In the days that followed, Ye Can resolved to fully commit to Dr. Yang’s treatment. Until her memories resurfaced, she decided to avoid disrupting Lin Zixi’s life as much as possible.
How could a Ye Can without memories be the one who loved Lin Zixi? But would a Ye Can with restored memories truly be the same one who had once accompanied her?
Questions like these swirled endlessly in Ye Can’s mind, leaving her anxious and unsettled. She knew where the remedy for her heart lay, but the current Ye Can couldn’t overcome the internal barriers to claim it. To ease the anxiety, she increased the frequency of her visits to Dr. Yang.
Ever since taking on Ye Can as a patient, Dr. Yang felt her personal time had been completely commandeered. Though Ye Can’s consultation fees were generous, Dr. Yang couldn’t keep up with her “enthusiasm.” She tactfully suggested that Ye Can try revisiting old haunts or reliving past events to accelerate her memory recovery.
After all, uncovering the subconscious through hypnosis alone made restoring all her memories a grueling process.
That afternoon, Ye Can was ushered out of the consultation room once more. With a dejected face, she made her way to the restroom. She splashed a handful of water on her face, then lifted her head and peered through the misty droplets at her reflection in the mirror.
The woman in the mirror wore a casual white blouse tied with a red patterned neckerchief, paired with a matching gauzy skirt below. She exuded an air of refined elegance.
Ye Can frowned, staring intently at her reflection. Noting the seductive aura lingering between her brows, she pointed at the mirror and said stiffly, “You’re Ye Can? Then who am I?”
She gazed at her reflection for a long time, receiving no answer she craved. The woman in the mirror didn’t leap out like in the stories and declare, “Of course I’m Ye Can too! I’m another you!”
Such absurdity didn’t happen. Ye Can hung her head low and sighed softly. “Why can’t a miracle like that occur?”
Why did her life have to be so dramatic? So illusory, as if she were merely a plaything of fate.
If fate truly existed, it must be retribution for all the evil she’d done in the past.
Still hanging her head, Ye Can shuffled out of the restroom. As she reached the entrance in low spirits, she unexpectedly bumped into a woman.
They collided, and the woman stepped back. A familiar fragrance wafted to Ye Can’s nose. Apologizing profusely, Ye Can looked up—and in that instant, she saw Lin Zixi.
Their eyes met in an unforeseen encounter.
Lin Zixi bit her lip, saying in disbelief, “Ye Can?”
Ye Can’s eyes sparkled as she nodded. “It’s me. Long time no see, Lin Zixi.”
Lin Zixi noticed the change in how she was addressed and stared at her in a daze. “What did you say? Why are you here? What are you doing here?”
The restroom entrance wasn’t ideal for conversation. Ye Can stepped forward to Lin Zixi’s side and explained, “I’ve been having some insomnia lately, so I came to see a doctor. This isn’t a good place to talk—go on in first. I’ll wait here. If you have time, we can chat?”
Lin Zixi gripped her handbag tightly, her expression complicated. “You…”
Ye Can gave her a gentle push at the waist. “Go on, go on. I’ll be right here—I won’t go anywhere.”
This reunion was unexpected for both. Ye Can stood at the entrance, watching Lin Zixi’s figure disappear from view, feeling inexplicably happy.
But amid the joy, Ye Can suddenly realized something: Why was Lin Zixi at the same hospital as her?
Her question was answered soon enough.
They left the hospital together and took Ye Can’s car to a nearby café. Once seated, Lin Zixi explained to Ye Can, “I’ve… been suffering from severe insomnia, so I come here regularly for consultations.”
Ye Can glanced at the medications stuffed into Lin Zixi’s bag, her emotions complex. Compared to Lin Zixi, she wasn’t sure who was more like fate’s plaything.
She’d clearly forgotten her amnesiac lover, only for memories to resurface by a twist of fate. Upon learning definitive news of her death, suspicions and doubts tormented her. In this cycle of torment, grief shattered her defenses time and again.
A pang of heartache struck Ye Can.
She slumped on the sofa like a gutted fish, gasping futilely. After a while, she suppressed the pain and looked at Lin Zixi. “And now? Are things better now?”
Lin Zixi stirred her black coffee, slowly blooming into a smile. “Much better. A lot better.”
She even lifted her gaze to meet Ye Can’s, asking cautiously, “Can I ask why you need psychological counseling?”
For a moment, Ye Can wanted to spill everything. But seeing Lin Zixi’s state and considering her uncertain recovery, she held back.
Don’t offer uncertain hope—uncertainty would only inflict deeper secondary wounds on a Lin Zixi like this.
Ye Can settled for a half-truth. “My mental state hasn’t been great lately. My sister—Ye Shen—just gave birth to a girl. I feel like she might not need me anymore. It’s like I have nowhere to go.”
Bullshit. Even if Ye Shen had a dozen more kids, it wouldn’t matter to Ye Can. Her true home had never been with Ye Shen. The only person she wanted to build intimacy with right now was Lin Zixi.
Lin Zixi looked surprised. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and pondered before saying, “You mean, after your sister had the child, she neglected you, making you feel lonely?”
Ye Can sprawled across the table, propping her chin with one hand in a lazy drawl. “You could say that. When the person you feel closest to gets someone else, doesn’t it bring a sense of abandonment? That’s how I feel now—so lonely…”
The world is so vast, and I’m all alone. Like a spaceship adrift in space, or an island standing solitary in the deep sea, unvisited by anyone. I’ve been exiled by the world.
No one understands me. I have no hobbies to distract me. I just feel so lonely.
Over these three years, countless times—under starry skies, on grasslands, in vast wilds—when Ye Can picked up her brush feeling free and carefree, the mere thought of “Lin Zixi” would plunge her into inexplicable melancholy.
She felt desolate because she couldn’t share any of it with the one person she yearned to share with.
She felt alone, even in crowds, unable to find the companion she craved.
More crucially, even if she painted all day, she couldn’t claim joy in it. Greater pleasures and desires beckoned, and their unattainability was the true reason she couldn’t be happy.
Across from her, Lin Zixi froze for an instant. The Ye Can before her resembled the one from their first meeting six years ago—and the sleepless sovereign alone by firelight in those countless entwined nights long before.
Lin Zixi parted her lips, hesitating several times before asking, “Friends… don’t you have friends to keep you company?”
Ye Can switched hands to prop her chin and thought before replying, “Strictly speaking, no, I don’t have friends.”
The answer was entirely expected for Lin Zixi. She paused, then probed, “What about painting? Didn’t you say you’ve been painting and traveling? Haven’t you thought about changing your mood?”
Ye Can furrowed her brows. “It helped before, but now… you know, contradictions have primary and secondary ones. My main issue is that the most important person in my life is distant from me. This loneliness can’t be filled by lesser joys.”
Leaning forward, Ye Can stared straight at Lin Zixi. “Do you understand that feeling?”
Once, Lin Zixi had endured the same torment. But she had friends, work she loved for sustenance, and memories to carry her through endless nights, allowing her to persevere step by step.
Now, facing Ye Can’s question, Lin Zixi nodded. “Yes… I can relate to it somewhat.”
Ye Can breathed a sigh of relief and continued on her own. “The doctor says I should go out more, build new relationships or hobbies, but I can’t muster any interest right now.”
“Got any good suggestions?”
Seeing Ye Can’s troubled expression, Lin Zixi pondered and offered, “Participate in more social activities?”
Ye Can shot it down. “That’s boring. No one interests me.”
Lin Zixi thought again. “Take some interest classes? Or lectures for like-minded people?”
Ye Can wasn’t keen. “If you mean support groups for patients, I’ve tried, but the results were disappointing.”
Lin Zixi pressed on. “What about… writing down your thoughts or painting them out? Usually, venting makes you feel better, right?”
Lin Zixi seemed genuinely invested in helping, her face sincere with a touch of bewildered concern. Watching her, Ye Can suddenly realized that in this encounter, she wasn’t the only one feeling at ease.
Lin Zixi wasn’t suffering because of her—on the contrary, their interaction brought Lin Zixi obvious pleasure and lightness.
Ye Can paused, meeting her eyes. “Like right now, for example?”
Lin Zixi blinked, nodding vaguely. “Mm… yeah, you could say that. If talking to me makes you feel better, I’d be happy to listen.”
Ye Can smiled, her eyes sparkling at Lin Zixi. “So, you’re my friend now, right?”
Lin Zixi stared at the light in her eyes, then nodded after a moment, responding softly, “Yes. If you’d like, we’re already friends.”
The reply sparked an inexplicable hope in Ye Can. She exhaled deeply, mustering courage. “So, can I come find you to talk like this in the future?”
Lin Zixi rarely smiled so openly. “Of course.” As if that weren’t enough, she added after a thought, “I’d be delighted.”
