Chapter 621

Then, he realized he was like a discarded puppet, leaning against the cold wall, sitting on the hard floor.

Why am I here? Hiss—

A sharp pain surged from all over his body, rushing straight to his brain.

That feeling was very uncomfortable, as if every bone had been smashed and ground, every inch of muscle had been finely minced, and his internal organs had been hammered by a wooden mallet.

Adam suspected he had been drinking, which was why he forgot what he had done before, and why he was in so much pain.

Under the pain, his right hand clenched into a fist until his knuckles ached from excessive force, and then he slowly let go.

Adam took a breath, feeling a bit lost; he didn't remember drinking, and there was no smell of alcohol on him.

But no matter what the situation was, sitting on the floor like this definitely wouldn't work; he should go home to rest, take a warm bath...

Thinking this, Adam supported the floor with his left hand to stand up, but then an strange feeling came, and his heart sank—two fingers had lost sensation.

Perhaps the situation was worse, but Adam didn't want to think about it in detail.

For a violinist, losing sensation in two fingers meant he might not be able to perform on stage for a short time and needed treatment.

If he lost two fingers...

Adam actually had the answer in his heart, but he didn't want to accept such a reality; before seeing it with his own eyes, he hoped it was just an illusion, a misjudgment of his body.

He slowly lowered his head, his eyes turning bit by bit, approaching the hand that was trembling constantly due to pain.

The next moment, his pupils shook.

He saw the stumps that used to be two fingers, poking baldly on his palm, the other parts nowhere to be found.

"Ah! Ah—ah—"

"My hand!"

He held them, curled his body forward, knelt on the ground, knocked his head against the ground, and cried out in despair.

The screaming echoed in the building for a long time, with no response.

I don't know how long it took, but Adam finally accepted the status quo, realizing that no matter how much he cried, he couldn't twist reality and bring back the two lost fingers.

He slowly sat back; his situation was already not good, his whole body hurt, and after such emotional fluctuation, fatigue surged like a tide, trying to submerge his mouth and nose, making him suffocate.

Why did this happen? Adam asked himself.

He had stayed away from disputes all his life and never made enemies; logically speaking, no one should have such great malice toward him to destroy his future career in this way.

Jealousy?

That shouldn't be it either.

He was not far from old age; would anyone be jealous of an old guy over fifty?

Right, where is my violin?

After a while, Adam raised his right hand, supported his forehead, and began to scrape for any clues in his skull.

The last scene he could remember was him passionately performing Shostakovich's work.

That performance was quite wonderful, without any stuttering, the violin sound had no mistakes, and the audience below was fascinated by the orchestra's performance.

Everything was perfect until the moment memory suddenly broke, and the subsequent memory became a blank.

Only the unfinished movement fragment played back repeatedly in his mind, as if stuck in a loop, like an earworm that couldn't be driven away.

He couldn't escape from it.

He felt like a repeating tape player.

The later memories, no matter how he thought, how hard he tried, how he attempted, showed no signs of loosening.

It was as if someone had specifically selected them and then cut them out.

Damn it...

Adam took a deep breath, trying to adjust his posture, but his left hand still didn't listen; he could only wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes with the hand that was still intact.

His current state had nothing to do with "high-class," but was very similar to the trash on the street—his shirt was gone, and his arms and chest were stained with gray stains.

And, he could no longer perform.

Just like that, Adam curled up in place, immersed in small, frustrated, and confused emotions, and spent a long time.

After a long time, Adam decided to pull himself together; he should leave here.

He looked up at the corridor and found sunlight projecting a dark red light through the window on the classroom door in the distance.

It was sunset, or the sun was about to rise.

Adam carefully observed the surrounding environment and found himself in a school, with bulletin boards, lockers, and colorful murals decorating the surroundings; the entire corridor was desolate and quiet.

He had guest-starred as a music teacher in one or two schools before, but he had no impression of this one.

With some discomfort, Adam checked his bad hand.

The finger stumps were rough and irregular, covered with scar tissue and scabs, without any trace of sutures.

Clearly, these fingers were not removed under fine operation, but were cut off or bitten off in a very rough way.

And such a discovery made him extremely confused—because he couldn't recall the details at the time no matter what.

What's even stranger is that although he maintained clear thinking, whenever he concentrated and tried to delve into the lost memory, something in the void would force him back.

It seemed to be filled with a fierce red heat.

"..."

Adam turned his attention to the wound.

Although the finger wound grew quite badly, it had begun to heal.

But... from the finger breaking to the bleeding stopping, and then to the wound basically healing... how long would that take?

How long had he been lost?

What happened then?

What happened during this period?

Why did he lose his memory, and why did he suddenly regain consciousness at this time?

Messy thoughts swirled in Adam's heart, lingering for a long time, making him confused, lost, and puzzled.

"What on earth happened..."

While thinking, he stood up holding the wall and walked forward along the corridor.

At this moment, a crisp telephone ringing suddenly sounded, which was particularly clear in this empty teaching building, with echoes.

Adam looked up toward the place far from the classroom, where a teacher's office door was ajar.

The ringing was coming from there.