An Ming's memories began in the hospital ward.
Since meeting the "family" there, An Ming spent several months undergoing rehabilitation training. He needed continuous leg stimulation to regain strength in his legs.
During this time, the "family" would visit him in the hospital, bringing food and small gifts.
They were busy, and their time to visit him was limited. Sometimes, even when they came, they would only watch from afar, mindful of An Ming's feelings.
Only Hua Ling, his sister, would visit every two or three days. Each time, she would bring a large bag of snacks, lying beside his bed recounting things she saw on the street—sometimes fancy clothes, sometimes roadside leaves, or a snippet of news broadcast.
She was like a bird always singing, curious to fly over whenever something caught her eye. Her world must be like a huge amusement park, running 24 hours a day. As soon as she jumped off the neon-lit Ferris wheel, she would dash towards the carousel playing music.
Of course, Hua Ling would also tell An Ming about the "family".
She said their "parents" used to run a welfare home, which closed down a few years ago, but they continued their charity work. They were devout Saint Rosetta Church followers, attending Sunday morning prayers at the church, and in the afternoons, they would collect donations in the bustling area of the capital city. On the second day (Monday), they would visit An Ming in the hospital.
It was said they were a somewhat famous couple in the charity world, supporting many children's education and livelihoods.
After An Ming could walk again, he accompanied Hua Ling on donation rounds. It was then he realized that fundraising was not as simple as he had imagined. He needed keen eyes to discern if passersby might donate, from their attire to their walking posture, from their speaking style to a subtle glance. Hua Ling told him that fundraising was about integrating all the information about passersby, analyzing and inferring their psychology.
She said the information from pedestrians on the roadside was too much, and by distinguishing their identities one by one, selecting the high-probability groups, they could obtain rich donations during the few hours each week.
An Ming felt Hua Ling's description of fundraising was more like detective work. While undergoing rehabilitation in the hospital, he read many books, including detective stories. He admired detectives and dreamed that one day he could become a detective or a police officer, acting to uphold justice and punish criminals.
Of course, An Ming had also pondered whether such fundraising could be considered fraud. But Hua Ling said deceiving people for evil deeds was fraud, while deceiving people for good deeds was called robbing the rich to help the poor.
Thinking about this, An Ming couldn't help but imagine Hua Ling dressed as Zorro, jumping on rooftops every night to break into rich people's safes, then laughing boldly in the face of police sirens as he escaped.
It was quite amusing. An Ming chuckled as he thought about it.
---
After three months in the hospital, the doctor smiled and informed him that he was physically fine.
He could now check out of the hospital, but his memory still hadn't recovered.
The doctor told Hua Ling and the "family" that the chances of An Ming recovering his memory were very low, but otherwise, his body was in good health. Upon hearing this, his parents approached An Ming, squatted down, and gently touched his head, smiling at him.
It was the first time he had seen the "family" so close. The two not-so-young faces bore traces of the years, looking very worn out. But An Ming heard from Hua Ling that since closing the welfare home, their parents had nothing much to do all day, just drinking tea and reading newspapers.
But he quickly understood. They must be very sad. An Ming must have been a good child in the past, calling out to Hua Ling in a soft voice from behind or clutching the donation box, pouting his lips and diligently observing passersby.
But all those memories from the past had disappeared without a trace. He didn't even know what he had forgotten about himself.
Seeing the sadness hidden behind their smiles, An Ming also felt sad.
An Ming had read a book about a girl who wandered into a strange world where everything was bizarre—magic, desserts, strange magicians, and rabbits. They were all friends from the girl's past, but she didn't remember them.
Now, An Ming finally understood. The saddest thing in this world was not knowing why you should be sad when the time comes.
As if reading An Ming's thoughts, Hua Ling suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, gently rubbing her cheek against his.
"It's okay, An Ming. Even if you've forgotten everything, it doesn't matter. Remember what I told you? There are two types of family—those born into it, and those who become family later. Although you're no longer our born family, can't you still become our chosen family?"
Her cheek against his carried a faint warmth, and this warmth made An Ming feel safe. He carefully tucked this warmth into a small jar in his heart, treasuring it.
Perhaps this was happiness. An Ming lay on the bed, pondering.
---
An Ming floated in the air, looking at his sister and parents not far away. The glass jar named happiness in his heart seemed to crack slightly, sending a warm heat.
That warmth, which had toughened over the years on his heart like a rock, had opened a hole and blood flowed from the tiny hole. This small wound was so inconspicuous, but then it seemed to tear open his heart like a flood beast.
For An Ming now, warmth was a kind of poison. That one dose of poison could numb his nerves, freeze his body, and make him want to stay here forever.
He knew he couldn't watch anymore.
Every beautiful dream would eventually end one day, sometimes at dawn, sometimes in a nightmare.
An Ming felt like he would never forget that time in his life—July 2nd, eight years ago—when the "tragedy of the capital city" descended upon this city.
An Ming rubbed his slightly numb cheeks with his hands; now he wanted to get out of this nightmare. But he couldn't. This dream had no exit, nor did it allow escape. He was like a spectator tied to a chair, forced to watch a detestable movie.
Someone once said that nightmares are the subconscious of humans, and when you are having a nightmare, you must never think about avoiding anything. The moment you try to avoid it, the nightmare will present those terrifying scenes that make your hair stand on end.
But how could a person refuse what they had already thought of?
The scene in front of An Ming quickly changed as if there was a big clock behind him, the hour hand ticking incessantly. An hour, a day, a month, a year...
Time flew by quickly. Finally, with the sound of the bell striking, time stopped.
An Ming looked at the familiar gates of the welfare home, watched the familiar sunset, and suddenly felt a sense of relief in his heart.