The USA.
Cambridge, in the Boston metropolitan area of Massachusetts.
The renowned Ivy League institution, Harvard University, stood here.
The bitter west wind howled outside the window. The old oak trees beyond the dormitory had shed their leaves, and a thin, ghastly layer of snow covered the shade- and cold-tolerant Kentucky bluegrass and tall fescue on the lawn outside.
The setting sun cast slanting rays through the window glass, letting in faint traces of warmth. But that little warmth was not enough to heat the room.
Inside the four-person dorm, only one person's ragged breathing could be heard. In a small cubicle, beneath a thick quilt, a curled-up body trembled faintly.
His face was contorted, and even breathing seemed difficult. Cold sweat poured from him.
Suddenly, a powerful wave of nausea swept over him. He struggled to prop up his heavy body and stumbled toward the dormitory bathroom.
"Ugh... urgh..."
After a bout of vomiting came the sound of a toilet flushing, followed by his heavy, ragged breathing.
After vomiting, he splashed his face with freezing tap water and finally felt a little more alert. He looked at himself in the mirror.
A faint stubble was beginning to show. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pallid face made him look frail.
He picked up the cup beside him, filled it with tap water, and rinsed his mouth several times. Then he washed his hands twice in the sink to soothe his mild germophobia.
After vomiting, his face was still utterly colorless, but his breathing had eased considerably. He climbed back under the covers and was overcome by dizziness. It felt as though a supernova had been stuffed inside his brain—one in the middle of exploding.
The bedside lamp cast a warm yellow glow from its tungsten filament.
In its light sat a glass of water and a bottle of medicine in plastic packaging. The bottle's label bore the English name "OxyContin," and a prescription lay beneath it.
Propped at an angle in the lamplight was a small photo frame. Inside was an old photograph of a family of three. The child in it looked exactly like the young man curled up under the covers, as if they had been cut from the same mold.
Exhausted by the medication and his illness, he sank into a deep sleep. Yet the occasional twitch of his sharply arched brows showed that the pain had not left him.
The last rays of the setting sun slipped below the horizon. The cold wind blowing in from the Great Lakes carried moisture with it. Whether night had fallen or storm clouds had gathered, the sky had turned pitch-black.
The campus looked deserted. A few streamers and scraps of paper left over from the Christmas revelry were all that remained, waiting for the new school year to begin.
In these red-brick buildings from the last century, the international students who had not returned to their hometowns had become the overwhelming majority on campus.
It was past one in the dead of night.
In the quiet, deserted dormitory, the curled-up figure looked even paler. He seemed to be enduring intense discomfort.
At that moment, chaotic memories surged wildly through his mind.
Who am I?
Where am I?
He had tossed and turned in bed for most of the night, trapped between sleep and wakefulness. He wanted to come to his senses, but lost himself in the jumble of memories. Like a drowning man, he struggled with all his might.
It was around six in the morning when, lying beneath a quilt damp with cold sweat, he abruptly sat up and gulped down lungfuls of fresh air.
"Huang Xiuyuan... My name is Huang Xiuyuan." He murmured to himself, his gaze vacant. The memories in his mind gave him a dreamlike, unreal feeling.
He glanced around instinctively. Huang Xiuyuan knew the room's furnishings extremely well; every detail was vivid in his mind.
His vacant gaze settled on the small photo frame propped at an angle. Suddenly, he went frantic, trembling as he pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table.
A black phone lay quietly inside. It had a tiny screen and old-fashioned keypad: a Nokia N73.
He hurriedly turned it on. Its small screen glowed a grassy green, displaying:
Date: 2008/01/20
Huang Xiuyuan's eyes were full of both excitement and fear. His trembling hands gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
He licked his dry lips. His hand shook as though he had Parkinson's. He seemed to fear something, yet yearn for it at the same time.
His fingers pressed the phone's keypad: 01186-18371...888. Then he hit the call button, and the phone began to ring.
"Beep, beep... Hello, Xiao Yuan?"
A robust middle-aged man's voice came through. It was so familiar, yet so strange.
"Hello? Can you hear me? This lousy signal..."
Only then did Huang Xiuyuan snap out of it. He hurriedly replied, "Dad, I can hear you."
"Why are you breathing so hard?"
"I caught a cold yesterday."
"Is it serious? Do you have enough money?"
The tenderness deep in his heart stirred, and tears nearly spilled from his eyes. He hurriedly composed himself, then continued:
"Dad, it's just a little cold. I'll be fine in a few days. Tell me what's going on at home."
"Don't worry about things at home. Just focus on your studies."
"By the way, Mom said over half a month ago that she was going back to Maoxian. Has she gone yet?" Huang Xiuyuan suddenly asked.
"She went the day before yesterday. Your grandmother's sick, and your mom was worried about her."
"What? Grandma's sick? What's wrong?"
"..." His father fell silent for a moment before explaining. "She's unconscious from a cerebral infarction and is being monitored in the ICU. I'll be going there in a few days, too."
Just as he remembered. Huang Xiuyuan's eyes flickered as his mind raced. Before long, he came up with a plan. "Dad, the small hospitals in Maoxian aren't very good. If Grandma's condition stabilizes, I suggest taking her to Huaxi Hospital in Rongcheng."
"I'll go over there in a few days and see how things are then." His father's voice carried a trace of helplessness.
"Dad, don't worry about Uncle. He definitely won't agree to take her to Rongcheng. We can pay for it ourselves if we have to. I'm almost done with school, and the family can manage financially." Huang Xiuyuan spoke firmly.
"All right, then. That means you may have less money to start your business with."
"Money is just a worldly possession. We can earn more if we run out. Dad, go to Shu Province without worry."
After hanging up, Huang Xiuyuan clenched his fist. If his memories were right, he had to stop his parents from staying in Maoxian.
In the future he remembered, his mother would stay in Maoxian for a long time to take care of his grandmother, right up until May 12.
His father would also be there that day, visiting his grandmother in the hospital.
By the time Huang Xiuyuan hurried back from the USA, it would be too late. That would become a lifelong regret for him.
There were still nearly four months before May 12. There was a lot he could do.
Scene after scene from his memories flashed through his mind like a slideshow.
The vast flood of memories left Huang Xiuyuan in an extremely unstable mental state. Hyperthymesia's side effects, combined with these overwhelming memories, had led to poor concentration, anxiety, and mild depression.
Hyperthymesia brought more than just the benefit of never forgetting anything. It also caused mental problems that were difficult to control.
People with hyperthymesia never forgot a single memory from their lives. The memories were jumbled and difficult to sort into categories, seriously impairing their ability to think.
And as his store of memories grew, these mental problems would only get worse.
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