The winter of the third year in the wasteland seemed to be colder than previous years. The lamp at the Hope Medical Station, powered by an old solar panel, shines dimly in the eternal night-like twilight, like the last eye that refuses to close in this ruins. Gu Yu rubbed his fingers that were stiff from the cold, and his eyes fell on the man on the operating table. Lao Chen, 42 years old, miner. His wife and seven-year-old son were unable to escape when marauders attacked the northern settlement three days ago. When he was brought, Lao Chen had his eyes open, but there was nothing in his pupils, like two dry wells. It will be fine. Gu Yu said softly, not sure if he was talking to Lao Chen or to himself. He habitually rubbed the side of his index finger with his thumb, which was a subconscious action when thinking. The door of the operating room slid open and Lin Wei walked in. She was wearing a washed-white white coat, her hands folded in front of her, and her steps were as steady as measuring them with a ruler. Are you ready? Gu Yu nodded and pointed to the waveform displayed on the screen next to him: the donated memory has been matched, and it is a scene of a family picnic.
