What if the man who woke up was, in some fundamental way, no longer her Mu Yunchen? What if the experiences that had shaped him, that had softened his edges and opened his heart to her, were simply… absent? Would he still be the man she loved? Or would he be a stranger wearing a beloved face, a man who might look at her calculations and her ruthlessness and see not a kindred spirit, but a threat?
The possibility was a yawning chasm, a form of loss more final than death. Death, at least, she understood. This was a limbo.
He looked peaceful. Unburdened. Like a man sleeping without nightmares or trauma or the weight of a relationship he couldn't remember.
"Haha... What kind of fate is this!"
"Are you playing with me?"
"How can it be like this?"
