Chapter 14

Qi Peng’s expression darkened, but he didn’t respond immediately.

Before coming here, he had spent a long time communicating with Dr. Zhao. On one hand, it was to explain the treatment process and risks in detail. On the other hand, it was Dr. Zhao trying to convince him that Qi Cheng had completely deteriorated a year ago, developing self-harm and suicidal tendencies, making him no longer suitable for living alone.

“A long illness makes one a doctor. Qi Cheng is highly intelligent, so he probably already knows everything about his treatment plans and is well aware of the stress reactions he might have at each stage,” Dr. Zhao said helplessly. “The moment he woke up and saw Chi Zhihan after his last episode triggered by the surveillance camera, he likely already figured out what treatment plan I would choose next.”

“You know that exposure therapy is almost ineffective for patients like Qi Cheng once they understand the process. That’s why we’ve been stuck in the first relaxation phase for the past month,” Dr. Zhao pinned Qi Cheng’s psychological assessment reports from the past few months in a row on the whiteboard. “But the results were unexpected. Qi Cheng’s evaluation last month still showed him as high-risk, but this month there’s been a significant drop. The biggest improvement is in his suicidal tendencies.”

“This month’s relaxation phase hasn’t had any noticeable effect on his social anxiety disorder, but Chi Zhihan’s presence has suppressed his suicidal tendencies,” Dr. Zhao tapped the whiteboard. “There’s something about Chi Zhihan that Qi Cheng feels he can help with, so he’s postponed his plans to end his life.”

Qi Peng could barely remember how he felt at that moment. Qi Cheng’s suicidal tendencies had appeared in his evaluation reports seven months ago without any warning, and had worsened over the past few months. Last month, his assessment showed almost zero attachment to life.

Being a scientific researcher himself, Qi Peng knew how comprehensive Dr. Zhao’s assessment scales were after countless samplings, with a margin of error close to zero.

Their treatment focus had long shifted from social anxiety disorder to depression, but this was something only he and Dr. Zhao knew. They kept it from their grandfather, their impulsive father, and Qi Ning, who had shouldered all the burden of the family business.

Untreated social anxiety disorder and increasingly severe depression made suicide the inevitable endpoint. The Qi family knew this, but none of them wanted to believe it.

Qi Ning’s pregnancy had postponed Qi Cheng’s suicide timeline, and Qi Peng had gone out of his way to get Qi Cheng to start a new manga—not to turn him into a mangaka, but to buy more time for treatment.

Then, as if heaven didn’t want them to lose all hope, a food manga brought Chi Zhihan into their lives.

“Does Qi Cheng still refuse to be cured?” This was the question he asked Dr. Zhao at every meeting.

“During episodes, he desires to be cured, but when he’s calm, he doesn’t want to be,” Dr. Zhao’s answer hadn’t changed for a long time. “He’s lived alone for ten years. Habits are his greatest source of security. Right now, it’s hard enough to find a reason for him to keep living, let alone get him to step outside.”

“This desensitization therapy is the last chance I can think of with my abilities,” Dr. Zhao sighed wearily before they parted. “His social anxiety disorder still exists, so even knowing the process, his body will still react with stress. By keeping Chi Zhihan here for a year through the contract, what we need to do is discover what help Qi Cheng wants to offer her.”

“Not wanting to leave regrets before suicide is our only way to save Qi Cheng now.”

“Also, if there’s no further improvement, I’ll have to tell your father about Qi Cheng’s true condition.”

That would mean that, to save Qi Cheng, the conservative treatment they had pursued for years had failed. Qi Cheng would ultimately be sent to America for clinical treatment.

He had always questioned Dr. Zhao’s treatment plan—not because it was far-fetched, but because their focus wasn’t even on Qi Cheng’s social anxiety disorder anymore.

This roundabout approach had somehow become Qi Cheng’s last lifeline.

This was his younger brother, whom he’d watched grow up—someone who once dreamed of becoming an air force pilot but now didn’t even want to live anymore.

…

The half of the house where Qi Cheng lived had been decorated with various bright colors, but with the curtains drawn, these colors lost their meaning, turning into dark, gray shadows like a ghostly haze.

Qi Peng’s prolonged silence didn’t seem to affect Qi Cheng, who remained curled up in his special recliner, clutching a cup, head bowed.

It was as if the calm, clear question he had asked earlier hadn’t come from him at all.

“As long as you insist, keeping her here forever wouldn’t be difficult,” Qi Peng finally spoke in a low, firm voice that brooked no argument.

Qi Cheng’s breath clearly caught. The half-empty cup in his hands seemed to boil before his eyes, scalding his palms until they sizzled.

The moment the cup fell to the ground, Qi Cheng finally looked up, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“Even knowing the outcome, I can’t control myself…” he muttered, his tone almost despairing as the mist in his vision grew thicker.

“Your condition is still present, and this situation will still make you anxious. An episode is inevitable, but you can control when it happens,” Qi Peng’s words sounded like they were coming through a poor-quality amplifier—loud but indistinct.

The noise gave Qi Cheng a headache, and he childishly closed his eyes, letting everything fade into silence.

He didn’t want to control it. If sleep came, then so be it.

Better if he never became desensitized.

Only… he was hungry…

Before slipping into his autistic state, Qi Cheng felt an unprecedented confusion. Why… was he hungry?

…

Something must have happened across the hall.

Chi Zhihan had spent the whole day watching Dr. Zhao and Qi Peng coming and going.

“Why don’t they just stay here instead of setting up a tent outside?” she asked, pulling back the curtain to watch the two grown men pitifully crawling into the tent, wrapping themselves up like bears for warmth.

“Maybe your boss can’t have people around when he has an episode?” Xi Qing answered seriously. “Like, he transforms or spreads a virus or something.”

“…Your IQ really shouldn’t be wasted on TV dramas,” Chi Zhihan said disdainfully.

“Don’t you think everything about your current situation is just… weird?” Xi Qing retorted. “A lone house in the middle of dense woods, a boss who never leaves, only a handful of visitors, and none of them ever stay the night.”

“They told you to take a break before your boss had an episode, and they specifically said it would be two days. That means they have a good idea of when his episodes happen,” Xi Qing analyzed before concluding, “This all sounds like some kind of human experiment…”

“…” Chi Zhihan adjusted her Bluetooth earpiece, ignoring Xi Qing’s nonsense, and walked back to the kitchen with her flour. “Do you think I should politely ask about my boss’s condition?”

She planned to make extra pastries tonight and freeze them, so that if the person across the hall couldn’t come up with a menu, she could quickly feed him.

“Are you asking out of politeness or genuine concern?” Xi Qing squinted, her words slightly muffled by the soft candy in her mouth. “Honestly, I think if you stay here for a year, you might end up in some kind of forbidden romance.”

“…Get lost,” Chi Zhihan replied succinctly.

“Think about how long it’s been since you last gossiped about anyone,” Xi Qing reminded her. “Lately, every time you call me, you mention your boss every three sentences. ‘My boss is really nice,’ ‘My boss doesn’t eat lard,’ ‘My boss is afraid of the cold’…”

Chi Zhihan paused while kneading the dough.

“I think you’d be perfect for that script,” Xi Qing thought for a moment, then slapped her thigh. “You know, Beauty and the Beast!”

“Am I the beast and he’s the beauty?” Chi Zhihan laughed. “Stop messing around. My boss is probably almost fifty.”

“Is age a problem? Forbidden love! The kind that transcends species!” Xi Qing wasn’t having it.

“…” Chi Zhihan finally hung up in exasperation.

Crazy…

Transcending species, my foot…

But she was genuinely worried. After finishing the dough, she started preparing the osmanthus flowers.

Since she was going to be here for a year anyway, she might as well make the wine and sauces she had planned to make at home. Osmanthus wine wasn’t too sweet; the person across the hall probably wouldn’t mind drinking it.

At three in the morning, the sound of the keypad lock came from across the hall again.

Chi Zhihan, who had made a pot of wine-soaked rice balls with osmanthus, opened her door and poked her head out, just like when Qi Ning had visited late at night.

“Um, I made some wine-soaked rice balls with fresh osmanthus flowers. Would you like a bowl to warm up?” she asked, grinning awkwardly at the two men with dark circles under their eyes.

She was meddling again.

She couldn’t help but meddle again.

“Two bowls, please,” Dr. Zhao was the first to speak, rubbing his hands together. “It really is cold.”

“Is he okay?” Squatting outside the tent, watching the two men heartily consume most of the pot of sweet rice balls, Chi Zhihan finally asked the question she had been holding back.

“He’s fine,” Dr. Zhao looked relaxed. “The situation is optimistic.”

…

That last addition really was unnecessary…

“Miss Chi, could I ask you for another favor?” Qi Peng finished his last sip of sweet soup, wiped his mouth, and used a questioning tone, but his eyes left no room for refusal.

…He must be tired if he’s being so perfunctory with his act.

“This is the passcode for across the hall,” Qi Peng handed Chi Zhihan a card. “If it doesn’t work, use the management code below.”

“…Okay,” Chi Zhihan took it, dumbfounded.

“You’ll still be in charge of delivering his three meals tomorrow. Use soft, easily digestible ingredients. After delivering the food, don’t linger or look around. Just tell the person in bed today’s menu and then leave,” Qi Peng thought for a moment, then smiled apologetically. “You might have to start work a day early.”

The way Chi Zhihan had poked her head out earlier to ask if they wanted wine-soaked rice balls made Qi Peng think that Qi Cheng might need to be greeted with that same tone.

He would do everything in his power to help Qi Cheng discover that the warmth in this world outweighed its despair.

「Author’s Note 」

Old Ying: —Rubbing hands together like a fly— Finally, we’re getting there!

The Qi family really isn’t that bad… Where’s the lunacy? To prove it, here’s a cringe-worthy little skit I’ll never write again:

Old Ying: Miss Qi Ning, readers and Chi Zhihan think you’re a lunatic.

Qi Ning: She needed money, so I gave her a job and paid her. Her family’s business was stolen, so I bankrupted the thief. And now she calls me a lunatic? Should I just accept that? Is bullying a pregnant woman fun?

Old Ying: *Sweating* You… focus on your pregnancy. Take care.

Old Ying: Young Master Qi Peng, readers say the Qi family is lunatic.

Qi Peng: Is ‘lunatic’ a derogatory term? My brother’s a psychopath. Would you dare call that derogatory?

Old Ying: …You… carry on.

Old Ying: Uh, Mr. Qi, who hasn’t appeared yet, don’t you think reporting to the homeroom teacher was a bit… lunatic?

Mr. Qi: Damn it! My son’s grades dropped from top three to bottom three. Was I not supposed to talk to the teacher? How was I supposed to know the teacher would yell at that girl?

Old Ying: …

And finally… the elderly Grandpa Qi…

Grandpa Qi: My grandson must be treated! Treated properly! He must not suffer! Or I’ll kill you all!

…

End of skit.