The doctor had only ever heard of people desperately wanting to recover their memories, never of someone actively seeking to erase them, so he was somewhat taken aback: "Are you sure you're not talking about recovering memories?"

"I'm sure." Song Hengjue looked directly at him, without a trace of hesitation in his eyes.

"Does your family know about this?" The doctor had just asked the question when he realized he had asked a pointless question. After a moment of silence, he said, "It can't be done through physical means. If you are really concerned about regaining your memory, you can find a psychologist for psychological intervention. Of course, I have friends in this field, and I can introduce you if you need."

"I'll think about it." Song Hengjue glanced at his phone; it was almost time to leave work. He picked up the medical record and headed outside.

"What are you doing at the hospital? Are you feeling unwell?" Yang Qingheng, sitting on the hood of the car, saw him come out of the hospital, straightened up, and went up to him with concern.

Song Hengjue froze, his dark eyes flickering almost imperceptibly. He nodded, "I do have a bit of a headache. I already talked to the doctor. It's a sleep problem. I didn't tell you because you were busy. Sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me about such a serious health problem? Let me see your medical records." Yang Qingheng stretched out one hand.

Song Hengjue's fingertips turned white as he gripped the edge of the medical record, the bluish-purple veins on the back of his hand bulging slightly, and his whole body exuded a tense aura: "Since you don't believe me, why are you asking me? You've been monitoring me all this way, why don't you just ask the doctor directly?"

“You came here without telling me, and you even made an appointment with a psychologist without my knowledge. What makes you think you deserve my trust?” Yang Qingheng looked at him with her clear black and white eyes, her voice gentle. “I’m your fiancée. Don’t I have any right to know about your health condition? Listen to me, let me see you. We can solve problems together, can’t we?”

Song Hengjue was already fed up with that coaxing tone: "What bullshit fiancée? Yang Qingheng, ask yourself honestly, do you really want to marry me? If I were standing in front of you at seventeen, with a seventeen-year-old body and a seventeen-year-old soul, would you still accept my proposal?"

"What nonsense are you spouting? You two are the same person." Yang Qingheng couldn't believe it. He had only lost his memory, not developed a split personality or other personalities. How could there be a "me" and a "him"?

"You don't understand anything!" Song Hengjue retorted. He had no memory of her, hadn't experienced anything with that Song Hengjue, so how could they be the same person? His eyes were dry, but he stared intently into her eyes, very seriously. "What if I never regain my memories in this lifetime? Would you say you love me? Love me the way you loved him?"

Yang Qingheng wanted to say "I love you," but looking at the man's youthful yet stubborn expression, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Perhaps he is right. Her feelings for Song Hengjue were never pure. She liked him partly out of affection and partly out of gratitude for his unwavering devotion to her in their past life. The person in front of her clearly hadn't gone through all those years with her, so how could she love him?

More accurately, it's a case of loving the house because of its owner.

For the first time, Yang Qingheng realized that Song Hengjue after losing his memory was different from Song Hengjue who had lived two lives. At least, the man in front of her was so sensitive to emotions that it made her feel guilty, and she was speechless for a moment.

"See, you don't like me at all." Song Hengjue looked at her silent appearance, his heart felt like it had been stabbed, and he clenched in pain.

Even though the outcome couldn't be changed, why did he have to ask that question in the first place?