The sports field at 10:30 p.m. was quiet and desolate, a stark contrast to the brightly lit dormitory building up ahead.
Caught up in their conversation, the group had already put exams out of their minds. Taking advantage of the sparse crowd, they began talking endlessly about Bo Jin, their loud voices echoing across the empty field.
“Hey, do you think he really has hyperthymesia? Could just be a rumor, right?”
“No way. Someone came forward to confirm it. Plus, I remember there was a post on the forum once praising him—said he looked at the grade sheet just once and could remember every classmate’s score in each subject. I thought it was weird at the time, but now it makes sense.”
“D*mn! Is he really that good? Can he remember everything?”
“What do you think?”
…
As they walked and talked, they gradually distanced themselves from Xie Ruan and Bo Jin. In the end, only faint exclamations reached their ears.
Xie Ruan stood rooted to the spot, as if struck by lightning.
Thanks to the internet, he knew exactly what hyperthymesia was—
The ability to remember everything that’s ever happened around you, down to every detail, and never forget it.
When he was younger, he too envied such an ability, thinking it was powerful and cool. But after watching a documentary on hyperthymesia, that childish thought vanished.
It was simple: losing the ability to forget was truly terrifying.
No past, only the present. With the brain constantly burdened by vast and overwhelming memories, one might gradually lose the distinction between reality and illusion.
Besides, who reaches adulthood without experiencing pain?
It could be the loss of loved ones, heartbreak, betrayal, or even severe physical trauma. For most people, time is the best medicine. Given enough time, even the greatest suffering fades, gradually submerged in the river of memory.
But for those with hyperthymesia, no matter how much time passes, everything remains as vivid as if it happened yesterday. The unbearable pain repeats every single day, three hundred sixty-five days a year. Even the strongest person would be crushed.
Xie Ruan remembered the ending of two cases mentioned in the documentary.
One succumbed to the combined mental and psychological pressures and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. The other, more resolute, chose suicide.
Xie Ruan could hardly imagine what it would be like if Bo Jin truly had hyperthymesia.
His life had already been rough enough.
Abandoned by his biological parents, then abused and returned by his adoptive parents. He had once been immensely grateful that these events happened when he was young, so he didn’t remember them.
But now…
Xie Ruan’s eyes suddenly reddened.
“Why aren’t you moving?” Bo Jin, as if oblivious to the others’ conversation, swung their linked hands, teasing, “Planning to camp on the field tonight?” He pinched Xie Ruan’s cheek, chuckling, “What wild plans do you have under the stars and sky?”
Xie Ruan opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but tears fell first.
Bo Jin knew Xie Ruan, and Xie Ruan knew Bo Jin just as well.
If it weren’t true, he would’ve scoffed already. His silence spoke volumes—the others had been right.
Xie Ruan didn’t know how this news spread, why everyone knew except him. He didn’t have time to think; he was just struggling to breathe.
How could something like this happen? Why?
He’d rather Bo Jin be terrible at academics, failing every subject, than have him achieve such high scores at this price.
“And who is this crybaby?” Bo Jin raised his hand to wipe away Xie Ruan’s tears, glancing around the empty field with a grin. “Why are you crying like a kitten?”
The more nonchalant he was, the more Xie Ruan felt his heart ache.
“You…” Xie Ruan’s voice trembled as he looked away, swallowing down his sobs. “Is it true, what they said?”
Bo Jin didn’t say anything, just remained quietly silent.
“Bo Jin!”
It was as if Bo Jin hadn’t heard, as he kept holding onto Xie Ruan and walking forward. “Let’s go back; the dorm is about to close.”
Xie Ruan broke free from his hand, stubbornly refusing to move until he got an answer. “Answer me first.”
“You’re counting on me being helpless with you, aren’t you?” Bo Jin ignored his question, looked around at the quiet surroundings, then bent down slightly. “Get on. I’ll carry you.”
“Bo Jin,” Xie Ruan grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him up. “Don’t do this—”
Before he could finish, Bo Jin interrupted, “Xie Ruan.”
Bo Jin’s voice was as soft as it could be, like a feather drifting with the breeze at the horizon, but also as heavy as a thousand-pound stone pressing down on his heart. “Get on.”
The night wind blew, lifting the loose school uniform on Bo Jin’s body to the side.
Xie Ruan could see his broad back and the bent waist, silent and determined.
A wave of tightness almost suffocated Xie Ruan. He pressed his chest, thinking about Bo Jin’s rare evasiveness, but eventually, he walked over slowly and laid down against his back.
They had reached the middle of the sports field, with only a short distance left to the dorm. A path that would normally take two minutes, but Bo Jin took nearly ten.
Neither of them spoke the entire way.
A faint, familiar scent reached Xie Ruan’s nose; it was the new laundry detergent Bo Jin had started using, the one they had picked out together at the supermarket downstairs over the break. Xie Ruan’s nose tingled, and he buried his face deep into the nook of Bo Jin’s neck.
“Oh, Little Bo, what’s going on?” The astonished voice of the dorm supervisor rang in his ears. “Are you sick? You look pretty serious. Should I write you a slip for the hospital?”
“No need, it’s nothing serious.” Bo Jin’s tone was the same as usual, even with a hint of a smile. “A night’s rest will do the trick.”
“Really? Don’t be shy. This lingering spring chill has taken down quite a few people lately.”
“You think I’d be shy with you?”
“Hahaha, fair enough! Hurry on up.”
“Will do.”
Step by step up the stairs, more people greeted him. Some were from his own class, some from others who knew him well.
Bo Jin responded calmly and politely. If it weren’t for the lingering bitterness in his nose, Xie Ruan might have thought that everything on the sports field was just a strange dream.
That once he woke up, everything would return to normal, with no hyperthymesia, no reality they both didn’t want to face.
Until the sound of a lock turning reached his ears.
The warmth of the room washed over them, and Xie Ruan, his mind slow to process, realized he needed to get down from Bo Jin’s back. But before he could move, he felt a sudden jolt, and in the next second, Bo Jin had him pinned firmly against the door.
“You—”
The rest of his words were swallowed up by Bo Jin’s overwhelming kiss.
Bo Jin gripped Xie Ruan’s waist tightly, pulling him close with fierce intensity, as if there were no tomorrow, as if he wanted to devour him whole and make him a part of himself.
By the end, Xie Ruan’s legs had gone weak, and he had to clutch Bo Jin’s arm tightly to barely hold himself up.
As the kiss ended, the room filled with the sound of their heavy breathing.
Bo Jin held Xie Ruan close, kissed his cheek and ear, his voice low and hoarse: “It’s all fake.”
Xie Ruan froze, then looked up sharply.
What’s fake? The hyperthymesia?
Seeing his bright, questioning eyes, Bo Jin found himself unable to continue. He opened his mouth, paused, and finally gave up.
He had a hundred ways to deceive Xie Ruan, but walls have ears, and lies always get exposed eventually. What would happen then?
Would Xie Ruan hate him? Would he remember their time together with fear and trepidation?
Forget it.
Bo Jin closed his eyes in resignation. Xie Ruan deserved to know the truth.
“I lied to you,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s just like they said. I have hyperthymesia—I remember everything from the time I was one.”
From one year old, since he was adopted by the Shen family.
The final snowflake fell at last.
Xie Ruan leaned back against the door in despair, no longer clinging to any hope.
“It’s kind of scary, isn’t it?” Seeing Xie Ruan’s reaction, Bo Jin stepped back two paces like a gentleman, giving him enough space to breathe and preserving his own last shred of dignity. “It really is terrifying.”
“I remember the first time I saw you—it was in the third-floor hallway.” As if breaking through his last internal barrier, Bo Jin finally let down his guard, showing his complete self to Xie Ruan.
“It was December 8th, two years ago, after the first period of evening study. You were wearing a white hoodie, with the left drawstring shorter than the right. Your school jacket was draped over your arm, and your face was a bit red from the cold. You were holding a book with a blue cover and a white band; I couldn’t see the title, but it was published by Shen City Press.”
“The second time…” He swallowed, continuing, “was three days later, during the lunch break. You were wearing red basketball shoes, and you walked out of the supermarket with Song Xinghe, holding a Double Shot coffee. The lace on your left shoe came untied, and you only stopped to fix it after you found a ledge to rest your foot on.”
So, they had met that early? Yet he had no memory of it.
The first time he truly remembered meeting Bo Jin was on the rooftop.
Xie Ruan felt a mix of emotions. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s normal.” Bo Jin sat down on the bed, reaching into his pocket for his lighter. His fingers trembled, and it took him three tries to pull it out.
The cold metal pressed into his palm, bringing a slight, grounding pain. “I’m the one who’s not normal.”
He looked over at Xie Ruan.
The light above cast a warm glow, illuminating the room and making Xie Ruan completely visible before him.
Eighteen, with a lingering trace of boyhood on him. His skin pale, nose high and straight, the corners of his eyes faintly red, delicate with a hint of vulnerability—a beauty that tugged at the heart.
No one could see him and not be moved.
Until tonight, he had been like the moon in Bo Jin’s palm. He could admire him from afar or hold him close, as he pleased.
But after tonight…
Bo Jin’s face remained calm, though his voice grew faintly hoarse. “I remember everything,” he told Xie Ruan. “Every time I saw you, every detail of our time together, your clothes, your shoes, every day you were happy or upset…”
His jaw tightened. He paused before adding, “Even the expressions on your face, the smallest gestures—I remember it all.”
Unconsciously, Xie Ruan tidied his hair.
That little gesture was like a switch, shutting down the last glimmer of hope in Bo Jin’s heart.
He had seen it too many times—directors, familiar aunts and uncles who, while facing him, would unconsciously smooth their hair or straighten their clothes, then find an excuse to leave.
He didn’t want Xie Ruan to be the same, and he didn’t want to watch him walk away.
Bo Jin closed his eyes briefly and spoke first. “Go back. Take some time to think. I was wrong to hide this from you,” he tried to joke, “though I almost managed to keep it under wraps.”
But Xie Ruan didn’t laugh.
Bo Jin leaned against the bed railing, as if all his usual confidence and pride had been taken away in an instant. “Xie Ruan,” he said quietly, “Go.”
After a brief pause, he added softly, “When you leave, could you turn off the light?”