Chapter 21
Zhong Shiwu called again while Lu Yin was on the balcony, finally hanging up a garment that had been drying there for three days.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Zhong,” Lu Yin said, putting her phone on speaker.
“Not good at all,” Zhong Shiwu’s voice was laced with disapproval.
Lu Yin remembered Zhong Shiwu’s current situation; her newlywed husband was in the ICU, his recovery uncertain.
“My condolences,” she offered.
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Zhong Shiwu said, the rustling of papers audible in the background. “As far as I know, if you were taking your medication as prescribed, you should have run out by now.”
She scoffed. “But you haven’t just been taking it regularly these past two weeks. You’ve been overdosing.”
“I need to maintain a stable emotional state for work,” Lu Yin deflected.
“If I’m not mistaken, you’re using medication to avoid certain interactions,” Zhong Shiwu paused, putting the papers away. “But you can’t handle the withdrawal symptoms.”
“I’ll find a solution,” Lu Yin said, her brow furrowing as she thought of Lin Qianqian’s resistance to moving out.
“You sound overly confident, even arrogant,” Zhong Shiwu said, unconvinced. “But I interpret that as a sign that you’ve given up asking for help and chosen self-deception, which is actually a manifestation of low self-esteem.”
Lu Yin paused, continuing to hang the laundry as if unaffected.
“I told you before, medication can’t address the root cause. It’s your inner demons that are holding you captive. That’s what we need to focus on,” Zhong Shiwu sighed. Lu Yin was the most challenging patient she had ever encountered.
Too self-aware, too resistant to confronting her past.
“Lu Yin,” Zhong Shiwu softened her tone, trying a different approach. “Don’t be so pessimistic.”
Lu Yin’s gaze darkened.
She didn’t have the courage to face reality, even though she knew everything about Lin Qianqian’s life abroad.
She knew Lin Qianqian hadn’t changed her phone number. Despite being blocked on WeChat, Lin Qianqian had conspicuously shared her other social media accounts, documenting her life online.
From learning photography, another way to “capture beauty,” to adorning herself with reindeer-themed accessories at Christmas.
Lu Yin had seen it all, shamelessly stalking Lin Qianqian’s online presence.
She understood the message, but chose to ignore it.
If being together wasn’t a good thing, then she should let go.
She should be selfish.
Lu Yin wasn’t sure if she had changed, but Lin Qianqian hadn’t.
The girl had returned, full of hope, picking up the pieces of their broken relationship, trying to drag Lu Yin back into the light.
Smiling brightly when happy, sulking petulantly when upset.
The memories resurfaced, the suppressed desires rekindled, growing stronger, harder to control.
This wasn’t what she wanted.
She should be watching Lin Qianqian move on, find happiness with someone else.
She would wallow in her own misery, burying her demons along with her unspoken desires.
“Lu Yin,” Zhong Shiwu said, breaking the silence. “Forget that I’m your psychiatrist. As a friend of Lu Sui’s, I don’t want to see you like this. Lu Sui wouldn’t want this either.”
“You should try to connect with her, wait for an opportunity. Then you can decide what to do,” Zhong Shiwu’s voice regained its professional tone. “For example, let her stay. Or…do you want a kiss from her?”
The line went dead. Zhong Shiwu had hung up.
Lu Yin stared at the girl’s shirt, a large smiley face printed on the front.
She turned it inside out and hung it up, then walked back to the living room.
Lin Qianqian met with Ming Yao again, watching her scribble the number 1 on a piece of paper and circle it.
“She said I should write down my demands so she understands them clearly.”
“Who?” Lin Qianqian asked absently, her mind elsewhere.
She was preoccupied with finding a way to stay, another excuse to avoid moving out. She couldn’t think of anything and didn’t have the nerve to beg Lu Yin again.
Last night’s conversation had been clear enough, bordering on desperate.
“Who else?” Ming Yao scribbled a line and then crossed it out. “Does she think I’m a child?”
“Legally speaking, you kind of are,” Lin Qianqian said, opening the apartment rental app again.
“She’s not that much older than me. Only sixteen years.”
“Sixteen years…” Lin Qianqian echoed. “Almost a full adult.”
“She’s always so busy. I haven’t had a proper conversation with her yet,” Ming Yao said, resting her chin on her hand, feeling frustrated. “She keeps brushing me off.”
She didn’t hear a response from Lin Qianqian and looked up. “Why are you so down?”
“I’m about to be homeless,” Lin Qianqian said, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to find another apartment. I don’t want to move. I didn’t come back just to work at some random company.”
“Wasn’t your sister picking you up from work a few days ago?”
“About that…” Lin Qianqian started to explain, then shook her head, defeated. It was a long story.
Ming Yao, seeing her distress, tried to offer some comfort, then looked down at the blank piece of paper, her own worries resurfacing.
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
The waiter arrived with their drinks, breaking the silence.
They put their worries aside, reminiscing about their time abroad, laughing and crying, as if they could erase their current troubles with shared memories.
Lin Qianqian didn’t drink much. She wasn’t one to drown her sorrows in alcohol. Sadness usually killed her appetite.
She drank just enough to feel a slight buzz, her mind clear despite the alcohol.
She saw the thoroughly drunk Ming Yao off in the car that had come to pick her up and then took a taxi home.
As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she heard voices from the living room.
Her heart pounded with anxiety. She peeked into the living room. The woman sitting on the sofa turned around.
Lin Qianqian recognized her instantly. It was the woman from the video call.
So…
Lu Yin had brought her home.
“Hello,” the woman greeted her with a smile.
Lin Qianqian sensed a casual confidence in her demeanor.
She interpreted it as a challenge.
Lu Yin glanced at her, then looked away, saying nothing.
Lin Qianqian noticed the wine glasses, the expensive liquor, the half-eaten pastries on the coffee table, and regretted not getting drunk herself.
Then she could have stumbled into bed and passed out, oblivious to everything.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
Before anyone could answer, she added, “I’ll just go to my room.”
It was unclear whether she was referring to the current situation or something else entirely.
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