Yi Zhuo glanced at him, his expression cold.
Xuyu wouldn't like that kind of noisy, chattering nonsense that could kill a person.
"You know so much?"
"Of course!"
The man looked at him like he was a pig. Finally, he turned away and smoked.
The Central Academy of Fine Arts was the top of the four major art academies in the country. Most of its students were artistic talents who had passed many hurdles to enroll. The adjacent medical university was no different.
Song Shuheng was the same age as Yi Zhuo, but the sculpture program at the Central Academy of Fine Arts was a five-year program. Song Shuheng received his bachelor's degree a year earlier than Yi Zhuo, then went abroad for postgraduate and doctoral studies in medicine. He had only recently returned. Yi Zhuo had won many awards in college and started his own studio after graduating. The two had initially become friends after a competition. Song Shuheng lost to someone for the first time but was convinced, and they shared similar aspirations, so their friendship deepened.
"You're four or five years older than your wife, right? Let me tell you, nowadays, there's a generation gap every two years. Can you even have a conversation with your wife? In her heart, you must be both old-fashioned and old. Plus, with your quiet personality, tsk tsk tsk..."
At that, the man turned his cigarette around, leaning against the window. The faint light shone on him through the thick fog, his deep brows and eyes hiding weariness and hostility.
Song Shuheng suppressed a laugh and cleared his throat. He knew he had hit a sore spot.
A quiet old man, sigh.
"Alright, alright, I won't poke at your pain points. Don't stare at me like that. You look so fierce, it's creepy..."
Song Shuheng shrugged dramatically, fully aware that he was just finding another way to annoy him.
Yi Zhuo glared at him, turned around, and finished the last drag of his cigarette.
He pressed his tongue against his back teeth, looked down for a long moment, then suddenly frowned at him, his voice a bit hoarse—
"Am I... really old?"
He used to not feel that time was ruthlessly aging him. Having come this far was not easy. But looking at Chang Xuyu, still so beautiful that people couldn't look away, looking at that face etched into his memory, he would ponder—so many years had passed, and she was only twenty-four or twenty-five. In the blink of an eye, he was almost thirty.
Although there weren't many years between them, it had still become a knot in his heart. Could it be that Chang Xuyu disliked him because he was older, solidifying her decision to divorce?
The man's eyes flickered with a hint of melancholy. His shoulders drooped, and he had no energy.
Song Shuheng clicked his tongue twice, shaking his head as he paced beside him.
An unintentional remark, an unintentional remark. Who knew he would actually care so much?
"So you do realize you're old? Just listen to me: quit smoking, quit drinking, go to bed early and wake up early, and control yourself in... that area. In a while, you'll definitely look ten years younger. Guaranteed eternal youth and vitality!"
With that, he winked at him. After two seconds, maybe he couldn't hold it in anymore, he dry-heaved twice, patted his shoulder, and said, "Hey, we're brothers. I understand."
With a wife so beautiful and one he had worked so hard to marry, how could he hold back every day?
Yi Zhuo's brows furrowed into a "川" shape. He leaned away from him and walked off, coldly throwing out—
"Boring."
Song Shuheng made a "tsk" sound and followed him, continuing to annoy him.
"I'm so done. Aren't you an artist? All muscle, bad temper, no sense of romance. Your wife is a true art-loving beauty. No wonder she wants to divorce you."
Yi Zhuo couldn't be bothered to argue with him. He casually stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.
He stopped, thought for a moment, and then got down to business.
"Did she have any other abnormalities during this episode?"
"No, but we need to keep an eye on her in the near future," Song Shuheng paused. "You can often talk to her about the past. Although forced recollection might be painful, it's the most effective treatment we know so far."
The man's figure stiffened. He closed his eyes, his thin lips pressed tightly, his expression solemn.
Song Shuheng had told him about this method long ago, but Yi Zhuo hesitated repeatedly and still didn't do it.
"Yi Zhuo, you need to weigh it yourself. And being able to make her remember some of your shared past—isn't that also a bonding experience for your relationship?"
Song Shuheng's tone became urgent. He stepped forward and frowned, trying to persuade him.
Yi Zhuo was silent for a moment. After a long time, he spoke with difficulty, his voice exceptionally hoarse: "It's different. I can't bear to see her in pain..."
"If I have to watch her suffer like this, I'd rather she remember nothing."
"Let yesterday's pain end today. It's fine if she keeps forgetting."
"You!"
Song Shuheng was speechless with anger. This wasn't the first time he had tried to persuade Yi Zhuo.
"Fine. You can't bear to see her in pain, but Chang Xuyu is also my patient, isn't she? You're questioning my professionalism. Not being able to cure her would be a stain on my career..."
He grabbed his coat and put it on, leaving in a huff.
"The car accident when she was a teenager damaged her brain nerves, and the psychological condition made her selectively forget everything. If you keep delaying treatment like this, none of us can predict the consequences!"
"Yi Zhuo, one day she will completely forget you. Not just childhood, but all your past memories—painful or joyful—she will forget them all."
Song Shuheng paused in his steps for a moment, then coldly warned Yi Zhuo, trying to get him to compromise.
In fact, Chang Xuyu only automatically chose to forget everything related to "Yi Zhuo." It didn't affect other memories much. Song Shuheng couldn't bear to see Yi Zhuo give so much for her and not be remembered.
But Yi Zhuo didn't see it that way—
After a long time, the man stood still and suddenly laughed once.
He couldn't bear for Chang Xuyu to suffer pain just to remember him.