Under the bright lights, Pei Jiangmu's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's—fixed on the motionless figure on the examination table, refusing to miss a single, subtle change.
“Begin.”
He spoke into the intercom with a low, ice-cold voice, utterly devoid of emotion. The command sliced through the soundproof glass like an order that brooked no argument.
Inside the glass doors, Dr. Kellen's team moved with efficient, careful precision. Their movements were quick yet unnaturally gentle, as if handled with reverence. No one dared to look up at the silent silhouette outside; still, everyone felt that penetrating, tangible chill radiating from him through the glass—like a Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads.
Half a year ago, Kellen's deputy had been gravely injured in that car accident. He was unable to work, and several of their experiments stalled. Pei Jiangmu had been furious. Even though he himself was still in rehabilitation, even though other projects looked more promising, he had demanded the team push this project forward at all costs. For them, his very presence was the greatest coercion.
A variety of delicate instruments were wheeled to Meng Ruo-chao’s side. Soft indicator lights blinked on. Cold probes and adhesive sensors were placed with careful hands on her scalp, temples, and chest. The massive brain scanner hummed, moving slowly. Complex EEG readouts began to dance across the monitors—colorful three-dimensional brain maps and a tangle of biochemical metrics that most laypeople would find impenetrable.
Time passed to the steady whir of machines. Pei stood motionless, like a statue frozen in time—sometimes a guardian, sometimes a prisoner awaiting final judgment. His eyes devoured every flicker on the screens, trying to coax from those cold lines and numbers the answer he had wanted and feared. He feared she would remember, and he feared she never would. That contradiction churned beneath his stoic surface like magma.
When the exhaustive checks finally concluded, the instruments fell silent. Dr. Kellen navigated the console, pulling together the integrated data with a focused, solemn expression. His team held their breath; the atmosphere was almost suffocating.
Kellen drew a long breath, as if steeling himself, and turned toward the intercom by the glass. He pressed the button; his voice came through clearly into the corridor.
“Mr. Pei.”
Pei’s hand in his pocket clenched until his knuckles whitened. His face remained impassive, but those bottomless black eyes sharpened and fixed on Dr. Kellen like a blade.
“Based on the comprehensive brain scans, neuroelectrophysiological monitoring, and biochemical marker analysis…” Kellen’s voice was clear and professional, threaded with a barely perceptible tension. “The activity in Miss Meng’s hippocampus and related memory regions, as well as the synaptic connectivity patterns, when compared to the previous pre-injection—uh, to the last full examination—show no significant change.”
“In short, we have not observed any physiological signs of spontaneous memory recovery.”
He paused, then added, “Her physical condition is excellent. Vital signs are stable, neurological function is intact; there are no residual organic lesions or damage.”
“In other words, whatever caused the memory loss appears to remain in effect.”
Silence filled the corridor. Through the glass, Kellen and his team could almost feel the chill emanating from the motionless figure outside. The air seemed to harden.
Pei’s gaze slipped from Kellen back to the woman on the table. He was silent for more than ten seconds—an unspoken weight that settled on everyone present. Finally, he said only two words into the intercom, cold enough to freeze blood.
“Conclusion.”
Kellen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He answered with clinical clarity, “The conclusion is: Miss Meng Ruo-chao currently shows no signs of memory recovery, and her body is in very good health. The memory deficit is likely to persist in the foreseeable future.”
Pei gave no outward reaction. He slowly—very slowly—loosened his clenched fist. The taut force that had been coiled in him ebbed away, replaced by a deeper, harder-to-define quiet. He didn’t look at Kellen again; his gaze returned to Meng on the exam table with a greedy, searching intensity, as if he wanted to stare through her skin and into the core of her soul.
No recovery…
Healthy…
Persistent…
Those words echoed coldly in his mind. He pressed a fingertip against the cool glass and traced the outline of her body as if drawing her shape in the air. His expression was a complicated churn of feelings—relief? loss? a deeper, darker obsession? None could say. Perhaps not even he fully understood. He wanted her to remember their past, but if she did, she would—by the nature of who she was—run again. What would he do then?
He remained like that—an ancient sentinel and a solitary prisoner in one—guarding a treasure he had reclaimed but which no longer remembered him. Outside the glass, he stood as a silent, obsessive silhouette.
Meng Ruo-chao was awakened by sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. She blinked groggily, reached for the phone on the bedside table out of habit—the screen read 12:47 PM.
“Noon?!” she sat up with a jolt and a brief wave of dizziness. She had slept straight through to midday—an unprecedented break in her internal clock. Last night was hazy in her mind: after Pei left she’d been restless, washed up, then drank the cup of brown-sugar ginger tea he’d made… and then she had gone to bed and remembered nothing.
She shook her head to clear the drowsiness. Her body felt fine—oddly refreshed, as after a deep, long sleep. Yet her nostrils flared; there was a faint, crisp scent in the air, clean and sharp like pine needles after a snowfall. The smell felt both unfamiliar and oddly familiar. It certainly didn’t belong to her room or anything she usually had.
She frowned—maybe it had come from an open window? She checked; the window was closed.
Whatever—likely just her imagination.
She pushed back the covers and went to wash. Looking at her slightly pale face in the mirror, the chaotic emotions from last night surfaced again. Most frustrating of all: there were no new messages on her phone. No calls from the hospital, no texts. The definitive report on the abortion—the one that should have settled everything—was still nowhere to be found, still unresolved.