Seven

In Xian Xiaoya’s home, only she and Xiao Ai were present. Xiao Ai had been staying there for three days, but neither Xian Xiaoya’s daughter nor her husband had returned during that time. According to Xian Xiaoya, her daughter was away on a two-week kindergarten camping trip—even though the girl was just over three years old. It was remarkable, almost careless, thought Xiao Ai, that someone would let such a small child be apart from her mother for fourteen days. Her husband, too, was often on business trips, sometimes gone for more than half a month at a time. The house hardly felt like a family home; it more resembled the solitary dwelling of a single woman. Another strange detail was the absence of any male toiletries in the bathroom. Xian Xiaoya explained that her husband, being always on the move, kept his essentials packed away in his suitcase and rarely set them out. As for children’s items, in most families with kids, a child’s presence was apparent everywhere. But in Xian Xiaoya’s home, there was no such trace. She explained that all her daughter’s things were confined to her own room, having taught the girl to keep her toys and belongings out of the living area and to tidy up after herself. So, outside of the child’s room, nothing of hers was ever visible. In the three days since Xiao Ai’s arrival, the only evidence of the daughter was a photograph on the large bookshelf. There were no pictures of the husband at all. Wasn’t it natural to assume that Xian Xiaoya lived alone? Any outsider would have thought the same. But Xian Xiaoya herself found this arrangement perfectly normal. When asked whether she missed her husband or daughter, she simply shrugged it off—it was only a couple of weeks, after all, and they’d soon return.

Speaking of her daughter, Xian Xiaoya disliked how, whenever she was out with the girl, she would always run into that odd Miss Lin. Miss Lin, with her intrusive questions and intense, searching looks, reminded Xian Xiaoya of a neighborhood committee director—always prying, eyes lingering on her daughter in a way that made her uncomfortable. Whenever she took her daughter to kindergarten, she felt uneasy, half expecting Miss Lin to emerge suddenly from some hidden corner.

That evening, during dinner, Xiao Ai and Xian Xiaoya sat across from each other, sharing steak delivered from the best Western restaurant nearby. They even opened a bottle of top-tier red wine that had been aging for five years. Xian Xiaoya was in particularly high spirits, having been lavishly praised by Director Li at the office earlier that day. Aside from Jason, who in the company wasn’t envious of her? In both talent and interpersonal skills, Xian Xiaoya was nearly perfect.

By contrast, Xiao Ai, freshly back from Dr. Eddie Ming’s private clinic, wore a somber expression. During dinner, she recounted every detail of that day’s hypnosis session, even the fleeting, blurry impressions left behind—though it was all a haze, little more than vague, fragmented memories.

Yet she found Dr. Ai to be comforting, much like Dr. Zhao Lihua. Both of them somehow felt familiar, as if she’d known them for ages.

Mentioning Dr. Zhao Lihua brought to mind a strange feeling for Xian Xiaoya—at the time, she’d thought Dr. Zhao hadn’t even noticed her, or perhaps had deliberately ignored her. She wondered, if she accompanied Xiao Ai to Dr. Eddie Ming’s clinic, would he overlook her, too? The thought was fleeting and odd. On reflection, it was ridiculous—surely Dr. Zhao had merely been focused on treating the injury and paid little attention to anyone else.

“Maybe you can’t remember because of your amnesia,” Xian Xiaoya suggested. “Maybe you really do know them.”

Xiao Ai took a bite of steak and a sip of wine. The taste was disappointing. Wasn’t it supposed to be delicious? She couldn’t quite discern the flavors. Perhaps, because of her memory loss, even her sense of taste had dulled.

“By the way, about that pendant you found—the one with the engraved letter. Did you learn anything about it? Or did the hypnosis bring back any memories? Is the necklace related to you? I have a hunch the letter could be your initial,” Xian Xiaoya speculated, feeling there was a strong connection between Xiao Ai and the letter A.

“I don’t know. I didn’t recall anything about the necklace during hypnosis,” Xiao Ai answered, taking out the pendant to look at it. “But I can’t shake the feeling that something inside me is missing, something I desperately want to fill, but I don’t know what it is. I can’t be at peace unless I fill that void.” The hypnosis had shown her many things, but she couldn’t remember the specifics—only that there were deep impressions, laden with meaning.

“You can’t fill it? Is it a crucial thing you lack—like a memory?” Xian Xiaoya mused. “I haven’t lost my memory, but I’ve felt that way at times too. I used to think I was the only one, but it seems we’ve both experienced that sense.” She sipped her wine and added, “But I’m very content with my life now. There’s no need for that anxious feeling. I already have everything I want. What could I possibly lack? Those thoughts are unnecessary. Living in the moment is what matters. You shouldn’t overthink it—once you regain your memory, everything will become clear.” She drank her wine with satisfaction.

Xian Xiaoya sliced her steak into neat pieces, the juices running bright and savory, the meat tender and delicious. She was someone who knew how to live. If she hadn’t built her success from scratch, working in the most prestigious tower at the financial center for years, could she enjoy such a privileged life? With luxury cars, a high-end residence, and a happy marriage—what was there to doubt? To question her life would be to deny her own achievements, and she wasn’t that foolish.

Xiao Ai pondered deeply, but still shook her head. “A voice keeps telling me—I shouldn’t be here,” she said suddenly, almost entranced.

Xian Xiaoya smiled faintly, thinking Xiao Ai was being too self-doubting. It was only amnesia—why negate everything in front of her? Once her memory returned, her true identity would be revealed. Perhaps she would discover she had lost much—perhaps through an accident or some other misfortune. But loss did not justify renouncing the world. Perhaps, thought Xian Xiaoya, it was simply her own privileged position that made it hard to understand Xiao Ai’s pain. She paused, gazing at her companion. Maybe Xiao Ai just needed comfort.

Did she really need to feel this way? Was it pessimism, or was her trauma too great? Perhaps the accident was to blame—yet, oddly enough, there was no trace of the car involved. Perhaps that was why she doubted reality.

“That voice keeps telling me this world isn’t where I belong. I want to find out the truth—where I really came from,” Xiao Ai said, shaking her head, repeating herself.

“Don’t worry. Don’t overthink it. You’ll remember sooner or later,” Xian Xiaoya reassured her.

“The answer I need may not be as simple as we imagine,” said Xiao Ai.

“What answer?” asked Xian Xiaoya.

“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it matters deeply to me.”

“If this world isn’t real, then what is?” Xian Xiaoya’s eyes took on a strange gleam.

“Maybe I’m just overthinking,” Xiao Ai replied.

Xian Xiaoya looked at her and burst out laughing, a little tipsy now, dismissing Xiao Ai’s feelings as nothing more than the illusions of insecurity and self-doubt caused by amnesia. Occasionally, things might defy explanation, but that didn’t warrant doubting the world. For herself, Xian Xiaoya had no interest in uncertainty—she was at the height of her success, life at its brightest. Why doubt such happiness, when all she had was earned through effort? She had not lost her memory, nor suffered disaster or defeat, and felt no need to fret over gain and loss.

“What are we even talking about? Such nonsense!” she laughed. “Look at this steak—how wonderful it is. Eat it while it’s hot.”

“Alright,” Xiao Ai replied. She took another bite, but still found it bland, almost tasteless. The wine, too, failed to move her. Why did Xian Xiaoya find it so delicious? Had she really lost her sense of taste, or was there another reason?

She put these thoughts aside, but her gaze drifted down the corridor, recalling the sounds she’d heard from the room at the end. “A couple of nights ago, I thought I heard noises coming from the room at the very end of the hall. I don’t know if something’s moving in there,” she said, pointing toward the room with the broken lock.

“Oh, that’s just the storage room. The lock’s been broken for ages, so I haven’t opened it. Probably just mice. I’ll get around to cleaning it up once I fix the lock,” Xian Xiaoya replied.

“So you have mice here too? That explains it…”

Given how immaculate and luxuriously decorated Xian Xiaoya’s home was, the possibility of mice seemed almost unthinkable. Most women would be horrified at such creatures in their home. How could Xian Xiaoya be so unfazed by it, as if it were the most ordinary thing?

Yet Xiao Ai still felt a nebulous, inexplicable sense of wrongness. She glanced again at that distant room at the end of the corridor—