Chapter 6 Hallucinations

For fifteen years, she had appeared before his eyes—every single day…

When Su Yundai returned home, she didn’t say much to Aunt Lin and went straight upstairs to rest.

Her room was on the third floor. After all, she wasn’t related by blood to the Wei family. At the time, they’d thought it inconvenient to have her on the same floor, so she stayed on the third floor, Wei Lin on the second, and Uncle Wei with Aunt Lin on the first.

The third floor was mainly an attic suite with a small lounge, bathroom, and study—fully equipped and quite comfortable.

Not long after, Aunt Lin suddenly called to her from downstairs.

Handing her a bag, Aunt Lin asked, “Did you buy this?”

Su Yundai blankly accepted it, then ran upstairs and looked out the attic window. She saw a delivery guy in uniform leaving.

Opening the bag, she found a phone inside. A sticky note was attached with bold, flowing handwriting:
“It’s inconvenient without a phone. Use this.”

She switched it on. The contact list had only one name, dominating the entire screen—Shang Beize.

Ding!

Su Yundai jumped. The ringtone was set so loud it was as if she were deaf.

It was a WeChat notification.

In the list, there was only one person.

Z: 【Received it?】
Su Yundai: 【Mm. Then I won’t be polite. I’ll use it these two days and give it back to you.】

She worried that if she didn’t use it, he’d get suspicious and accuse her of avoiding responsibility.

Z: 【Alright. The child usually gets up at 6:30.】

So early? Well, with school at eight, there was washing up and breakfast to do. Some kids ate slowly, so getting up early made sense.

Su Yundai: 【Tomorrow’s the weekend, let him sleep more.】
Z: 【Okay. I’ll tell him.】

Half a minute later—

Z: 【He says he usually wakes around 6:30 anyway.】
Su Yundai: 【Alright then.】

Suddenly, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Wei Lin coming back?

Usually, Aunt Lin and the others didn’t go upstairs.

Her heart leapt violently.

Did he already know about today?

Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, deafening, pounding hard.

She rose and walked toward the door, passing slowly through the small lounge. Her steps weren’t quick, but only she knew how tense she was, how breathless.

“Yundai!”

It was Aunt Lin.

She exhaled in relief—but at the same time, a surge of disappointment welled up from deep inside her.

Aunt Lin beamed. “Yundai, your brother’s friend said he’s been sleeping only two or three hours each night. If this keeps up, he’ll collapse. I made him a medicinal supper to nourish him. Can you bring it over?”

Su Yundai drew in a slow breath.

She was supposed to deliver supper?

She almost never went to Wei Lin’s company. And now it was past nine.

Aunt Lin’s eyes glinted slyly as she urged, “Just help Auntie this once, hmm?”

Su Yundai couldn’t refuse.

Of course, they could’ve asked the household maid to deliver it—but no, it had to be her. Probably to let her see for herself that Wei Lin really was working late at the company, not fooling around outside.

Most likely.

So she changed clothes.

Even though she’d already bathed and it was past nine, she still drew eyeliner, curled her lashes, dabbed lip gloss—light makeup before heading out.

With a driver from the house, she didn’t have to walk much, so her ankle wasn’t an issue.

Still, she wondered what Wei Lin would think, seeing her show up late at night at his company.

It felt a bit like checking up on him.

They weren’t even engaged yet. Wasn’t this inappropriate?

Not only not engaged—they weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. For her to appear suddenly like this, so late at night, it really did seem too forward.

If there hadn’t been an engagement arranged, it would’ve been fine—just a younger sister delivering supper to her older brother. But with the engagement, both of them knew—they weren’t just “siblings” anymore.

While she was still tangled in thought, the car stopped in the underground parking lot of Wei Lin’s company.

She sat quietly for half a minute, hand stroking the warm thermos bag, nails scratching out a faint grating sound without realizing it.

“Young miss?” Driver Chen, after glancing in the rearview several times, finally asked.

Su Yundai jolted back to herself. Her mind stalled a beat before she smiled lightly. “Uncle Chen, my ankle still feels bad. Can you take it up for me?”

“Of course.”

Relieved, she handed him the thermos. “And… don’t tell my brother I came. I don’t want to disturb his work.”

He gave her a look. “Alright.”

The car door shut.

Left alone in the car, she let out a long, soft breath.

This was best—she hadn’t refused Aunt Lin, but also wouldn’t unsettle Wei Lin.

Soon, Driver Chen returned, panting. “I just dropped it off. They were all discussing work—don’t know if he’ll have time to eat. The young master is working too hard.”

Su Yundai nodded, eyes on the window. The garage was still full of cars, even at ten at night. The ramp corner was covered with an ad for their new game, just launched and already wildly popular. No wonder he was so busy.

“Mm. He really loves his work.”

She’d always thought Wei Lin was incredible. How could someone game an hour every night through high school and still score so well?

Teachers used to tell Aunt Lin: “Even with good grades, he’s in his second year now—he can’t keep playing games like this.”

Uncle Wei would lecture him at dinner. But Wei Lin only smirked, careless: “If I ever drop out of the top three in the grade, I’ll quit gaming.”

“So cocky. But the problem is—I can’t drop out.”

He was so arrogant that even Uncle Wei and Aunt Lin laughed. If he could excel while still gaming, why not let him?

It wasn’t until high school that Su Yundai realized just how gifted he was. Going to bed at ten, gaming and basketball daily—yet still top three in his grade. Truly a genius.

She, meanwhile, drained herself dry, clinging to coffee just to stay awake, only managing to get into C University.

Though she was strong in science, she pushed herself relentlessly, practicing until she could solve problems flawlessly even with cramps. Her humanities were weak, requiring even more time.

Her memory was poor—an essay required memorizing six or seven times, and even then she’d forget quickly. At exams, her mind went blank. Others scored 130 in Chinese; she hovered near passing.

Wei Lin, though, had almost photographic memory. He could recall every annotation in his Chinese textbooks, every page. Naturally, his grades were excellent.

Not only in humanities—his science was brilliant too.

Her math teacher, who had also taught Wei Lin, often lamented, “What a waste for such talent to be squandered on game design instead of cutting-edge tech.”

“Everything about that boy is good—except his lack of seriousness. Squanders his talent.”

Su Yundai never thought it was a waste. Doing what he loved, and doing it so well the whole world could see—wasn’t that something to be proud of?

She had always been proud of Wei Lin.

But now, after failing her transfer of majors, she felt increasingly inferior.

Back then, after bombing the college entrance exam, she’d cried her heart out, but Wei Lin had comforted her: “You can always switch majors.” She’d clung to that hope.

Now, even that hope had collapsed.

She remembered when he’d just graduated high school, bringing friends over. They teased him—such good grades, such looks, such family background, what kind of girl could possibly match him?

He’d just finished basketball, sitting on the swing, drinking water with his legs stretched lazily, smiling without answering. That smile gave form to the words “high-spirited.”

But his classmates pressed him for an answer.

Finally, with a grin, he said, “Someone about the same as me, I guess.”

Someone like him—good grades, good looks, good family. And now, someone with great career success.

Back home, Su Yundai removed her makeup, washed up, showered again, and tried to wash away the gloom before bed.

But she slept poorly. Anxiety over failing the transfer gnawed at her. She woke repeatedly, scrolling her phone in the dark, searching forums for answers. She found nothing useful, only endless comments.

Frustrated, she stared at the glaring screen, tears slipping down.

She’d wanted to earn money during university. Otherwise, she’d be relying on the Wei family for far too long.

Between life sciences and computer science, only the latter gave her a chance to earn quickly. Life sciences might demand years of graduate school—how could she live off the Weis that long?

Why?

Why couldn’t she study what she wanted?

Why, after working so hard—denying herself even small pleasures—did she still fail to reach the path she longed for?

It was like climbing from the bottom of a ravine toward a sliver of sky, scaling cliffs again and again, only to find that gap wasn’t even wide enough for a person.

At last, she blamed herself. For not being strong enough. For being greedy when filling out applications, assuming she’d make it into C University’s computer science program—only to be diverted into life sciences by the narrowest margin.

Miserable, she buried her sobs under the quilt.

—

Meanwhile, in another villa in the neighborhood, a man dreamed.

The mountain was shrouded in heavy morning mist. The cemetery seemed forever untouched by sunlight, eerie and desolate.

A teenage boy slumped against a gravestone.

Dew soaked his coat, drops tracing down his shoulder like tears.

They had destroyed the videos of his mother helping him fight illness—videos of mother and son exercising at dawn, day after day. Only his mother had ever accepted him, cared for him through sickness, encouraged his recovery.

But she was dead now.

And they’d erased every trace of her.

Her smile. Her voice. Gone. All gone.

He hadn’t eaten or drunk for three days.

His cheeks were gaunt, yet strangely, hunger hadn’t stopped the tics that distorted his eyes.

Did muscle spasms require no strength? He couldn’t even lift a finger, yet his eyes still twitched.

He gave a bitter, mocking laugh.

From afar, a bell chimed, crisp and eerie, like the chains of the underworld wardens dragging souls. He thought they’d finally come to take him away.

Good.

The tics had relapsed. His mother’s efforts were wasted. He had no future.

His own father, seeing him collapse with relapse, showed no comfort—only disgust, scorn, revulsion.

When he’d tried to run away, his father spat, “Think I care? I wish you’d never been born! Embarrassment!”

The Qi family never needed waste.

Three days starving at his mother’s grave—and no one came.

Maybe it was better to die. He could reunite with his mother.

“Big brother, are you hungry?” A clear, childish voice broke through.

His hollow eyes lifted. A pale little hand appeared, holding a lotus-shaped pastry, pink and delicate.

The little girl’s dark eyes were bright, her phoenix-shaped eyes full of spirit.

He hated others’ gazes. But hers—so innocent, so pretty—made him falter, unable to look away.

“Big brother, you’re so pretty!” she exclaimed with delight.

Pretty? Him? The boy everyone despised?

His eyes twitched again. Shame surged. He shoved her away.

She fell, scattering the bag of pastries.

But she didn’t cry—scrambling instead to collect them, whispering anxiously, “Papa made them for me…”

Watching her treasure them, he suddenly felt vile. Others had destroyed his memories of his mother. And now, he had destroyed hers.

She crawled into the grass, searching.

He wanted to tell her not to—dirty pastries couldn’t be eaten—but his throat was locked. If they were her father’s last gift, she’d want them back. He understood too well the pain of losing a loved one’s relics.

But then—her thin body vanished into the bushes.

Suddenly, a scream.

“Ah—it hurts! Snake—”

She stumbled out, clutching her leg, tears spilling. “Brother, snake—” Then collapsed, hitting her head, convulsing.

His heart plummeted.

Snakebite. She fainted.

Though he was weak from hunger, some strength surged. He clawed into the bushes, seized the snake by its neck, smashed it to the ground, stomping until its head burst.

Scooping her up, clutching the snake’s corpse, he ran wildly through the fog.

He couldn’t fall. Not now. She needed him.

He had to reach a hospital.

The scenery blurred—graveyard, hospital, old apartment—shifting, fading into the sound of children’s laughter.

“Brother, do your eyes hurt?”
“No.”
“They must hurt. If I blow, will it help?”
“They don’t hurt.”
“A kiss will help!”
“Brother, you’re really handsome.”
“Don’t you think my blinking looks strange?”
“No. You’re the most handsome, like a prince from a fairy tale.”
“Really?”
“Mm! When I grow up, I’ll marry you!”

In the villa bedroom, the man’s eyelashes trembled. His eyes opened slowly into the darkness.

And there she was again—Su Yundai’s smile, bright, vivid, alive.

Sitting by his bed, laughing: “I’ll marry you.”

He knew this wasn’t real. It was a hallucination.

Since their parting in youth, she had appeared every day for fifteen years—growing older, clearer with each year.

He could see her, never touch her. At a touch, she vanished. So he only looked quietly.

The doctors had said it was trauma-induced hallucinations. In plain words—he had missed her so much, it drove him mad.

But he welcomed it. He never sought a cure. Because seeing her kept him alive.

Her figure faded.

He stared at the ceiling, then pressed his hand over his eyes.

In the darkness, his face looked strong, but unbearably lonely.

His lips moved faintly: “You will marry me…”

Suddenly, rain poured outside. Lightning split the sky, lighting the room like day.

Shang Beize placed the specially preserved exam paper into a frame and hung it on the wall.

His trembling fingers brushed the surface.

“Our Tuan Tuan has suffered all these years…”

“I’ll bring you home.”