Winter Household Affairs

The United States.

Cambridge, in the Boston metropolitan area of Massachusetts.

Here lies the famous Ivy League member—Harvard University.

A biting westerly wind howls outside the window. The old oak tree outside the dormitory has shed its green leaves, and the shade-tolerant, cold-hardy Kentucky bluegrass and tall fescue on the lawn by the entrance are blanketed in a thin layer of ghastly white snow.

The slanting rays of the evening sun seep a sliver of warmth through the window glass, yet this meager heat brings no comfort to the room.

Inside the four-person dormitory, only one slightly ragged sound of breathing remains. In the cubicle, beneath a thick quilt, a body curls up and trembles slightly.

The person's face is somewhat contorted, breathing seems difficult, and cold sweat beads on his skin.

Suddenly, he feels a wave of intense nausea. He struggles to hoist his heavy frame up, stumbling toward the dormitory bathroom.

"Ugh... urgh..."

After a bout of retching comes the sound of flushing, followed by heavy, ragged breathing.

After vomiting, he splashes his face with ice-cold tap water, which helps him clear his head slightly as he looks at himself in the mirror.

The faint stubble, bloodshot whites of his eyes, and a face devoid of color make him look frail and sickly.

He picks up a cup nearby, fills it with tap water, rinses his mouth several times, and washes his hands in the basin twice to soothe his mild germophobia.

Though his face remains deathly pale after the vomiting, his breathing is much smoother. Returning to his bed, he feels a wave of dizziness; it is as if a supernova, a supernova in the midst of an explosion, has been shoved into his brain.

The desk lamp on the nightstand emits a bright yellow light from its tungsten filament.

Under the light sits a glass of water and a plastic bottle of medication. The label on the bottle bears the English name "OxyContin," and a prescription note is tucked beneath it.

There is also a small, tilted photo frame under the light, containing an old picture of a family of three. The child in the photo shares features with the young man curled up in the quilt, as if they were cast from the same mold.

Exhausted by the drugs and the pain, he falls into a deep, comatose sleep, though the occasional twitching of his furrowed brows reveals that the agony has not left his body.

Outside the window, the sunset glow sinks below the horizon. The cold wind blowing from the Great Lakes, mixed with moisture, turns the sky into a sea of ink—whether from the arrival of night or a heavy shroud of clouds, it is impossible to tell.

The campus appears empty, save for some streamers and confetti left over from the Christmas revelry, waiting for the new semester to begin.

In these red-brick buildings from the last century, the international students who did not return home have become the absolute majority on campus.

It is past one in the morning, deep in the quiet of the night.

In the silent and desolate dormitory, the curled-up figure grows even paler; he seems to be enduring intense discomfort.

At this moment, chaotic memories surge wildly within his mind.

Who am I?

Where am I?

He tosses and turns on the bed for most of the night, caught in a state between sleep and wakefulness. He wants to wake up, but he is lost in the jumbled, chaotic memories, struggling desperately like a drowning man.

It is not until around six in the morning that he sits bolt upright in his sweat-drenched quilt, gasping for fresh air.

"Huang Xiuyuan... my name is Huang Xiuyuan." He mutters to himself, his gaze hollow. The memories in his brain create a surreal, dreamlike illusion.

He subconsciously glances at his surroundings. Huang Xiuyuan is intimately familiar with the furnishings here; they are as clear as if he had seen them yesterday.

His slightly vacant gaze rests on the small, tilted photo frame. Suddenly, as if possessed, he uses trembling hands to pull open the top drawer of the nightstand.

Inside the drawer lies a black mobile phone, quiet and still. With its small screen and archaic buttons, it is a Nokia N73.

He hurriedly turns the phone on. The small screen emits a grass-green glow, clearly displaying:

Date: 2008/01/20

In Huang Xiuyuan's eyes, there is both excitement and fear. His trembling hands grip the phone so hard that his knuckles turn white.

He licks his dry lips, his hands shaking as if he has Parkinson's, as if he is terrified of something, yet yearning for something else.

His fingers press the keys on the phone: 01186-18371...888, then he hits the call button. A ringing tone comes from the phone.

"Doo-doo... Hello, Xiao Yuan?"

A resonant, middle-aged man's voice comes from the other end—a voice so familiar, yet so strange.

"Hello? Can you hear me? This trashy signal..."

Huang Xiuyuan, lost in the moment, finally snaps back to reality and hurriedly replies, "Dad, I can hear you."

"Why are you panting, kid?"

"I caught a cold yesterday."

"Is it serious? Do you have enough money?"

The words touch the softest part of his heart, and tears nearly spill from his eyes. He hurriedly steadies his emotions and continues:

"Dad, it's just a small cold. I'll be fine in a few days. Tell me about things at home."

"Don't you worry about things at home. Just focus on your studies."

"Right, Mom said she was going back to Maoxian over half a month ago. Did she go?" Huang Xiuyuan asks suddenly.

"She just left the day before yesterday. Your grandmother is sick, and your mother was worried."

"What? Grandmother is sick? What kind of illness is it?"

"..." Dad was silent for a moment before explaining the situation: "A cerebral infarction led to a coma; she's currently under observation in the ICU. I'll be heading over there in a few days myself."

It was just as he had expected. Huang Xiuyuan's eyes flickered, his mind racing as he quickly devised a plan: "Dad, the medical standards at the small hospital in Maoxian are mediocre at best. If Grandma's condition stabilizes, I suggest moving her to Huaxi Hospital in Rongcheng."

"I'll see how things are once I get there in a few days," Dad replied, his tone laced with a hint of helplessness.

"Dad, don't worry about my uncle. He definitely won't agree to go to Rongcheng, but we can just cover the costs ourselves. I'm graduating soon anyway, and the family can still manage the turnover," Huang Xiuyuan said firmly.

"Alright then! That might mean less money for your startup, though."

"Money is just an external possession; we can always earn more if it's gone. Dad, just set your mind at ease and go to Shu Province!"

After hanging up the phone, Huang Xiuyuan clenched his fists. If his memories were correct, he had to prevent his parents from staying in Maoxian.

In the future that had yet to be changed, his mother would stay in Maoxian for a long time to take care of his grandmother, right up until that day on May 12th.

And as it happened, his father would also be at the hospital visiting his grandmother on that very day.

By the time he rushed back to the country from the United States, it was already too late; this event became the greatest regret of Huang Xiuyuan's life.

With nearly four months left until May 12th, there was a great deal he could do.

Scenes from his memory flashed through his mind like a slideshow.

This massive influx of memories left Huang Xiuyuan in a state of extreme mental instability. The side effects of Hyperthymesia, compounded by these vast memories, triggered a lack of focus, mental anxiety, and mild depression.

The effects of Hyperthymesia were not limited to the benefit of a photographic memory; they also brought along uncontrollable mental issues.

Because a person with Hyperthymesia never forgets a single moment of their life, these memories are incredibly chaotic and difficult to categorize, which severely impairs one's ability to think.

Furthermore, these mental issues would only grow more severe as the volume of his memories continued to increase.