Hot flashes

Zhou Heng slowly opened his eyes, and all he could see was white.

The smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, and I could hear the beeping of medical equipment.

He lay on a narrow bed, a needle stuck in the back of his hand, a tube connected to an IV drip, and clear liquid dripping down.

"Wake up! Wake up!" someone shouted, the voice sharp and crisp, like a bean exploding. A face came closer, round and tired from staying up all night.

He was the only one among his cronies who was somewhat reliable. His name was Sun Mingyuan, and his family was in the real estate business. He was naive, rich, and kind-hearted.

"You're finally awake!" Sun Mingyuan's voice trembled. "You fucking fell into the sea, you know? When they pulled you out, your face was purple, and your heart had stopped beating. They had to give you two electric shocks to bring you back to life. You were in a coma for a week, and the doctors said you might become a vegetable—"

Zhou Heng looked down at his hands.

Clean and white, without calluses or scars; the old scar on the web of his hand, which he had touched countless times, was gone. His nails were neatly trimmed, and his knuckles were symmetrical—a pair of hands that had been pampered.

It was the same hand he had before he traveled through time.

"What's wrong with you?" Sun Mingyuan's voice drifted over from afar. "Have you lost your mind? The doctor said you swallowed a lot of water and have a lung infection—"

"How long did it take me to be pulled ashore?"

Sun Mingyuan was taken aback. "You were pulled out just a few minutes after falling in."

Zhou Heng closed his eyes.

The system patch timeline is really impressive.

He lived for more than ten years in that world, but here he only spent less than a few minutes.

"You look terrible," Sun Mingyuan said, leaning closer. "I'll call the doctor—"

"Need not."

Zhou Heng lay back down and reached out to touch his hair. It was short.

He lowered his hand.

On the day he was discharged from the hospital, Sun Mingyuan drove to pick him up, talking on and on the way.

Zhou Heng leaned against the passenger seat and suddenly spoke as the car entered the city.

"Where is that ship?"

Sun Mingyuan was taken aback. "What ship?"

"The one I fell into."

"Oh, that one. It's still docked." He paused. "Why are you asking about that?"

Zhou Heng did not answer.

Sun Mingyuan drove him back to his apartment. The apartment was by the river; his father had bought it years ago and later gave it to him.

The apartment is 160 square meters and the renovation cost a lot of money, but it lacks any sense of life. The living room is piled with unopened delivery boxes, the kitchen stove is spotless, and the refrigerator only contains a few cans of beer and half a carton of expired milk.

Sun Mingyuan opened the window for him to ventilate the room and threw away the expired food in the refrigerator. After finishing, he stood in the middle of the living room, rubbing his hands together.

"Um, would you like to... stay at my place for a few days? My mom's a great cook—"

"Need not."

Sun Mingyuan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He probably thought Zhou Heng was suffering from aftereffects of falling into the water and needed to rest.

After Sun Mingyuan left, Zhou Heng sat on the sofa for a long time. The light outside the window changed from white to yellow, from yellow to red, and from red to dim. He didn't turn on the light, just sat there, watching the light gradually recede from his feet.

Gradually, it got completely dark.

He stood up, went to the bathroom, and turned on the tap. The water was hot, and the steam quickly fogged up the mirror. He reached out and wiped the mirror, seeing his own face.

A young face at twenty.

He pulled his hand back, stood under the showerhead, and let the hot water pour over his head. The water flowed over his face, over his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

He squatted down, under the showerhead, the water pouring down on his head, making it impossible for him to open his eyes.

He returned to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. The bed was large; he turned to his side and reached out to touch it.

A chilling coldness.

He withdrew his hand, curled up into a ball, and wrapped the blanket tightly around himself.

Three days later, he went to find Sun Mingyuan.

"I want to buy that boat."

Sun Mingyuan was in a meeting at the company when he was called out by a phone call. He stood at the entrance of the building, his mouth agape, wide enough to fit an egg.

"Are you crazy?"

Zhou Heng looked at him. "I'm not crazy."

Sun Mingyuan looked him up and down. In just three days, he had lost even more weight; his cheekbones were prominent, his eye sockets were sunken, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was wearing a wrinkled sweatshirt, his trousers rolled up to one side, and slippers.

"You call this not crazy?" Sun Mingyuan's voice rose. "Look at yourself—"

"How much does that ship cost?"

"...I'll ask around for you."

The boat has been bought.

Sun Mingyuan advised him not to buy it, saying that the ship was unlucky and that he had his accident on it, so why would he buy it? Zhou Heng didn't explain.

On the day he received the keys, he boarded the ship alone.

He stood on the boat for a while, then he climbed over the railing.

The seawater at the end of October is as cold as a knife, cutting into the skin and even into the bones.

Water poured into his ears, nose, and mouth; the salty, astringent taste made his lungs ache.

The oxygen in my lungs was dwindling, and my chest felt increasingly heavy, as if something was pressing down on it. My consciousness began to blur, and a white light appeared before my eyes—

Instinctively, uncontrollably, he tried to save himself. His head broke the surface, and he gasped for breath, vomiting seawater that choked him and brought tears to his eyes.

He lay on the gunwale, trembling all over.