Ming Lu did not speak immediately.

He half-squatted by the bed, carefully checking the stable data on the monitors, then turned to look at the door of the cubicle.

The young man who had recited that sentence was leaning against the hospital bed, seemingly a little surprised himself, but only for a moment, before his expression turned to one of serious contemplation.

Ming Lu made a gesture in his line of sight, helping him snap out of his thoughts.

“You just had brain surgery.” Ming Lu tapped his own forehead and reminded him gently, “Don’t rush to use your brain, you’ll get a headache.”

Those eyes blinked, then curved into a smile: “It’s alright.”

“It’s alright.” Ming Chi smiled, his voice a little soft. “I’m not using my brain.”

There is some content stored in memory that doesn’t require using the brain to access—even having just undergone surgery, being in a temporary state of complete, blank confusion due to the effects of the operation, there are many things that can be remembered without thinking.

Because they are inherently matters of common sense.

Even if a person completely loses their memory due to an accident, as long as the most basic part of their self-awareness remains, it’s hard to forget to drink when thirsty or eat when hungry.

You put him in bed, cover him with a blanket, and when he’s tired, he will naturally sleep.

Ming Chi slowly explained his condition, looked around, and gave an example: “For example.”

For example, he was only experiencing temporary anomia, but as soon as he was reminded of an object’s name, he could immediately recall a lot of very simple common sense.

For example, a hanger is for hanging clothes, and conches and shells can be made into crafts. For example, a pencil can be used for drawing, and a guitar can be played.

For example, candy is sweet, and he also remembered the word “honey peach.” Besides peach-flavored candy, he quickly remembered that the second-tastiest candy was milk toffee.

For example, how to use a computer. Just press the power button and the screen will light up. Just type on the keyboard, and words will appear on the screen.

…For example.

He continued, “For example, a jacket. As long as I see the jacket, I can wait for Mr. Shadow to come back.”

End of speech.

Having finished his explanation, student Ming Chi propped himself up with his arms, slowly sat up straight against the headboard, straightened his shoulders, and his eyes curved even more.

Seeing his spirited look, Ming Lu couldn’t help but reward student Ming Chi with another piece of candy. “The last one, is that also common sense?”

“It’s common sense.” Ming Chi was very certain; this one was no different from the others. Just like drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry, he remembered it firmly. “Don’t run around.”

“When you see the jacket, don’t run around,” he recited fluently. “Don’t go anywhere, wait right there.”

Ming Chi said, “Wait and wait, Mr. Shadow will come back.”

Just as his voice fell, there was a light knock on the cubicle door.

Ming Lu finally let out a sigh, slowly suppressing his smile. Unhurriedly, he turned back to quiz student Ming Chi: “What’s behind the screen?”

Ming Chi still recognized such things and answered fluently, “It’s a door.”

Ming Lu asked, “Someone’s knocking, should we open it?”

Ming Lu helped him hold a grudge: “How outrageous, being gone for so long and only coming back now.”

The Ming family’s young master had always been quick-witted. He was only temporarily unable to recall things, but his thinking and logic were quite fluid. He immediately caught on to the amusement in Uncle Lu’s eyes: “That outrageous?”

“Yes.” Ming Lu nodded, putting on a serious act. “Should we make him wait outside while we count to a hundred?”

Ming Chi’s eyes lit up as well. He diligently moved his fingers, practicing clenching them into a fist bit by bit.

He looked at his hand, took a deep breath, and then gently exhaled.

He actually knew that Uncle Lu was giving him time to buffer—after all, with an unhealed bleeding point in his brain, any change in blood pressure caused by emotional fluctuations would be dangerous, and it wouldn’t distinguish between happiness or sadness.

But it was alright.

“Uncle Lu,” Ming Chi said in a tiny voice, pleading on behalf of the person behind the door, “Is it okay if we don’t wait?”

Ming Lu was a little surprised and studied his expression carefully. “It’s okay not to wait?”

Ming Chi’s ears reddened. “It’s okay not to wait.”

Ming Lu remained by the bed, bent down to meet his gaze, and tapped his own forehead again as a signal: “If there’s any discomfort here, don’t endure it, tell me immediately.”

It wasn’t that Ming Lu was being overly cautious; it was that he had quite a record. “Before, while recuperating, some people wanted to let the master sleep a little longer, so they pushed themselves to come find me for painkillers and almost fainted in their wheelchair.”

It wasn’t even “almost”—what hadn’t the Ming family’s butler seen? Yet, he was still thoroughly frightened that day.

The young man curled up in the wheelchair had probably passed out midway. Ming Lu found him in the hallway and had to pat his shoulder for a long time before he finally woke up, staring blankly and repeating soundlessly, “Uncle Lu, my head hurts a little.”

After that, Ming Lu stuffed painkillers into the pockets of all his clothes and was even more cautious, never letting him be alone at any time.

When recuperating, it’s essential to ensure an absolutely pleasant mood. Moreover, no one was willing to waste even a bit of time, so everyone had a tacit understanding to never bring up old grievances or discuss anything uncomfortable.

Now that the surgery was finally a success, everything could start anew, and the Ming family’s young master should also adjust some of his habits.

Ming Chi listened, slightly stunned, and slowly blinked his eyes.

He certainly didn’t remember, but it was definitely his own mistake.

After all, it sounded very credible. Based on his current exploration and understanding of himself, it seemed very much like something he would do.

“Some people are so unreasonable,” Ming Chi immediately self-criticized. “Being stubborn and just making others worry.”

His critical attitude was a bit too firm, and Ming Lu couldn’t help but explain on behalf of “some people”: “It’s not that unreasonable. It’s care, not worry.”

Ming Chi had already made up his mind: “I must change.”

“You must change.” Ming Lu was finally relieved. He smiled and said to him gently, “Wait a moment, Uncle Lu will go open the door.”

Ming Chi noted down the first habit to correct. Hearing these words, he quickly refocused, his eyes brightening, his gaze following Uncle Lu.

…This was a particularly happy thing.

So happy that even if he didn’t remember, even if he couldn’t recall anything, his instincts were leaping with constant anticipation.

But he wouldn’t lose control of his emotions, because this was common sense.

A person’s mood might lift upon seeing the sun, they might feel calm and comfortable watching the rain, they might feel open-hearted and clear-minded after chasing the wind all the way to the sea… but they wouldn’t get so excited over these things that an accident happens.

Because these are all common sense, and common sense consists of things that are certain to happen.

The sun will definitely come out, the weather will definitely have sun and rain, and if you keep chasing the wind, you will reach the sea sooner or later.

So, Mr. Shadow will also definitely come back sooner or later.

…

There was the sound of a door opening. The two figures behind the screen were talking in low voices, probably discussing his physical condition.

The Ming family’s young master had logically convinced Uncle Lu, but the ever-cautious master, after one impulsive knock, had regained his reason and was calmly asking Uncle Lu about the specific situation.

His recovering hearing no longer made everything sound as if it were on the other side of water… It was even the first time he had truly heard that voice clearly. It was almost exactly as he had imagined, just a tiny bit hoarser, probably from lack of rest.

A hoarseness that was unusually soft, tinged with an unconscious weariness. It was like waking from a short, restless sleep, yet it also seemed capable of pulling one into a dream.

Ming Chi lowered his gaze and looked at his right hand.

He had spent ten minutes getting his right hand to clench into a fist. That hand seemed to have been incapacitated for a long time; it still didn’t move as he wished, but strength was slowly returning to it from within his body.

Uncle Lu said he had been sick and had brain surgery. He had been conscious in the ICU and could clearly perceive his physical condition, so he could basically deduce what had happened to him.

He guessed he must have been a great worry to others before. Now that he was cured and his body was getting better, he naturally had to change that—however, the original intention behind the incident Uncle Lu mentioned was still very much worth keeping and even promoting.

He could now set student Ming Chi’s first small goal after waking up.

He must let Mr. Shadow get a good night’s sleep.

Ming Chi pressed his lips together, leaned against the bed, and listened intently to the intermittent low conversation.

He stared at the blurry shadow behind the screen with particular focus for a while, then, instead of being anxious, he completely relaxed his body and closed his eyes peacefully.

Although he had almost no strength and post-operative discomfort was inevitable, his condition was actually very good. His head didn’t hurt at all, and his consciousness was clearing up quickly.

The time he needed to recover from that blank confusion was shorter than the doctors had predicted.

After chatting with Uncle Lu for a while, a lot of previously scattered and floating information was reactivated and connected. In less than an hour, he had already made progress.

As soon as he closed his eyes, quite a few vivid scenes popped up.

Although these scenes all seemed to be from many years ago, where he even had to stand on his tiptoes, tilt his head back, and jump just to be as tall as he wanted, every single scene was absolutely wonderful.

He was held in a full embrace, tousled until he was dizzy, and lifted up and spun around.

He was held tightly by the warmest hand, and heard the most cheerful and bright voice laughingly call him “Huo Miao.”

“Auntie.” Ming Chi, along with his not-so-big self, silently mouthed in his heart, “Auntie.”

He really couldn’t remember the events of recent years; he didn’t know what happened later—but perhaps because of this, he became much bolder.

Taking advantage of not remembering anything, he emboldened himself about a hundred million times in his heart and finally added the address he had always carefully swallowed back as a child: “Mom.”

…Oh my god.

How could he be this happy.

Ming Chi controlled his breathing, inhaling gently and exhaling bit by bit.

He discovered that even this was common sense. The him before the surgery had repeatedly told the him of now, “You and Auntie are family.”

How amazing the him before the surgery was. So brave.

He had indeed been too harsh in his self-criticism. Although sometimes he was a bit unreasonable, most of the time he was very reasonable, very wonderful, and very worthy of praise.

Ming Chi organized those scenes, carefully and properly storing each one.

He didn’t see Auntie after waking up, but these scenes had already given him the answer.

He still remembered himself in the hospital, clutching the medical report, frantically running up and down, looking for anyone he could ask about the condition.

He remembered that time, remembered the intense fear that felt like something was trying to tear him apart. On the day they finally decided to give up on the surgery because the lesion’s location was too dangerous, he had snuck off to the mountain Auntie had taken him to climb, ran to a temple, and prayed to all the gods and buddhas, offering all his life to Auntie; he didn’t want a single day for himself.

…

But he also remembered how Auntie, who had come up on a tour bus, had pinched his ear, and how he had cried his eyes out like a disappointment, returning home with a big box of vegetarian pastries.

Auntie had dragged him to the sofa, and the two of them watched TV while eating pastries, finishing an entire time-travel drama.

After finishing, Auntie had interrogated him very seriously: “Did you remember all of it?”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to remember and was too nervous to speak or move.

“Auntie’s illness was discovered too late. Even with surgery now, I would only be able to lie in bed for a few more months, unable to eat good food or go to the places I want to visit.”

Auntie had placed her hands on his shoulders with great solemnity, looking as if she had an incredibly important mission for him: “Huo Miao.”

He sat up even straighter than before, even more nervous.

“You have to grow up first, grow up safe and sound,” Auntie stared at him seriously. “After you’ve lived this life, you use this method,”—Auntie pointed at the drama that had just finished—”travel back a few years and tell Auntie, ‘No more fooling around, go get a check-up quickly.'”

He had prayed to all the gods and buddhas; in those few seconds, he almost truly believed in this method.

He couldn’t help but think that a lifetime was too long. What if Auntie couldn’t wait? Auntie loved to travel and have fun so much.

“You can’t go early, because you have to first work hard to grow up and become a particularly amazing adult.”

As if she knew his thoughts, Auntie deliberately flicked his nose: “If this little crybaby travels back now, would Auntie believe a word he says?”

He himself felt he was a complete disappointment. He frantically wiped his tears away and shook his head hard.

“You have to live a long, long life first. You must grow up first, become particularly calm and composed, well-informed. Only then, when you travel back, can you casually say something that will give Auntie a big scare.”

Auntie knew he hadn’t watched the drama carefully: “You also have to become especially good at coaxing people and taking care of people. That way, when Auntie is pushed by you to get surgery, you can take very good care of her.”

“You’re taking very good care of me now, too,” Auntie rubbed his head hard again, adding specifically, “It would be even better if you didn’t sneak out to climb mountains and turn yourself into a dusty little squirrel.”

He listened with rapt attention, almost unable to resist starting to look forward to that future. Then he was teased into a choked laugh: “I won’t be a little squirrel, I’ll be a captain.”

“I’ll be a captain, then travel back and tell Auntie to see a doctor quickly, to have surgery early,” he recited word by word. “I will take care of Auntie.”

Auntie’s eyes immediately went wide: “Being a captain is so cool!”

His ears were red and hot as he quietly mimicked her: “So cool!”

Auntie was so amused by him her eyes filled with laughter. She pinched his ear again, cupped his face, and carefully, gently wiped away all the tear stains with her palms.

Auntie looked into his eyes and told him seriously, “The sea is both free and lonely, so we’ll have to add another requirement. You absolutely can’t go alone.”

“You have to find someone you like, and both of you come to see me. Only then will I completely believe that you are Huo Miao.”

Auntie was being completely unreasonable: “Otherwise, you’re a little squirrel, and Auntie will have to catch you and feed you pastries every day.”

A pine nut pastry was suddenly stuffed into his mouth, and then Auntie started tickling him in his ticklish spots, making him choke with laughter, curled up in her arms, unable to breathe…

…

Although he didn’t know what happened in the future after that, judging by the freshness of this scene, it must be a memory he had never dared to touch.

Ming Chi slowly touched the scar on his arm. It looked like a bite mark. Something very, very sad must have happened after that.

So sad that he didn’t dare to touch any bit of past happiness. Because all that happiness had turned into the sharpest, finest blades; just a slight thought, and they would slice every inch of his flesh and soak it in the coldest seawater.

He clearly remembered being held by Auntie, sitting by the sea, leaning against a reef, and shouting slogans at the sunrise with particular childishness.

Auntie shouted loudly, “Will you be scared in the future without Auntie by your side!”

He shouted loudly, “No!”

Auntie shouted again, “How will you grow up alone in the future!”

He screamed into the sea breeze, “Grow up safe and sound! Become cool and amazing, and go back to get Auntie!”

The more Auntie listened, the happier she became. She hugged him and rocked him, roaring word by word, “WHO! ARE! YOU! BRINGING! BACK!”

He was rocked until he couldn’t stop laughing, tears streaming down, but the corners of his mouth were turned up as he roared back, “THE! PERSON! I! LIKE!”

…That was close.

So close. He had hidden these things so carefully, so covertly, that even he had almost forgotten them.

If he had forgotten all of this, even if there really was a way to travel back and become his ten-year-old self, Auntie wouldn’t necessarily be dragged by him for no reason to see a doctor, get a check-up, and have surgery.

If he had forgotten everything, even if he really went back to the past, Auntie would definitely feel sad seeing him.

He never made Auntie sad.

Ming Chi took a slow, deep breath and exhaled bit by bit. He quietly suppressed the moisture in his eyes but didn’t control the corners of his mouth.

He was answering the questions Auntie had left for him one by one. Now he had reached the one about the person he liked—what type of person would he like?

The requirements would have to be particularly high.

…

At the very least, they should be able to build a pavilion out of seashells, right?

Thinking of this unusually strict standard, Ming Chi couldn’t help but lift the corners of his mouth even higher.

He slowly organized his Q&A with Uncle Lu.

He would draw sketches on sticky notes with a pencil—probably portraits. For other subjects, he preferred using paint; he liked bright, beautiful colors and usually didn’t use a pencil for landscapes or still lifes.

But pencil portraits had more feeling because every detail could be depicted bit by bit on the paper with the tip of the pencil. Because depicting details became a source of joy, even the monotonous rustling sound of friction on the paper would become pleasant.

What did those sketches look like? His hand should still remember.

He still didn’t deliberately use his brain, only mobilizing information stored by his other senses. It was like unwrapping the most anticipated, most cherished gift, so even the process of peeling off the wrapping paper layer by layer was enjoyable.

Ming Chi closed his eyes. His left hand moved, attempting to sketch the lines by instinct.

He discovered that his requirements for the type of person he liked were actually quite strict, with very clear standards for even their clothes, build, and voice. Their appearance could be specified down to the contours—by his standards, it was less about finding a friend and more like posting a portrait as a missing person notice.

Ming Chi focused on drawing his missing person notice. He hardly needed to think to sketch out the contours. He was drawing the final part, the eyes, when his finger suddenly touched something soft and warm.

Ming Chi blinked gently, then opened his eyes.

…Auntie.

The missing person notice has come to life.

Ming Chi looked at the person before him, completely unable to control the soft, warm smile bubbling up from his chest. His left hand didn’t actually have much strength to lift; it had only just left the bed when it was held by another hand.

The living missing person notice was sitting by his bed and had been for who knows how long. Those eyes, dark and deep, were watching him with extraordinary focus.

He saw himself in the other person’s eyes.

Ming Chi had originally planned to make a joke, but now he couldn’t think of anything. The only thing he could remember was a name—of course he could figure out who the other person was; how could he not figure out who was in front of him?

His mouth, his hands, his eyes all remembered this person. This was part of his store of common sense.

“Shadow,” Ming Chi said softly. “Mr. Shadow.”

Ming Weiting watched him with particular earnestness. Something seemed to stir gently in the depths of his eyes, and suddenly a gentle smile appeared, only to be covered in an instant by his lowered eyelashes.

Ming Chi could see the weariness he could no longer hide and frowned slightly in disapproval.

Ming Weiting just blinked, then opened his eyes to look at him again. This time the smile was more distinct. Mr. Shadow softly called his name: “Huo Miao.”

Ming Chi answered quickly. The hand being held by him moved, holding his fingers.

“My name is Ming Weiting,” Ming Weiting said slowly, without waiting for him to ask. “I’m a star-chaser, your fan. I’m learning to make wheat bread, and if there’s a chance in the future, I hope to invite you to a wheat field.”

Ming Chi remembered the story Auntie had told him. Hearing this sentence, he reacted almost immediately: “I told you the story about the fox.”

Ming Weiting didn’t hide it and nodded lightly. “What kind of filling do you want in your wheat bread?”

Ming Chi was genuinely a little hungry. The IV drip couldn’t replace a real meal. Hearing those words, he could almost taste the aroma of fresh wheat in his mouth: “Pine nut.”

Seeing him in such good spirits, Ming Weiting’s expression relaxed even more, the amusement in his eyes deepening: “Oh no.”

Ming Chi was curious: “Oh no?”

Ming Weiting knew he didn’t remember these conversations anymore, but it wasn’t a problem, not even the smallest one—it didn’t matter at all. He was sitting here, still holding this hand just like before. Sunlight fell between them through the window, and he could see that Ming Chi really didn’t have a headache at all right now.

…Ming Weiting thought, he was starting to like sunny days too.

“Oh no,” Ming Weiting nodded.

“I originally just didn’t know how to make bread,” he sighed lightly. “Now it’s great, I don’t know how to shell pine nuts either.”

Ming Chi’s eyes widened.

Judging by Mr. Shadow’s aura just now, he really couldn’t have imagined that the other person would joke like this. Yet, hearing him say it, it wasn’t out of place at all; it seemed as if this was how it should have always been.

Ming Chi knew how to make bread and shell pine nuts. He suddenly felt a strong sense of responsibility and sat up, propping himself up confidently with his arms: “It’s alright, learn from me.”

“Okay,” Ming Weiting agreed. “It’ll take a long time to teach.”

He had never been good at these things. Even that handcrafted seashell pavilion was largely thanks to the idol himself, who was engrossed in his rehabilitation, that it didn’t deviate too much from its original shape.

Ming Chi of course didn’t mind: “Then for a long time.”

“Do you have an oven where you live?” Ming Chi started planning right away, thinking carefully. “It’s best if it’s a safe one. If it’s a poor-quality oven, it can easily explode with a novice operating it.”

Ming Weiting shook his head lightly.

Ming Chi was taken aback. “You don’t?”

“I do,” Ming Weiting said. “It’s poor quality. It will explode.”

Not far away, Butler Ming couldn’t help but cough, barely suppressing a laugh, and turned to intently study the potted plants on the windowsill.

Seeing Uncle Lu’s reaction, Ming Chi already had a good guess. He tried to keep a straight face, pretending not to notice, and took the opportunity to sigh worriedly: “What should we do?”

Ming Weiting held his hand and echoed the question, “What should we do.”

Ming Chi discovered that he actually really liked having Mr. Shadow mimic his words. The words he spoke were repeated slowly, word for word, by the other person. A different voice, a different tone, but always a response that warmed his chest.

“When I get out of the hospital,” Ming Chi’s ears were a little red, “I have to go home for rehabilitation, learn to walk, retrain my right hand… My oven at home is very good quality.”

He added in a small voice, “When I was learning to bake, my oven exploded several times because of me, but it never broke.”

Having said this much, he decided to strike while the iron was hot and ask it all at once: “Mr. Shadow, would you like to be a guest at my house?”

“Okay,” Ming Weiting looked at him, a smile in his eyes again. “I’m the lucky fan.”

Ming Chi thought carefully for a moment and didn’t speak.

This development was different from before. Ming Weiting was a little curious and raised his hand to mime knocking on a door twice in front of him: “Am I not?”

…Yes and no.

A lucky fan is a lucky fan, other things are other things.

“If I,” Ming Chi began softly, as if letting off a little steam, “if I met a fox, I would become friends with him.”

Ming Weiting was slightly stunned, then got up from his chair and squatted down by the bed.

From this angle, he could look up into those eyes, see the shape of the mouth as it spoke, and also judge the emotion in those eyes.

Ming Weiting often did this while accompanying him during his recovery. Ming Chi still found it familiar now and didn’t shy away, slowly taking hold of the hand that was cupping his own.

Ming Chi paused for a moment himself, then sighed worriedly, “Someone doesn’t remember who the other person is at all, doesn’t remember what happened, and as soon as they open their eyes, they want to invite them home to be friends.”

Ming Weiting gazed at him and suddenly smiled, “Who could that be?”

Ming Chi used a bit of strength, pulling his hand up in loving exasperation, “Who could that be.”

He wanted to pull that hand to poke his own chest, but halfway there, he was gently pulled by the other’s strength in an unplanned direction.

Ming Weiting held his hand and lowered his head.

His hand was held by Mr. Shadow. Mr. Shadow lowered his shoulders, letting his fingers gently touch his own eyes.

“It’s me,” Ming Weiting admitted softly. “Flame, I just slept for a few hours, and as soon as I opened my eyes, I wanted to go home with you.”

“I want to roll around in the wheat fields with you.”

Ming Weiting looked at him, “I really want to be your friend.”