The Drowing Summer

Morning light pierced through the bulletproof glass on the 97th floor of the Li Corporation building, casting geometric patterns on the floor of the consulting room. Xia Xiaoman stared at the distorted reproduction of *The Scream* on the wall, her fingertips unconsciously brushing against the recorder hidden in her cufflink. The metallic scent of blood from last night's storm still clung to her nostrils, mingling with the antiseptic smell in the air, making her temples throb.

"Stick out your tongue."

Li Moting's voice came from behind her, and Xia Xiaoman nearly bit her own finger. The man's tailored suit peeked out from beneath his white coat, and the steel clipboard in his hand held a forged "Dr. Xia" certification—a shoddy fake she had hastily printed at the newspaper office's PS machine in the early hours of the morning. The edges of the certificate were still stained with coffee from the print shop, glaringly obvious under the professional lighting.

Xia Xiaoman's throat tightened. She watched as Li Moting's slender fingers flipped open the medical record, his pen scratching against the paper. His writing posture was peculiar, his wrist hovering mid-air as if he were signing billion-dollar contracts rather than patient notes.

"According to Article 37 of the *Mental Health Law*," Li Moting said without looking up, "forging a medical license carries a maximum sentence of seven years." The tip of his pen suddenly punctured the paper. "But I admire your creativity."

Xia Xiaoman's breath hitched for a second. Her knees trembled slightly beneath her skirt, but she lifted her chin. "Does Mr. Li still stand by his promise from last night?" She deliberately let her voice quiver slightly. "About... the exclusive interview rights?"

Li Moting finally looked up. In the morning light, his irises took on an eerie gray-blue hue, like the sea before a storm. Xia Xiaoman suddenly noticed that his left pupil was slightly larger than his right—a sign of brain damage.

"Every Wednesday and Friday, 23:17." Li Moting pushed aside the medical record, revealing a pre-prepared contract beneath. "Ninety minutes per session, lasting three months." His fingernail tapped against the words "exclusive interview rights." "In exchange, you'll solve my sleep issues."

Just as Xia Xiaoman reached for it, Li Moting pressed his hand down on the contract. "Prove you're worthy of this trust first." He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a set of EEG monitors. "Now."

As the cold electrode patches adhered to her temples, Xia Xiaoman bit down on the soft flesh inside her cheek. She watched Li Moting lean in to adjust the machine, catching a faint whiff of Burmese chili spice from his collar—the exact composition of last night's pepper spray. The discovery made her heart skip a beat.

"Interesting." Li Moting stared at the waveforms flickering across the screen. "Your alpha wave amplitude is 30% higher than average." His thumb suddenly brushed against the scar behind her ear. "This—from the demolition in the Bay District?"

Xia Xiaoman jerked back, the back of her head hitting the chair. She had never told anyone about that rainy night, how the shattered glass had sliced open her skin. Li Moting's gaze cut through her like an X-ray. "Hyperthymesia patients usually exhibit abnormally active temporal lobes."

The consulting room fell dead silent. Xia Xiaoman could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, the recorder in her sleeve silently spinning. She suddenly realized the room's climate control was precisely set to 19.4°C—the exact temperature of a refrigerated truck.

"Sign." Li Moting finally broke the silence, sliding the contract toward her. "Appendix B requires a blood sample."

Xia Xiaoman's fingers hovered over the paper. Clause 13, written in minuscule font, stated: "Party B must unconditionally accept any medication provided by Party A." Her eyes drifted downward, where ink smudges revealed faint traces of old text brought to light by chemical reagents: "*Memory Transplant Experiment Consent Form*."

"Any problems?" Li Moting's voice came from above her. He stood behind her, hands braced against the back of the chair, caging her in.

Xia Xiaoman swallowed hard. The moment she signed her name, she felt Li Moting's breath brush against the top of her head. From this angle, she could just make out the half-open bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet—where several glass specimen jars were locked away. One of the labels read "*Xia Mingyuan*," followed by birth and death dates she knew all too well.

Her father's name.

"First treatment begins tonight." Li Moting took the contract, casually blocking the cabinet. "Don't forget to bring fresh pepper spray." The corner of his lips curled into a humorless smile. "That old shop in Yangon's night market—you know the one."

As Xia Xiaoman left, the consulting room's surveillance feed showed Li Moting illuminating the pen she had just used with a UV light. Under the glow, another line of text appeared in the blank spaces of the contract:

**[Subject No.: MN-07 | Memory Carrier Compatibility: 92%]**

Meanwhile, inside the elevator, Xia Xiaoman replayed the recorder's audio—the barely audible mutterings of Li Moting, buried beneath background noise:

*"...the concrete at the docks back then..."*