Xia Xiaoman remembers everything—the blood on the pavement, the shattered glass, the whispers of a debt too large to repay—everything except how her parents truly fell to their deaths. As an investigative journalist, she infiltrates the world of Li Moting, the ruthless heir to a financial empire, armed with nothing but a recorder and her perfect memory.  

"Three therapy sessions a week," he offers, fingers steepled, his voice colder than the rain outside the window. "In exchange for your silence."  

But what begins as a calculated game of revenge spirals into something far more dangerous. He scales a crumbling factory to save her from kidnappers, his hands bleeding, yet claims it’s merely "asset protection." She discovers ledgers in his study that implicate his family in her parents’ ruin—yet finds her childhood lullaby tucked in his desk drawer, the notes still intact after twenty years.  

On the night the truth comes crashing down, he kneels in the snow, pressing a pair of worn ballet flats into her hands. "Hate me if you must," he murmurs, "but let me remember you properly this time."  

And when she plays back the tapes—the ones she swore were evidence—all she hears is the unguarded hitch of his breath when she entered the room, the quiet, damning confession: *", Xia Xiaoman you were never part of the plan."*

When the emergency lights flickered back on, the assassins lay unconscious on the floor.  


Xia Xiaoman stood in the doorway, an electromagnetic pulse gun in her hand, her hair still carrying the scent of sea breeze. She had changed—dark circles under her eyes, but a relieved smile curled at her lips.  


"I found it," she walked toward Li Moting, pulling a small glass vial from her pocket. "*Our* memories."  


Inside the vial, two strands of pale golden substance intertwined like living things—the original MN-07 samples excavated from the Bay Project's foundation, preserving their complete memories before the age of seven.  


Li Moting reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek, cold as ice.  


Xia Xiaoman pressed *The Little Prince* against his chest. The pages fell open to Chapter 21—the fox's final words circled in red:  


**"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."**  


"Because I remembered," she rose onto her toes, kissing away the blood on his lashes. "Back in the lab... what I injected you with wasn't the memory wipe serum."  


Her whisper carried the weight of their shared past:  


Chapter 42 - The Little Prince and His Rose