Volume One: Night Wanderer

Chapter 1: The Gift

Songhai City.

At 7:30 in the morning, in a dim room, on a soft, large bed, Michael Bolton suddenly woke up, clutching his head, curling up like a shrimp.

His head hurt as if it were about to split open, as if steel needles were embedded in his brain, the pain making his scalp twitch, to the point of auditory and visual hallucinations. Chaotic images flashed through his mind, and his ears were filled with noisy, meaningless sounds.

Michael Bolton knew his old illness had relapsed.

Trembling, he crawled out of bed, pulled open the nightstand drawer, fumbled for the medicine bottle with shaking hands, impatiently twisted it open, poured out five or six small blue pills, and swallowed them whole.

Then, he threw himself back onto the bed, gasping for air, enduring the intense pain.

A dozen seconds later, the soul-tearing headache subsided, then faded away.

"Whew..." Michael Bolton let out a sigh of relief, drenched in cold sweat.

He had contracted a strange illness in high school. The symptoms were that his brain would uncontrollably recall all past memories, including forgotten junk information; uncontrollably collect external information for analysis; and his brain's control over his body would reach an unbelievable level.

Fortunately, this state couldn't last long, as his body would soon be overwhelmed and the episode would end.

It was precisely because of this ability that he breezed through the entrance exam to Songhai University—a top-ranked, prestigious institution in the country.

Michael Bolton called this state "brain overload." He thought he might be evolving into a superhuman, but because his body couldn't support such evolution, it kept getting interrupted.

When he told the doctor about this guess, the doctor said he didn't understand, but was deeply shocked, and suggested he visit the psychiatry department downstairs.

In short, the hospital couldn't find the cause. Later, his mom brought back a special medicine from abroad, and the condition was finally brought under control. As long as he took the medicine regularly, it wouldn't flare up.

"It must be because I didn't rest well last night, too tired. It's all Grace Carter's fault, insisting on coming to my room to play games in the middle of the night..."

Although he said this, his heart grew heavy, because Michael Bolton knew the medicine was starting to lose its effect, and his condition was getting worse.

"I'll have to increase the dosage from now on..." Michael Bolton put on his cotton slippers and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open with a "swish."

Sunlight rushed in, filling the room.

In April, Songhai City is full of spring, and the morning breeze is cool and pleasant.

"Knock knock!"

At this moment, there was a knock at the door, and his grandmother called from outside:

"Yuanzi, get up."

"Not getting up!" Michael Bolton coldly refused. He wanted to go back to sleep.

The spring sunshine was beautiful, and it was the weekend. Wouldn't it be a waste of life not to sleep in?

"I'll give you three minutes. If you don't get up, I'll wake you with a splash of water."

Grandma was even more ruthless.

"Okay, okay..." Michael Bolton immediately gave in.

He knew his hot-tempered grandma would really do it.

When Michael Bolton was still in elementary school, his father died in a car accident. His strong-willed mother never remarried, brought her son back to settle in Songhai, and left him in the care of his grandparents.

She herself threw herself into her career, becoming a career woman praised by all the relatives.

Later, his mother bought her own house, but Michael Bolton didn't like that empty, spacious apartment, and still lived with his grandparents.

Anyway, his mom left early and came home late every day, went on business trips every few days, and was completely focused on her career. Even on weekends, if she wasn't working overtime, she would just order takeout for meals.

The thing she said most to her son was, "Do you have enough money? If not, tell Mom." A career woman who could satisfy you financially without limit sounded pretty good.

But Michael Bolton always smiled and told his mother: The pocket money from Grandma and Aunt is enough.

Oh, and also his younger aunt.

The woman who insisted on coming to his room to play games last night was his younger aunt.

Michael Bolton yawned, turned the doorknob of his bedroom, and walked into the living room.

This apartment at his grandparents' place, including the shared area, was 150 square meters. When they sold the old house to buy this new one, Michael Bolton remembered it was over 40,000 yuan per square meter.

Six or seven years had passed, and now the price in this neighborhood had risen to 110,000 per square meter, nearly doubling.

Fortunately, Grandpa had the foresight back then. If they still lived in the old house, Michael Bolton would have to sleep in the living room, since he was grown up now and couldn't share a room with his younger aunt anymore.

At the long dining table by the living room, the culprit behind his headache was drinking porridge with a "gugu gugu" sound, her pink slippers swinging under the table.

She had delicate, beautiful features, a round, sweet-looking face, and a tear mole at the corner of her right eye.

Because she had just gotten up, her fluffy, messy, wavy hair was draped over her shoulders, giving her a lazy, seductive charm.

His younger aunt was called Grace Carter, four years older than him.

When she saw Michael Bolton come out, his younger aunt licked some porridge from her lips and said in surprise:

"Wow, up so early? That's not like you."

"Thanks to your mom."