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Wutong Street in the city center is not considered a main road in Hangzhou. On weekdays, there are only a few electric bikes and elderly people taking a walk.

But at 3:07 p.m. that day, a piercing screech of brakes suddenly shattered the peace.

Immediately following was a loud, metallic clang, like a blunt knife cutting through the still air.

The red Mazda's tires left two dark brown tracks on the road before it crashed into the roadside guardrail like a runaway horse.

The unfortunate roadside guardrail bent and deformed instantly, and broken metal fragments flew towards the sidewalk with a whistling sound.

Inside the driver's seat, the airbag deployed with a "bang," completely enveloping the female driver's face.

She felt a burning sensation on her forehead, and when she reached out to touch it, her fingers were full of warm blood. But what suffocated her more than the physical pain was the chaos outside the window.

On the other side of the railing, a huge impact came from behind. Flying metal fragments grazed his forearm, and the next second, he was thrown to the ground like a kite with a broken string.

"Someone's in trouble!" screams from passersby echoed.

A chubby auntie hurriedly pulled out her old-fashioned mobile phone, her fingers trembling as she pressed the buttons three times before finally dialing 120; a fruit vendor dropped his scale and rushed over, wanting to help the seriously injured boy but hesitant to approach him.

The boy was curled up on the ground, his dark jeans soaked in blood from the knees down, and the books in his arms were scattered all over the ground, their pages wrinkled and stained with blood, like tear-stained faces.

The female driver was still trembling when she was helped out of the driver's seat by passersby.

She looked at the unconscious boy on the ground, her lips trembling as she kept saying "I'm sorry," but her voice was so low it was like a mosquito's buzz.

Ten minutes later, the sound of an ambulance siren grew louder as it approached, and then the two injured people were taken to the nearest hospital, Hangzhou People's Hospital.

The incandescent lights in the emergency room were blinding. The head nurse, wearing sterile gloves, carefully searched the boy's jeans pockets.

First, a worn-out ID card fell out. The boy in the photo was wearing a white shirt, with clean features and a shy smile. Next came a crumpled student ID card, the plastic wrap torn, but the writing on it was still clear...

“Su Ning, a freshman in the Computer Science Department of Jiangsu-Zhejiang University, Class of 2012, student ID 2012081701.”

“Born in 1995, from Qingdao, Shandong…” the head nurse read softly, then turned to look at the on-duty police officer, Lao Zhang, “Contact the school, we need to find the family as soon as possible. This child looks only seventeen or eighteen years old, his parents would be so worried if they knew.”

When the phone call to the school's archives department was answered, the teacher in charge of the archives was organizing the new students' information.

Upon hearing the news of Su Ning's accident, she was stunned for half a minute before reacting and quickly pulled up her emergency contact information.

Those were two Shandong phone numbers, with the notes "Father Su Daqiang" and "Mother Wang Xiuying" respectively.

When the call was made, Su Daqiang was buying seafood at the seafood market in his hometown of Qingdao.

He answered the phone, and the moment he heard the words "Suning car accident," the plastic basket in his hand fell to the ground with a clatter, and crabs crawled all over the floor.

Wang Xiuying was doing accounts when she saw her husband's pale face. She grabbed the phone, listened to the conversation, and then fainted from crying on the spot.

The two didn't bother to pack up their stall. They asked a neighbor to watch the shop for them and ran towards the airport with their bank cards in their hands. Along the way, Wang Xiuying clutched her son's photo, her tears soaking the photo.

When they arrived at Hangzhou People's Hospital, Su Ning had already been taken to the neurosurgery ward.

Through the glass of the ward door, they saw their son lying on the hospital bed, his head wrapped in thick gauze, with various tubes inserted into his body, and the monitor emitting soft "beep" sounds, each one like a knock on their hearts.

Wang Xiuying leaned against the door and cried, while Su Daqiang turned away to wipe his tears, his knuckles turning white from gripping the hem of his clothes so tightly.

This is their only son, the first child in the village to be admitted to a key university, the pride of the elderly couple for their entire lives. How could he suddenly suffer like this?

For the next seven days and seven nights, Su Daqiang and Wang Xiuying stayed on the bench outside the ward.

Wang Xiuying would look at her son through the glass several times a day, muttering, "Ningning, wake up soon." Su Daqiang would go to the doctor's office every day to ask about his condition, and then come back and pretend to be calm to comfort his wife.

But the words of the head of neurosurgery weighed heavily on their hearts...

"The cerebral edema has not subsided yet, and the damage to the frontal and temporal lobes may affect consciousness. Whether he can wake up depends on his own will."

Late on the seventh night, the corridor lights were dim. Wang Xiuying leaned on Su Daqiang's shoulder and dozed off, still clutching the half-knitted sweater she was making for her son.

The head of neurosurgery led the resident physicians on rounds, their steps very light.

He walked to Su Ning's bedside, shone a flashlight into his pupils, glanced at the data on the monitor, and said in a low voice, "The peak of cerebral edema has passed, but the damage to the frontal and temporal lobes is still there, and the risk has not decreased. If he doesn't wake up by tomorrow, we'll have to consider further intervention, such as hyperbaric oxygen therapy or neurorepair surgery."

Outside the ward, Wang Xiuying had just woken up and heard everything clearly.

Her eyes were red as she gripped her husband's hand tightly, her voice trembling uncontrollably: "The doctor said... said if he doesn't wake up again, he might..."

"Don't talk nonsense!" Su Daqiang interrupted her, but his own voice was trembling. "Our son is so sensible and strong-willed, he will definitely wake up. Let's wait a little longer, just a little longer."

As if it had heard their words, the monitor suddenly started beeping at a faster frequency.

Su Daqiang and Wang Xiuying suddenly stood up and peered through the glass in the door...

Su Ning's finger twitched slightly, like a leaf fluttering in the wind, but her parents didn't notice it.

……

Around 3 a.m., when the nurse came to change the IV drip, she suddenly saw that Su Ning's eyes were open.

She was so startled she almost dropped the treatment tray in her hand. She quickly pressed the call bell by the bedside, her voice filled with surprise: "He's awake! Doctor, the patient in bed three is awake!"

The head of neurosurgery arrived quickly, carrying a flashlight.

He walked to the bedside and asked softly, "Can you hear me? What's your name?"

Su Ning blinked, her eyes looking somewhat blank.

He looked at the man in the white coat in front of him, then turned to look at the doorway.

There stood a middle-aged couple, the woman with tears streaming down her face and the man with his hair a mess, both staring intently at him with anxious eyes.

"Who...are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Wang Xiuying's crying suddenly stopped.

She stared blankly at her son, tears still on her face, but she forgot to let them fall.

Su Daqiang strode over, his hand trembling as he grasped his son's. The calluses on his palm brushed against Su Ning's skin. "Ningning, it's Mom and Dad! Don't you recognize us?" Su Ning frowned, trying to pull his hand away, but he had no strength.

He stared at the unfamiliar couple before him, his mind blank, like a emptied code editor, unable to remember anything.

The head of neurosurgery gently pulled Su Daqiang away, made a "shh" gesture to the family, and whispered, "He just woke up, and his brain is still recovering. He needs quiet. Judging from the current situation, he seems to have retrograde amnesia—he may not remember anything before the car accident, including you. Don't agitate him yet. Wait until he's more stable, and then we'll do a detailed examination."

Wang Xiuying bit her lip, nodded, but tears still welled up in her eyes.

Looking at her son in the hospital bed, whose eyes seemed unfamiliar, she felt a pang of sadness and pain in her heart.

The son woke up, but he forgot them, forgot who he was, and forgot the spirited young man who went to school in Lin'an.

Su Daqiang patted his wife on the back, his gaze falling on the programming textbook on the bedside table of Su Ning.

The nurse wiped the books clean, but faint bloodstains were still visible.

He took a deep breath and silently said to himself: It's okay, forget it if you forget. As long as you're still here, we'll teach you to recognize it again and walk with you again.

Outside the window, the sky was already beginning to lighten, and the sycamore leaves swayed gently in the morning breeze.

In the ward, the monitor's sound gradually calmed down. Su Ning leaned against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, her mind blank as if it were a sheet of paper.

His parents sat by the bed, watching him quietly with hope in their eyes, as if waiting for a completely new piece of code to start running again.

……

In the doctor's office, Zhao Jin, the director of neurosurgery, pointed to the bright spots on the CT image and said in a calm voice: "Brother Su, Sister Wang, look here—there are traces of bleeding in the medial temporal lobe and hippocampus. These two areas are key places in our brain that are responsible for memory encoding and storage."

Wang Xiuying clutched the hem of her clothes, tears welling in her eyes: "Director Zhao, do you mean... my son doesn't remember anything?"

“It’s more complicated than forgetting specific events.” Zhao Jin tapped lightly on the image with his fingertip. “The impact of the car accident damaged this part of the tissue, resulting in retrograde amnesia. Simply put, he may still be able to speak, write, and even remember how to use a computer, but he can’t retrieve memories related to personal experiences, such as ‘Who am I?’ ‘You are his parents’ ‘He studied at Jiangsu University’.”

“It’s like…” Zhao Jin was trying to find a more colloquial way of putting it when the office door was gently pushed open and the head of the psychology department walked in, just in time to finish his sentence: “It’s like a book that’s still on the bookshelf, the content is still there, but the ability to find the table of contents is gone. You want to turn to the pages about ‘your own story’, but you can’t find them no matter what you do.”

“Yes, that analogy is particularly apt.” Zhao Jin nodded, but his tone turned serious. “The most crucial thing now is to observe whether the damage is temporary or permanent. Next, we will arrange neurocognitive rehabilitation training, but you have to be prepared—memory recovery may take months, years, or even…never to return to the way it was before.”

Su Daqiang's Adam's apple bobbed, and he patted his wife's back, his voice hoarse but strong: "Director Zhao, we understand. As long as there's a way, we'll cooperate."

Three days later, when the head of the psychology department walked into the ward with the latest iPad 4, Su Ning was leaning against the headboard looking out the window.

The September sun shone on his face, which was expressionless, like a child just beginning to explore the world.

"Su Ning, how are you feeling?" The head of the psychology department placed the iPad on his lap and spoke softly.

"I can't quite put my finger on it." Su Ning stared at the screen, her fingers unconsciously tapping. "It's like having a very long dream. After waking up, I forgot everything in the dream, and I don't even know who I am."

"Let's play a little game then." The head of the psychology department opened the photo album, which was full of pictures of everyday items. "If you see anything familiar, just tell me."

Hamburgers, pens, buses...

As Su Ning looked around, he just shook his head.

Then a picture of Shandong pancakes popped up on the screen, the golden pancake covered with scallions and crispy bits, still steaming hot.

Su Ning's fingers paused, her eyes brightened for a moment, then quickly dimmed again: "This... I don't know either."

“This is a snack from your hometown of Qingdao. Your mother used to make it for you often when you were little.” The head of the psychology department quickly jotted it down in his notebook and softened his tone. “Memories may be stored in your mind in fragments. Don’t force yourself to think about them. Just let them flow naturally.”

……

In the afternoon, Suning's counselor came to visit, bringing a fruit basket and a class photo album.

Flipping to the first page of the photo album, there was a group photo of the whole class. The counselor pointed to the boy next to Su Ning: "Su Ning, this is your roommate Zhang Hao. You two made plans to eat at the cafeteria on the first day of school. He even helped you carry your luggage, remember?"

Su Ning leaned closer, staring at the unfamiliar smiling face in the photo for a long time, her brows furrowing slightly. In the end, she shook her head, her voice filled with apology: "I'm sorry, I don't remember."

The counselor sighed and didn't press further. She simply placed the photo album on the bedside table and said, "It's okay. Once you're feeling better, I'll have Zhang Hao come to see you, and you two can chat."

In the evening, the ward door was pushed open again, and the female driver who caused the accident walked in with her family. She was carrying a fruit basket, had gauze on her forehead, and a large mask covered most of her face, leaving only her red eyes visible.

As soon as she saw Su Ning, tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice trembled violently: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I'm an art school student, and I just got my driver's license a few days ago. I suddenly felt dizzy that day, probably because of low blood sugar... I didn't mean to."

Su Daqiang, however, waved his hand, trying to appear calm, and said, "Girl, the doctor said it was an accident. Nobody wanted this to happen, so don't blame yourself too much."

Then everyone's eyes fell on Su Ning, even the female driver held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Su Ning looked at her with a serious expression, as if he was desperately searching for something in his mind. After a few seconds, he spoke softly, "It's okay, maybe this is my fate."

After the female driver and her family left, Su Ning lay down and fell asleep.

Wang Xiuying pulled the head of the psychology department into the corridor, her voice low and trembling with tears: "Director, I really can't understand it—he doesn't even remember the person who hit him, so how can he still talk and write?"

"This is because the memory systems in the brain are different." The head of the psychology department shook his head helplessly. "Things like walking, talking, and writing, which can be done without conscious thought, are called procedural memories, stored in brain regions unrelated to the hippocampus, and are unaffected. But episodic memories, such as 'who I am' and 'what I have experienced,' mainly rely on the hippocampus, which is damaged. It's like he might not remember what he likes to eat, but he still remembers how to tie his shoelaces."

"Then...can his memory be restored?" Wang Xiuying clung to her last glimmer of hope.

The head of the psychology department was silent for a few seconds, then gently shook his head: "Based on the current test results, it is almost impossible to recover to the way things were before."

"Waaaaah... How could this happen..." Wang Xiuying's sobs couldn't be contained. Su Daqiang walked over, hugged his wife, and his eyes also reddened.

“Although it doesn’t sound very scientific, I’ve had a feeling during my time with Su Ning these past few days.” The head of the psychology department lowered his voice even further. “It’s like the folk saying that ‘a piece of his soul is missing.’ In his current state, it’s as if he’s just a wisp of a soul, having lost the most important ‘self’.”

The corridor fell silent, save for Wang Xiuying's suppressed sobs.

In the ward, Su Ning turned over, her fingers touching the class photo album on the bedside table, but she didn't open her eyes.

The setting sun outside the window cast long shadows of the sycamore trees, which fell on the back of his hand, like a gentle but powerless comfort.

This boy, who has just turned 17, is standing at the crossroads of oblivion, about to rediscover the world, and the world must slowly accept him as someone who has "forgotten himself."

He didn't know who he was, nor did he know about his past experiences...

...(End of chapter)