Chapter 31

 

Chi Zhihan desperately realized that falling for someone couldn’t be reasoned away.

 

Her feelings for Qi Cheng were like a delayed adolescence—the more her rationality tried to suppress them, the more forcefully her emotions surged forward.

 

Suggesting they watch a movie had been a terrible mistake.

 

She shouldn’t have finished that cocktail. She shouldn’t have asked that question while tipsy. Most of all, she shouldn’t have continued participating in this treatment plan.

 

They never brought up that night again, but every word Qi Cheng had said was etched into her heart like a carving made with a blade.

 

He had said: I want to, but I can’t.

 

When he spoke those words, his eyes were clouded with a gray mist—hopeless and so devoid of light they couldn’t reflect anything.

 

But in those eyes, she saw herself.

 

And in that moment, Chi Zhihan knew—she was done for.

 

Her last remnant of rationality was completely stripped away, all because of those two words: I want to.

 

In that moment, Qi Cheng transported her back to memories of her father’s illness, where she had desperately begged her critically ill father to hold on for even one more day—because she didn’t want to become a child without a father.

 

Back then, her father had held her hand, with the same gray mist in his eyes.

 

He said: “Be good, darling. Dad can’t do it.”

 

That was the last thing her father had said to her while conscious. At that moment, her reflection was no longer in his eyes.

 

But Qi Cheng—he had said he wanted to.

 

Those two words required all her strength to resist the urge to sit up and hold him.

 

She wanted to save him—not out of sympathy or noble character, but simply because this person was Qi Cheng, simply because when he said he couldn’t do it, his eyes still reflected her image.

 

Then, like a bucket of ice water, came the contract from Qi Cheng’s lawyer.

 

“What is this?” Chi Zhihan read from beginning to end, then back again, still finding it incredible.

 

This wasn’t a contract—it was a liability waiver and a will.

 

Regarding her work responsibilities, nothing was mentioned. It merely stated in black and white that her participation in this treatment plan was voluntary and experimental in nature, and if anything happened to him, she would bear no responsibility.

 

Additionally, there was a foundation gift contract. Chi Zhihan glanced at the amount and realized that by simply signing, she would never worry about food or clothing for the rest of her life.

 

How could Qi Ning and Qi Peng let him make such an agreement?

 

No wonder the lawyer’s face was pale when delivering it…

 

“This should have been signed earlier,” Qi Cheng had gradually returned to a low-fat diet, and his complexion and spirit looked much better than before. “The previous liability waiver wasn’t very favorable to you.”

 

Although the Qi family wouldn’t actually trouble a young woman over his matters, plugging these loopholes would give him peace of mind.

 

“What about this foundation?” Chi Zhihan’s tone was flat, her hands secretly clenching and unclenching at her sides. She was about to become furious.

 

“You deserve it, and I won’t need that much money anyway,” Qi Cheng’s expression remained unchanged.

 

Chi Zhihan took a deep breath, reminding herself he was a patient.

 

But patient or not, what difference did it make?

 

“Your sister initially liked to throw money at me. When I objected, she told me that compared to conscience, she trusted money more,” Chi Zhihan said calmly, looking up at Qi Cheng. “That’s why I don’t really like your sister. I believe my conscience is still worth more than money.”

 

“Regarding the previous contract, whether the liability waiver had loopholes, whether it was unfavorable to me—my agent Lin Jingwu reviewed all this. We discussed all related issues. I have my own team. Though they might not be as professional as your lawyers, I believe they can protect me well enough.”

 

Qi Cheng’s face turned slightly pale. He didn’t understand why she was saying all this—telling him she didn’t love money that much, telling him she could be independent. Between the lines was a sense of distancing, as if she might throw the contract back at him any second.

 

Yet her eyes and expression told a completely different story.

 

“Hearing this, don’t I sound very independent?” Chi Zhihan started grinning again. “And I’m quite capable too. In the four years since taking a break from school, my annual salary grew from 50,000 to 300,000, and I paid off over 400,000 in debt.”

 

Qi Cheng frowned slightly; Chi Zhihan’s smile was sickeningly sweet.

 

“I often boast about these things, telling everyone who’s worried about me or just watching for entertainment that I’m actually doing fine.”

 

“But do you know what the truth is?”

 

“The truth is, the money your sister threw at me helped me out of urgent difficulties. The cost and effort she spent helping me find my mother—I don’t even dare ask about it, because I realized my conscience really isn’t as important as these things.”

 

“Those contract loopholes you mentioned—neither Lin Jingwu nor my previous boss ever told me about them. Maybe they really didn’t notice, or maybe they knew the Qi family was too powerful to mess with, so they just played deaf and dumb. And I myself never wanted to investigate which reason it was.”

 

“I spent four years paying off 463,000 in debt, but I still owe 5,627,000. This money accrues 7% annual interest, and even this interest rate came from me going door to door crying and begging with this pitiful-looking face of mine.” Chi Zhihan spoke as if talking about someone else, smiling even more cheerfully.

 

But Qi Cheng’s brow furrowed deeper.

 

“I’m telling you all this just to let you know that this contract you want me to sign really could help me for life,” Chi Zhihan looked straight into Qi Cheng’s eyes. “But I don’t need something that feels like a will. I don’t want to spend my whole life thinking, whenever I see money, about how I once had someone I wanted to help with all my might, and after failing, he still tried to ensure I would never go hungry.”

 

“Qi Cheng, I don’t want this kind of care.” When Chi Zhihan said these last words, her eyes reddened slightly.

 

She understood all his good intentions, but she refused to accept them.

 

“So I’d rather continue being bullied by your sister than sign a contract with you.” When she finally returned the contract to him, Chi Zhihan’s refusal seemed almost aggrieved.

 

She had been honest about her debt, told him her company might be legally ignorant, and complained about Qi Ning’s pressure on her. One contract could solve all her problems, but she pitifully said she wouldn’t sign.

 

In the end, he who had made the contract wanting to protect her completely ended up being the one she clung to instead.

 

This approach…

 

“Did Dr. Zhao find you?” Besides that Dr. Zhao, he really didn’t know anyone else around him who loved playing such mind games.

 

“…I found Dr. Zhao.” Chi Zhihan’s shoulders slumped, her tone defeated. “Was it that obvious?”

 

After making up her mind, she had sought out Dr. Zhao, not knowing about the contract then, simply wanting to ask how to make Qi Cheng give up his thoughts of ending his life.

 

Dr. Zhao said that at this stage, they could only give him something to hold onto first, buy some time, then slowly adjust based on the situation.

 

She probably counted as something to hold onto, right?

 

At least when she was selling her misery earlier, Qi Cheng’s expression hadn’t looked good.

 

But now as he expressionlessly took away the contract, did that mean she had succeeded or failed?

 

“The nurses across the hall have moved out, so I can go back to sleeping over there.” She anxiously changed the subject.

 

Qi Cheng’s movements paused, then he simply crumpled the half-stored contract and stuffed it directly into the manila envelope, his movements unusually forceful—at least Chi Zhihan had never seen him like this before.

 

Chi Zhihan bit her lip, growing more anxious inside.

 

Qi Cheng was angry.

 

His chest rose and fell more rapidly, his face slightly flushed, not even looking at her.

 

Chi Zhihan leaned forward, half-hanging over the counter, trying to get a clear look at his expression.

 

Then Qi Cheng covered her nose with the yellow manila envelope, and her vision went dark, only hearing the sound of him walking away.

 

…

 

“Are you unhappy because I went to Dr. Zhao privately?” Chi Zhihan turned her head, watching as he walked toward the painting studio upstairs.

 

…Qi Ning had said that once Qi Cheng entered his studio, it meant he didn’t want to communicate with anyone. They had to wait until he adjusted his emotions himself before he would come out.

 

When she was with Qi Cheng, he had never gone to the studio.

 

That place had a password lock, and only Qi Cheng knew the password.

 

She suddenly felt panicked, running a few steps to catch up, completely forgetting the principle of not getting too close.

 

“Or is it because I won’t sign this contract?” When she asked this question, they were very close—Chi Zhihan could smell the medicinal scent on him.

 

Qi Cheng didn’t turn around or slow down. Because of their height difference, Chi Zhihan only realized when she got close that his uncooperative attitude was like a wall.

 

He had never put up a wall in front of her before.

 

“Don’t go up there, I’ll be scared.” Chi Zhihan completely panicked, instinctively reaching out to grab Qi Cheng’s hand.

 

Then, everything froze.

 

Qi Cheng’s hand was cooler than she had imagined, but it was large, with thick calluses on the middle finger from painting.

 

The panic lasted only a moment; all emotions returned to their place after grabbing Qi Cheng’s hand.

 

She had acted rashly again…

 

She had forgotten about his illness again, forgotten that being touched by people would cause him excruciating pain.

 

“…I’m sorry.” She meekly tried to withdraw her hand.

 

She really wasn’t suitable for participating in this treatment plan—acting on impulse, lacking self-control, and prone to thoughtlessness.

 

The feeling of self-reproach completely covered her senses, so it took her a second to realize she couldn’t pull her hand back.

 

Qi Cheng still had his back to her, but he was gripping her hand tightly. Whether from the force or imagination, his hand was slightly trembling.

 

“Qi Cheng?” Chi Zhihan hesitantly pulled again but still couldn’t free her hand.

 

“…Doesn’t it hurt?” She could feel the sweat gradually appearing in his palm. He wasn’t just in pain; he was breaking into a cold sweat, yet stubbornly held onto her hand.

 

“Even if you don’t sign the contract, I can still make sure these things happen,” Qi Cheng’s voice sounded steady, but the sweat in his palm kept increasing, so much that Chi Zhihan’s heart began to ache.

 

“When I die, I can still transfer this money to you as an inheritance.” Qi Cheng finally turned around, looking down at her from his height, still gripping her hand.

 

His forehead was also sweating, and his jaw was clenched tight from enduring the pain.

 

“Then I can donate it.” Chi Zhihan didn’t know which nerve had misfired, but she suddenly felt angry at this moment.

 

What did he mean by when he dies?

 

What inheritance?!

 

Qi Cheng pressed his lips together.

 

The two stood motionless like that.

 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Chi Zhihan finally gave in, seeing the sweat on Qi Cheng’s forehead. “Will you let go of me first?”

 

This person, once he grabbed hold, he didn’t like to let go. He was like this last time when he was sick lying on the ground, and now when he was angry, he was the same way.

 

But this time was harder to deal with—he was clear-headed and even more stubborn, like a bull.

 

“Besides money, I have nothing else to give you.” Qi Cheng obstinately ignored Chi Zhihan’s efforts to free her hand.

 

Whether it hurt wasn’t really that important; when he wasn’t very clear-headed, he also had trouble distinguishing between illusion and reality.

 

But he just felt an incomparable aversion to the way she was trying to pull her hand away from his.

 

So unconsciously, he gripped even tighter.

 

She even said she wanted to go back to sleep across the hall, and when he thought about it, he surprisingly couldn’t find any reason to refuse.

 

The reason for his anger welling up—even he couldn’t explain it clearly.

 

His only rationality completely collapsed when Chi Zhihan pulled at his hand trying to withdraw it.

 

He could only stand there like that, not thinking of a solution, and suddenly not wanting to find one.

 

Until Chi Zhihan sighed, using her free hand to take out a pack of tissues from her pocket, biting open the packaging and pulling out a sheet.

 

“Since it’s already hurting anyway,” she said rather resignedly, then stood on tiptoe to help wipe the sweat from his forehead, carefully observing his expression as she did so. “Are you getting dizzy again, unable to see?”

 

He shook his head unconsciously.

 

Then he saw Chi Zhihan move even closer with more assurance, her brow slightly furrowed, the hand he was gripping completely soft now, allowing him to hold it tightly.

 

“Why are you angry?” Chi Zhihan had completely lost her temper, her heart tumbling from his actions. It was the first time in her life a man had held her hand so tightly, as if he wanted to glue it to his with super glue.  

 

His breathing was uneven with sweat beading on his forehead no matter how much she wiped, his expression stubborn but his eyes helpless.  

 

Just like a child who had thrown a tantrum but didn’t know how to end it.

 

His gaze stayed fixed on her, watching as she clumsily took out tissues, watching as she smiled resignedly while standing on tiptoe to help wipe his sweat.

 

The emotions in his eyes—she didn’t want to look at them or understand them.

 

“I won’t go to Dr. Zhao privately anymore in the future, and my life isn’t as miserable as I just said.” Chi Zhihan’s brow furrowed slightly as she sought reconciliation. “With my salary these past few years plus Weibo, I can pay off those debts in a few more years. I don’t want to sign the contract just because I don’t want you to feel like you have nothing to hold onto anymore.”

 

“Joining your treatment plan has nothing to do with my work. Living here is inconvenient for transportation, which inevitably affects my regular job.” While wiping his sweat, Chi Zhihan unconsciously pressed the tissue against Qi Cheng’s furrowed brow. “I want something in return from you, but not in this way.”

 

“Qi Cheng, I don’t want you to end up taking that path.” After saying these last words, Chi Zhihan almost held her breath.

 

Dr. Zhao had said this was Qi Cheng’s sensitive point.

 

After Qi Peng discussed suicide with Qi Cheng, Qi Cheng had an episode after Qi Peng left.

 

He had also tried several times to discuss this matter with Qi Cheng, but it always ended with him showing symptoms of autism.

 

She was being held by Qi Cheng and didn’t dare move, feeling that his nerves were stretched very tight now, ready to snap at any moment.

 

Then those words just came out.

 

She was truly afraid…

 

Before, she felt it was a matter of responsibility, but now, there were some other emotions mixed in.

 

But Qi Cheng, to her surprise, didn’t have much reaction to her words.

 

He lowered his head, and when he raised it again, the sweat on his forehead seemed to have lessened.

 

“Don’t move across the hall.” He said.

 

It came naturally after her statement about not wanting him to take that path, like a condition exchange.

 

Then he released her hand and walked straight into the studio. In front of Chi Zhihan, he moved a chair to prop open the password-protected door that would automatically close.

 

He entered the studio but didn’t close the door.

 

“I need to meet a deadline,” he looked at the dumbfounded Chi Zhihan, his tone calm. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”

 

…

 

……

 

So the reason he was angry was because she said she wanted to move across the hall?

 

Why could he so naturally discuss death topics with her, including inheritance and suicide?

 

“Qi Cheng, can I tell Dr. Zhao about our conversation just now?” Dr. Zhao had already complained about the monitoring in his email, though he hadn’t said why Qi Cheng would request turning off the monitoring. As a condition, he had agreed to wear a watch monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure.

 

She felt their conversation just now should be important therapeutic evidence for Dr. Zhao.

 

“No.” Qi Cheng’s voice came from the studio, flat and unyielding.  

 

…

 

Chi Zhihan stood in place, dazed for a while.

 

Then she raised her voice and spoke again, her tone deliberately cheeky. “I don’t care, I’m going to tell him anyway.”

 

The studio was completely quiet.

 

After a while, a neither light nor heavy snort came from Qi Cheng.

 

Joy spread through Chi Zhihan’s heart. Even though she didn’t understand psychology, even though she knew nothing about the treatment plan, she could feel that Qi Cheng’s attitude was different now.

 

He wasn’t avoiding discussing death with her, and he didn’t show any rejection to her opposition to his suicide.

 

He even got angry, and when he had nowhere to vent it, he grabbed her hand and took deep breaths.

 

This counted as progress, right? Even if just a small step.

 

At least he hadn’t really locked himself in the studio.

 

Chi Zhihan felt like a little mouse who had accidentally bumped into a rice bin, her heart and mind full of joy and satisfaction.

 

And inside the studio, Qi Cheng held his brush, staring at the grotesquely smiling girls in the paintings before him.

 

This time the pain disappeared very quickly, because the person downstairs who wasn’t good at hiding her emotions kept humming songs, and he didn’t even feel difficulty breathing.

 

Would it get better? He looked at the paintings, and the people in the paintings stared back at him.

 

He extended his brush and drew a white line across the black background of one of the paintings, across the girl’s face, across her grotesque smile.

 

The painting was split in two.

 

Just because of one white line.