I looked around to make sure I didn't find any cameras or anything like that, then quietly walked to the door. After confirming that there was no movement outside, I began searching the room for anything that might be related to me.
I went to the bedside table first. I think the bedside table is the best place to understand a person. I opened the bedside table on the left side of the bed. It was empty except for a box of tissues. The bottom shelf was empty. I couldn't help but frown and quickly moved to the other side. It was also empty, but there was still a faint smell of medicine. This drawer looked like it had been used to store medicine for a long time. Even if I took them all away, I couldn't get rid of the smell of medicine that had accumulated over the years.
If I had actually lived here, I would definitely have kept my most frequently used and favorite items in the bedside table, but now I can't find anything.
I turned around and looked around. Apart from the bed and bedside table, there was nothing else in the room. I looked towards the walk-in closet. The walk-in closet was square. Except for the left, front and right sides where you enter, the closet was filled with clothes. In the middle was a cabinet with shoes below and accessories above.
I walked to the leftmost wardrobe and slid open the glass door. Most of the clothes inside were dresses and trousers in macaron colors like white, light pink, and light purple. Judging from the length, they didn't seem to be for adults. I took out a dress and held it up to my thighs. The dress was just up to my upper thighs. It definitely wasn't an adult's dress; it looked more like a dress for a ten-year-old child.
I looked at several clothes and skirts one by one, and the sizes were all similar to the one I had just compared. If this is really my room, why are there so many children's things, and why is the decor and furniture set for a girl's room?
I walked to the wardrobe directly in front of me. One side of it was half glass doors and half pure white doors. I opened the pure white door and there were several bags inside. Judging from the style, they were all children's cartoon bags. One of them was a pink bag with Cardcaptor Sakura printed on it. Further to the side was a glass door, which I didn't open. From the outside, I could see several classic bags from some of the more popular luxury brands in recent years.
From here on, everything becomes adult-sized. The wardrobe on the right is full of clothes that look like they would fit me perfectly, including skirts, pants, and coats.
I turned around and looked at the children's clothes on the other side more carefully. After observing them for a while, I found that the styles of those children's clothes seemed to be popular more than ten years ago. Could these be clothes from when I was a child? But why are there no clothes from the last ten years?
I walked out of the dressing room with doubts. Next door was a study, with more than ten paintings hanging on the walls, of various sizes, but the style of the paintings looked like that of an elementary school student.
I walked to the desk, where there was a light purple notebook with a combination lock, but it had obviously been opened before. The paper looked old and had yellowed.
I opened the first page, which read: Su Yi's Secret Garden, No Entry Without Permission. I couldn't help but smile wryly. I opened the second page, which read: September 13, 2005, Sunny.
I glanced at the contents and it was a diary. The diary entry read:
This is Su Yi's first diary entry. Actually, I had written diaries before, but those were all for my teachers to see. This one is my real diary.
What should I write? This is my fourth month of rehabilitation. It's been tough, but my parents are so happy to see even the slightest progress I make. My brother is happy too. Their happiness makes me happy. I don't want to let them down. I'm going to work hard to get better. My brother promised to take me to the beach when I'm all better.
I love going to the beach. I can play in the sand and chase the waves. I run really fast, and the waves can never catch me...
I flipped through a few more pages:
The weather was cloudy on November 4, 2005.
Although my parents didn't want to tell me anything, I knew my illness was getting worse. I was slowly starting to lose my ability to walk properly, and I would fall after only a few steps. My arms and face were bruised and scraped. My brother held me and cried for a long time, blaming himself for not watching over me properly. My father was also very angry.
I hope I get better soon so that my parents can be happy and my brother won't cry anymore.
Heavy snow on January 20, 2006
There's a thick layer of snow outside, and I really want to go out and build a snowman. Before I knew it, I'd been sitting in a wheelchair for over two months. I know my hands will soon lose all feeling, and I can already feel them stiffening.
I may never get better...
It rained on March 2nd, 2006.
Many people came to our house today. Several young men were explaining their research to my dad on a projector screen. They seemed very impressive. They even mentioned me, but I couldn't hear them very clearly from the upstairs hallway. I only vaguely heard my mom crying.
March 24, 2006, cloudy
This might be the last time I write in my diary. They put an oxygen tube in my nose and many tubes in my body. I can't speak anymore. My mother has lost a lot of weight, and my father sat in a wheelchair to comfort me.
My parents said they've found a way to keep me happy, but why don't they seem very happy?
March 26, 2006
My parents took me to a strange place. Everything was white—the walls were white, the bed was white, and my clothes were white. I didn't like it; it made me feel cold and cold. My brother bought me a pink rabbit, but they wouldn't let me bring it in. I was very sad, wondering if they would throw the rabbit away.
The man who brought me in looked fierce, but he always had a smile on his face. I had seen him at home before; he was the young man who came to my house to give a lecture to my father. I guessed that my father had given them money to start a company, and I was their test subject.
The last entry had no date, but it boldly stated: "Mom and Dad, I don't want to leave you, I don't want to forget you, I want to stay with you forever!"
The handwriting was very messy, and each stroke of the character seemed to have been written under very difficult circumstances, with great force, so much so that the marks could be seen on the later pages.
I think I roughly know what happened. Perhaps I am the protagonist of this diary. I am sick, with an incurable disease. As my condition worsens, I will become unable to speak or move. Coincidentally, a group of young people have developed a product that can implant a person's consciousness into the system and start a completely new life within it.
But this was completely different from what I had experienced. The fear of being controlled by the system was still vivid in my mind. I decided to tell my parents the truth and see if they knew about it.
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