After Losing My Memory, the New York Giant Picked Me up [80]

1987, New York. On the third day after Wen Zhiyi arrived in the United States, her wallet was stolen, her luggage was confiscated, and the unscrupulous agent took away her last month's rent, and she even lost her memory. She squatted on the steps in front of Columbia University, her eyes darkening with hunger. There was a crumpled piece of cardboard in front of him, with five words crookedly written on it: "I can cook Chinese food." A black Lincoln parked silently in front of her. The car window rolled down, revealing a young face of mixed Eastern and Western descent. He has deep eyebrows and slightly raised eyes. He is meticulously dressed in a three-piece suit and holds a thin cigar between his fingers. The way he looked at her was like looking at a kitten that had been soaked in the rain and huddled in a corner with nowhere to go. "How much does a meal cost?" She held up a finger. "One hundred dollars?" She shook her head, her voice wavering: "One... One meal, one night on the sofa." The man said nothing, his eyes fell on her hands that were clenching the cardboard with white knuckles. After a moment of silence, the car door popped open. "Come up." The amnesiac Wen Zhiyi is too clingy. Especially at night, she would always lie defenseless on the sofa in his study, holding his suit jacket tightly in her arms. When he called, his voice was as soft as a marshmallow that couldn't be melted: "Alex, when will you come back? I'm scared alone." On the other end of the phone, the man was signing a three billion acquisition contract. The pen tip paused. "... An hour." In fact, he arrived in twenty minutes. He taught her to know how to behave, to know how to advance and retreat, and to obey the rules. She nodded seriously, and the next day she went through his study, wore his shirt, got under the table when he was in a meeting, and quietly held his hand. The room full of Wall Street bosses watched helplessly as their cold-blooded boss pressed down a small hand from the table with an expressionless expression. Then - didn't let go. Three months later, she regained her memory. At that moment, Wen Zhiyi just wanted to bury herself. She is not a poor international student, but a top student who came from time to time. As the youngest Ph. D. In physics at Caltech, he specializes in superstring theory. In the 1980s, this field was still regarded as "mathematical whimsy", but she was already a genius who could debate Nobel Prize winners at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton. On the way to New York to attend an academic conference, she lost her memory. And the things she did - keeping someone as a pet for three months, crawling into his arms every day, holding his arm even when sleeping, and even signing the marriage documents in a daze - each one of them shattered her academic dignity. Wen Zhiyi took advantage of his absence and ran away with the box. After Alexander lost the person, he searched New York three times and finally found out that she had gone to Los Angeles. Los Angeles, Pasadena. Caltech's annual Donors' Dinner is held in the Athenaeum Hall. Wen Zhiyi wore a dark blue silk dress, her hair was tied loosely behind her head, and she wore a pair of small star-shaped earrings on her earlobes. Holding a glass of champagne, she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window and was discussing the compactification problem of Calabi-Yau manifolds with a gray-haired old professor. She spoke quickly and her eyes were full of light. The door was pushed open, and the voices in the entire hall suddenly dropped, as if they were suppressed by something. She turned around. Alexander stood at the door. As the largest sponsor tonight, he had donated a total of 400 million US dollars to Caltech. The newly completed building of the School of Physics bore the name of his family foundation. The cufflinks of his suit reflected a glimmer of light in a low-key manner, and a wedding ring on his ring finger was dazzling. "Dr. Wen, long time no see." The dinner hall was brightly lit, and he walked straight towards her through the crowd, his gaze so hot that it could burn someone: "I heard that you are studying the universe? I can fully fund it, with no period limit and no upper limit. There is only one condition -" He leaned close to her ear, and his voice was as low as the lowest string of the cello: "Come back to me, my universe." Small theater: "Alexander, what do you want?!" "Sweetheart, what do you think - if the president of Caltech knew that his star physicist had not only lost his memory, slept on the street, and was determined to sign marriage documents with me... Who would he have tea with first?" "... You are shameless!" "Well, I'm shameless." The man lowered his head and rubbed the corners of her lips. His voice was muffled, with an irrepressible smile, "Shh, don't talk. The little scientist's lips should be used for more meaningful things." SC, transnational love in the 1980s, 21X26. A genius scientist who looks cold but is actually clingy and shy Purpose: Experience empathy and love while growing up.