Want to see you again when spring is in full bloom.
This was the first time Sheng Sui had looked at her own face so carefully——or rather, looked at how she appeared in Zhou Shiyu’s eyes.
The majority of the painting’s space was devoted to meticulously depicting her face: thin but not gaunt, her face wore no makeup, yet against the overcast background she seemed bathed in dazzling sunlight, her fair complexion glowing with hints of blush.
Her features weren’t particularly deep-set, but they possessed the unique gentle charm of Eastern beauties. Her thin lips curved slightly, her nose bridge was straight and upturned, her bright, clear round eyes were the most common deep brown among Asians, rippling with water-like luminescence that from afar looked like they held the entire galaxy.
And this time, in her eyes, Sheng Sui saw the twisted panorama of human existence.
She stood at the crossroads of the street intersection, turning back to gaze, her eyes reflecting the endless, potholed old street, hurried passersby, and among the crowd, the still-outstanding figure of a young man.
This was the first time Sheng Sui knew what nineteen-year-old Zhou Shiyu had looked like.
He wore a proper white shirt and black pants, broad shoulders and narrow waist, long straight legs. If one didn’t look at the panic on his face at that moment, he would definitely be the type that made people want to get close to him.
But the reality was that in her amber-like eyes, the young man’s face was covered with terror, as if before him was a bloodthirsty beast that would pounce forward the next second and bite through his neck.
In the dimly lit room on all sides, Sheng Sui looked at the incongruous panic on the young man’s face, her heart instinctively resisting equating the person in her eyes with the three words “Zhou Shiyu.”
Blurred, dusty memories flowed back like a tide, slowly returning drop by drop.
On the day she went back to school to get her acceptance letter, Sheng Sui remembered being overjoyed at finally being able to escape her father. On her happy way home, she had planned to go to Aunt Tian’s barbecue restaurant to reward herself.
When she was only a few meters from the shop door, her attention was drawn by the continuous commotion behind her. Turning back, she saw crowds surrounding a young man in layers.
Too much time had passed; Sheng Sui couldn’t remember the details clearly. Her only impression was that in the gaps between the crowd, the young man was wolfing down bananas, stuffing them into his mouth, reminding her of a drowning person struggling underwater, desperately opening their mouth.
Sheng Sui also remembered that day when she ran to the hospital alone during her diabetic ketoacidosis episode, she had been the same way—deeply bent over, vision going white, gasping for air like an old dog.
Her consciousness wasn’t clear, her body wasn’t under control, even her awareness of death became blurred——what others saw as disgraceful behavior was simply their remaining instinct to breathe and survive.
Cowardly as she was, perhaps because the scene was too familiar to that year, or perhaps because of the murmured words of “madman” and “mental patient” from those around, in the end she didn’t dare look at the young man’s face;
Finally, she only stuffed the remaining money in her pocket to the boss, quietly begged the man not to hit anyone, then turned and fled in panic.
So that person was Zhou Shiyu.
Why had he come? Was he there to find her? Was he going to tell her they would be fortunate enough to be schoolmates again?
Where did he go afterward? Was it because of this incident that he dropped out and went abroad?
Nearly ten years had passed. Standing before the grotesquely distorted giant painting, Sheng Sui’s fingertips rose several times wanting to touch the nineteen-year-old Zhou Shiyu, but finally let them fall.
If only she hadn’t been so cowardly and weak then, only knowing to run away when encountering problems;
If only she had stepped forward then, taken his hand and brought him home;
If only she hadn’t turned back then.
At least now she could still deceive herself with the comfort that “ignorance is not a crime.”
“……”
A bitter smile played at the corners of her lips. Sheng Sui looked down at Ping’An, who was constantly rubbing his head against the easel in the corner, and walked over to squat down.
By the dim yellow light overhead, she vaguely made out the wet marks on the wooden easel legs, then suddenly lowered her head and smiled somewhat helplessly.
Was it catnip? Soaked in water, then used to wet the easel supports, so that Ping’An would follow the scent and break in, then naturally lure her inside.
She should have thought of it earlier. Zhou Shiyu was so meticulous and careful; how could he possibly be careless enough to forget to close the room door.
So last night when she secretly unfastened his watch strap, the man had probably been awake the entire time.
Sheng Sui didn’t know how to describe her feelings at this moment.
As she had wished, Zhou Shiyu had laid bare all the truth and scars for her to see, even thoughtfully leaving her ample time to think and choose as always.
Before leaving the study with Ping’An in her arms, when Sheng Sui looked toward the bright spring light outside the door, she felt an unreal sense of being in another world.
The minute hand on the wall had only moved two spaces; only ten minutes had passed, yet she felt as if time had passed longer than ten years.
After giving herself an injection, Sheng Sui went to the kitchen to warm up food. During the waiting time, she took out her phone and pen and paper, unlocked the screen to search, and wrote stroke by stroke on the table.
Escitalopram Oxalate Tablets: for treating depressive disorders.*
Sertraline Hydrochloride Tablets: for treating depression.*
Depakine (also known as Sodium Valproate Extended-Release Tablets): anti-epileptic, anti-manic.*
Lamotrigine: anti-manic, mainly used for epilepsy and spastic seizures*
……
More than a dozen medications, either anti-depressant or anti-manic, as if treating the user like a ball, kicking them back and forth between two completely opposite extreme emotions.
Sheng Sui’s vision was still clouded with confusion, but many things she couldn’t understand before now showed their loose threads like a ball of yarn, pulling the whole thing apart with one tug.
Like the man’s twice-inexplicable pale complexion, or Liang Xubai’s inappropriate appearance in Jingbei—it seemed everything had been traceable all along.
When searching for “alprazolam tablets,” Sheng Sui’s fingertip scrolled through the interface. Under the search engine’s related recommendations, she saw an associated suggestion called “bipolar disorder medications.”*
“……Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a common mental disorder characterized by both manic or hypomanic episodes and depressive episodes;”*
“During manic episodes, patients are often excited, talkative, and energetic; conversely, during depressive episodes, patients commonly show loss of pleasure, reduced speech, easy fatigue and sluggishness… Emotions of depression or elation appear repeatedly, alternately, and irregularly; in severe cases, hallucinations, delusions, or catatonic symptoms and other psychotic features may appear.”*
“The suicide rate for bipolar disorder tops all mental illnesses, 20-30 times higher than the normal population’s suicide rate; meanwhile, bipolar disorder has a relapse rate as high as 70%. In extreme terms, patients need lifelong medication and constantly face the risk of relapse.”
“……”
Even after paying and getting out of the taxi, Sheng Sui’s brain was still circling with the text and data displayed by the search software.
If last night’s scars had made her heartache, everything she faced today only gave her a bewildered sense of unreality.
As a diabetic patient with a lifelong chronic disease, when Sheng Sui saw the dozen or so medicine bottles and boxes filling the wooden cabinet, her first reaction wasn’t shock, but deep confusion.
Could the human body really bear and accommodate so many medications?
The answer was unknowable, but these bottles and jars at least clearly told her: Zhou Shiyu wasn’t simply depressed.
It was bipolar disorder—alternating episodes of mania and depression.
A disease name she had never heard of.
Walking alone through the long street crowded with people on Saturday afternoon, as the crisp sound of wind chimes rang out, Sheng Sui pushed open the door.
In the fragrant flower shop, she saw Liang Xubai leisurely sitting in a wooden chair at the round table by the window, cheerfully greeting her with a smile:
“What a coincidence, I just brewed jasmine chrysanthemum tea. Would Teacher Sheng like some?”
There was no one else in the flower shop, which reminded Sheng Sui of the “Closed” wooden sign hanging at the door.
“No need, thank you.”
She politely declined, looking down to see that besides two glass teacups on the round table by the window, there was also an old, faded square notebook, a disc, and a file folder.
After a few seconds of silence, Sheng Sui asked softly: “He knew I would come to you, didn’t he?”
“Zhou Shiyu is the most difficult patient I’ve ever handled.”
After pouring tea for Sheng Sui on his own, Liang Xubai pushed the glass cup toward her, curving his lips with a lazy tone: “Having been ill for so long, this guy knows better than doctors how to treat himself—the expression on your face right now is exactly the same as mine the first time he correctly guessed what new medication I had switched to.”
So Liang Xubai was indeed Zhou Shiyu’s psychologist. No wonder he had followed along the entire Jingbei trip, even carrying his room key card.
Sheng Sui sat across from the man, holding the glass cup, the warmth in her palm slowly soothing her anxious emotions: “So it’s bipolar disorder, isn’t it?”
“To be precise, it’s Type II Bipolar Disorder, primarily depressive episodes with milder manic symptoms.”
When discussing professional knowledge, Liang Xubai was rarely serious, returning to his lazy demeanor after three seconds: “It seems Teacher Sheng did some homework before coming.”
The man tapped his index finger lightly on the table, his charming peach blossom eyes drooping as he asked again: “How is it? Are you afraid?”
Sheng Sui didn’t answer this question, only looking at the jasmine petals floating on the tea’s surface, saying softly: “What else can I do?”
“Just be yourself,” Liang Xubai stretched his neck, “Treating illness is what doctors should do.”
“……Okay.”
Her brain completely shut down. After Sheng Sui’s stiff agreement, the conversation fell into silence. After a long while, she heard her own dry voice speak up.
“So when Zhou Shiyu dropped out as a freshman, was it because seeing me on the old street triggered his episode?”
Facing these things was still too difficult for her. Sheng Sui felt like someone had stuck a dull knife in her throat; every half-word was dry and painful: “And those years abroad afterward… was he getting treatment the whole time?”
“He dropped out because his suicidal tendencies and visual hallucinations were severe. At that time, domestic treatment technology for bipolar disorder wasn’t mature enough, so he chose more reliable, advanced psychiatric hospitals abroad.”
Liang Xubai pushed the file folder and black notebook on the table toward her, making a gesture of invitation: “These are materials my assistant organized before I took over Zhou Shiyu’s case. You can take a look.”
Sheng Sui took the file folder and opened it. Seeing the dense text again, her heart was filled only with endless dizziness. She heard the man saying “severe visual hallucinations” while her eyes saw “cat fur” clearly written in the “Allergy History” section.
No wonder Zhou Shiyu’s first reaction when seeing her during both times he was ill was to lightly touch her sleeve and ask uncertainly if she was real.
No wonder when mentioning roommate cat allergies, the man had rattled off desensitization methods.
There were no such coincidences in this world.
The data analysis contained too many professional terms. Sheng Sui read in a fog, the only thing clear to her being the few short lines of records about timelines in the personal history and disease progression:
Age 17: Witnessed mother’s suicide in bathroom, first suicidal behavior, initially diagnosed with depression;
Age 19: Alternating manic and depressive episodes, accelerated heart rate, tinnitus, dizziness and other somatic symptoms intensified, persistent visual and auditory hallucinations appeared; severe suicidal behavior, first display of aggression; underwent repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation and electroconvulsive physical therapy*
Age 20: Frequent medication changes with obvious side effects; electroconvulsive therapy continued, brief memory loss occurred; patient symptoms significantly improved.
“……”
Sheng Sui’s gaze paused, lingering on “aggression” for several seconds, unable to believe that someone as gentle and courteous as Zhou Shiyu would actually hurt others.
At the same moment, Liang Xubai’s slow, expected explanation came from above: “Since his diagnosis, Zhou Shiyu has only had one violent incident—and in my opinion, his actions were actually justifiable.”
Sheng Sui looked up, confused: “So what was the reason?”
“The attending physician believed that you were a virtual character imagined by Zhou Shiyu’s brain, not really existing.”
“Because you were fake, naturally his feelings for you became nonsense too.”
Liang Xubai picked up his teacup, sighing lightly as he brought it to his lips: “During that period, his hallucinations appeared too frequently. Even during lucid times, he couldn’t produce evidence of knowing you.”
“At that time, besides himself, no one could prove you two had met.”
The man looked out the window, seeming reluctant to tell Sheng Sui the facts to her face: “Later, after too many electroconvulsive treatments, he lost part of his memories about you. During one psychological consultation, when the attending physician mentioned again that you were a fictional character, it led to Zhou Shiyu’s subsequent violent behavior.”
There were some things Liang Xubai didn’t tell Sheng Sui.
He had actually seen the surveillance footage of Zhou Shiyu’s violence. The tall, thin young man desperately and ruthlessly pinned the doctor against the wall, ignoring everyone around trying to pull him away, his eyes bloodshot.
From beginning to end, he never threw a single punch, only gripping the doctor’s collar tightly, forcing him to admit one sentence.
“……She’s not fake.”
To this day, these five words were still deeply etched in Liang Xubai’s mind, making him firmly believe that Zhou Shiyu’s emotions then were more deep helplessness, despair, and pleading than anger.
When the most advanced medicine proved he was mentally ill, when he himself couldn’t distinguish between what he saw and heard was real or false, when everyone told him that the person he couldn’t forget actually didn’t exist at all, Zhou Shiyu simply couldn’t produce any evidence to refute them.
Because the two of them had no shared memories to speak of.
He dutifully accepted treatment, and under overwhelming side effects, the first thing he lost was what little memory he had left of Sheng Sui.
“Later Zhou Shiyu stopped trusting anyone, silently completing subsequent treatments and fooling doctors and diagnostic machines with smiles. Everyone thought his condition had improved, so they allowed him to be discharged.”
Liang Xubai pushed the diary on the table toward Sheng Sui, and talking about these years made even him feel tired: “Worried about losing memories again, Zhou Shiyu maintained a habit of keeping random notes after discharge.”
Suddenly remembering something, the man smiled sarcastically: “This kid is too good at lying and pretending. I only found out after getting his diary that he hadn’t gotten better at all.”
The palm-sized black diary looked quite old from its worn cover. Viewed from the side, the paper edges at the bottom were bent up and down, as if they had been soaked in water, showing some brownish-black stains.
Sheng Sui felt she had made great progress. When she took the notebook and opened it, she felt only calm inside, unable to make any expression on her face.
[Day 33: Woke before dawn. Didn’t eat breakfast. Reading. Lunch. Reading. Lab. Club activities. Reading. Still couldn’t fall asleep at 3 AM. She didn’t message today]
…
[Day 128: She messaged at 4:30 AM, talking about worries regarding employment and career change. Reading. Chatted with her.]
…
[Day 138: She sent landscape photos, could see her silhouette in the bottom right corner. Can’t remember what she looks like, masturbated while looking at the photo. First time falling asleep before 10 PM]
……
Reading quickly line by line; soon, Sheng Sui discovered why this diary gave her such a strong sense of déjà vu everywhere.
Whether in tone or format, this diary was exactly like Zhou Shiyu’s phone memos: rather than emotional expression, the man afraid of losing memory again was simply mechanically recording.
[Day 181: Excited. Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep.]
[Day 183: She came to the apartment, talked to me, told me school stories. It’s fake. Fake. Fake]
[Day 185: It’s all fake.]
When Sheng Sui was about to reach the end of the notebook, the pages began to be stained with dark brown marks, obscuring some of the black text:
At the same time, the originally strong, powerful handwriting suddenly became unpredictable—sometimes slanting upward, then suddenly becoming completely crooked after a few days. Even the simplest horizontal and vertical strokes looked like constantly trembling fly legs.
Sheng Sui immediately realized this was written when Zhou Shiyu’s hands were shaking.
And the scattered irregular dots on the paper should be dried blood drops.
[Day 188: Tinnitus. Hands shaking. Heart wants to jump out. Taking medicine.]
[Day 190: Tinnitus. Want to die. Want to be normal. Want her]
[Want to die. Want to be normal. Want her.]
[I want to be a normal person]
[I want to be a normal person]
[I want to be a normal person]
[xxx normal person xx see her]
The last entry was already mostly covered by gradually expanding bloody stains. Sheng Sui stared at the notebook reading repeatedly, but still couldn’t understand it completely.
In that instant, she seemed to experience the suffocating feeling of drowning. Her nostrils and mouth were clearly wide open, yet air couldn’t enter her lungs no matter what.
“What followed was Zhou Shiyu’s third bipolar episode. He actively sought me out for treatment.”
Liang Xubai’s weary, lazy tone pulled her up from the deep sea. Sheng Sui gasped for air like someone who had narrowly escaped death, hearing him continue: “Bipolar disorder has a high relapse rate, and after multiple relapses, the chance of complete recovery is very small. One can only rely on medication for life, trying to maintain stability.”
“But from that time on, no matter how high the data showed his suicidal tendencies, Zhou Shiyu never acted on them even once.”
The man’s tone paused slightly as he looked into Sheng Sui’s reddened eyes: “Zhou Shiyu is the patient I’ve encountered in my medical career with the lowest will to live, yet the most cooperative with treatment—sometimes his overly aggressive positivity even frightens me.”
“Until that day I posed the question to him: why insist on treatment when you clearly don’t want to live?”
After a long while, Sheng Sui heard her trembling voice ask: “……Why?”
“He smiled and told me that someone had once told him spring was coming, and he must remember to go see the spring scenery.”
Liang Xubai tilted his head slightly, his gaze moving toward the flower shop’s back door leading to the small alley, his voice low and hoarse:
“So he never wanted to live, but desperately wanted to become a normal person. Even if just pretending, he wanted to see you again when spring was in full bloom.”