The door swung open with a gust of wind, lifting the curtains.
Yan Sui was slightly out of breath as she looked into her room.
Just as she had left it—empty.
She picked up the homework she had forgotten on the desk.
Her gaze swept imperceptibly around the room, finally settling on the windowsill.
The window seemed slightly more open than when she had left.
Was it just her imagination?
She blinked and leaned out to look outside.
This was the third floor. A fall from here wouldn’t be fatal for most people, but it would be hard to escape unscathed.
Yet now, there was no one below—not a trace, not a shadow.
She closed the window and once again hurried out the door, running toward the teaching building.
Under the eaves below, hidden in layers of shadows, a man clutched his wrist. His eyes were bloodshot, his entire body trembling with excitement and fear.
The next moment, intense self-loathing flooded his crimson eyes. He swallowed a pill and made a hoarse phone call:
“Send Dr. Song over.”
Song Ming’an sat in the private reception room of the Jiang Group headquarters, flipping through the records in his hand.
Everyone knew that the master of the Jiang family was abnormal—unpredictable, cold, and ruthless.
Only Song Ming’an knew just how mad he was, how precarious his state, and—
how restrained.
The door was pushed open.
The moment he saw the person entering, he frowned.
“How long has it been since you slept?”
Those bloodshot eyes turned slowly and sluggishly.
After a long pause, a hoarse voice replied,
“I don’t remember. Two days, or longer.”
Song Ming’an’s frown deepened.
He watched as the other man sat on the sofa, his features casting deep shadows under the overhead light, his fingertips twitching noticeably from anxiety.
Beneath his sleeve, faintly visible, were fresh, ghastly scars.
“It’s gotten worse? Why? It was relatively stable before. Did you stop taking your medication on your own?”
“I stopped the sleeping pills, not the sedatives.”
“Why did you stop the sleeping pills?”
“…I couldn’t bear to sleep.”
Song Ming’an was stunned, looking him up and down.
“You… encountered a new variable? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I thought it was controllable.”
Controllable.
Song Ming’an looked at the faintly visible scars and felt his headache worsen.
“And you tried to control it by hurting yourself again?”
This behavior hadn’t occurred since Jiang Yuan was fourteen.
“I thought I could.” The man slumped in the sofa suddenly looked up.
“It has to be possible. Increase my dosage. I don’t want to continue like this.”
Song Ming’an finally recognized the look in his eyes—the temporary sluggishness and drowsiness caused by an overdose.
“Impossible.” Song Ming’an shook his head. “A year ago, after you took this position, we finally managed to lower the dosage to a safer level. Increasing it now could make things worse.”
Jiang Yuan’s expression remained blank. “I won’t die.”
Song Ming’an: “…If you’re willing, you could tell me what this new variable is.”
Jiang Yuan lowered his gaze and remained silent.
Song Ming’an: “Alright, then why don’t we handle it the way you used to?
“You could make all variables disappear from your sight, eliminate the source of your worsening condition. Why not…”
“Song Ming’an.” Jiang Yuan suddenly interrupted him, lifting his gaze sharply, enunciating each word, “I don’t want to repeat myself.”
Song Ming’an froze, feeling as if a venomous snake had suddenly lunged at him, its forked tongue spewing deadly poison, bringing with it a chilling, foul stench.
Even though he considered himself somewhat of a friend to Jiang Yuan, he still felt fear.
Taking a deep breath, he noted down a few lines. “Alright, I’ll change your medication, but I can only give you a week’s supply at most. I’ll come again next week. The new medication may cause cognitive slowing, emotional blunting, communication difficulties, and so on.
“To ensure the medication’s effectiveness and keep the side effects under control, I need you to engage in some social activities. Experience noisy environments that require interaction, then tell me the specifics and how you feel so I can make timely adjustments.”
Jiang Yuan nodded slowly.
Song Ming’an confirmed once more, “You do want to live, right?”
Jiang Yuan suddenly smiled. “Of course. I want to live more than anyone.”
Song Ming’an pursed his lips. “I understand.” It truly was a miracle that he was still alive.
After reiterating the dosage and precautions, Song Ming’an left.
Jiang Yuan remained sunk in the sofa for a long time.
Perhaps due to the medication taking effect, he felt everything around him drifting away and dulling.
The morbid impulse surging in his heart seemed to be slowly shrouded by a thick fog, becoming indistinct.
In his daze, he felt as if he were back in that pitch-black night over a decade ago.
Dirt filled his mouth and nose as he desperately tilted his head back, crying and pleading, but the woman who had given birth to him did not stop.
Extreme fear and suffocation gradually made him lose all sensation in his body.
The dirt slowly covered his head, darkness and coldness overwhelming him, countless hands pulling him down into hell.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the last bit of oxygen in his chest was about to vanish. Suddenly, the dirt above his head shifted.
A pair of unfamiliar, bright eyes, like the moon, peered down at him.
“Huh?” The soft, childish voice was filled with curiosity. “Still alive?”
He shuddered violently, returning to reality.
Suddenly, he realized his fingertips had unconsciously slipped into the pocket closest to his heart, entwining around a strand of hair warmed by his body heat.
Tighter and tighter.
“Snap.”
The strand of hair broke, emitting an almost imperceptible sound, yet it felt like a sharp ringing in his ears!
The pale man, as if startled by this sharp ringing, trembled and knocked over a glass on the coffee table.
As the shattering sound echoed, he masochistically grasped the broken glass. Bright red blood flowed from his palm, winding its way down his pale, slender fingers.
His chest heaved violently as he told himself over and over in the pain.
Stop doing such disgusting things.
Are you even worthy?
…
When his emotions finally settled, he casually wiped the blood from his fingertips.
Remembering Song Ming’an’s words, he called his secretary.
“Any recent invitations?”
“Mr. Jiang, there are quite a few. The nearest is a charity banquet tomorrow evening.”
“Arrange it.”
“Yes.”
Yan Sui finished her classes for the day and headed home.
Along the way, she wondered why she hadn’t felt the usual sense of being watched today.
As she reached her doorstep, she heard He Wan’s voice.
“Yan Sui must be sent away within a month.”
Lin Jian: “Several business partners have recently complimented how beautiful that girl is.”
He Wan: “Even better. Look at how many strange things have happened in this house since she returned just a few days ago. It’s downright unlucky.”
Lin Jian: “We’ll introduce her tomorrow. Perhaps some bigger boss will take a liking to her. You teach her some manners properly.”
Yan Sui pushed open the main door.
Lin Jian glanced at her, left a “Study well,” and went straight upstairs.
He Wan held a ruler in her hand, smiling as she looked over.
“Suisui, your father is taking you to the banquet tomorrow, but you know nothing and might easily embarrass our family.”
“Come, Auntie will personally teach you manners today.”
A tall man walked up behind Yan Sui and shoved her shoulder hard!
The young girl staggered away, tears instantly welling up in her eyes.