Chapter 40: Pathological Dependence

“How have you been lately?”

In the psychological consultation room of the private hospital, Ni Qian appeared on the computer screen right on schedule, her other work set aside for the moment.

She settled into her chair and spoke in a casual, conversational tone, leaning back and letting her upper body sink into the sleek lines of the swivel chair.

As a licensed psychologist, creating an atmosphere where patients could lower their defenses was basic training. Ni Qian was experienced and highly regarded, her professional skills extending well beyond the fundamentals.

The instant the video call connected, she slipped into work mode. In just a few seconds of observation, she keenly noticed that her patient was different from her usual state, which prompted the question.

What she really meant was: You seem to have been quite content lately?

There was no coffee cup within Xie Yingnian’s reach. She lounged on the sofa in her hotel room, legs crossed, a glimpse of her pale calf peeking out from the parted bathrobe. Fresh from her bath, her bare face revealed that the dark circles under her eyes—evidence of her sleep troubles—had faded considerably.

“You might as well ask me why I’ve been doing so well lately.”

The doctor, now past thirty, smiled faintly. “Then indulge my curiosity, please.”

Ni Qian had guessed correctly. Xie Yingnian was in high spirits, unusually inclined to open up.

She avoided direct questions because she knew her straightforward approaches always crashed against the psychological walls her patient had erected. Instead, she opted for gentler, more circuitous tactics—less overtly purposeful. Even so, they often led nowhere, leaving Ni Qian feeling guilty about her fees and, for the first time, questioning her own competence.

Cui Ming had referred this patient to her. Overstretched as she was, Ni Qian hadn’t agreed right away out of professional responsibility. Learning that the woman was a movie star left her unmoved; to Ni Qian, patients were patients, whether tycoons or celebrities.

But given her close friendship with Cui Ming, she consented to a meeting.

Her perspective shifted swiftly. After they parted from the coffee shop, Ni Qian instructed her assistant to formally log Xie Yingnian’s case file into the system and committed to treatment. In her years on the job, she had encountered all sorts of patients, but Xie Yingnian ignited several layers of professional intrigue.

Cui Ming messaged her: Is it because the case is so rare?

Ni Qian clicked through the linked records, verifying the timelines of the first episodes and subsequent frequencies—she hadn’t misremembered—before typing back: Rare, but I’ve seen it before.

Cui Ming: So?

Ni Qian: Your friend has the same extraordinary endurance you do. I have no idea what methods she uses in private, but she’s held back this long without hurting anyone. I’m impressed.

Of course, the flip side filled Ni Qian with anxiety. Xie Yingnian was like a dormant volcano with an unpredictable cycle—its ridge unremarkable, calm and silent, yet harboring a latent threat to everything around it. It could erupt at any moment, annihilating all in its path.

Shifting gears, Ni Qian teased the workaholic via her avatar: Watch yourself, Cui Ming. Being in her inner circle of those who know puts you among her closest.

Fresh off a ten-hour surgery, Cui Ming was still brimming with energy. She clutched half a can of coffee as she bent to slide into the driver’s seat of her SUV, wedging the slim can into the cup holder. Buckling her seatbelt one-handed, she fired off a reply: Thanks for the concern, but if she snaps, I’m the first one out the door.

Ni Qian knew Cui Ming’s temperament well enough not to launch into platitudes about patients needing support from loved ones. The woman could barely muster concern for herself.

The consultation room was warmly appointed, its walls painted in soothing hues. A visitor’s sofa sat beside the desk, while a sandplay table leaned against the far wall, bearing faint traces from other patients’ sessions.

Xie Yingnian had arranged models and toys there once. Ni Qian had tried to interpret them but eventually gave up. She trusted her patient’s claim that self-help had failed; otherwise, the woman—who knew sandplay terminology inside out—wouldn’t have sought help. This calm, formidable person, capable of dissecting herself like a lab specimen, understood her condition all too well.

Xie Yingnian had towel-dried her long hair and let it drape loosely over her shoulder. Her gaze drifted past the laptop screen toward the bedroom door, lingered for a moment, then withdrew unhurriedly.

“These past few days, I haven’t taken any sleeping pills, and yet I’ve been sleeping beautifully.”

Ni Qian lifted her water glass, blinking attentively as she listened.

This was outside Ni Qian’s expectations. In a high-pressure modern world, insomnia drove young people to doctors everywhere, but Xie Yingnian had always insisted she was accustomed to late nights and early mornings—insomnia was merely another flavor of skimping on sleep.

“Why the change?” Ni Qian asked.

Xie Yingnian smiled. “I used to be dirt poor, with a little sister to raise. Time shouldn’t be wasted on dreams.”

Yet here she was, broaching the topic with her sleep—a promising sign. So many subtle yet pivotal shifts hid in the rhythms of daily life, seeping in like water wearing away stone, impossible to guard against.

Ni Qian took a sip of water to moisten her throat, only to choke and cough at Xie Yingnian’s counterquestion: “Dr. Ni, can a person be medicine, too?”

“. . . What do you mean?” Ni Qian studied her patient’s expression, confirming the seriousness behind the words.

Xie Yingnian leaned back, utterly relaxed, the branch-like chandelier reflecting in her placid eyes.

That first night, she had lain staring at the ceiling’s vague outline after lights out, as usual. The focused monotony of mental stimulation lulled her into drowsiness within an hour, followed by shallow sleep of indeterminate length.

The breathing beside her ear was light and even. Zhong Jia managed decorum only up to the second before Xie Yingnian’s awareness faded. She hadn’t anticipated such restless sleeping habits—if snores had joined the mix, Xie Yingnian might have kicked her right off the bed.

Contact was inevitable. The girl’s tousled head rubbed against Xie Yingnian’s shoulder, where her collar had slipped down. A leg swung across her thigh, the knee nudging perilously against an intimate spot.

Xie Yingnian: “. . .”

She sighed into the darkness, suppressing the impulse to lash out at the oblivious form. Instead, she rolled onto her side, extended her arms, and pinned the fidgety body firmly against her own. No more squirming.

Zhong Jia dimly registered the restraint. Eyes squeezed shut, she frowned in discomfort, arching her back slightly and instinctively pulling away.

“Zhong Jia.” Xie Yingnian spoke up, unable to resist a tease. “Even in your sleep, are you thinking of topping me?”

The hypocritical one just wants a normal snooze, but it’s all over your face—you can’t hide a thing, and that’s why you’ll be devoured whole.

No response came. Moonlight filtering through the curtain gap illuminated Zhong Jia’s furrowed brow smoothing out, her tense body softening within Xie Yingnian’s embrace.

She hadn’t woken, hadn’t opened her eyes. Her voice alone had swaddled Zhong Jia in security once more, enough to tolerate the constricting discomfort that made even breathing a chore.

Xie Yingnian fell silent for a beat, loosening her hold slightly. She recalled Zhong Jia’s finger tracing the thornbird tattoo on her back; unwilling to share, she hadn’t pried.

Kisses as soft as feathers brushed over the old scars in turn. Zhong Jia, who shared her bed, rolled toward her, enveloping her in warmth—a wordless solace.

Nearing the end of her youth, she had reencountered the innocent thrill of a sixteen-year-old crush. This belated first love she cherished beyond measure. Most precious of all was that heart big enough for only one, so enamored it ached to have offered itself sooner.

“Do you want to?” Xie Yingnian asked, clasping the hand Zhong Jia had placed on her waist.

Zhong Jia’s mind wasn’t there. “I want you never to scar again.”

“For my sake?”

“Not even for yours.” Zhong Jia repeated firmly. “Especially not.”

That night marked the beginning. In the days that followed, Xie Yingnian found drowsiness stealing over her the moment Zhong Jia settled beside her—as if the girl were the most effective sleeping aid.

Ni Qian listened to the full story, dubbing the unnamed figure “X” and typing it out matter-of-factly into her computer, highlighting the entry in yellow.

The same pattern appeared without fail in the other cases: the patients’ nearest kin or lovers, pathologically depended upon and at risk of sacrificial offering.

Xie Yingnian was spot on—people could indeed be medicine. But while it eased the ailment, one had to mind the dosage, lest addiction set in.

Compared to the pill-taker, Ni Qian couldn’t help worrying for the seemingly innocent medicine itself.

“If I may be so bold, who is this person you mentioned?”

“My girlfriend.”

Xie Yingnian’s orientation was no secret, nor was the fact that her romantic history wasn’t blank. Still, Ni Qian had detected scant evidence of a partner in her prior accounts.

The illness manifested differently across cases, but the common thread was stark: a terrifying possessiveness toward intimates, a desire to absorb them into one’s very being.

Her own mentor had once consulted for police on a dismemberment case. The perpetrator was an extreme exemplar—unbound by law or morality.

The crime scene displayed exquisitely crafted human specimens, the absence of one arm the clue that exposed his deeds.

Zhao Yangguang had been taken into custody. The once-celebrated screenwriter faced the reporters’ cameras without a trace of shame. Short stubble shadowed his chin as he let out a low chuckle. “That hand? It had been touched by a taxi driver. She said she was too tired and would shower after getting some rest. So dirty.”

Ni Qian’s thoughts snapped back to the present. Her hand hovered over the enter key. Without thinking, she glanced at Xie Yingnian’s face. For some inexplicable reason, she suddenly felt that Xie Yingnian bore a striking resemblance to Zhao Yangguang.

“You and her just simply sleep together?” Ni Qian asked.

She straightened her posture and cleared her throat lightly. Meeting Xie Yingnian’s puzzled gaze, she continued, “Since she’s your girlfriend, you don’t feel any of the natural desires toward her?”

She recalled the prescription she had written, but reduced libido wasn’t listed among the side effects. Was that girl truly the key factor in alleviating or exacerbating Xie Yingnian’s condition?

An image of Zhong Jia, stirring with restless desire, flickered before Xie Yingnian’s eyes. Ni Qian thought she was impotent in that regard.

Xie Yingnian’s slender eyes blinked gently. She pondered for a moment. Admitting that she wasn’t invincible wasn’t easy for her. The restraint and endurance that life had drilled into her from childhood were riddled with flaws in the face of the temptation named Zhong Jia.

She didn’t want to hurt her, and she didn’t want to let her go.

So, in addition to enduring, she had resorted to other methods.

“Every moment I see her, I want her enveloped in my scent, every breath filled with me,” Xie Yingnian said. “Does that count?”

“Then…” Ni Qian began.

The conversation had been fruitful so far. Ni Qian lowered her head and focused on filling out the open medical record. Abruptly, she heard Xie Yingnian’s response, and the pen tip poked a hole through the thin paper.

“I applied electroshock patches to myself,” Xie Yingnian said, “to prevent causing her irreparable harm.”