Xun Zhen could finally let out a long breath.

Perhaps the surgery had already exhausted all possible accidents, as only good news came from the intensive care unit.

Every awakening was successful. No cerebrospinal fluid leakage, normal hearing and vision, normal limb responses, and able to answer simple questions.

There was no asphyxia or respiratory dysfunction, and his vital signs remained stable.

Although there was significant blood loss, it was dealt with promptly and hemostasis was thorough. There was no secondary bleeding or hematoma, and no irreversible nerve damage was caused…

The ICU woke the patient every twenty minutes, and Dean Xun came to report the situation every twenty minutes.

This went on until late at night. Even he himself felt it was too intrusive and hesitated at the door of the rest area. “…Steward Ming?”

“Quickly.” Ming Lu’s expression had also relaxed more and more. He put down his pocket watch and nodded with a smile. “The master is waiting for you.”

Xun Zhen breathed a sigh of relief, quickly entered the rest area, and briefly explained the upcoming arrangements to Ming Weiting.

“Ming—” Xun Zhen’s heart had basically settled, and he could finally say this name without trepidation, “Ming Chi.”

It had to be said that these two characters together were indeed a far better match than the previous combination.

If he were to casually pick a name, he would definitely pick one that sounded this bright and clear.

“So far, there have been no complications, nor any signs of infection,” Xun Zhen said. “We’re observing him in the ICU overnight because we want to keep him on the pain pump for a while longer.”

Xun Zhen hesitated for a moment, then added, “Right now, we must strictly ensure his emotional stability. The nurses haven’t asked him more questions, just the most basic conversational checks… We can’t yet determine the extent of memory impairment.”

“It’s fine,” Ming Weiting nodded. “Thank you for your trouble.”

“It’s our duty, after all.”

Seeing that he didn’t mind, Xun Zhen breathed a sigh of relief and quickly shook his head. “Cerebral edema may occur in the early morning. It’s unavoidable with so much blood loss, but it won’t be too severe. Once the swelling subsides and stabilizes, he can return to the ward. Someone will be monitoring him at all times.”

He quickly finished the rest of his instructions. “Next is recuperation and conditioning, rehabilitation, and paying attention to prevent intracranial infections… The duration of the surgery was controlled as much as possible, and the procedures were cautious, so there shouldn’t be any infections.”

“The little girl’s surgery after his was also quite successful,” Xun Zhen said with a smile. “We have a saying here, ‘one success leads to a hundred successes.’ This operating table will have very good luck for a while. He brought the good luck. We’ll have to give him a red envelope later.”

Ming Weiting looked at Ming Lu, who nodded. “There is indeed such a saying, Master.”

In hospitals, this saying really did exist. Whether you called it a superstition for good luck or attributed it to psychological factors, it held true.

In short, if the first surgery of the day was a great success, the operating table would have a smooth run afterward, and the subsequent patients would most likely be safe and sound.

Ming Lu briefly explained, then added, “There’s another saying—if even the doctors are in the mood to joke, it means the danger has passed, and there will basically be no more problems.”

Xun Zhen nodded along. He then realized he seemed to have forgotten to say this all along and quickly added, “Actually, we can already determine that he’s out of danger now. It’s basically fine.”

After he said this and saw Ming Weiting finally show a relaxed expression, his own heart finally settled.

—Even after the successful surgery, Xun Zhen and the psychology team were worried about this matter.

Such cases were not uncommon. After brain surgery, the patient and those around them might not be able to accept the results of memory impairment and adapt to a new life.

But now it seemed that this matter was not so important after all.

Dean Xun’s steps were finally light as he quickly left the rest area.

And things on the other side went just as smoothly. The next morning, the ICU safely sent the person back to the ward.

…

The only thing that was slightly less smooth was the Ming family’s steward.

A night passed, and Ming Lu still couldn’t persuade Ming Weiting to go rest.

The nearly seventy-year-old Steward Ming no longer had the stamina to stay up for three days and three nights like he did with the previous master. After sleeping for half the night in his clothes, he woke up to see Ming Weiting still sitting by the hospital bed.

Ming Weiting’s posture was slightly different from before, and his figure also seemed to have relaxed. Ming Lu tiptoed closer and indeed found more differences.

The previously empty hospital bed now had a person lying in it again.

Ming Lu squatted down and checked the information card on the new hospital bed.

He straightened the card. Seeing Ming Weiting look over, he smiled and gestured softly, “Ming Chi.”

Ming Weiting’s expression was much more relaxed than before. Hearing this name, he also smiled slightly. He nodded and looked at the person sleeping soundly on the bed.

“Ming Chi.”

The Ming family’s young master with a new name had his eyes closed, one hand held by Ming Weiting, the other with an indwelling needle connected to a pain pump. His breathing was long and steady, sleeping as if the sky could fall without waking him.

Ming Lu asked softly, “Hasn’t he woken up yet?”

Ming Weiting nodded. He had asked Xun Zhen, so he wasn’t anxious at all, and said in a low voice, “He’s too tired, so he needs to sleep a little longer.”

Ming Lu stood up and walked lightly to the bedside.

In private, he and the master had actually said this name many times, so it didn’t feel unfamiliar at all.

The Ming family’s “Ming” was never entirely inherited by bloodline. It was just a group of people originally in the shadows who gathered together, lit a bonfire to break the darkness into light, and so it was passed down.

Ming Chi slept beside the master.

—There was nothing special about this sentence. It was like the most ordinary sentence, just describing the scene before them.

The young master of the Ming family had passed through that life-and-death ordeal and was now sleeping soundly beside the master.

But it seemed that precisely because it was ordinary, it appeared exceptionally special.

So special that it made one think back to those few hours yesterday, and then pull their mind back to the present, and couldn’t help but want to find something to be thankful for.

The Ming family had never had any particular faith. Ming Lu decided to refer to Xun Zhen’s method and go back and send red envelopes to all the deities to show his gratitude. He nodded with a smile, “Then let him sleep a little longer.”

Ming Weiting sat by the bed. He leaned his shoulder and rested his forehead on the hand he was holding.

Ming Lu walked over and squatted down, speaking softly, “Master.”

“I’m not thinking about anything.” Ming Weiting knew what Uncle Lu was going to ask and shook his head slightly. “I’m just very grateful to him.”

After coming out of the ICU, the patient was basically confirmed to be out of danger, and some of the intraoperative situations were finally disclosed to the family.

The insufficient anesthetic effect during the surgery was the biggest accident. This kind of situation is difficult to detect through any examination. Once restlessness, struggling, or even intraoperative awareness occurs, it can lead to unimaginable consequences.

But no matter how much the heart rate monitor alarmed, it never stopped. That heart beat more firmly than in any of the surgical simulations.

It was as if because they had made a promise that it absolutely wouldn’t stop this time, it just kept beating to show him.

“When the young master wakes up and finds out about this, he will definitely be very proud.”

Ming Lu already had experience and reminded him in a low voice, “Master, remember to tell him.”

Ming Weiting hummed in acknowledgment. He remained in that posture, his forehead resting quietly on that hand.

He remained motionless with his eyes closed for so long that Ming Lu almost thought he had fallen asleep. He was about to get up to get a thin blanket when he heard Ming Weiting speak again, “Xun Zhen said.”

Ming Lu paused.

“When he first wakes up, he will be completely disoriented,” Ming Weiting said. “He won’t remember anything.”

Ming Weiting continued slowly, “There was too much blood loss, and a mild cerebral edema occurred in the early morning. Although it subsided on its own quickly, it will still cause temporary cognitive impairment.”

Ming Lu’s expression turned grave. He asked in a low voice, “How temporary?”

“One to two hours.” Ming Weiting paused for a long moment before slowly speaking. “There are no aftereffects. To compare it to an ordinary person, it’s like being groggy after waking up.”

The heart that had just been suspended in Ming Lu’s chest fell with a thud. He stood there, speechless for a long time, then suddenly noticed a very faint smile on the downcast face of Mr. Ming, and said, half surprised, half amused, “When did the master learn to joke?”

Ming Lu quickly figured it out. Before Ming Weiting could answer, he nodded first. “Right, learned from the young master these past few days… You were nervous for a whole day and night, so you came to scare an old man.”

Ming Weiting’s expression finally relaxed completely. He slowly held that hand, looked up with a smile, and looked at the ever-composed and steady steward of the Ming family. “When did Uncle Lu learn to joke?”

Ming Lu had always known how to joke, he was just long past the age of a young man.

He also hadn’t been this relaxed in many years. Watching this matter with these two young men finally come to a close, he even genuinely looked forward to the days to come. “These past few days,” Ming Lu said with a smile. “I learned from the young master.”

The smile in Ming Weiting’s eyes became more obvious. He reached out and touched the young master’s earlobe. “So amazing.”

Ming Lu had asked Xun Zhen earlier. As long as the person woke up, he could have a small amount of water and food. So he also took a peach candy from his pocket and placed it by the bedside. “So amazing.”

Ming Weiting looked at the candy. He sat quietly for a while, then finally moved his hand away, placed the warmed hand back under the covers, and carefully tucked the edge of the blanket.

He did all this with exceptional seriousness. After everything was done, he curled his finger and tapped the quietly closed eyelashes.

Ming Weiting stood up. He had been sitting by the bed for too long and paused for a few seconds to let the numbness in his legs subside. “Uncle Lu.”

Ming Lu looked at his movements and came back to his senses. “Master?”

“I’m going inside. Let me know immediately if anything happens,” Ming Weiting said. “I’ll have to trouble you to take care of him for now.”

The “inside” he was referring to was the separate cubicle in this single-person hospital room, provided for the accompanying family to rest.

The cubicle was not large, located behind a screen in the corner of the room. Once the door was closed, it was almost unnoticeable from the outside.

Ming Lu was taken aback. He pondered for a moment and immediately understood. “Did Xun Zhen say something else? Master, he doesn’t fully understand the situation, after all. Some things can be discussed further based on the specific circumstances.”

Ming Weiting shook his head. “What he said makes a lot of sense, and I agree.”

After confirming Ming Weiting’s attitude, Xun Zhen had become much bolder in his speech and had gone on to detail the most suitable early recovery plan for patients with this type of memory impairment.

The biggest taboo for patients after brain surgery is emotional fluctuation. Any even slightly intense emotional change could lead to increased intracranial pressure and instability of the not-yet-healed hemostatic points.

To achieve the best prognosis, it was, of course, best to avoid such emotional fluctuations as much as possible.

“Ming Chi’s situation,” Xun Zhen said, “for now, we can’t be sure how much memory he has left… but in his medical records, there have been instances of him forcing himself to recall memories, leading to headaches.”

Xun Zhen hesitated for a long moment, then said in a low voice, “We are somewhat worried.”

—If the awakened young master of the Ming family saw a person he didn’t remember at all but felt he absolutely had to remember, would he desperately search through his memories? They weren’t very sure about this.

After hearing this, Ming Lu didn’t know what to say, just couldn’t help but slowly furrow his brow.

“It’s only for this period. Once his physical condition has completely stabilized, there will no longer be this concern.”

Ming Weiting explained simply. He didn’t think this would lead to any fundamental changes. “Uncle Lu, I made a ninety-five-page plan. Sooner or later, I’m going to pursue him.”

Ming Lu immediately thought of that ninety-five-page, overly detailed plan. Half headache, half amused, he could only nod. “Yes.”

Ming Lu could probably guess that Ming Weiting’s “pursue him” was a shortened version of “pursue his idol.”

After all, having to say so many words every time really didn’t fit this master of the Ming family’s usually taciturn personality. As for whether this phrase had any other meaning… even if it did, it probably wasn’t in Ming Weiting’s knowledge base.

But this time, Ming Lu didn’t plan to correct him. He just gave him a peach candy too. “Master, good luck.”

Ming Weiting nodded solemnly. “I’ll memorize it.”

This time, Ming Lu really couldn’t help but laugh. He did want Ming Weiting to sleep for a few hours, so he didn’t raise any objections to this arrangement, sat down by the bed, and watched the door to the cubicle close gently.

…

In the hours that followed, Ming Lu sat in the chair by the hospital bed and thought about many things.

He often felt that the master seemed to have been influenced by the young master and had changed a lot—this change was very pleasant. Perhaps because it was too pleasant, if it were to be abruptly cut off here and started anew, there would always be some regret.

But this concern was indeed very reasonable, so even if there was some regret, it didn’t seem completely unacceptable.

After all, that was a ninety-five-page plan.

Forget pursuing an idol, it would probably be enough to successfully pursue a person.

Ming Lu didn’t plan to specifically remind Ming Weiting. But he did plan to find an opportunity to sort out the story of the previous master and his wife, and find a chance when they were roped into playing Truth or Dare again, to tell it to the two of them.

The previous master had only become serious after his wife passed away; he was actually very lively when he was young. At that time, Ming Lu was also young and had helped come up with many quite romantic schemes, finally getting the wife to jump onto that ship with her suitcase, holding up her skirt.

The two situations were, of course, not entirely the same, but if it could be told at the right time, it might provide some inspiration for the master…

Ming Lu came back to his senses. He noticed a movement on the hospital bed and got up to walk over quickly. “Young master?”

The person on the bed slowly opened his eyes, looked around with some effort, his expression bewildered, and tried to sit up with one hand.

Ming Lu’s hand was gentle but firm, stopping his movement in time and raising the hospital bed slightly. “Your name is Ming Chi. You were sick and just had surgery.”

Those eyes blinked twice lightly, then repeated, “Ming Chi.”

“Ming Chi,” Ming Lu nodded, took the information card from the head of the bed, and showed it to him. “Do you like it?”

Apparently, he did.

Even though everything was still a blank slate for now, after recognizing these two characters, the bewilderment in those eyes quickly faded and was replaced by a bright light.

Ming Lu adjusted the height of the hospital bed. Seeing that even his ears had turned a little red, he couldn’t help but be curious. “What’s wrong?”

“I like it,” he answered softly. “How can it sound so good?”

He sat there by himself, looking at it with the solemnity of unwrapping a gift, silently repeating these two words over and over.

Ming Lu laughed and called him softly, letting him get used to the name. “Ming Chi.”

The young man named was leaning against the hospital bed. There was no color in his face, and the body that had been painstakingly nourished had been drained by the major surgery, but his eyes still lit up with this name. “You’re calling me.”

“I’m calling you,” Ming Lu nodded with a smile. “Ming Chi.”

His eyes suddenly curved. Although he couldn’t make a loud sound, he still gave a forceful “mm-hmm.”

Ming Lu practiced with him back and forth a few times, stopping only when he was completely used to it.

It was just a temporary, reversible cognitive impairment; it wouldn’t affect his core personality. Ming Lu softened his expression, brought the water over, and helped Ming Chi hold the cup steady. “You can call me Uncle Lu.”

Ming Chi blinked and looked up.

“I’m here to take care of you. You can ask me anything…” Ming Lu said halfway, then paused. “What’s wrong?”

Ming Chi looked at the object that had been placed in his hand.

Recalling the possible special circumstances of cognitive impairment, Ming Lu pondered for a moment and explained to him, “This is a cup. It has water in it. It can quench your thirst.”

Ming Lu helped him lift the cup to his lips. “Take a slow sip. Don’t drink too much.”

Ming Chi first called out “Uncle Lu,” then followed his instructions and slowly took a small sip of water.

He hadn’t had water for over forty-eight hours, relying entirely on IV fluids. When he tried to swallow the water, his parched and burning throat was instantly cooled and soothed, and his eyes lit up again.

“I have a little,” Ming Chi thought for a moment, “anomic aphasia.”

His thinking and logic were still normal, but for the time being, he couldn’t remember anything, couldn’t recall anyone’s name, and couldn’t name the things he saw around him.

Ming Chi hesitated, then still asked Uncle Lu in a small voice, “Is it temporary?”

“Yes, it’s a minor complication from the surgery. It will get better soon,” Ming Lu nodded. He then remembered the joke Ming Weiting had made and chuckled softly. “One to two hours.”

Ming Lu explained the situation to him, then subconsciously looked up at the still-closed door of the cubicle behind the screen.

When Ming Lu had said “young master,” someone in that cubicle had already walked to the door to listen.

Ming Lu didn’t let him drink too much water. After letting him wet his lips and throat, he put the cup aside. “More communication can speed up recovery. Do you want to get better quickly?”

Of course, Ming Chi wanted to. He couldn’t nod conveniently, so he just “mm-hmmed” again. “Uncle Lu.”

Ming Lu pulled over a chair and sat down by the hospital bed. “What is it?”

Ming Chi asked, “What is that?”

Following the direction he was pointing, Ming Lu brought Ming Weiting’s computer over. “This? It’s a computer.”

Ming Chi immediately remembered how to use a computer. He suddenly became interested in this game and asked about another thing. “What is this?”

“It’s candy. you like it very much,” Ming Lu smiled. “We always give it to you.”

Although this state would be relieved in an hour or two, Ming Chi was in such good spirits as soon as he woke up, and Ming Lu was willing to talk with him more.

Taking this opportunity, Ming Lu tried saying “we.” Seeing that he didn’t show any particular expression, he was relieved. “What else do you want to know about?”

Ming Chi blinked and looked at the guitar case by the bed.

“It’s a guitar. You play it very well,” Ming Lu said. “You have a very loyal fan.”

Ming Chi remembered more and more things—he could even feel these words awakening a web of clues in his mind. The feeling was very novel, and he tried to continue following this web.

Ming Lu could quickly find where his gaze landed and answer him accurately.

“Pencil. You used it to sketch on sticky notes before.”

“Sea snail. A craft you made before. You gave it to someone. It makes a sound when you shake it.”

“A pavilion made of seashells. A handicraft. A gift you received.”

“Coat rack. Used to hang clothes…”

…

Ming Lu answered one by one, and finally gradually noticed the commonality of these things. His answering speed slowed down slightly.

Ming Chi was looking at the corner of the room.

There was a coat rack there—he had just remembered this term and also linked it to the function of a coat rack. His gaze moved up along the coat rack, paused, and looked at Uncle Lu beside him.

“Jacket,” Ming Lu didn’t explain the word. He paused in silence for a long moment, then suddenly smiled. “Little Flame, what are you really trying to ask?”

After answering this, Ming Lu realized that he had subconsciously said “Little Flame.” His heart skipped a beat, and he carefully observed his reaction.

After hearing this word, the young man lowered his gaze and thought seriously for a while.

“Little Flame,” Ming Chi said slowly. “Jacket.”

His voice was steady, even carrying a soft, bright warmth, as if these two words were exceptionally special.

So special that if one could just connect these two words on another level—a non-logical, non-informational level—one could get another sentence.

Ming Chi asked, “Are we waiting for him?”

The room suddenly became quiet. Ming Lu walked over to him and squatted down.

“My head doesn’t hurt. My emotions are very stable.” Ming Chi could tell what Uncle Lu was about to do at a glance. He just couldn’t remember anything for the time being, but his logical thinking was very clear. “This is a very happy thing.”

Very happy, but very vague, with almost no identifiable traces.

He couldn’t find any words to piece together the answer. Uncle Lu said he just had surgery, and after surgery, he had to recuperate well, so he couldn’t be hasty.

He had promised someone he would recuperate well, so he would just sit here and wait for now, and not go looking for it yet.

…It was okay not to go looking for it.

A large amount of repetition and recitation would always have some other effects—for example, when a sentence has been repeated so many times that it can be blurted out without even thinking, it’s purely the mouth and throat that are responsible for saying them.

Ming Chi repeated these few words over and over, and then his mouth timely brought up the word that had been recited too many times: “Mr. Shadow.”

Little Flame, jacket, Mr. Shadow.

Ming Chi fluently recited in a low voice, “When is Mr. Shadow coming back?”