Outside the window, everything was blanketed in white snow. The plants in the yard were covered, their branches weighed down and bending low. Chris stood outside by the glass window, hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing inside.
Bernard put down the glasses cloth he was holding and, without waiting for Gong Yue to respond, began speaking on his own.
“I think I know what you’re going to ask. It was about thirty-six years ago. At that time, I was twenty-eight and pursuing my Ph.D. at Princeton University. My mentor was a genius in genetics and heredity, someone who, even before reaching forty, had already become a significant figure in the academic world. I became his student and was honored to join the research institute where he worked. That was when I first met Youli.”
He looked at Gong Yue as if envisioning the girl before him. “She was eight years younger than me but was taking the same courses. She was incredibly talented, and our mentor was very fond of her. After we joined the research institute, Youli and I were partners—mainly because we were the only two newcomers in the lab, both of us inexperienced. In front of the big names in the academic world, we barely dared to speak.”
“But Youli was smarter than me and very diligent. Three months later, she was assigned to assist our mentor directly, while I was assigned to another professor. I had some idea that she was involved in a very special research project with our mentor.”
Bernard looked at Gong Yue, whose expression hadn’t changed since they entered, and seemed comforted. “You resemble Youli a lot when she was young. She, too, was unflinching, no matter what, except when it came to your father.”
Bernard sighed, recalling something. “One night, by chance, I went to the lab to pick up some materials and overheard Youli arguing with our mentor. She was not someone who easily lost her temper, so it was the first time I heard her so angry. She said, ‘Humans are born, not manufactured.’ That sentence stuck with me because, at the time, our mentor was researching a genetic modification strategy—not for disease, but to alter traits like eye color, hair color, finger length, and even personal preferences according to individual desires. When I first heard about it, I thought it was a groundbreaking project, but later, I came to share Youli’s opinion—humans are not mass-produced on an assembly line. A person’s birth is characterized by randomness and uniqueness, and we are all different.”
When Ye Shanshan heard the words “randomness” and “uniqueness,” he glanced down at his fingers, each of which was proportioned perfectly, even down to the uniform curvature of his nails.
He still remembered that when he was a child, the nail on his ring finger was slightly different from the other nine fingers. A researcher forcibly pulled off his nail with tweezers and, after injecting medication, it took a month for it to grow back to the “designated” appearance.
Pulling his hands back into his pockets, Ye Shanshan listened as the elderly man continued,
“Later, I deliberately observed the mentor and Youli, but I didn’t notice any difference from before. The mentor still took Youli to many top-tier conferences and occasionally brought me along. Two years later, the research institute was shut down due to a funding shortage—at least, that was the official reason. My mentor told me it was because the results of the research didn’t meet the backers’ expectations, so they cut off the funding. I left the institute and moved elsewhere. A year later, Youli got married, and she finally had a surname. I was genuinely happy for her.”
“I originally thought I would never cross paths with her again, but four years later, she found me.”
At this point, Gong Yue realized that the information he wanted to know was beginning to surface.
“By then, I was the head of a small lab. She was already pregnant but even more beautiful than before—perhaps becoming a mother had finally grounded her in this world. She offered me a substantial sum of money to work with her on developing a drug. I didn’t ask any questions and agreed right away—after all, I was never good at refusing her.”
Speaking about this seemed to make Bernard a bit uneasy, as he took off his glasses and wiped them again.
“Afterward, the two of us spent over half a month creating the drug—or rather, replicating it. She was very skilled, as if she had already envisioned it hundreds of times in her mind. I was essentially just an assistant, helping her along. When about two-thirds of the drug was completed, I left the project, likely for confidentiality reasons. Youli finished the rest on her own.”
Skipping over the details, Bernard looked at Gong Yue. “At the end of that year, you were born. The Wall Street Journal announced on its front page the birth of the Gong family’s heir. I think Youli must have been very happy. She cherished you deeply, and I can guess why. Youli was an orphan, and your arrival must have given her a connection to this world.”
Retracting his gaze from Gong Yue, Bernard pushed himself up from the armrest of his chair, his steps unsteady.
“That car accident was very severe—it almost killed me. Although I survived, my sense of balance was impaired, and I’ve had trouble walking ever since. The forgetfulness is truly tormenting. Many memories I wish I could hold onto are slowly slipping away from my mind.”
He pointed to his temple. “It feels helpless, like this. My friends have gradually distanced themselves from me because no one has the patience to reintroduce themselves every so often and rebuild a friendship that’s destined to be forgotten.”
Bernard led Gong Yue and Ye Shanshan into his study, struggling to pull out a wooden box from the bottom of a large cabinet, brushing away the dust on top.
He carefully opened it. On top was a thick notebook, and as he stroked the worn cover, his expression was incredibly gentle.
“When I say I’ve forgotten what Youli looks like, it’s not a lie. I keep revisiting these memories, but I’m on the verge of forgetting her again. Thankfully, I have this notebook to help me preserve the memories I don’t want to lose.”
After setting the notebook aside, it revealed a manila envelope underneath. Bernard explained, “One day, I found this in my mailbox. It had no sender’s name, just a long string of numbers—eighty-one digits in total. I don’t know what it means, but I believe it was sent by Youli.”
As he spoke, he handed it to Gong Yue. “I think you might need this.”
Gong Yue accepted it with both hands. “Thank you.”
He was also grateful that there was still someone in this world who was determined to preserve the memory of his mother.
After carefully putting everything back in place, Bernard pushed the box back under the cabinet, as if sealing away the memories.
※※※
When they left Bernard’s house, Chris went ahead to start the car.
The cold wind howled as it blew past them, and neither of them spoke.
Their shoes crunched softly against the thick snow beneath their feet. The world was a pure white, and it felt like this road might never end.
After a few more steps, Ye Shanshan suddenly stopped. “Ge, do you think Grandpa Bernard might have also used that drug?”
A severe car accident, memory loss, the way he looked at Gong Yue, the pointed words—after saying it out loud, Ye Shanshan didn’t want to believe it, but he had to admit that it was very likely.
At that moment, he felt as if his heart was being twisted tightly.
Gong Yue held Ye Shanshan’s hand, then slipped it into his own pocket. “Yes, probably.” This was better than he had expected—at least he wouldn’t die.
There was someone in this world whom he cared about deeply, so he didn’t want to leave at all.
The snow began to fall again, and the footprints they left behind started to blur, just like memories gradually fading away.
Without speaking further, Ye Shanshan’s fingers unconsciously dug into Gong Yue’s palm. He felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The events of that year were slowly being revealed before them, but instead of answers, they brought fear.
The drug could grant someone vitality, but it would continually strip away their memories.
Bernard had said that his memory loss was getting worse, to the point where he could only remember events from one or two days. When his condition was better, he used to teach biology at the town’s school, but over time, he began forgetting his colleagues, the names of his students, and even the way to the school. Eventually, he gave up teaching and returned home, though the school kept him on in name due to his credentials.
Waking up each day to total unfamiliarity didn’t bring any sense of novelty—only genuine fear. And that fear would keep repeating, endlessly.
Ye Shanshan suddenly stopped again and reached out to hug Gong Yue tightly, squeezing him with all his strength. He wanted to say something, but his throat hurt as if it was being cut by sharp blades, and he couldn’t make a sound. So, he pressed himself even closer to Gong Yue, holding him even tighter.
Feeling the strength of the embrace, Gong Yue hesitated slightly before raising his hand to hold Ye Shanshan, calling his name softly, “Shanshan.”
“Mm.” Ye Shanshan nodded, finally managing to make a sound.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Ye Shanshan’s eyes instantly turned red. He bit down on Gong Yue’s clothes, forcing back the tears that were about to spill over, and then, with a hoarse voice, said, “I’m not afraid, I’m just heartbroken.” He straightened up, looking at Gong Yue. “You don’t always have to worry about me.”
Don’t let your first concern always be me, especially in times like this.
Knowing what he was thinking, Gong Yue gently stroked the corner of his reddened eyes with his fingertip and softened his voice, “I’m not afraid because I have you.”
Ye Shanshan sniffled and nodded, “Even if every morning when you wake up, you’ll forget me,” he tried to smile, though it was difficult, “I’ll still tell you: my name is Ye Shanshan, and you gave me this name. Your name is Gong Yue, and you’re the most loved, cherished, and important person to me. I’ll remember everything for you, so you don’t need to worry or be afraid—”
He couldn’t continue, leaning back onto Gong Yue’s shoulder, trying to ease the pain welling up in his heart. After a long pause, he finally said, “Don’t be afraid. There will be a way. I’m really good at this; I’ll definitely find a way.”
“Mm, good boy,” Gong Yue kissed Ye Shanshan’s hair and looked at the thick snow on the ground, “There will be a way.”
※※※
The car drove slowly, and by the time they reached the airport, several hours had passed.
Ye Shanshan was holding a cup of hot coffee for warmth, and the heating in the lounge was so high that his face was flushed. Glancing out at the tarmac through the glass, something caught his eye. He looked puzzled. “Ge, look at that plane.” Ye Shanshan squinted to make out the details. “Isn’t that Uncle Liu’s private jet?”
Gong Yue was handling some work on his tablet. He looked in the direction Ye Shanshan pointed, and after a closer look, nodded, “Yes, it’s Uncle Liu’s, but I just spoke with him an hour ago, and he’s in New York.”
So, he shouldn’t be here.
“Could it be Gong Ji or Aunt Liu?” Ye Shanshan had only seen photos of these two. Gong Ji had suffered from a rare disease since birth and had never appeared at family gatherings.
Gong Yue glanced at Chris, who understood and left the room. Half an hour later, Chris returned, standing behind Gong Yue.
“It is indeed Young Master Gong Ji. He said he’s here to visit a famous doctor, and Madam Liu is with him. They stopped here because Young Master Gong Ji isn’t feeling well.”
Gong Yue didn’t comment on this explanation. Over the years, Aunt Liu had been under immense stress due to Gong Ji’s illness, and searching the world for doctors was something she had done more than once or twice.
Forty minutes later, as Gong Yue’s private jet was preparing for takeoff, Ye Shanshan, about to play Tetris on his game console, glanced outside and noticed that the other private jet was still in the same spot.
※※※
After returning to B City, Gong Yue didn’t go home with Ye Shanshan. Instead, Chris drove him directly to the Gong Corporation building for work, while the family driver picked up Ye Shanshan.
When Ye Shanshan walked in and had just taken off his thick coat, he noticed a fluffy white kitten slowly wandering around on the carpet.
He bent down to pick up the little creature. “Sparkle, I’m back,” he said, lifting it up, “Come on, lift you up high!”
After saying this, Ye Shanshan’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth. He held the kitten close, stroking its soft fur, and murmured softly to himself, “I knew there was a chance of memory loss… but why does it make me so sad?”
Uncle Hawk brought over a cup of warm milk and a small plate of biscuits. “Young Master Ye, the Young Master specifically called to remind you to eat more.”
Thanking him, Ye Shanshan, snapping back to reality, lazily sat down in a chair, wearing a white knitted sweater with a black V-neck. He placed Shiny on his lap, picked up a biscuit, waved it in front of the kitten, and quickly pulled it back to pop it into his own mouth, smugly saying, “Mine, not for you.”
As he chewed on the biscuit, Ye Shanshan found it tasteless.
Not sweet at all.
After finishing the milk and biscuits and feeling warmed up, Ye Shanshan carried Sparkle towards the greenhouse.
He walked carefully, thinking about Bernard. Living alone without family or loved ones, only a caretaker by his side—one day, after losing his memory, suddenly discovering a stranger in his home would be frightening.
Forgetting meant that even if there was a note saying the person was a caretaker, he still wouldn’t be able to trust them.
Just like how Gong Yue, after his memory loss, would instinctively doubt even a note saying everything was fine, thinking it might be part of a huge conspiracy.
It was really too difficult.
As he stepped into the greenhouse and saw the green little bok choy (cabbage) growing, Ye Shanshan’s mood finally improved a bit. He set Sparkle down in the vegetable patch and then took out his phone, shaking it a little, “Sparkle, let me take a photo of you!”
He took over twenty shots from different angles, then selected the three best ones to post on Weibo. “The bok choy (cabbage) has grown.”
“—Farmer Ye from B City welcomes the harvest season. Due to excess produce, asking for help on Weibo. Interested parties, please like!”
“—Huh, when did Shanshan get a kitten?”
“—Only a selfie can be considered a true update! Please redo! Also, the posting frequency has been so fast lately! I always feel like it’s a flashback—what should I do if I dream of Shanshan retiring from the industry and can’t sleep because of the fright!!”
“—Sparkle is so cute and adorable!!”
Ye Shanshan felt instantly satisfied, finding all the comments praising Sparkle and replying to each one.
Meanwhile, the official fan group of Xingchen Tower was exploding.
“—We all agreed not to comment on Sparkle!! If you comment, what if Shanshan goes back to not posting for five thousand years like before!”
“—I can’t resist! Shanshan’s cat flaunting is too cute, I can’t bear to disappoint him!! Most importantly, Shanshan replied to me!!!!!! Ahhhh, running around in excitement!! Screenshot for keepsake!”
“—Adding my comment silently! I can’t bear to see Shanshan disappointed, it hurts to think about it! So, I can’t hold back any longer, and Sparkle is really too cute!”
After some discussion,
“—Since we’ve already broken the rule, let’s comment!”
Thus, the post received over twenty thousand comments, with the majority being creative praises for Sparkle’s cuteness, except for a few praising the bok choy (cabbage).
Ye Shanshan, who had prepared himself not to have high hopes, rubbed his eyes and pinched his face—confirming he wasn’t dreaming or his phone wasn’t malfunctioning.
Seeing comment after comment like “Sparkle is the cutest in the world!” and “Shanshan’s cat is amazing, it melts my heart!” Ye Shanshan squatted down, looking at Sparkle in the vegetable bed, and said seriously, “Congratulations, Sparkle, you’re famous.”
Reaching out to pat Sparkle’s head, Ye Shanshan accidentally pressed some switch, and to his surprise, he heard his own voice again, “Your Majesty, don’t be afraid, I won’t do anything to you!”
1TL: YSIAD “You can support me if you like my translations by leaving a comment below, or by sending me a Ko-fi. Thank you and Enjoy reading! ❤️”
