Knock knock knock!
"Come in."
Lin Qiye pushed open the door and entered the consultation room.
On the other side of the desk sat a middle-aged male doctor in a white coat, crowned with the sparsest possible ring of hair around a gleaming bald dome—one look and you knew: a symbol of wisdom.
Lin Qiye sat down, and the doctor drawled:
"Well then. What seems to be the problem?"
"There's nothing wrong with me."
"If there's nothing wrong with you, what are you here for?"
"There's nothing wrong with me—but I have a friend with a very serious mental illness."
At that, the doctor gave Lin Qiye a very odd look, smiled, and smoothed the few hairs on his crown.
"This friend of yours—it wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"
Lin Qiye answered with a straight face. "No. It really is a friend."
"Fine. Then tell me, what does your... no, what does this friend of yours have? What are the specific symptoms?"
Lin Qiye pondered a moment. "It might be a little hard to describe..."
The doctor smiled. "Then pretend you're the friend, and act it out for me."
Lin Qiye gave the doctor a few strange looks, agonized briefly, and nodded in resignation.
And so, Lin Qiye rose slowly from his seat,
walked straight up to the doctor under his watchful gaze,
reached out,
pressed the middle-aged doctor's head into his chest,
gently stroked the last few precious strands atop the man's scalp with his other hand,
eyes brimming with paternal love,
and said softly:
"My darling boy. Papa has found you at last!"
The doctor: "..."
For the next ten minutes, Lin Qiye deployed every essay-writing technique he had learned in his life, arguing with flying spittle that no, he himself was NOT the sick one—thereby narrowly escaping the fate of involuntary commitment.
"So—this friend of yours sees their own child in everything they look at?"
"Yes!"
"And cried for a long time?"
"Cries constantly."
"Likes to sit in the yard telling stories to a vase and a stool?"
"Correct."
"How's their sleep?"
"She doesn't sleep."
"..."
The doctor frowned. "This friend of yours is seriously ill! I strongly recommend you bring her to our hospital for inpatient treatment."
"Her situation is a bit special. Inpatient care isn't an option." Lin Qiye spread his hands helplessly.
He could hardly tell the truth. If he told the doctor that the patient was Nyx, Goddess of the Night—and that she lived in a mental asylum inside his head—the admission notice would be printed with his own name on it within the hour.
The doctor mulled it over with some difficulty, then began typing. "If hospitalization is out, then we'll have to start with medication. I'll prescribe a few drugs—have her take them, and if there's no improvement, she must be brought in."
Lin Qiye's expression turned awkward.
Could real-world medicine even be carried into his mind?
He didn't know. But he suspected that even if it could, mortal medicine wouldn't necessarily do anything for a god.
"Doctor, apart from medication, is there any other way to treat her?"
The doctor thought for a moment, then spoke slowly. "Your friend's symptoms are severe delusional disorder. I've seen plenty of patients like this. There was a man who loved his wife dearly; after she died in a car accident, he took to talking to the empty air, imagining she was still at his side."
"This kind of illness usually stems from a massive psychological trauma. The subconscious refuses to accept reality, so it constructs a false awareness that 'she's still here.'"
"If you can start from the root cause and provide psychological treatment from that angle, improvement is possible. But without medication to support it, it's very, very difficult."
"Medication and psychotherapy go hand in hand. You understand what I'm saying?"
Lin Qiye nodded thoughtfully.
Start from the root cause, huh... But he knew nothing about Nyx's past. There was nowhere to even begin!
It seemed he had some homework to do.
Lin Qiye accepted the prescription slip but didn't bother going to pay and collect the drugs. Since real-world medicine couldn't affect a god inside his mind, there was no reason to spend the money.
Besides... those drugs were expensive!
Leaving the asylum, Lin Qiye boarded the bus home.
The trip had been worth it. At the very least, it had given him an opening.
Reach Nyx through psychology—and to do that, he had to know her well enough.
So, at a certain stop, Lin Qiye got off the bus and walked into the Cangnan City Library.
...
No. 2 High, the school gate.
"Hey, look—who's that uncle over there?"
"No idea. Probably somebody's parent."
"I saw him when I came through the gate past seven this morning."
"Me too. This morning he had sunglasses on and a clean shirt, coffee in hand, leaning against the wall. I actually thought he looked pretty cool."
"Then why does he look like a beggar now? His eyes are all bloodshot."
"You don't think he's been standing there since morning, do you?"
"No way. It's almost ten."
"Who knows. Oh right—did you hear? Two students were killed on the way home after school last night!"
"No way, seriously?!"
"It's true, I heard..."
"..."
On the curb across from the school gate, a desolate man sat all alone, a carpet of cigarette butts around him, his back under the streetlamp a portrait of indescribable sorrow.
Zhao Kongcheng flicked the cigarette in his hand. No matter how he turned it over, he could not figure out where things had gone wrong.
He'd squatted here from six in the morning to ten at night, sun-baked halfway to stupid, and never caught a single glimpse of the kid.
He'd definitely seen a No. 2 High uniform last night!
Could the brat have guessed he'd be waiting here, and simply skipped school?
God-fucking-damn... his backside ached from sitting.
Zhao Kongcheng braced both hands on the ground and hauled himself up off the curb, casually brushing the dust from his trousers and stretching out his limbs.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a teenager in casual clothes on the other side of the road, strolling along at a leisurely pace with a few books in hand...
That guy's build is a bit like the brat's, actually...
A bit...
Hm?
Zhao Kongcheng froze, then blinked hard.
Holy shit!
WHOOSH—!
Without a word, Zhao Kongcheng shot toward the teenager like a gust of wind, eyes bloodshot, his whole face a mask of murderous menace!
But when he was about twenty meters away, the teenager seemed to sense something. His whole body jolted—and he took off running too!
And so the two of them tore down the street, one in front, one behind!
Right now Lin Qiye wanted to slap himself twice. Of all the roads he could have taken, why this one?!
Look at this mess. Stood the man up yesterday, and today he's fucking chasing me down!
Lin Qiye wasn't slow, but compared to Zhao Kongcheng he was hopelessly outclassed. Within seconds the man had run him down.
Zhao Kongcheng seized Lin Qiye's shoulder in a death grip and gave two cold laughs.
"Well, well, kid. We meet again!"
Lin Qiye turned his head stiffly, and tilted it:
"Who are you?"