Fu Changrong waited until the footsteps faded before cautiously opening his eyes. He curiously surveyed the room, taking in this completely unfamiliar environment, his heart full of trepidation.

Taking advantage of being alone, he carefully sat up from the bed, wanting to go out and look around, but discovered his body was stiff, his feet numb, and he was weak all over—unable to move for the moment.

Moreover, as soon as he moved, the lines attached to his body moved with him.

Seeing the clip on his finger and the connected wires, he didn’t dare move for a long time.

Where was this place?

Was this the underworld, or was he in a dream?

No, this definitely wasn’t a dream. Having never seen such scenes before, how could he dream of them?

And the words they had just spoken didn’t seem like something he could imagine either. Everything in dreams should relate to one’s own knowledge, shouldn’t it?

Fu Changrong gathered some strength and pinched himself—it hurt a lot, but he was still in this white, strange room.

Fu Changrong was extremely amazed. His wonder overcame his fear as he curiously observed everything. Could there truly be something like Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream in this world?

Zhuangzi became a butterfly, while he had become another person, arriving in that person’s world.

Fu Changrong didn’t know what he had touched, but a sharp alarm suddenly sounded, startling him. He quickly tried to get back onto the bed.

But faster than him were the doctors and nurses. They happened to be nearby discussing his condition when they suddenly heard the alarm and immediately rushed in, frightened.

Then they saw Fu Changrong climbing onto the bed, the clip on his finger already fallen off.

The doctors were both surprised and delighted, rushing forward: “Professor Fu, you’re awake! Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

Seeing Fu Changrong looking at them with fear and confusion, the doctor waved his hand in front of his eyes. Seeing him blink, the doctor carefully asked: “Professor Fu, do you still remember your own name?”

Fu Changrong blinked, catching only scattered words, but combining context, he could barely guess what was being asked.

He hesitated, neither nodding nor shaking his head.

He did know his own name, but didn’t know what this body was called.

Hearing them address “him” as Professor, he figured this must be a learned person.

He lowered his eyes to look at his hands—very fair, with some calluses only on the sides of his fingers and fingertips, suggesting frequent use of pens and fine objects.

The skin of the hands looked similar to his own, but the joints were larger, indicating an older age than his, though probably not very old.

Fu Changrong felt somewhat relieved.

But the doctors’ hearts rose to their throats. What was Professor Fu’s condition? Did he know or not? At least make some sound!

Looking at that bewildered expression, he clearly didn’t know.

This was already one bad sign, but he also wasn’t speaking—that made the problem even bigger.

Could the impact have damaged his nerves, or was there injury to the hearing or speech areas of the brain?

The doctor immediately began examining him and ordered many tests using various machines.

Fu Tinghan was helped into a wheelchair and pushed to different rooms for examinations.

He curiously observed the people and things along the way, looking amazed no matter what machine he faced.

The doctors and nurses kept watching his expressions, inwardly screaming: It’s over, it’s over! There seem to be aftereffects of amnesia too. Was this temporary amnesia caused by concussion, or permanent amnesia from brain damage?

He seemed to have forgotten very thoroughly—everything looked novel to him.

The school leadership immediately rushed over.

Although Fu Tinghan was a mathematics professor, he participated in several experimental projects, specifically providing calculations and reference suggestions for laboratories.

His talent extended far beyond mathematics.

If he lost his memory, it would be a loss not only for the school and laboratory, but even for the country.

Although both the school and hospital forbade spreading news of this incident, Zhao Hezhen still heard about it from a colleague who came to visit her.

Unlike Fu Changrong who knew nothing, she could see portions of memories left by this body.

She had some memories from both before and after this body’s eyes were injured.

So although her eyes couldn’t see, she understood this world better than Fu Changrong.

Hearing that Professor Fu, who had his accident at the same time as her, had not only lost his memory but also lost his speech, she knew his soul must be like hers—coming from the gates of Luoyang.

She just didn’t know who it was, friend or foe?

Zhao Hezhen was somewhat worried. If it was an enemy and she probed verbally, he might discover her identity.

She was also worried it might be Erlang. When she fell from her horse, although she had pulled Erlang back into the city, refugees were rioting at the city gate and had already rushed in—she didn’t know if he faced any subsequent danger.

After much deliberation, Zhao Hezhen decided to test him in person.

She had a nurse push her over.

The nurse asked the doctor, who also felt that since they had their accidents at the same time, perhaps talking might help Professor Fu remember things from before, so she pushed Zhao Hezhen over.

Zhao Hezhen couldn’t see, so only when the wheelchair stopped did she know they’d arrived.

The nurse also said: “Teacher Zhao, we’re here.”

She also heard: “Professor Fu, this is Teacher Zhao who had her accident with you. Chat together—it might help your condition.”

She heard no response, but heard another person’s breathing grow heavier.

Zhao Hezhen was slightly surprised in her heart, gently grasped the wheelchair armrest, and said softly to the nurse: “Miss, please go about your business first. I’ll talk with Professor Fu, and I’ll call you when we’re done.”

“Alright, but remember not to wander around. Call me if you need anything.” These past few days this Teacher Zhao had frightened her—despite being blind, she kept trying to go out at every opportunity, falling in the corridor several times. Yesterday she even made it down to the garden and fell while walking up to a pavilion, scaring an elderly gentleman taking a walk so badly he checked out that very day.

As soon as the nurse left, she turned her head toward the only breathing sound in the room.

From Fu Changrong’s perspective, she turned her head to look at him, her expression neither quite smiling nor not.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Zhao Hezhen had already asked the nurse—he hadn’t spoken since waking. And Professor Fu was different from her: she had been blind before the accident, but his faculties were all normal.

Zhao Hezhen had many suspicions. After much thought, she decided to take the risk, saying in Luoyang dialect: “Professor Fu, I heard you don’t remember your own name. Do you remember mine? I’m called Zhao Hanzhang.”

Fu Changrong’s eyes widened.

Zhao Hezhen’s lips curved slightly. Her inability to see was a major disadvantage, preventing her from reading expressions.

However, her hearing was more sensitive than most people’s, and her mind was extremely clear.

She had discovered that even with doors and windows closed, if people whispered in the corridor, she could hear them.

She couldn’t see Professor Fu’s expression, but could hear his breathing quicken and grow heavier.

So, who said blindness was necessarily a disadvantage?

“You’re not Professor Fu.”

“You’re not Teacher Zhao.”

The two spoke almost simultaneously. Hearing each other’s words, they both raised their eyebrows slightly, neither denying it—they were honest.

Zhao Hezhen seized the initiative, asking: “Who are you?”

Fu Changrong was silent for a moment, glanced at her familiar face, then said slowly: “I am of the Fu clan of the Northern Territory, Fu Changrong.”

Zhao Hezhen’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. Grandfather Fu’s grandson?

The one she was negotiating marriage with?

Fu Changrong had escaped back from Chang’an. The journey was fraught with dangers and hardships, losing contact with his family. He didn’t know the two families were arranging a marriage, but he had seen Zhao Hezhen before.

So he asked directly: “Are you Director Zhao’s granddaughter, the third young lady of the Zhao family?”

Zhao Hezhen blurted out: “How do you know?”

Fu Changrong said: “I resemble this person greatly. If nothing unexpected happens, in a few years I should grow to look like him. You also greatly resemble this person. Although the last time I saw you was several years ago, I can still see the resemblance.”

“Moreover, before the accident, I saw you, and also saw your brother and your household servants.”

At that time, he and Fu’an were holding household registration documents trying to enter the city, but were swept forward by the refugees behind them.

A group of reckless youths rode horses out of the city and collided with the refugees, causing an accident in an instant.

He had just recognized two of the youths and saw them startled from their horses, being attacked by some refugees. He wanted to help, but faster than him was a young woman.

She charged out on horseback with her servants, her whip mercilessly striking at those refugees and bandits trying to pull people off their horses.

She beat them back repeatedly. Zhao Erlang, who had nearly fallen from his horse, finally managed to steady himself and get back on his mount.

Only then did the soldiers on the tower and patrol arrive belatedly, trying to drive out the rioting refugees and bandits…

But they had already rushed through the city gate—how could they willingly retreat?

Refugees, disorderly soldiers, bandits, and the city’s soldiers fought. Before he fell, he saw the young woman protecting her brother also fall from her horse. At that time he thought she had it worse than him—in that trampling, her remains would likely be scattered…

He truly hadn’t expected they would meet here.

Fu Changrong looked at her eyes and asked: “You can’t see? But your eyes look perfectly fine.”

Zhao Hezhen reached up to touch her eyes and said: “They say my eyes have undergone several surgeries, but they’re not better because some nerve has a problem that current technology can’t cure.”

Fu Changrong looked sympathetic. This world was so exciting and strange, yet she couldn’t see it—what a pity.

But Zhao Hezhen’s expression was calm as she asked: “What about you? Why aren’t you speaking?”

Fu Changrong: “I couldn’t understand what they were saying before, but now I can understand. I just can’t speak it very well yet. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll give myself away.”

“Eh, you don’t have his memories?”

She had also secretly practiced for two days following the accent in her memories before speaking.

Fu Changrong was utterly amazed: “You have her memories?”