CHAPTER 13: DEPRESSION

The next day, though the sky had cleared, the air was still heavy with the damp scent of rain. Having already experienced Shi Yan’s captivating lectures once, Ruan Zhizhi didn’t want to risk not finding a seat this time. She grabbed her umbrella and left home early.

When she arrived at A University’s campus by taxi, it was only half past four. Shi Yan’s class started at five, in the same lecture hall as last time.

For some reason, the thought of attending Shi Yan’s lecture made her a little nervous. Having been away from campus for three years, Ruan Zhizhi even carried a backpack again, meticulously preparing a notebook and pen, determined to take thorough notes to help revise her article later.

She walked through the campus, hearing the laughter and chatter of students, and felt a faint nostalgia for her own student days.

By the time she reached the lecture hall, about twenty minutes before class, nearly eighty percent of the seats were already filled, despite her early arrival.

She casually found a spot in the back row. As more students came in, the hall quickly became packed.

The noise around her was a little overwhelming, so she took out her headphones to listen to music, leaving a blank notebook and black pen in front of her. Resting her head on the desk while listening, she felt, for a fleeting moment, as if she had truly returned to her university days.

Back then, the sky was always so blue, and she thought she could silently accompany Li Sicheng forever, giving without asking for anything in return.

But later she realized her mistake—how many fools are willing to give love selflessly? One year, two years, three… eventually, anyone would break under the weight of endless waiting.

So during Li Sicheng’s senior-year birthday party, she drank nearly a bottle of 60-proof vodka, finally unable to contain her hidden feelings any longer.

She didn’t want to recall what happened afterward; she pushed the memory aside.

Perhaps because of last night’s sleeplessness and waking early for work today, Ruan Zhizhi found herself a bit drowsy while waiting for class. She subconsciously knew she shouldn’t fall asleep, yet couldn’t resist the overwhelming fatigue, and after struggling briefly, she closed her eyes and slipped into light sleep.

…

“Ruan Zhizhi, are you awake?”

A familiar, cold, yet measured voice suddenly called, jolting her upright.

Sure enough, Shi Yan stood just a meter away in the aisle, holding a stack of teaching materials. His jet-black, luminous eyes looked at her with an unreadable expression.

Ruan Zhizhi wished she could disappear into a hole, feeling utterly embarrassed. She had promised to attend the class yesterday, and now, before the lecture even began, she had already fallen asleep.

Whispers from nearby students and faint laughter reached her ears.

Even composed as she usually was, her cheeks flushed red.

“…I’m awake.” She cleared her throat and spoke, filled with shame.

Shi Yan nodded, expressionless, and said lightly, “Pay attention to the lecture.”

Ruan Zhizhi immediately nodded, adopting an earnest, studious demeanor.

As Shi Yan returned to the podium to prepare the PPT, Ruan Zhizhi overheard a few girls beside her whispering, wondering how Shi Yan knew her name.

She slumped slightly in embarrassment.

Due to this little incident, Ruan Zhizhi remained fully attentive for the entire next hour, more focused than she had even been during finals in university.

Shi Yan stood casually at the podium, advancing the PPT slides with a remote: “Next, we’ll focus on the symptoms of schizophrenia and its causes.”

Hearing this, Ruan Zhizhi’s attention heightened even further. In contrast, the other students seemed surprised, whispering among themselves in the otherwise quiet lecture hall.

“Didn’t we just cover schizophrenia a few days ago? Why are we going over it again?”

“Yeah, did Professor Shi make a mistake?”

“No way… Professor Shi never gets things wrong about class material.”

…

While students murmured, someone eventually raised their hand, asking the same question. Shi Yan casually lifted an eyelid and replied, “Exams are coming. Consider this a review.”

Students: “….”

Ruan Zhizhi: “….”

“The clinical manifestations of schizophrenia are diverse. One of the main types is paranoid schizophrenia. Paranoid schizophrenia involves severe hallucinations, delusions, and insecurity. Patients often believe they are physically and mentally healthy, while those around them harbor hostility and intend to harm them—what we commonly call persecutory delusions.”

Persecutory delusions?

As Ruan Zhizhi took notes, she recalled the case. The suspect had repeatedly accused the police of plotting by her parents-in-law and husband to kill her, even specifying the tools and methods they would use. The police had indeed investigated multiple times but found nothing.

These must have been delusions triggered by schizophrenia, she thought—constantly feeling in extreme danger, misunderstood, unable to be saved. Ultimately, the suspect, driven to extremes, chose to kill her in-laws as a way to escape the perceived threat.

Ruan Zhizhi kept scribbling notes, increasingly convinced that coming to the lecture today had been an absolutely correct decision.

The one-hour class ended quickly. Because the lecture hall had been so crowded, she lingered at her seat for a while, letting the post-class rush subside, before slowly standing and heading toward the door.

Just as she stepped out, she heard that familiar voice again, tinged with a faint scent of tobacco, leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for her.

“Awake now?”

Ruan Zhizhi blushed, but the next moment, she retorted, unwilling to back down. “Professor Shi, I just slept a little before class. Didn’t you see I took notes the whole time? I bet I’m one of the most attentive students today.”

Shi Yan didn’t speak. He lowered his gaze slightly, looking at her with a smile—soft and gentle.

Gentle. A word that seemed so completely at odds with him. Yet somehow, when he smiled at her or spoke softly, Ruan Zhizhi felt as if this was exactly how he was meant to be.

Perhaps he was simply a complex, peculiar person, capable of warmth in one moment and cold detachment in the next.

She stared at him, inexplicably dazed.

Shi Yan waved a hand in front of her face. “Looks like you’re not fully awake yet.”

Ruan Zhizhi snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice. She wanted to say something, then remembered, hurriedly taking her backpack off, unzipping it, and rummaging inside. She finally pulled out the neatly folded black umbrella and an unopened pack of Banlangen tablets.

“This is the umbrella you lent me yesterday.” She handed it to him, pausing briefly, and then, a bit shyly, offered the tablets in her other hand. “This… I was worried you’d catch a cold in the rain. I thought you should take some medicine just in case—otherwise, with this weather, getting sick would be really unpleasant.”

Time seemed to freeze. Shi Yan didn’t respond, whether because he was listening or lost in thought, she couldn’t tell. He still leaned against the doorframe, eyes lifting slightly to look at her.

In his gaze, it was as if fireflies were flickering—elusive, enigmatic, sending shivers down her spine.

Shi Yan’s thoughts were always hard to read. Unsure of how to react, Ruan Zhizhi’s outstretched hands froze mid-air, caught between returning them or holding them.

Finally, Shi Yan looked up and asked calmly, “Are you this nice to all your friends?”

“Friends.” That was the word Ruan Zhizhi had used in her text message to him yesterday.

Not fully understanding his tone, she answered honestly: “Not really… I don’t have many friends, so I’ve always thought that if someone is kind to me, I should be kind in return.”

By now, the clock pointed to six in the evening. Twilight spread, the sun sank low, and the red glow of sunset spread across the sky, even tinting his pupils a dark hue, almost overwhelming her.

The students who had rushed out after class to get dinner had mostly left. Ten minutes ago, the building had been packed; now it was sparsely populated, cold, and heavy under the sunset’s glow.

“Then do you think I’m being kind to you?” His voice, husky from years of smoking, carried faint traces of rasp.

Ruan Zhizhi barely hesitated before nodding, adding a long string of thanks: “Actually, I’ve always wanted to properly thank you. Since the time we went to Yunnan, you and Chen Jiayan have taken good care of me. Even these few encounters we’ve had, you’ve helped me a lot. In short, it’s really lucky to have a friend like you.”

“A friend?” Shi Yan murmured softly, almost to himself.

Not wanting to continue down that path, Ruan Zhizhi pursed her lips and quickly switched topics. “By the way, what you covered in class today is really helpful for my article. I was thinking while listening, I’m glad I came.” She hesitated a moment, then asked curiously, “Shi Yan, do people like you, who study psychology so thoroughly, have a much lower chance of developing mental illness?”

He shook his head lightly, replying casually: “I had depression in college.” He looked at her then, smiling without emotion, a trace of sadness in it. “Physician, heal thyself. Isn’t that ironic?”

Depression…

Hearing him say that reminded Ruan Zhizhi of that night at the Lijiang bar. At the time, she reacted like Yan Rui and the other girls—thinking he had said it casually. How could someone so successful possibly suffer from depression?

She wanted to ask more but feared touching a sore spot, so she held back.

“I’ll walk you downstairs.”

He straightened from the doorframe, ending the topic, walking on her left as they descended the stairs of the lecture building together.

….

Shi Yan didn’t stop until they reached the campus gate.

Ruan Zhizhi turned and waved at him. “This is fine, I’ll take a taxi home. You’ve had a long day too, so go back and get your things.”

The wind rose, messing with the strands of hair on his forehead. Shi Yan stood quietly a few steps away. For some reason, Ruan Zhizhi felt that despite the short physical distance between them, an invisible distance lay between their hearts.

His hoarse voice, mingled with the wind and passing car horns, sounded slightly unclear. “Ruan Zhizhi, do you know what’s even more foolish than a one-sided desire?”

“To know it’s foolish, yet be unable to stop.”