Qiyue stared at the system prompt, feeling as though his childhood memories were a ball of yarn that a cat had shredded—they should have been a single, continuous strand, yet now they were full of knots he couldn't untangle.
"Ward 307?" He rubbed his temples. "I only remember getting a painful shot, and then..."
A memory flashed: his five-year-old self lying in a hospital bed, the incandescent lights of the ceiling stinging his eyes, while a strange woman in a white lab coat stood in the corner, arguing in hushed tones with his father.
Chapter 88