But the Monkey King seemed to react even more strongly than him.
What kind of method is this? I was dumbfounded and had no idea what the bottom line was.
The Monkey King was dumbfounded? That was a scene that only appeared in dreams, the kind of dream that only happened once a year.
He walked over as if he couldn't believe it and pinched George's cheek.
What are you going to do?
After holding it in for a long time, George blurted out this sentence.
The Monkey King raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then, he relaxed his face and asked naturally:
"George, you're back?"
"What is this guy talking about?" George wondered.
The Monkey King caught sight of the book in George's hand, and his eyes lit up. "Isn't this the book you gave me? I clearly took it with me, how did it end up here?"
George suddenly realized that this scene of the Monkey King losing his logic and personality and being out of character was truly a dream, and definitely a nightmare. Why couldn't he understand a word the Monkey King was saying? Had this guy just returned from outer space and his brain structure changed?
"Tang, calm down."
George lowered his voice, using his most authoritative tone to calm the Monkey King's inexplicably surging emotions. "Listen to me, whether I'm dreaming or not, I have to tell you: the reality is that you've been missing for four years since you fell into the Mimir Spring, and we're all waiting for you to come back."
"Therefore, it's not me who's coming back, it's you."
The Monkey King frowned and slowly lowered his hand that was pinching George's face.
Soon, the corners of his eyes seemed to relax, revealing a genuine ease that came from remembering something. "Sorry, I've been through some things and I'm still a bit disoriented."
"Welcome back." George, though unaware of the situation, still extended his hand in greeting.
The Monkey King smiled softly, a sense of relief welling up within him. He took his hand. "Yes, I'm back."
He stared intently into George's eyes, hidden in the shadows, for a long time without looking away.
"haven't seen you for a long time."
George punched him expressionlessly. "You brat, if you've had your fill, go tell the others."
The Monkey King chuckled and rubbed his shoulder in agreement, but as he turned to leave, he suddenly stopped. He sensed something subtly amiss.
It seems that not long ago, someone else made a similar joke to me?
Once the initial memories surge like a tide to where they belong, everything else is quickly blurred under the wash. Whether it's faces that went from strangers to acquaintances, or a street that no number 44 is ever-receding into the distance, they are all swept away the moment the sand is stirred up from the bottom of the ocean of memory.
If one is lucky, one may still retain some fragments of light, like shards of a seashell.
One night, the aroma of coffee seemed to linger among the three of them.
"What’s wrong with you?"
George asked a question from behind him.
Did I ever tell anyone that I had lost something?
What is it?
"It's nothing." He shook his head after snapping out of his daze. "George, can I borrow your phone for a moment?"
"Oh." A metal object with a silver casing was handed over.
His friend's familiar movements seemed to slow down in his eyes. As the phone was handed to him inch by inch, something dormant was awakened.
He remembered.
There wasn't time to grab the phone. The Monkey King quickly crouched down and opened the book that had fallen to the ground. The simple, lightweight cover and the abstract illustrations on it all hinted at the style of its contents. He flipped through the illustrations one by one.
It wasn't this one, but it definitely existed. He remembered it very clearly.
Ah, found it.
The page preceding the final chapter features a detailed illustration that fills the entire page.
There are two people in the illustration.
The young man gently stroked the girl's slightly disheveled long black hair, his expression tender, while the girl wore a reproachful look. They sat in a quiet little garden where gardenias bloomed, the sunlight as fragrant and warm as the flowers, possessing a heart-melting brightness. On the stone table before them sat a cup of coffee, now cold, its color a deep, unassuming shade.
It's a latte.
His hand touched the picture.
If you look closely, you'll notice that the boy's body is slightly transparent, and you can vaguely see the lush greenery behind him.
The book consistently describes a dry, cold winter environment, so this early summer scene in front of us isn't real, is it?
Was that a girl's dream? She dreamt that at three in the morning, the boy who was supposed to leave forever returned.
Su Yue dreamt that Lian Sheng had returned.
He chewed over those two names in his heart.
They truly existed. Not just cold, printed words on thin pages; they were living people.
He talked to them and even argued with them.
He still remembered that Su Yue loved to drink lattes, and Lian Sheng had a very gentle smile.
He remembered everything.
Two memories coexist, flowing in the depths of the heart and converging into a gentle yet immense warmth.
George really gave me a wonderful gift.
He hugged the book tightly, feeling a warmth like sunshine spreading to his fingertips, tracing intricate patterns like rose vines, and gently penetrating his heart. Then, it blossomed into pure white, gentle flowers, each petal holding a precious memory like a faded photograph at its center.
At this moment, he really wanted to cry.
Thank you for helping me return to my world, even at the cost of repeating such a cruel ending. Thank you.
He recalled Lian Sheng's seemingly nonchalant question: "Why isn't there a number 44 on this street?"
"The homonym is unlucky."
“But this is clearly not China.” He smiled, his eyes narrowed.
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