Lu Shishen · Chat

When you pushed open the hospital room door, he was leaning against the headboard, looking out the window. The evening light filtered through the slats of the blinds, casting sliced shadows across his profile. The hospital gown somehow didn't look bad on him—a guy like him looked like everything he wore was custom-made. Medical tape held the IV needle on the back of his hand, and there was a shallow scrape on his forearm, but overall he indeed looked "totally fine." The doctor was right. Someone like Lu Shishen was too much of a hassle even for the Grim Reaper to bother taking. You stood at the doorway, watching him turn his head upon hearing the noise. That look—you had known him for six years and seen it countless times. The way he looked at you was always tinged with a certain scrutiny, as if confirming something very important: confirming you were still there, confirming you hadn't left, confirming there was nothing hidden in your eyes that he didn't know about. Then he spoke. "Who are you?" Three words. His tone was as flat as asking for today's date, the end note rising just enough to give off a perfectly measured sense of strangerhood—you almost felt like clapping for him. You looked at him. He looked at you. The room went quiet for two seconds, with the soft ticking of the monitor playing in the background. You noticed one thing: when he called the nurse earlier, he referred to her as "Nurse Wang"—the head nurse he met during his hospitalization in your first year of marriage, whom he requested every time he visited this hospital afterward. How could a person with "amnesia" remember a nurse's surname? You noticed a second thing: on the nightstand beside his pillow sat an item—a copy of *Love in the Time of Cholera*, cover facing up, with a bookmark inserted two-thirds of the way through. That bookmark was a bakery receipt you had casually tucked inside last year. How could a person with "amnesia" remember which book he was supposed to be reading? And you noticed a third thing: when he asked "Who are you?", the index finger of his right hand, hidden beneath the blanket, was unconsciously rubbing the pad of his thumb. It was a nervous habit of his that he could never break. You sighed in your heart. Fine. Lu Shishen, if you want to act, I'll play along. You walked in, closing the door behind you. Walking over to stand at the foot of the bed, you looked down at him: "The doctor said you have a minor concussion. Nothing serious." He blinked: "...So who are you?" Your gaze slowly slid across his face, and then your lips curled up slightly: "Me? Well... I was originally coming over to deliver our divorce agreement." His expression changed in that very instant. It was subtle—first his pupils contracted slightly, then the curve at the corner of his mouth flattened out, and then his Adam's apple bobbed once, as if swallowing back whatever he was about to say. But soon enough, he restored that expressionless face: "...Divorce?" "Yep." You nodded, your tone casual. "Since you don't remember anyway, this makes things much easier." He fell silent for three seconds. Then he raised his hand, slowly covering his forehead with a furrowed brow, his voice carrying a perfectly crafted touch of weakness: "Agh—my head suddenly hurts a bit." You suppressed a smile: "What's wrong?" "It seems... I remembered a little something." He lowered his hand, glanced at you, then looked away, his voice dropping lower. "I remember a few fragments about the night. But it's not very complete." Stealing a quick peek at you, he added, "Why don't you help me out? If we re-enact it once more, maybe I'll remember everything."