Memory inheritor

Chapter 1 Old Works

At eight o'clock in the morning, Wei Hongsi woke up to the sound of his phone alarm. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a line of green-glowing text floating in front of him.

Strive to become someone who contributes to human society!

The text lingered in the center of his field of vision for ten seconds before quickly fading and disappearing.

Wei Hongsi acted as if nothing had happened, reached for his phone to turn off the alarm, sat up, stretched, and then went to the bathroom to take a shower.

He had seen that scene for over seven years, reliving it every time he woke up, and it had long been commonplace to him.

When he first saw that ghostly text, he was a senior in high school, seventeen or eighteen years old. He thought it was his "system" coming online and was very excited and looking forward to it.

For this, he has done volunteer work, swept floors in nursing homes, donated money to welfare homes, and even helped elderly people who have fallen down many times.

However, after trying for more than a year and doing many things that he considered to be contributions to human society, the ghostly script did not change at all, and he did not find any signs that could prove the existence of the "system".

This made him start to doubt whether he was using the wrong system or if it wasn't the so-called "system" at all.

Reasonable skepticism often makes people more rational. And as his university studies progressed, his way of thinking became increasingly rational.

He went to the hospital for multiple checkups, but no abnormalities were found.

If physiological causes have been ruled out, then it is most likely a psychological reason.

Actually, he already had a basic understanding of his condition when he went for a check-up at the hospital, but he was just unwilling to accept it.

The so-called "ghostly writing" is actually a kind of hallucination, and complex visual hallucinations in a person's conscious state are a typical symptom of schizophrenia.

Fortunately, the illness is not serious and does not affect studies or daily life at all.

……

……

After washing up and changing his clothes, Wei Hongsi left his residence to go to work.

It was June, just the beginning of midsummer, and the morning temperature was quite pleasant, perfect for a walk.

Wei Hongsi walked along the road for a few minutes and then turned into an alleyway on the side of the road.

A dozen meters from the alley entrance, there are several small breakfast shops, one of which serves egg pancakes and spicy soup that he really likes. Although it may not be the healthiest option, it is indeed very delicious, and he comes here once or twice a week.

As usual, he sat at a small table at the shop entrance and enjoyed his breakfast.

He had only taken a few bites when a man sat down opposite him: "Young man, I know you."

The man was about thirty-six or thirty-seven years old, with a square face, wearing a dark green crew neck T-shirt and a light gray fisherman's hat.

Wei Hongsi swallowed the food in his mouth and said with some helplessness, "Uncle, what are you doing here?"

"I saw you walk into the alley." A wise smile appeared on the man's face.

"Your eyesight is really good."

For personal reasons, Wei Hongsi had done some research on mental illnesses. The smile on this man's face easily reminded him of some cases he had seen.

In the past few days, he has frequently encountered this man on his way to and from get off work. Each time, the man would say some strange things, but thankfully he wouldn't pester him too much. However, he never expected that when he came to have breakfast today, the man would actually follow him.

"You're from Xicheng, nineteen years old, and a sophomore at Yuecheng University, right?"

"I'm almost 24 and I'm already working."

"Your father and I are friends."

"That can't be right, you're only two years older than my brother."

"When you were little, I taught you to play the whistle."

"That's even more impossible. I'm tone-deaf; I can't learn it."

Wei Hongsi responded helplessly. If he didn't do this, the other party would keep repeating themselves endlessly.

Usually, the conversation would end at this point, but unexpectedly, the energetic uncle pulled a metal whistle out of his bag.

"Look, this is it." He said, putting the whistle in his mouth and playing a mournful tune.

Upon hearing the whistle, Wei Hongsi was momentarily stunned, then noticed that people nearby were looking in his direction, seemingly unconvinced by the man's performance.

He quickly reached out and pressed down on the other man's arm to stop him from continuing to play: "Uncle, this is a place to eat breakfast. If you're interested, you can play in the park next door."

"No need, I just played it for you." The energetic old man placed the whistle on the table.

"You haven't had breakfast yet, have you? I'll treat you."

Wei Hongsi waved his hand, signaling the shop owner to bring the same dish he had ordered to the mentally challenged man.

"I know your secret." The middle-aged man tapped his forehead with his finger, a wise and mysterious smile returning to his face.

"Oh? Then tell me about it." Wei Hongsi couldn't help but become a little interested.

"I can't say that you'll refuse to believe it; you need to question it yourself."

"Then it's up to you."

Wei Hongsi didn't feel disappointed at all; chatting with someone with a mental disorder was already quite normal for him.

A new breakfast was served shortly afterward, and the energetic uncle buried himself in eating and drinking, no longer paying attention to anything else.

Wei Hongsi secretly breathed a sigh of relief, quickly finished his breakfast, paid the bill with his phone, and got up to leave.

"Uncle, take your time eating. I'm leaving."

"Wait a minute." The middle-aged man raised his hand, took a book out of his bag, and handed it to Wei Hongsi along with the whistle on the table. "Here you go."

Wei Hongsi hesitated for a moment, but seeing the determined look on the middle-aged man's face, as if he would never be satisfied if he didn't accept it, he took it: "Alright, I'll keep it for you for now."

He put the two items into his chest bag and strode towards the alley entrance. Just before turning the corner, he glanced back and saw the middle-aged man still eating with his head down.

After walking for about ten minutes from the alley entrance, he arrived at the office building where his company was located. He took the elevator to the 16th floor, first went to the tea room to get a cup of water, then sat down at his workstation and turned on his computer.

There were still nearly twenty minutes before the start of the workday, and most of the workstations in the common office area of ​​Department Two were still empty, making it relatively quiet.

Wei Hongsi took out the book the middle-aged man had given him from his chest bag. The book was titled "The Story of Time," and the author was Hua Jianyue; he had never heard of it before.

Upon opening the title page, there was no information about the book; the only information available from the CIP data was that it was a novel published six years ago.

I flipped through it casually and found a folded piece of paper with printed words inside, which looked like it had been cut out of some newspaper or magazine.

Take the paper out, unfold it, and be stunned by what you see inside.

—Selected Essays by Outstanding Elementary School Students

—"Be a Person Who Contributes to Human Society"

—Author: Wei Hongsi (Grade 3, Xicheng Donghu Experimental Primary School)

Wei Hongsi was filled with doubt. The name was certainly his, and he had indeed attended that primary school, but he had absolutely no recollection of this essay.

I glanced at it briefly; the whole text is about three hundred words long, and the writing is very immature, really at the level of an elementary school student.

However, one point is quite interesting: if one cannot support oneself and has to rely on one's parents for a living, then one cannot be said to have made a contribution to society.

Wei Hongsi has reason to suspect that if this essay was indeed written by himself, it must have been influenced by his mother.

His mother was a middle school Chinese teacher, but she's retired now. Perhaps you could ask her about this.

But why would that strange man have this elementary school student's essay from over a decade ago? Does he really know me?