Summary
When I woke up, the doctor told me I had forgotten three years of my life. But I remembered one thing. I hated Zhou Yinghuai. In the hospital room, the caregiver peeling an apple paused for a moment. I asked him, “Do you know Zhou Yinghuai?” He handed me the apple, his tone perfectly calm. “I do.” “What kind of person is he?” He looked at me and gave an ugly sort of smile. “A real bastard.” Only later did I find out. He was Zhou Yinghuai.