Yu Xian turned to look at the huge floor-to-ceiling window to his side.
The 41st floor.
At this height, the curtain of rain looked more like a grayish-white gauze veil, shrouding the entire city of Jiangcheng.
"Captain Yu said you haven’t been sleeping well lately?"
"It’s been okay, I guess."
The wind was strong outside, and a floor this high was easily affected. The surface of the water in the cup rippled slightly.
"My cousin... how much did he tell you?"
"He told me what he saw." Wen Yu was very open. "For example, that you’ve been down these past few days, that you’d been drinking, and that you ran to his office saying a classmate had disappeared."
"So, will you tell him what you see?"
The woman before him smiled. It was a gentle smile, as if she were looking at a neighbor’s sulking child. She reached out and nudged the glass of water toward him.
"You can rest assured that our conversations are confidential. Unless they involve a threat to your life or the lives of others, he has no right to view my records."
Yu Xian took a small sip of water. It wasn’t hot or cold, but just right.
"You two are pretty serious about your professional boundaries."
Wen Yu smiled, looking into Yu Xian’s eyes.
"Yes. So today, we’re not investigating a case. I just want to talk about how you’ve been doing lately, okay?"
"To be honest, I don’t think I have any psychological problems."
Not wanting to make eye contact, he shifted his gaze to the lush pothos plant by the window.
"Compared to those... those fatal cases you’ve been dealing with recently, the victims’ families must be in much worse shape than I am."
He thought of the photos of those corpses with their stiff, frozen smiles.
"A small child who fails an exam, or even just loses an eraser, can feel like their world is ending."
Wen Yu’s voice was soft and gentle.
"In their world, that’s the biggest thing that could possibly happen. No one’s suffering is more or less severe than anyone else’s. You are just as important as they are."
She looked at Yu Xian, and as if realizing something, she asked:
"You’re very interested in their situation?"
Yu Xian’s heart skipped a beat. This was the real reason he’d come for a consultation today.
"I heard my cousin mention that some of the victims’ families feel... that the people around them have changed?"
The room was quiet for a moment. Outside, a strong gust of wind slammed against the building’s curtain wall, causing the tempered glass to tremble slightly.
"They have changed," Wen Yu said after a few seconds of silence. "But not ’disappeared’ in the way you described."
"What if I said I also feel like someone close to me has changed?"
Yu Xian looked up at Wen Yu.
The air in the consultation room seemed to freeze for a moment. Wen Yu shifted her posture slightly.
"Can you tell me more specifically?"
"My roommate." Yu Xian chose his words carefully, recounting the story of Shi Zuozhou eating cilantro, then added, "I’m sure I’m not misremembering."
Wen Yu listened quietly, her expression showing no significant change.
She looked into Yu Xian’s eyes and suddenly asked a strange question:
"So, do you think he is still him?"
"What do you mean?"
"After this happened, in your eyes, is your roommate still Shi Zuozhou himself?"
Wen Yu’s voice was soft, but she enunciated every word clearly.
Yu Xian froze for a second, then frowned.
"Dr. Wen, is this a joke? Even though this habit of eating cilantro doesn’t match my memory of him, of course he’s still the same person. Other than that, there’s no other difference."
Watching him, Wen Yu seemed to relax, almost imperceptibly.
"Although I shouldn’t reveal the details of other cases."
She stood up, picked up the kettle, and added some more water to Yu Xian’s cup.
"But to put your mind at ease, I can tell you that you are different from them."
Yu Xian looked up, meeting Wen Yu’s eyes.
"How am I different?"
"Capgras syndrome." Wen Yu looked back at him, uttering an unfamiliar term.
"What?"
"They’re suffering from Capgras syndrome, also known as Impostor Delusion."
Wen Yu turned and placed the kettle back on its base.
"It’s a rare delusional disorder. The patient becomes convinced that someone close to them has been replaced by an identical-looking impostor, or a ’double.’"
Yu Xian was taken aback. "So, when those family members said the ’people around them had changed,’ they meant they thought the victims had been... replaced by a ’double’?"
"Correct." Wen Yu’s gaze shifted to the window, as if recalling an unpleasant memory.
"Several family members have repeatedly asked me the same question during our sessions. They ask me if medical technology has advanced to the point where it’s possible to flawlessly duplicate a human being."
The rain poured down, blurring the distant river surface and the sky into a single expanse of chaotic gray.
A few towering landmarks were reduced to blurry black silhouettes, like giant tombstones standing in the depths of the sea.
’So the victims’ families have... Impostor Delusion?’
Yu Xian silently repeated the pathological term he had never heard before.
"What causes this disorder? What evidence are they basing their judgment on, that the victims were replaced?"
"Generally, it’s caused by organic brain damage, such as from trauma or a tumor. It can also be triggered by the shock of an extreme event. As for the specific symptoms, that would involve the privacy of other patients. I’m sorry, but I can’t say."
Yu Xian looked at Wen Yu with a sincere expression.
"Dr. Wen, you can omit their personal details. I’m just looking for a point of reference."
Wen Yu didn’t speak. Her gold-rimmed glasses glinted with a cold light.
She stood up, switched on the kettle, and the sound of water beginning to boil filled the air.
"I’m sorry, Yu Xian." Her tone was gentle yet firm. "I cannot, and should not, tell you about their situations. Just as I promised you that I would never tell your cousin what you’ve said today."