Wuthering Waves: Her Very Own Young Master

In my memories, a woman’s voice always seems to echo in my mind:

“Hey, wake up. Wake up.”

“How are you? Are you all right? Why did you collapse here?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“Then do you remember your name?”

“I... I don’t remember.”

“Why don’t I give you a name, then? How does that sound?”

“Okay.”

“Hmm, let me think. Oh, I’ve got it. I’ll call you Moyu. How does that sound?”

“Moyu?”

“‘A stranger on the road, as lovely as jade; a gentleman without equal in all the world.’ I read it in a book. It suits you perfectly.”

“Moyu...”

The memory came to an abrupt end. The past receded like the tide, seeming impossible to find. Yet from that increasingly blurred memory, a voice still crossed the haze and reached me:

“My one and only gentleman, I’ll wait for you forever. I’ll wait for you... to return...”