Awakening

The oil, heated to several hundred degrees, spilled from the pan onto my shoulder and most of my arm. White smoke rose abruptly, my skin charred, and my flesh broke down, yet I seemed unable to feel any of it. No, not seemed-I couldn't feel anything at all.

Freddy, who had been peeling potatoes beside the refrigerator, had even less composure than the potato that crashed from his hand and rolled several times across the floor. He practically scrambled over to me on all fours. After a few seconds of panic came a calm far beyond his years.

He struggled to control his trembling hands, trying to wake me while collecting cold water from the vegetable sink beside him and pouring it over my burns, little by little, basin after basin. This continued for at least fifteen minutes before he hurried into the living room and quickly called an ambulance.

Then he cut away the clothing near the wounds with scissors. After carefully peeling it back, he brought over the first-aid kit from the living room where he had made the call, took out sterile gauze, and covered the wounds.

The ambulance arrived thirty minutes later. Throughout that time, Freddy kept trying to wake me, but my eyes remained tightly shut. His panic grew worse, and a sense of foreboding lingered in his heart.

Freddy climbed into the ambulance with me, clutching my other hand tightly. Anxious and afraid, he held back until his eyes were red, trembling all over and looking utterly pitiful.

The medical staff beside him exchanged a glance, then couldn't help offering some comfort.

"You did a very good job with the first aid. You stopped the burns from causing further damage. You really did wonderfully."

The nurse beside him chimed in as well.

"Don't worry. He didn't injure his head. Once we get to the hospital and find out what's wrong, he'll probably wake up very soon."

The nurse thought, A child his age shouldn't have any conditions that could cause sudden death or anything like that, right? They should just need to run some tests, and then he should be able to leave the hospital soon, right?

Freddy's mind was in utter turmoil. It was as though his ears were blocked, automatically shutting out everyone else's voices.

He couldn't stop tormenting himself with regret, placing almost all the blame on himself. If only I'd noticed sooner... If only I'd cooked this meal... If only... I were a great doctor...

The ambulance reached the hospital, and I was wheeled into the emergency room. While debriding my wounds, the doctor arranged a brain CT scan and an ultrasound examination to determine why I had suddenly lost consciousness.

The burns had been treated promptly. With oil that hot pouring over me, getting away with only third-degree burns was already quite fortunate. Overall, the affected area wasn't too large. As long as infection was prevented and the inflammation was managed, there would basically be no major problems apart from scarring.

But what proved more troublesome was that I simply wouldn't wake up. My pupils still reacted to light, however, which showed that I wasn't in a coma, only deeply asleep.

But if I was sleeping, the excruciating pain when the doctor had peeled the gauze off my wounds and applied fresh dressings should have woken me eight hundred times over. Yet although my body and nerves reacted to the pain, I remained unconscious.

The doctors could only perform one examination after another, ruling out possible causes one by one: skull X-rays, a complete blood count, blood glucose tests... They even performed a lumbar puncture, but still couldn't find the cause.

Freddy stayed beside my hospital bed. In stark contrast to me, he hadn't closed his eyes for two whole days, and they were red from lack of sleep. Fortunately, he knew where I usually kept my money, and my savings were enough to cover treatment for a little while.

But he was still only a twelve-year-old child. Faced with something like this, even an adult would have been at a loss, let alone him.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, I woke up. My limbs were weak, my mouth and tongue were dry, my head was foggy, and intense pain radiated from my shoulder.

I groaned and tried to sit up. Freddy, who had been keeping watch beside me, immediately helped me up. He pressed the call button and summoned the doctors.

The doctors gathered around me, ran another series of examinations, and asked me questions, but none of it yielded any answers. They injected me with some nikethamide and lobeline, hoping to keep me awake for as long as possible.

Once they had finished, they left, giving Freddy and me some space. His touch as he supported me was very light, and he seemed fragile in his carefulness.

When he saw me looking at him with my eyes open, the composure he had forced himself to maintain shattered instantly. His lips trembled, and for a long time he couldn't manage a complete sentence. He only clutched my hand and pressed it to his cheek, his hot skin brushing against my knuckles. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks as he repeated hoarsely.

"You're awake... You're finally awake..."

He didn't even dare say that he had thought I would never wake up again.

I wanted to say something, but a relentless fit of coughing came before my voice could.

He hurriedly reached for the cup of water beside the bed, his fingertips trembling badly. Some water splashed onto the bedside cabinet as he poured, but he had no time to wipe it up. He only carefully brought the rim to my lips, supporting the bottom with his palm. Afraid that the water would flow too quickly and choke me, he helped me sip the warm water a little at a time.

The water moistened my cracked lips and dry tongue, clearing my foggy head a little. The burning pain in my shoulder pierced me to the heart, and I frowned with a low groan. Bewildered, I asked him, "Why am I in the hospital? What happened?"

He told me everything in detail: what had happened after I collapsed, and everything over the past two days.

The doctors' preliminary diagnosis was that I had a rare condition called Kleine-Levin syndrome. It was a rare neurological disorder whose core features were recurrent episodes of severe hypersomnia, accompanied by excessive appetite and changes in cognition and mood. Patients could return to normal between episodes.

We both fell into wordless silence. Freddy grew more and more dejected, like a drenched puppy.

I raised my hand and gently gripped his wrist. It was so slender that the bones pressed against my palm. These two days of torment had made him visibly thinner. His eyes were sunken, with dark bruised shadows beneath them, and even his cheeks had lost their usual softness.

He froze for a moment, looking down at my hand around his wrist. His eyes began to redden again, but he forced back his tears. He merely pressed my hand to his face and rested his forehead against the back of it, staying like that for a long while.

I said softly, "Although the doctors said there's no cure, there are still some interventions they can try. If things go well, it won't affect normal life too much. Don't worry. Are you hungry?"

Freddy swallowed, but still shook his head. Even after hearing what I said, he remained dejected, because he knew I might stay awake for a few hours-or only these few minutes.

"Well, I'm a little hungry. Go downstairs and buy something, and we can eat together."

Freddy gave me a reluctant look, then pushed open the door and ran downstairs.

Only after he left did the emotions I had been suppressing finally surge back up. Anxiety and anguish surrounded me. Kleine-Levin syndrome? I'd never even heard of it. The odds were so tiny, yet it had still happened to me.

These thoughts turned over and over, each pass like a dull knife cutting through flesh. A strange disease that the doctors said couldn't be cured, only barely controlled with medication and intervention. I could even clearly sketch out my future-the next second, the next minute, the next day, I might fall asleep without any warning, like a machine whose power had been cut. No matter how the world outside turned upside down, I would know nothing.

I was only seventeen. I'd imagined my future countless times, but those colorful dreams, as magical as bubbles, were now unbearably fragile. I had no future...

And even though this disease couldn't be cured, the interventions and medication needed later would still be incredibly expensive. My living allowance would only continue for another four years if I got into university, but now I couldn't even sit the exams.

And what would Freddy do? He ought to have a life of his own. He would become a very good doctor someday-a surgeon, an internist, a neurologist, or something else. And me? I would only become a mire that trapped him in the name of affection.

What were the two of us supposed to do?

The hospital walls weren't soundproof. Soon, I heard footsteps coming from outside, one after another. They sounded inexplicably familiar, and before long, I knew where that familiarity came from.

I looked at the face before me, somewhat similar to mine, but more sharply defined and mature.

This was my father, and the shadow over my childhood.

I stared at him.

"What are you doing here?"

He seemed very pleased. He didn't even slap me for asking that question. He sat in the only chair and regarded me with interest.

"I know you won't be awake for long, so I won't waste time. We've raised you for all these years. It's time you contributed something to the family."

You raised me because you couldn't control what was in your pants, I thought coldly, but didn't dare say it aloud. For now, I still couldn't afford to offend him.

I gave a cold laugh. "Unfortunately, I probably can't help you with anything. I've just been diagnosed with..."

"I know. Kleine-Levin syndrome? You think you're ill? Of course not. You've merely been chosen by the great master."

The great master? I was a little stunned. Hearing those words come from his arrogant, conceited, hypocritical mouth was simply unbelievable.

"What? What the hell do you mean, great..."

"The great master! He is the Lord of the Mountains, the Feeder of Life. He once bestowed his noble bloodline upon our ancestors. As my son, you have that same proud bloodline flowing through your veins..."

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, utterly unlike his previous shrewd, handsome appearance, like that of a successful man. Now he looked exactly like an... overexcited lunatic.

"How can you call the abilities the great master bestowed upon us from his vast authority a disease! This is an ability he granted you. You should accept it with wild joy."

Only then did he slowly settle back into the chair, no longer gesticulating wildly. If not for his slightly disheveled suit and his flushed, even somewhat swollen face, I would have wondered whether I was still dreaming. For the first decade and more of my life, I had been worth less in his eyes than a stain the servants had failed to clean away that morning. Perhaps I had been even more repulsive than that.

"No!"