After leaving Zhao Qingyu’s apartment, Shen An slung his small backpack over his shoulder and headed straight for Building D.
Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded lingering a bit longer at her place. But over the past few days, he’d devoted most of his time to her.
Which meant he’d somewhat neglected Chen Nannan.
As a master at balancing relationships, Shen An felt it was necessary to allocate his time more fairly.
At the same time, he was a little afraid of what might happen if he stayed—afraid Zhao Qingyu might take him right there on the spot.
Though he’d mostly seen through her now and realized she was something of a paper tiger, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of her intentions.
After all, she could switch between paper tiger and vixen at the drop of a hat. If she got carried away, it would only lead to even more awkwardness for both of them.
These deeper interactions over the past few days had given Shen An a solid read on Zhao Qingyu’s personality.
Beneath her icy exterior lurked a somewhat self-centered girl with no real malice. She loved to assert herself, craving attention and a sense of security.
She came across a bit like a rebellious teenager in the throes of puberty, though the rebellion was mild. She habitually masked it all with a cool, seductive facade.
Her thoughts were delicate, easily touched.
In other words, she trusted people readily—and once she did, she gave her heart fully.
The aloofness and arrogance were labels she deliberately applied to herself, a mask to protect her fragile sense of pride.
Deep inside, she was just a little girl wrapped in a shell, terrified of getting hurt—which made her pride so hypersensitive.
Shen An didn’t know the exact reasons; it was just his intuition.
But one thing he was certain of: the title “Great Demon King Zhao Qingyu” was about to be overtaken by “paper tiger.” Her true self was nowhere near as fearsome as the rumors suggested.
Even so, Shen An had no plans to head straight to Chen Nannan.
He was covered head to toe in Zhao Qingyu’s perfume. Showing up like that might get him beaten to a pulp by Chen Nannan.
Sure, he wanted to tease her a little, but he knew where to draw the line.
He could tell Chen Nannan was a more conservative girl—nothing like Zhao Qingyu or Wang Yuqiong.
Push her too far, and he’d snap that delicate string of hers for good.
So first, he’d swing back to his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes, washing away Zhao Qingyu’s scent.
And at this hour…
It was Monday, so the Student Union would likely be busy. If Xu Yijing didn’t have classes, she’d probably be dutifully carrying out her duties as vice president.
That said, Zhao Qingyu’s apartment building was quite a hike from Building D—over ten minutes on foot.
And since Shen An wasn’t familiar with the route, it took him even longer.
Meanwhile, something else slowed him down midway.
His phone rang.
Shen An assumed it was Chen Nannan calling and answered without checking the caller ID.
Before he could say hello, the other side spoke first.
The slightly mature voice made him freeze in his tracks, his brows knitting together instinctively.
This was a caller he hadn’t anticipated.
“Doctor Shen? It’s Zhao Li.”
Zhao Li?
Shen An frowned and replied softly, “Hello, Madam Zhao.”
A light laugh came from Zhao Li’s end. “Didn’t you used to call me Aunt Zhao, Doctor Shen? What’s with the sudden formality after just a month?”
“Ha~ So what brings Aunt Zhao to call me personally? Any orders?”
Shen An brushed past the topic of address and cut to the chase.
“Do you still remember the task I entrusted to you, Doctor Shen?”
Zhao Li asked gently.
“I haven’t forgotten for a second.”
“I see. Then it seems my people have misunderstood you.” Zhao Li chuckled lightly, subtly reminding Shen An as well.
Shen An wasn’t surprised. Once he’d learned Zhao Qingyu’s identity, he’d naturally guessed at Zhao Li’s influence.
It would be stranger if she didn’t have eyes and ears in the school.
“So, after a month, Doctor Shen—any progress to report?”
Zhao Li’s voice was warm and soothing, like a spring breeze.
But Shen An didn’t buy the gentleness for a second.
A pointed question didn’t always need a harsh tone; sometimes, a mild one created even more unease.
No need to guess—her informants in the school had no doubt reported his activities over the past month.
And honestly, he’d been buried in Art Troupe business, neglecting his main duties.
Zhao Li had hired him to handle Xu Yijing’s issue, but all his focus had gone to Zhao Qingyu.
Still, Shen An wasn’t worried.
He’d anticipated Zhao Li checking in.
After all, she’d paid him to work, and here he was flirting around. No client would be thrilled.
He just hadn’t expected it to take her a full month—too slow.
Since he’d seen it coming, he had a counter ready.
Simple, really: Even if her spies were everywhere on campus, there was no way she had eyes in Xu Yijing’s apartment.
In short, she couldn’t track his progress with Xu Yijing through them.
She was just prodding him, reminding him of his actual job.
Fail to see through it, feel guilty, and he’d be on the defensive.
Shen An thought for a moment, then fired back: “Aunt Zhao, when you first hired me, didn’t you leave out some key information?”
Yes—he turned the tables, putting her on the spot.
In this past month, Shen An hadn’t had any deep talks with Xu Yijing, not even built a friendship.
But any clear-eyed observer could see something was seriously off with her.
Thanks to Zhao Li’s information gap, unless Xu Yijing had spelled it all out for her—which she clearly hadn’t—Shen An could seize the initiative.
Xu Yijing was Zhao Li’s biggest vulnerability, her Achilles’ heel.
Zhao Li’s tone softened further. “What information?”
Shen An’s grew serious. “Information about your daughter.”
“Frankly speaking, I haven’t made any progress this month. Your daughter seems somewhat resistant to engaging in conversation. I don’t mean that she refuses to chat with people—in fact, she comes across as perfectly normal, even flawless. But it’s precisely this perfection that underscores the severity of her issue, because she picks up so sensitively on certain cues in conversations, especially any probing attempts from any quarter.”
“She only opens up within her familiar rhythm and boundaries. Anything beyond that, and she shuts down completely.”
“Her condition is even more serious than you initially described.”
“And her relationship with you doesn’t seem particularly friendly. That’s just my subjective take, for what it’s worth.”
Shen An paused for a moment of self-reflection. “Of course, that’s partly my fault too. A big reason for the lack of progress is that I didn’t take it seriously enough from the start. I’m truly sorry.”
Zhao Li listened quietly, without interrupting.
But when Shen An finished, she didn’t respond right away. She seemed lost in thought.
“Aunt Zhao?”
Shen An prompted gently.
“Sigh.” A sigh drifted through the earpiece, and Zhao Li said softly, “It looks like you’ve been putting in real effort this month too, Doctor Shen.”
With those words, Zhao Li effectively let slide any notion that Shen An wasn’t doing his job properly.
She conceded that he hadn’t put the cart before the horse.
There was no way for her to pierce through this information gap.
“Just doing my duty,” Shen An replied humbly.
“Is it convenient to talk now?”
Zhao Li asked in a low voice.
“Mm.”
Shen An nodded slightly.
“First off, I owe you an apology. I did hold back some information from you at the beginning.”
“But it wasn’t intentional—I simply didn’t know how to bring it up.”
Zhao Li sighed again. “My daughter’s situation… well, your assessment was spot on. As you said, she behaves just like any normal person—maybe even more so…”
“More exceptional,” Shen An supplied.
“Exactly.”
“But that’s precisely what worries me.” Sorrow tinged Zhao Li’s voice. “She’s only twenty, still just a college sophomore.”
“Yet she carries herself so seamlessly, so mature—it’s not at all typical for her age.”
“Truth be told, I can’t judge that definitively either,” Shen An said, shaking his head. “Maturity depends on a person’s experiences; age alone isn’t a reliable measure.”
“And Aunt Zhao, you might have overlooked something: I’m only twenty-two myself.”
Zhao Li paused, startled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Shen An spoke softly. “I only mention it to suggest that your daughter might truly be precocious. Take me, for instance—I’m a case in point.”
“From the very start, I’ve suspected as much, and I even told you so back then. I thought perhaps you were worrying over nothing, Aunt Zhao.”
“Miss Xu does dodge certain topics in conversation, but everyone avoids subjects they dislike on some level.”
“Jumping straight to a psychological disorder feels too hasty to me.”
Yes, Shen An had circled back to his original stance.
Silence fell on Zhao Li’s end once more.
After a moment, her voice emerged slowly. “It’s not as simple as slapping a label on it. There’s something I didn’t tell you before, but I can share it now.”
“Please, go ahead.”
Shen An grew alert.
“She… she suffers from severe anorexia.”
Zhao Li’s voice was soft. “Whenever her emotions run high, she gets these intense stomach pains—also tied to the anorexia.”
“I took her for tests once. The reports showed nothing physically wrong; it wasn’t a bodily issue. The doctor hinted obliquely that anorexia can stem from all sorts of causes, not just physical ones.”
“A heart illness?” Shen An blurted.
“Yes…”
Zhao Li’s voice faded. “The doctor explained that her anorexia likely originated from a psychological issue—a heart illness, essentially—and the anorexia is just one glaring symptom of it.”
“And it’s not only that. The anorexia brings a host of side effects. Her emotions are chronically unstable; she can spiral out of control easily. Before starting college, she even attempted suicide once.”
“I can’t tell if it’s the anorexia causing this or if her underlying heart illness is just getting worse…”
Hiss…
Shen An felt a chill.
Anorexia? Suicide attempt? Emotional volatility?
No way—Xu Yijing didn’t strike him as the type at all.
Panic flickered through him.
Deep down, he wasn’t a real psychologist; the System had just dragged him into this as a stopgap.
He wasn’t worried about her lashing out at him in a breakdown. No, he feared steering her toward something even worse.
That would make him the real villain.
He drew a deep breath. “Madam Zhao, how much do you know about her heart illness?”
He dropped the “Aunt” honorific.
This was no minor omission. Had he known from the outset, he might have turned down the job entirely.
Zhao Li didn’t take offense. With a hint of apology, she said, “If I knew, I wouldn’t have needed to call on you.”
“Then… if I may ask, has there been any… conflict between you two?”
These issues often traced back to the original family dynamic.
“My work keeps me terribly busy. Perhaps that’s led to us drifting apart over time, with less and less real conversation.”
“Even between a mother and daughter, regular communication is essential, Madam Zhao,” Shen An said, hinting gently.
“But all I wanted was to give her the best possible life. Was that so wrong?”
Zhao Li’s tone sharpened suddenly.
“You know as well as anyone, Doctor Shen, that people face tough choices.”
“If I’d chosen to be by her side constantly, she wouldn’t have the comfortable circumstances she enjoys now.”
Shen An: …
It was a valid point—one impossible to dodge or resolve.
“And since I’ve been absent from her life for so long, I have no idea what people—or experiences—she’s encountered along the way.”
Zhao Li offered her own subtle nudge, implying Xu Yijing’s troubles might stem from elsewhere.
“So you’re hoping I can get her to open up about the root of her heart illness?”
“Yes.”
Zhao Li murmured, “That’s exactly my request.”
“Is that why you set us up to live together—to give us ample time for those kinds of conversations?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But your daughter… she’s resisted me from day one.”
Shen An felt at a loss.
“If heart illnesses were that easy to fix, I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to bring you on board,” Zhao Li replied coolly.
Now she was pulling out the full client card.
Shen An sighed. “Why not find someone more qualified?”
“Doctor Shen, you’ve already taken the commission. Are you really ready to bail after just one month?”
Zhao Li’s brows furrowed.
“I simply don’t have much confidence. Psychological treatment hinges on the patient trusting the therapist and cooperating fully—otherwise, it’s pointless.”
“Then earn her trust.”
Her voice dropped. “You must have seen that coming, didn’t you?”
Shen An narrowed his eyes. “I can win her trust, but the fallout might shock you.”
“No. As long as you cure her heart illness and safeguard her health, I’ll accept whatever comes.”
Her tone was resolute.
“Madam Zhao, are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“Mm.”
“Then give me some more time.”
“Naturally. I trust in your skills, Doctor Shen. Just don’t let me down, all right?”
Ha~
Shen An nodded slightly. “I’ll do my best.”
