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Jiang He lay in his bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep; he simply couldn't. He knew that no one could endure high-intensity labor for long without rest. Sleep was the best way to relieve fatigue; otherwise, his body would eventually break down.
But Jiang He found it impossible. Every time he lay down, memories flooded into his mind, making him feel miserable. During the day, his mind never stopped; he was constantly thinking about the case, which allowed him to suppress those useless memories. However, when he tried to clear his mind, those memories surged forth uncontrollably.
He didn't know when he would lose control again, and that was the most intense pain in the world. When the pain struck, Jiang He felt as if he wanted to tear his brain out. There were too many meaningless memories that he wished he could forget, but there was no way to control it.
Curled up in bed, Jiang He clutched his head tightly and pulled at his hair in agony.
He saw the scene from when he was six years old, engulfed in flames. He remembered his Great-Aunt holding his hand as she passed away. He recalled moments from when he used the bathroom and scenes of himself eating. He remembered the eleven streetlights from when he was ten years old.
There was no hierarchy among these memories; they all crowded into Jiang He's mind.
An overwhelming flood of memories threatened to explode in his brain. His hands were filled with torn-out hair, and some of his scalp bled from the force of his pulling. Unable to bear it any longer, Jiang He rolled around on the bed, letting out cries of pain.
His cries echoed through the walls into the adjacent room where Old Shao and Xu Yiman were staying.
Xu Yiman had been exhausted after a long day; after taking a shower, she collapsed onto her bed and fell asleep. However, in her dreams, she heard faint cries of anguish. The sounds came from the next room, and after a moment's thought, she realized it was Jiang He's room.
The cries grew louder and more pained with each passing moment.
Xu Yiman had no idea what was happening to Jiang He. She hurriedly got dressed and rushed to knock on his door, but how could a suffering Jiang He answer her?
Old Shao also heard Jiang He's cries and stepped out to check on him.
Seeing Xu Yiman anxiously calling out at Jiang He's door, Old Shao quickly said, "Go find Captain Li to break down the door."
Moments later, Captain Li arrived at Jiang He's room with a few others.
The group exchanged glances and together they burst open the door to Jiang He's room.
Upon entering, they found Jiang He curled up on his bed, gripping the bed frame tightly. The sheets were even torn by his not-so-sharp nails. Blood was already seeping from the gaps between his fingers, and he had even broken some of his nails. At that moment, he was facing the wall, repeatedly banging his head against it, each thud louder than the last; if this continued, he would surely draw blood.
Captain Li and several detectives rushed forward, grabbing hold of Jiang He to prevent him from continuing this self-destructive behavior. They finally got a good look at his face, which was contorted in extreme distress, drenched in sweat.
Xu Yiman had seen Jiang He's symptoms before during their first encounter, but it had never been this severe. Last time, he had managed to hold it together, but now he was completely losing control. Xu Yiman didn’t know what illness Jiang He was suffering from, but she understood that it was a serious issue.
"What’s wrong with him?" Captain Li asked. "Can you take a look? He’s soaked in sweat; even the sheets are drenched."
However, Xu Yiman remained motionless. "I... I can't..."
"Aren't you a doctor? How can you not help?" In this critical moment, Captain Li didn’t care if his words might hurt her.
Xu Yiman still didn’t move. She stared blankly at Jiang He. Although she wanted to help, whenever faced with such situations, she couldn’t help but think back to her last surgery as a surgeon—a procedure that should have been routine but turned disastrous...
Xu Yiman's body trembled uncontrollably; she could only manage herself. How could she possibly have the capacity to help Jiang He?
At that moment, however, Jiang He spoke. His voice emerged through clenched teeth, fragmented and shaky.
"I'm fine," Jiang He said through gritted teeth, forcing back the pain. "It's nothing serious; I'm used to it. The pain will pass soon."
Old Shao turned to Xu Yiman. "Go get the doctor from the team and have her check on Jiang He."
Xu Yiman nodded and stepped out of the room. Once outside, she let out a sigh of relief. This was not a scene she wanted to witness, something she hoped never to see in her life. She hurried off to find the doctor.
Old Shao watched as Jiang He, still panting but gradually calming down, sat there. He glanced at Xu Yiman's retreating figure and couldn't help but feel a sense of lament. The project team had only two members, both of whom had their own issues—problems that couldn't be resolved quickly.
Memories rushed through Jiang He's mind like a torrent, flooding his thoughts. At that moment, he finally felt a bit of calmness return. In those brief minutes, he felt as if he had died once.
The doctor arrived and began examining Jiang He. After her assessment, she found that aside from being somewhat frail, he did not have any serious injuries.
"I have Hyperthymesia," Jiang He explained.
"Hyperthymesia?" The doctor shook her head. "That's too complex for me; I'm just an ordinary physician. You need a specialist in neurology or psychiatry for that condition. However, if you're really in pain, you should take a painkiller."
She looked at Jiang He's fingernails and the blood on his forehead before continuing, "I can't imagine what kind of pain would cause this, but if left untreated, it could worsen."
Jiang He shook his head and replied, "I won't take painkillers. The ingredients can be addictive and affect my thinking, making my mind irrational. I'd rather endure the physical injury than compromise my mental clarity. Besides, I'm used to it; it's just particularly intense today."
The doctor could only shake her head in resignation.
After cleaning up Jiang He's wounds, the doctor left the room.
"Are you feeling any better?" Xu Yiman looked at Jiang He, feeling a bit embarrassed. "It's not that I don't want to help you, it's just that I can't. Whenever I see someone suffering from pain, my body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Forget about saving someone; I can barely manage to keep myself from collapsing."
"I..." Xu Yiman wanted to say something more, but after just one word, she chose to bury her feelings deep inside.
Jiang He shook his head and explained, "It's nothing really. I've gotten used to the pain over time. My Great-Aunt took me to see many doctors, spending her entire life savings, but none could cure my illness. And this is my problem alone; not all patients with Hyperthymesia experience headaches."
Jiang He smiled, a polite smile devoid of any real emotion.
Xu Yiman looked at Jiang He in front of her, unsure of what kind of person he truly was.
In Jiang He's dictionary, there was no term for reading between the lines or cherishing the delicate. He seemed like an emotionless robot. Xu Yiman had never considered what might have caused Jiang He's personality to be this way, but now she felt a flicker of affection for him.
In a way, Jiang He might be a reflection of herself. Yes, in this world, everyone carries their own unspoken pain, deeply rooted in their hearts. Jiang He felt this way; she felt it too, and perhaps everyone else present did as well.
What stories might be hidden beneath these façades?
Jiang He finally regained his previous calmness and spoke up. "I don't know why I'm the only one like this. I've spent nearly twenty years of my life in hospitals. However, my Great-Aunt once told me something that I've always remembered—and I can't forget it."
He recalled his gambling Great-Aunt, the woman who had lived with him for over twenty years.
Whenever Jiang He thought of his Great-Aunt, based on his experience, ninety percent of people would feel sadness over the death of a loved one and would cry for them. But Jiang He couldn't do that; he didn't understand why he couldn't feel sorrow or joy or any emotions at all.
Jiang He had been like this for twenty years now.
But Jiang He could always remember that gambling-loving Great-Aunt from when he was nine years old.
At nine, Jiang He sat beside his Great-Aunt, who was currently playing poker with a few other ladies. They were playing a game called "Upgraded," and although Jiang He had already memorized all the cards in his mind and estimated that his Great-Aunt had a very high chance of winning, he still watched with great interest.
His Great-Aunt, with her rough hands, patted Jiang He's head while grumbling, "You silly child, why did you play that card? You're just letting them score!"
Jiang He replied, "No matter how you play, your chances of losing are already ninety percent."
His Great-Aunt said seriously, "That's where you're wrong."
Great-Aunt continued:
Life is like playing cards; you never know if the hand you hold is good or bad. Only at the moment your life ends do you suddenly realize that whether the cards are good or bad is secondary.
So what is important?
Jiang He did not understand, and his Great-Aunt never explained it either.
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