was still leaning against the headboard, staring intently at the screen, one hand tapping ceaselessly on the keyboard.

Ming Weiting put down what he was holding and walked over. “What are you writing?”

The carpet in the room was thick, and Luo Chi’s hearing wasn’t sharp enough to detect his footsteps. He only looked up when Ming Weiting spoke.

His mood lifted the moment he saw Mr. Shadow, and his eyes immediately curved into a smile. “A letter.”

Ming Weiting was a bit surprised by this answer. He walked to the bedside and gave him the promised peach-flavored candy.

He knew Luo Chi had a habit of taking notes in a memo app.

Most of what had happened these past few days were happy things that Luo Chi wasn’t likely to forget. Besides, it didn’t matter if he did; if Luo Chi forgot, Ming Weiting could just take him to do it all again.

But even so, Luo Chi would still murmur and review everything quietly before bed before he could close his eyes to sleep with peace of mind.

Ming Weiting had thought he was writing in a diary. He took the laptop Luo Chi handed him, closed it, and placed it by the bed. “Who is the letter for? Do you need help sending it?”

Luo Chi smiled and shook his head, hiding the candy under his pillow.

A letter that didn’t need to be sent meant the recipient wasn’t an outsider. Ming Weiting guessed he was writing to Aunt Ren and didn’t ask further, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Huo Miao.”

Luo Chi sensed he had something to say, so he blinked and propped himself up to turn around.

Ming Weiting extended a hand to help him up, and after Luo Chi had slowly sat upright, he added a soft pillow behind his back.

…

After all these days of staying with Luo Chi, he had summarized a pattern.

Luo Chi’s condition was best in the morning. Though he inevitably had to endure a few sporadic headaches, he was still quite energetic, willing to communicate, and his thoughts were clear.

Luo Chi’s body was too weak and he tired very easily, so this period didn’t last long. It was important to give him a break in the middle of the day to rest alone. A rested Luo Chi would regain his energy, but he would be quieter than in the morning, usually finding one thing to do for the whole afternoon.

By evening, Luo Chi’s physical and mental energy would be almost completely depleted. He would be too sleepy to keep his eyes open and would prefer to smile rather than talk.

“About what we discussed this morning, Uncle Lu went to handle it. You can rest assured.”

Ming Weiting slowed his speech. “No more innocent people will be involved.”

He didn’t specifically explain what “this morning’s matter” was. Confusion flickered in Luo Chi’s eyes as expected, but then he thought back carefully, and after a moment, his expression cleared with understanding.

Luo Chi turned back, fumbled under the pillow with his left hand, and took out the candy he had just hidden, holding it in his palm.

Ming Weiting was already familiar with their routine and reached out to take it. “A thank you for Uncle Lu?”

Luo Chi seemed prepared. When he saw Ming Weiting’s hand, his left hand tapped lightly on his wrist and, as if from nowhere, produced a second candy, placing both in Ming Weiting’s hand.

The move was almost like a little magic trick. He had clearly recalled some memory, likely a technique learned from Aunt Ren, saving a previously hidden candy to startle Mr. Shadow.

Of course, Mr. Shadow was an enthusiastic audience. He examined the two identical candies back and forth, then reached up to touch his ear. “How are you so amazing?”

The spot on Luo Chi’s ear that he touched turned red. Although he didn’t like to talk much at this time, his expression after being praised was no different from during the day. He pressed his lips together, his voice very soft. “Thank you, Uncle Lu… and Mr. Shadow.”

Ming Weiting happened to want to talk about this very thing. He put the candies in his pocket. “Huo Miao.”

He had spent the day thinking about how to explain this, but since he didn’t understand the reason himself, he could only try to be honest with Luo Chi. “I’d be happier if you don’t thank me.”

“I’m very happy to receive the candy.” Ming Weiting raised his hand and stroked Luo Chi’s hair. “But I’d be even happier if you only thanked Uncle Lu and not me.”

Luo Chi clearly didn’t understand the distinction and looked surprised. “Why?”

Ming Weiting had worried he would ask that and could only shake his head. “I don’t know.”

Before Luo Chi had suddenly hugged him this morning and thanked him, Ming Weiting himself hadn’t realized it.

He had just compared the scenarios in his head—Luo Chi thanking him and Uncle Lu, versus him holding Luo Chi and thanking Uncle Lu together. The latter was clearly what he preferred.

But that wasn’t a real reason. Ming Weiting decided to think it through before explaining it to him, so he smiled and ruffled Luo Chi’s hair again. “But those two sentences this morning were very good.”

Ming Weiting had wanted to answer him right then. He thought about how he had looked at Luo Chi at that moment, seeing his eyes so bright and happy, and he couldn’t help but feel happy too. He was sure he had wanted to do something else as well.

But these thoughts were not concrete enough and couldn’t be derived from simple logical analysis. Perhaps he really should take some time to think about this question carefully.

…

But for now, there was at least one more important thing.

Ming Weiting met Luo Chi’s gaze and earnestly returned the thanks. “I am very honored.”

Ming Weiting said softly, “Thank you, Huo Miao, for letting me like him.”

Luo Chi’s ears suddenly turned red, and he slowly slid down, disappearing bit by bit into the blanket.

Familiarity breeds skill. Ming Weiting was prepared this time. Just as he had almost completely submerged himself, with only his head still visible, Ming Weiting suddenly wrapped his arms firmly around him through the blanket, lifting him up with one hand into a blanket roll.

Luo Chi’s eyes widened. He was tickled through the blanket and couldn’t help but laugh out loud, trying to push himself up with his left hand and escape with the blanket roll.

Ming Weiting always knew his limits when playing with him. Luo Chi came close to rolling to the other side of the bed several times, only to fail at the last second, tumbling back onto the bed with a gentle poke to his shoulder.

Between the laughter and exhaustion, Luo Chi used up his last bit of strength and finally gave up trying to escape, falling back onto the bed, panting.

Ming Weiting propped himself up on one hand beside his shoulder, looked down at him, and slowly began to speak, looking as if he was about to repeat himself. “Thank you—”

Luo Chi quickly cut him off. “No thanks, no thanks.”

The exertion had brought color to his cheeks. He lay obediently in his blanket roll, his answer and posture exceptionally standard.

A smile appeared in Ming Weiting’s eyes as he straightened his pillow for him.

Luo Chi, wrapped in the blanket roll, buried half his still-hot face in the pillow and recalled what Mr. Shadow had just said.

…

How could there be such a strange reason for thanking someone, “thanking them for letting you like them”?

He had played for a while, and now that sentence made his heart race for some reason. He spoke in a rare, soft voice, “Who thanks someone for something like that?”

Ming Weiting copied him, even showing him the candy he had just received. “Who thanks someone for something like that?”

Luo Chi was suddenly checkmated, unable to come up with a rebuttal, and he shrank back into the hot blanket roll.

This was bad.

For some time to come, Mr. Shadow’s voice would probably be echoing in his head.

“Thank you, Huo Miao, for letting me like him.”

“Thank you, Huo Miao, for letting me like him.”

Ming Weiting bent his index finger and tapped him lightly between the eyebrows. “Do I have your permission to like you?”

Luo Chi, feeling both inexplicably guilty and happy, nodded without thinking. “Yes, yes, you do.”

Only then was Ming Weiting satisfied. He fluffed Luo Chi’s pillow and reached out to brush the hair from his forehead.

The rosy flush from their game had not yet completely faded. Like this, Luo Chi looked perfectly well again, just lying in bed not wanting to sleep, playing with him.

Ming Weiting loosened the blanket slightly, felt the light sweat on Luo Chi’s temple, and carefully smoothed his messy short hair behind his ear.

The comfortable sensation made Luo Chi’s drowsiness return. He shifted slightly, pressing his forehead against Ming Weiting’s fingers, watching him quietly.

Ming Weiting stroked the forehead that was gradually returning to its pale color and looked down into those eyes.

…

In fact, every night, Luo Chi seemed reluctant to fall asleep.

At this time, Luo Chi usually disliked talking and would find any way to avoid speaking, but his gaze would always follow Mr. Shadow.

He would watch Ming Weiting intently until his pupils became hazy with drowsiness, his eyelashes fluttering once, then again, before finally falling shut.

Luo Chi wouldn’t speak, but his eyes would sometimes be lost in thought, sometimes unable to hide his fatigue, and sometimes he would jolt awake from a hazy sleep, searching for his shadow.

Ming Weiting had also developed a habit of putting down whatever he was doing at this time to stay by the bed with him.

He would also watch Luo Chi’s eyes.

Ming Weiting waited until Luo Chi slowly closed his eyes, then covered his left ear with his hand.

“Huo Miao,” Ming Weiting said, “Xun Zhen came by today.”

His voice was very soft, not loud enough to pass through his palm to Luo Chi’s ear.

“He will talk to you at the next follow-up appointment to explain the situation clearly.”

Ming Weiting paused for a moment before continuing. “You might forget many things.”

“They discussed many options, but all of them will inevitably damage parts of the cortex and hippocampus. Memory and spatial orientation will be affected.”

“The spatial orientation doesn’t matter. Technology is very advanced now; you don’t necessarily need to be able to find north to be a ship captain…” Ming Weiting repeated Ming Lu’s words and found them amusing himself, shaking his head slightly. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“It’s okay if you can’t find your way.” Ming Weiting said. “I will find you.”

…

The news Xun Zhen brought was not actually worse than before.

From the very beginning, the team of experts Xun Zhen found had determined that the location of Luo Chi’s tumor was difficult. Although operable, it would definitely affect some brain tissue.

This conclusion had been confirmed many times since.

The Xun family had deep roots in the medical industry. Xun Zhen had taken Luo Chi’s scans and medical records to every domestic and international expert and team he could find, and they all returned the same result.

Then and now, completely forgetting the past was not a bad thing for Luo Chi—even now. Just because Luo Chi had cut away those past events himself didn’t mean they couldn’t come back to haunt him.

“This is not a problem that can be solved by subjective consciousness.”

Xun Zhen chose his words carefully. “The human brain isn’t that logical, where you can just not think about something you don’t want to think about… If that were the case,” he said, tapping his forehead, “no one would get sick up here.”

Luo Chi had far too few happy memories.

Before he was seven, everything around him might have been superficially harmonious, but with the birth of his younger sister, he had started learning how to be an older brother early on.

Later, when Mrs. Ren took him in, that period was an absolute salvation for Luo Chi, but it lasted only three years in total. And even within those short three years, a bad seed had been planted, linking too many memories to pain and harm.

Luo Chi had carved out and burned away his past all by himself, piece by piece. His recovery speed had already astonished Xun Zhen. With such a decisive, almost sacrificial fervor, Xun Zhen even suspected that Luo Chi himself had vaguely sensed something.

Luo Chi himself may have vaguely sensed something, which was why he never asked about what was happening outside and never let anyone worry about him.

“Actually, the fact that Luo Chi woke up and recovered to this extent is already unexpectedly good news.”

Xun Zhen said, “After the surgery, he might even recover quickly and reintegrate into a normal life.”

If Luo Chi’s previous state—with slow thinking, significantly reduced willpower, and severely impaired cognitive function—those issues would not have been cured overnight by memory loss.

At that time, he didn’t understand Luo Chi yet and had thought it was the best solution—for Luo Chi to forget everything, be brought back to the sea by the Ming family, and have suitable people to guide and care for him.

It would be like teaching a blank slate to start over completely, getting a rusted consciousness to run again and slowly become active. With good luck, Luo Chi would become a completely new person.

But now, Luo Chi’s condition was already very good. Losing those memories was not a bad thing for him; on the contrary, it would remove the last hidden danger.

If he could completely lose those memories, he could be completely free in the future. He would no longer have to block out all potential triggers for traumatic memories, no longer need to stay in the isolated seaside villa, or remain forever on a cruise ship sailing the distant oceans.

Ming Lu, who was listening on the side, couldn’t help but ask, “Is there any way for him not to forget about Mrs. Ren?”

“There’s no guarantee, but it’s theoretically possible.” Xun Zhen had already discussed this with the team. “Memory loss caused by traumatic brain injury often has a noticeable temporal gradient effect.”

Xun Zhen explained, “The earlier the memories, the longer ago they are from the present, the more likely they are to be preserved.”

The memories of Mrs. Ren were from ten years ago, which was long enough. If they were lucky enough, Luo Chi would still remember Mrs. Ren.

“That would be great if it happens,” Ming Lu thought for a moment. “To remember Mrs. Ren and forget everything that happened after.”

Ming Lu had just been to Huaisheng Entertainment today. He believed in those young people; as long as they could see Luo Chi again, they wouldn’t mind doing a clumsy self-introduction all over again, just like three years ago.

As Ming Lu went to prepare Luo Chi’s medicine for the day, he noticed that Xun Zhen still looked like he had more to say. “So, what’s the other problem?”

“…There is one.” Xun Zhen clenched his fist.

He wasn’t sure if his guess and worry were entirely superfluous, but he still looked cautiously at Ming Weiting.

Xun Zhen said in a low voice, “Short-term memory.”

“After the hippocampus is damaged.”

Xun Zhen said, “It is almost completely impossible for short-term memories to be preserved.”

…

Ming Weiting finished explaining the entire situation to Luo Chi before moving his hand from his ear.

He had promised he would personally tell Luo Chi.

In a few days, when Xun Zhen talked to Luo Chi about his condition again, he would not specifically mention this matter.

This was never a choice. Luo Chi had to have the surgery. This was just an assessment of the possible consequences to make corresponding preparations in advance.

Among all the prognoses Xun Zhen had made, this was already one of the very good outcomes.

After the surgery, Luo Chi would become a completely free flame.

Ming Weiting had known this for a long time. He had listened in detail to the expert team’s discussions when Luo Chi was first hospitalized and was fully aware of all possible scenarios.

He sometimes thought that perhaps it was because he already knew Luo Chi wouldn’t remember these days that he allowed himself to interact with him this way.

Completely impolite, completely unceremonious… he had even just rolled him up in a blanket and pushed him around on the bed.

A smile gradually appeared in Ming Weiting’s eyes as he reached out and slowly stroked Luo Chi’s hair.

He suddenly remembered Luo Chi on the terrace today, saying “mine” so clearly and loudly. He remembered Luo Chi suddenly throwing himself at him, hugging him with all his might.

Perhaps the reason he didn’t want Luo Chi to thank him at that moment was because that sudden hug and “thank you” felt too much like a hasty farewell.

“A lucky fan,” Ming Weiting said, mimicking Luo Chi by letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m about to have a third piece of bad luck.”

He found his own words amusing. “Whose fan is this?”

Ming Weiting lightly brushed Luo Chi’s closed eyelashes with his knuckle. “After chasing this star for so long, I’m still practicing my self-introduction.”

He started to get up but felt a faint pull. Looking down, he saw Luo Chi’s hand gripping his shirt.

Ming Weiting sat back down on the edge of the bed.

He sat for longer than usual this time.

“Good night.” He switched to a more professional sentence, practicing again. “My name is Ming Weiting. I’m a fan chasing his star. I am Huo Miao’s fan.”

Ming Weiting paused for a moment. He slowly took that hand in his and said softly, “Huo Miao said I could like him.”