In the eyes of outsiders, Yin Feng's life had been smooth sailing and enviable. Born into a wealthy family with business-owning parents, he attended private elite schools from childhood; he excelled academically at every stage, consistently standing out as a top achiever and influential figure among his peers; and with little effort, he gained admission to Peking University, emerging as a rising star in the field of psychology.
Moreover, he was handsome, kind-hearted, upright, strategic, and socially adept. He used his income to support numerous underprivileged children; he deeply cared about his readers' feelings, once braving harsh weather to attend a book signing and catching a cold, and even traveling a long distance to play the piano solely for a disabled reader; his company thrived with substantial profits, thanks to his decisiveness, vision, and leadership skills... In short, to those unfamiliar with Yin Feng, he seemed almost the epitome of a perfect man.
Only those close to him—such as his late parents, Chen Feng, and Su Ziyi, a few trusted confidants who had followed him for years—knew he was not the person outsiders perceived him to be.
In reality, he had a peculiar temperament and unpredictable preferences. One never knew which remark might anger him or what unrelated topic could win his favor. He disliked scallions, loathed yogurt, hated Wednesdays, and loved Saturdays. He detested the color white and favored black. Once he made a decision, even if proven wrong, he would stubbornly stick to it—unless others remained unaware; if they noticed, he would insist on it all the more.
Yet, when he focused on a task, he became intensely dedicated. He could seclude himself in a remote villa, relying only on provisions of food and water, and shut himself away for six months to write a new book; he could also become so engrossed in a book of interest that he would go 24 hours without eating, drinking, or sleeping, utterly captivated. There was once a girlfriend who, while he was immersed in a new work by an American psychology expert, showed up at his home dressed to the nines, acting coquettishly. He responded with a cold smirk—or rather, a hollow smile—without losing his temper, coaxing her into bed and undressing. Just as she thought she had finally won him over, he left her cold and neglected for hours. In the end, as she dressed, she learned he had already flown elsewhere for seclusion.
As for romantic relationships, he had only truly been involved with two women. The rest were either rumors or products of his whimsical teasing and mockery. Being a cultured man, his sarcasm toward certain women intent on seducing him could be so refined that they might not grasp it. For instance, one woman once wore a light pink dress and deliberately fell into his arms, her shoulder strap slipping just enough to reveal half of her bosom—since rumors circulated that Yin Feng favored ample cleavage. He helped her up, smiled faintly, and said, "You remind me of a pink Aristolochia." Flustered with excitement, despite Teacher Yin making no further moves, his smiling gaze convinced her he was interested. She even boasted about it afterward, adding another romantic anecdote to his reputation.
Some days later, the woman happened to search online and discovered that the Aristolochia flower resembles a pig's liver.
...As a mature, outstanding, and wealthy man, Yin Feng had physical needs to address and enjoyed having a woman by his side who understood his warmth and coldness, offering intimate companionship. Since his work involved no constraints and his company was entirely under his control, he had long grown accustomed to dominating every aspect of his life. This was especially true when it came to women—since the goal was his own pleasure, he naturally chose one who suited his preferences.
He favored women who were petite, fair-skinned, docile, and even a bit delicate. It didn’t matter if they coveted his wealth or admired his physique and appearance. Shouldn’t women naturally depend on a man’s abilities and stature? Besides, he had no intention of committing long-term anyway. It was all about amusement and satisfaction.
As for when and with whom he might spend his entire life, he never dwelled on the question. It felt like an elusive void—thinking about it would only strip away his sense of control. So he restrained himself, refusing to harbor any expectations or assumptions about it.
This major upheaval, however, was entirely beyond Yin Feng’s expectations. After waking up, he had only managed a brief exchange with Chen Feng, learning that his injury and cognitive impairment had occurred a year ago, but he still had no recollection of the year preceding that. He had told the truth to You Mingxu—somehow, when this woman who had just appeared questioned him, he instinctively spoke honestly. The last clear memory in his mind was indeed from a year and a half ago, after attending a press conference and falling asleep in the car on his way home due to exhaustion.
When he woke again, he found himself here, in this hospital room. As a psychology professional, he understood that the human brain was the most complex, precise, and enigmatic organ. Even the most skilled neurologist would struggle to explain why he had lost precisely that period of memory. If forced to speculate, he could conclude that both physiological and psychological factors were plausible.
Physiologically, a head injury might have damaged a specific area of his brain responsible for memory. Psychologically, perhaps something had happened during that year and a half that he was utterly unwilling or unable to face, prompting his subconscious to conceal those memories upon awakening, leaving him only with the version of himself from before the incident.
…
Hah, pretending to be completely unharmed?
The thought struck Yin Feng as deeply ironic—a mockery of himself. Yet, for thirty years, he had always lived by his own whims. If his subconscious resisted awakening, he wouldn’t force it. That included all the foolishness during his period of cognitive decline, as briefly summarized by Chen Feng—whether he had acted foolishly or rolled around chasing after women, it was all in the past.
Now that he was awake, he would live according to his true nature. He was Yin Feng, after all.
…
Thus, after a brief surge of intense pleasure, at the brink of being swept away by physical and emotional impulses, You Mingxu’s icy, restrained words jolted Yin Feng back to reality.
He looked down at the woman pinned beneath him—unyielding in spirit, her body stirred by passion, yet her eyes holding a trace of sorrow. He realized that she wasn’t kissing him, but the 10-year-old version of himself from the past year.This realization gave Yin Feng a very strange feeling. There was the displeasure of being looked down upon by this woman in his current state, and also a discomfort from having his private self glimpsed by someone. More importantly, reason quickly returned. With the situation unclear, provoking this woman who appeared deeply devoted yet domineering and unyielding was clearly not a wise choice. He no longer remembered their past—should he really let this woman lead him around by the nose?
So he smiled, rolled off her, and lay back on the bed. Since it was his bed, he naturally had no intention of giving it up. He sprawled out unabashedly, pulling a corner of the quilt over his waist to hide the physical reaction she must not see. He said, "No."
You Mingxu immediately sat up and jumped off the bed. She had never experienced anything like this before—a man kissing and holding her, then tossing her aside cleanly and decisively, only to tell her he felt nothing at all. And this was the same man who had once found even a single strand of her hair fragrant. A stifling feeling spread silently in her heart, and her face burned with humiliation. Yet she refused to give up—how could she possibly abandon You Yingjun so easily?
She turned abruptly to glare at him and said, "You stay put. Whether you remember or not, Yin Feng, you still owe me. I’m not someone you can summon and dismiss as you please."
She stared into his eyes, hoping to catch even the slightest trace of the You Yingjun she once knew. But Yin Feng’s gaze was indifferent, almost careless. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned his head away.
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