He Yu had indeed gone insane.
Many days had passed since that night of horrors; he had, in fact, been discharged from the hospital some time ago, but he hadn't told anyone, and he didn't return to his house either.
Everyone seemed disgusting and fake to him now. He had an apartment in one of the newer districts of downtown Huzhou, one he hadn't visited very often even after getting the keys. For now, he had chosen to live there by himself. He'd been deeply stricken when he saw those videos of Xie Qingcheng, but after returning to his senses, he refused to accept that Xie Qingcheng was a coward who was afraid of mentally ill patients.
At the hospital, once he'd calmed down a little, he wondered if he was the one who'd misunderstood—if the criminal organization had taken Xie Qingcheng's past videos out of context because they had another motive. Xie Qingcheng was not that kind of person.
He Yu went home with that thought in mind, clinging to the last of his hope—he wanted to verify the facts for himself and didn't want anyone to disturb him. But what he didn't expect was for the things he dug up to be far crueler; the video he had seen was just the tip of the iceberg.
The truth was too terrifying. The more he investigated, the sicker he became.
The medicine intended to control his symptoms lay on the table, untouched after he had taken a few pills—because it had absolutely no effect. The results of his personal investigation destroyed his sense of self even further; some pills were no longer enough to control his downward spiral. It felt as if lichen had grown over his heart, as if all his senses had gone numb. He wanted to kill. He wanted to drink blood. Morality and legality suddenly felt utterly irrelevant.
During a flare-up of psychological Ebola, his very life seemed unimportant; he wasn't afraid of death, so why would he fear society's rules?
He Yu sat in a black armchair. His phone had rung countless times, all calls and texts from Xie Qingcheng, but he didn't pick up or read any of them. He just stared at the white wall in front of him. It was about five meters high, so wide and tall it seemed like the massive screen in a movie theater. And right now, it was covered with densely packed projections of text messages.
This was everything from the past few years that he'd been able to recover from the cloud using illicit technology. Xie Qingcheng's private messages—messages about He Yu.
He Yu was an elite hacker. He'd always been extremely talented in this field, but having the capability didn't mean he would actually do certain things—just as there were many people in the world capable of committing murder, but few actually became killers. There was a clear boundary in He Yu's heart, one he'd never crossed in the past. But it was only when he opened those dusty doors and stepped inside that he saw the kind of spectacle that lay within.
What he saw made his blood run cold. Even though too much time had passed and the recovered messages were incomplete, what he'd gathered was more than enough to shake him to his core.
Beginning with the earliest recovered content, he saw his father offering a high salary to Xie Qingcheng to treat He Yu. Xie Qingcheng had been rather reluctant at the beginning, saying that although Case #3 had already died, they had extremely violent tendencies before their death. Even though he was sympathetic to He Yu's plight, he seriously had no wish to waste his time on a long-term engagement with a psychological Ebola patient.
Xie Qingcheng: Treating a patient like this won't go anywhere, nor is it very meaningful. I want to use this time on more worthwhile tasks.
He Jiwei: He Yu is different. He's still too young. He definitely won't go the same way Case #3 did. I know you don't find psychological Ebola uninteresting, Dr. Xie. On account of our past friendship, please at least come over for a chat and meet my son.
Xie Qingcheng: Executive He, I have more important things to do. And I can't endorse the companionship treatment method that other doctors have suggested to you. Maintaining a long-term relationship with a doctor will result in the patient becoming reliant on them; when the time comes, forcibly ending the treatment will be like quitting a drug and will be more likely to trigger negative emotional backlash instead.
He Jiwei: But I have no other choice. Trying this is my last option. Dr. Xie, could you please at least meet with him once, for my sake?
Getting Xie Qingcheng to come had been so difficult, requiring countless pleas and appeals.
And as for the day he left?
The day he resigned, He Jiwei had sent him a message.
He Jiwei: Dr. Xie, you've still decided to quit.
Xie Qingcheng: Yes.
He Jiwei: If nothing else, there's still human connection aside from the contract. You've always been very good to He Yu. Sometimes, you'd even argue with me on his behalf…
Xie Qingcheng: I would do the same for anyone. Because it is part of what I was paid to do.
He Jiwei: But He Yu has already developed a reliance upon you. You must know this.
Xie Qingcheng: I told Executive He at the very beginning that a long-term companionship style of treatment would have this kind of effect on the patient. To be honest, this was all within our expectations.
He Jiwei: To him, you're different, Doctor Xie…
Xie Qingcheng: But to me, he's the same as any other patient. There's no difference whatsoever.
The conversation didn't end here.
He Jiwei: Xie Qingcheng, if you're so dead set on leaving, I can't stop you. But we originally agreed on ten years for the contract; since it's ending early, there are some remunerations I promised you that I won't be able to honor entirely.
Xie Qingcheng: That's fine, I don't mind.
Once it got to that point, He Jiwei had more or less realized that anything he said to Xie Qingcheng would be useless.
After a long moment of silence, he switched his tone.
He Jiwei: Then think about how you're going to tell him. You're leaving so suddenly. At the very least, you have to come up with some way for him to accept it as quickly as possible.
In contrast, Xie Qingcheng's response was surprisingly direct.
Xie Qingcheng: If Executive He has no objections, I plan to tell him that the contract was originally set for seven years. This will make him feel better. But I will also need your cooperation.
He Jiwei: Xie Qingcheng, is this matter really nonnegotiable? Did the Qin Ciyan matter shake you up so badly that you need to do things so finally?
Xie Qingcheng: Executive He, this isn't a matter of finality. This is just a job.
Xie Qingcheng: I couldn't possibly feel anything more, and I never have.
Xie Qingcheng: I must resign.
He Jiwei: You can't wait till the end of the contract?
Xie Qingcheng: I can't.
He Jiwei: Xie Qingcheng, your heart is truly colder than I had imagined.
Xie Qingcheng: For him, this is the kindest lie.
The city lights twinkled from beyond the window, and the massive billboards flashed at irregular intervals, spilling into He Yu's living room like crystalline ripples, scouring away the countless messages projected onto the wall as if washing away the makeup that Xie Qingcheng had put on. It felt as though He Yu had finally seen Xie Qingcheng's true face today.
The patience, equality, and acceptance with which he had treated him were all fake. It was a mechanical repetition, a performance of civility, all empty theory—carried out to appease and deceive him. Even the contract period he cited at their parting wasn't true.
Back then, He Yu had even believed it—believed that Xie Qingcheng was determined to leave because his time was up.
As it turned out, this was the actual truth…
Ten years. Xie Qingcheng should have accompanied him up until he graduated senior high. But after the Qin Ciyan incident, Xie Qingcheng didn't hesitate. He would happily forgo extra wages if it meant he could leave He Yu. How terrified had he been?
He conspired with He Jiwei to lie to He Yu, but he could still speak of great principles with such calm conviction, telling him that this was how normal relationships came to an end.
All of the rationality belonged to Xie Qingcheng, while He Yu seemed like an immature, unreasonable clown.
So stupid…
It was all a lie!
A lie!
Those words that Xie Qingcheng had once said to encourage him, the ones that had maintained his sense of self as he struggled through the agony of a flare-up, were indeed no more than the empty platitudes a psychiatrist told their patient.
Just like a surgeon would tell a late-stage cancer patient, "You still have hope if you hold on." But the doctor already knew that there was no hope.
Like police would persuade a youth on the verge of suicide by saying, "You're not ugly. Why would you think that way? Everyone is special. There will always be someone who likes you. Come down, give me your hand." But could the police really not see the young man's hideous face and flabby body?
Those were just the emptiest of consolations.
Xie Qingcheng's views on treatment and the principles that guided He Yu to integrate into society had once given He Yu ten years' worth of support; even though Xie Qingcheng chose to leave in the end, He Yu hadn't felt any hatred toward him.
He strove to understand the principles of which Xie Qingcheng spoke, he tried to understand the end of a relationship between two normal people that Xie Qingcheng described.
In the end, he'd made peace with Xie Qingcheng's choice and with himself. But he hadn't expected that none of Xie Qingcheng's words were sincere, that they were just a doctor's method of treatment, some pretty words. Even the contract period Xie Qingcheng had told him about was an invention.
He Yu found himself thinking of the time he and Xie Qingcheng bumped into a gay couple at the dining hall; at the time, both of them had been very uncomfortable and rose in unison to change seats. He'd felt a little surprised and asked Xie Qingcheng, Aren't you a doctor? How come you can't bear to see them either?
Xie Qingcheng had told him back then that a doctor's medical philosophies were entirely separate from their personal opinions. As a doctor, he did believe that homosexuals didn't have any mental problems, but as Xie Qingcheng the individual, he personally couldn't accept that kind of relationship at all.
Now He Yu understood very clearly.
As a doctor, Xie Qingcheng was willing to guide him toward society, to treat him like a normal person. But as Xie Qingcheng, he hadn't developed any sort of connection with He Yu. Not only did Xie Qingcheng leave He Yu of his own volition—He Yu couldn't help but recall that Xie Qingcheng had once had Xie Xue keep her distance from him as well.
Xie Qingcheng had been frightened—he'd run, he'd rather not earn more money if it meant that he and his family could get further away from He Yu…
He Yu leaned back into the armchair, staring at it all with his chin in his hand. Slowly, he began to smile. His lips were razor thin; from the side, their upward curve seemed somewhat sinister.
"Are all you doctors really so insincere?" he murmured softly to that lonely white wall. The wound on his shoulder was still covered in bandages. Blood seeped out, followed by a dull throb of pain that spread from the wound like snake venom to his fingertips and heart.
"What a great disguise you wear…Xie Qingcheng."
At that moment, He Yu suddenly felt that everything he'd done in the past was ridiculous, like a joke—what was the point of "controlling one's inner heart?" What "shackles of illness" could be thrown off?
In the past few years, what exactly had he been striving for, insisting on, and believing in?
He slowly closed his eyes. Along with the throbbing of the gunshot wound in his shoulder, the scars on his wrists also seemed to sting faintly. He wondered how Xie Qingcheng had managed to go so far with his falsehoods, covering his eyes with both hands and having him follow along so ignorantly and stupidly for so long.
Xie Qingcheng said to him that being sick was nothing to fear.
Xie Qingcheng told him that he could say "it hurts" when he was in pain, that he could ask for sweets, that no one would laugh at him.
With every word, Xie Qingcheng had knocked down the sturdy fortress around his heart. He Yu had once thought that what Xie Qingcheng had extended to him was a pair of warm outstretched hands, but in the end, it was no more than an ice-cold knife.
He Yu protected himself very well, but Xie Qingcheng's knife has stabbed hard into the depths of his heart.
It was too tragic.
He Yu had lived nineteen years wearing a flawless mask. He never said anything genuine to others, nor did he receive much sincerity in others' words. In those nineteen years of pain and sickness, Xie Qingcheng was actually the only one to ever ask him, "Doesn't that hurt?"
Doesn't that hurt…
He Yu slowly stood up from the armchair, lifting a hand and pressing it over his heart.
He looked at the earth-shatteringly cold messages in front of him, as if he were standing in the bone-piercing gale of a winter blizzard. He lowered his head, bent down, and slowly began to laugh…
It was so funny. It seemed as though he'd truly, actually, genuinely experienced how terrifying pain could be.
Was this what it meant to hurt? This deception, all of his futile struggles, all of his idiocy and loneliness…
If this was what it was like, he'd rather have gone on living numbly forever. What was wrong with being a stalk of grass? Why did his heart have to be ravaged by lies?
He read onward, page after page, file after file, message after message, poring over everything line by line, every word like a knife to his heart. He'd always thought his heart was thickly calloused, but in this moment, it hurt so much it felt as if his own flesh didn't even belong to him anymore…didn't belong to him…
He Yu reached up to touch his forehead. His fingertips were ice- cold and all his limbs felt numb. He'd learned enough. He suddenly rose, violently sweeping everything off of the tea table in front of him. Shattered fragments crashed across the floor.
Panting, he went to find the projector remote, picked it up, and tried to close this Pandora's box. But…
At that very moment, amidst this exploding star of messages, he saw a text belonging to Xie Xue.
It had been sent six years ago. On his birthday.
Xie Xue: Gege, Auntie Li's sick. I've gone with her to get an IV. When will you be back from your work trip? These hospital procedures are so confusing, my head hurts. I wish you were here…
When He Yu first saw this message, all he felt was a gentle tug in his mind, like a moth that had yet to realize it had landed in a spider's web. But after a few seconds ticked by, he suddenly looked up, staring at that message in disbelief. The moth in the spider's web began to struggle, flapping furiously, iridescent dust falling from its wings, its fluttering movements stirring an earthquake in his memories.
Six years ago?
On his birthday?
That day…
That day, hadn't Xie Xue been with him?