The side effects of psychiatric medications were severe.

Having grown up in a violent environment for years, Zhou Shiyu’s physical condition could hardly be called excellent. His bad habit of taking medication on an empty stomach caused the irritating drugs to corrode his stomach again and again. When the stomach pain struck, every cell in his body was in agony.

Fortunately, Zhou Shiyu had been learning how to endure pain since childhood, gradually becoming numb after getting used to the pain. The only troubling aspect was that after taking the medication, he felt like he was floating on clouds, as if hollowed out from within—all emotions, including sadness, were completely erased by the drugs.

It brought to mind the description “walking dead.”

The doctor changed his medication time and again. He experienced all the side effects, yet the test results remained unchanged, with values consistently above the danger line.

Even Grandfather Zhou became worried about his taciturn grandson, stopping several times when passing his study to ask about Zhou Shiyu’s recent condition with efforts at familiarity that only made him seem more distant.

The old man’s temples were graying but he retained his dignity: “If it’s really too difficult, take a year off from school. The family will arrange for you to study abroad afterward. A change of environment might be beneficial for your recovery.”

Zhou Shiyu quietly refused.

After the woman’s death, he had lost considerable weight. The scars on his wrist crisscrossed so extensively that he had to cover them with a watch band.

The medication swept away his already sparse emotions and gradually numbed his pain receptors, so that when Zhou Shiyu dreamed of the bloody bathroom and the peacefully sleeping woman, and woke to smell the rusty scent of blood from his wrist, he could barely perceive much pain.

He didn’t believe in medical diagnoses, yet was the most active patient in taking medication.

Zhou Shiyu still remembered that noisy evening when people constantly passed by, and he heard Sheng Sui speaking to him through the door.

She said: “—When you’re truly better someday, let’s get to know each other again, okay?”

Sheng Sui said they would get to know each other again.

But only after he truly got better.

After changing medications several times, Zhou Shiyu’s condition finally showed significant improvement—he was no longer cold and taciturn all day, but instead felt inexplicably euphoric in an uncharacteristic way.

Sweeping away fatigue, his cerebral cortex experienced unprecedented excitement and activity. Even someone as steady as Zhou Shiyu quickly fell deep into this heightened state, unable to sleep entire nights.

At the same time, not only Grandfather Zhou, but even Qiu Si and his classmates and teachers noticed Zhou Shiyu’s obvious abnormality. After brief astonishment, they quickly accepted his changes.

“Brother, did you win the lottery recently? Why have you been smiling constantly these past two days? You’ve said more in one day than in the past year.”

“……”

Zhou Shiyu heard similar words countless times those few days, and was happy to see his steadily rising emotions—except for continued difficulty sleeping, everything seemed to be developing in a positive direction.

He thought that when the day came when he was completely better, he could approach Sheng Sui openly as promised and tell her the self-introduction he had rehearsed hundreds of times in his mind.

—Hello, I’m Zhou Shiyu. I’m a senior one grade above you, and also a member of the agriculture department…

Would this be too direct and abrupt?

Or should he create some scenario for a “chance encounter” to naturally approach her, then use student council recruitment as a reason to give them more common topics—

Endless ideas kept emerging. Zhou Shiyu at that time never imagined that prolonged excessive excitement would ultimately be more troublesome than simple depression.

Falling from flat ground into a pit would at most cause sprains, but falling from great heights would only result in being shattered to pieces.

Although bipolar disorder wasn’t confirmed until two years later, upon Zhou Shiyu’s careful recollection, his first real episode occurred after that sudden onset of euphoria.

Exactly one month after the woman’s death, the man who called himself Zhou Shiyu’s “father” finally returned from overseas. Learning that Grandfather Zhou had deliberately sent him away, he flew into a rage and stormed into the Zhou family estate.

This wasn’t Zhou Shiyu’s first time seeing the man go crazy—grabbing and smashing everything within sight while everyone around avoided him, just hoping not to be implicated.

Zhou Shiyu usually watched coldly from the sidelines. That day, perhaps his continuously excited brain suddenly felt compelled to defend the woman. His black eyes gazed coldly at the man for a long while before a cold laugh escaped his throat.

Seemingly not expecting Zhou Shiyu to resist, the man seemed stunned for several seconds, then furiously pulled off his belt and strode over heavily.

“…Why aren’t you making a move?”

Appreciating his own reflection holding a utility knife in the man’s constricted pupils, Zhou Shiyu patiently asked in a gentle voice, pressing the paper-thin blade against the man’s throat, seeing fear in the man’s expression for the first time clearly.

Soon, the man forced himself to remain calm, laughing angrily in his rage: “What, has the old man spoiled you for a while and now your wings are hard? You want to stab your father?”

His tone was fierce, but he honestly put down the belt in his hand, his body and limbs obviously stiff.

“I have no interest in patricide,” Zhou Shiyu withdrew the knife tip, looking down as he played with the utility knife in his palm before putting it back in his pocket, saying expressionlessly, “I just wanted to tell you—”

“—If I hadn’t been able to pull back my force just now, it would only have been ‘self-defense.'”

He wasn’t lying about this matter. That man wasn’t important enough for him to harbor constant hatred—that utility knife was something Zhou Shiyu had kept for his own use.

This farce finally ended with the man, unable to let go of his precious dignity, raising his hand to slap Zhou Shiyu heavily across the face.

After the crisp sound of the slap, his ears rang incessantly, and overwhelming despair instantly swept over him. The weightless feeling of falling from great heights made his heart feel as if it were being tightly gripped, making breathing impossible.

Zhou Shiyu’s knees went weak, and he nearly couldn’t stand.

The prolonged euphoria made the incoming depression and emptiness even more unstoppable. He had always been someone with extremely strong self-control, but at that moment, he felt his brain couldn’t control even the most basic emotions and behaviors.

That night, Grandfather Zhou was out on business. Zhou Shiyu locked himself in his bedroom all night, his right hand desperately gripping his trembling left wrist, but to no avail.

He sat at his desk like a statue, powerless to resist the crashing waves of emotion, when a familiar gentle female voice suddenly sounded in his ears:

“…During the most difficult times, even if it’s self-deception, you have to tell yourself this—it will get better.”

—It will get better.

In the dark, lightless bedroom, Zhou Shiyu told himself this over and over, his eyes constantly flickering in the darkness before finally dimming again.

However, facts proved that nothing got better.

The phrase Sheng Sui had taught him, no matter how many thousands of times Zhou Shiyu repeated it in his heart, the near-death suffocating feeling would still arrive like tides when night fell.

He didn’t see Sheng Sui for the entire summer vacation, forcing himself to resist the urge to send someone to her address, gritting his teeth through the days of separation.

Regarding his illness, the household servants and security guards whispered privately countless times. Whenever Zhou Shiyu caught them, they always thought they were disguising it well.

Zhou Shiyu didn’t think much of this. Before coming to the Zhou family estate, or since he could remember, criticism had been the most common thing.

Before it was “illegitimate child,” now it was “mental patient.” Since both involved arbitrarily labeling people, there was essentially no difference.

Zhou Shiyu was accustomed to it, only vaguely realizing that he had unknowingly been classified outside the range of “normal people.”

The distance from what she called “truly getting better” seemed to have become another step more remote and difficult.

The sophomore year entrance exam was the first time Zhou Shiyu fell from first place in his grade. The shock of this could be seen from the fact that the academic director personally recalculated his test scores twice.

Zhou Shiyu accepted this calmly. While working on the last few major math problems, the lunch break bell from the nearby sophomore teaching building rang.

That day happened to be the first Thursday of sophomore year. Zhou Shiyu thought that if he wasn’t trapped in the classroom, he could see that slender figure appear by the shaded flower beds.

He immediately put down his pen and stood up, not caring that exam time was only half over and the final major problems were blank, walking away without looking back to turn in his paper.

The entrance exam was of moderate difficulty. Zhou Shiyu could calculate the answers to the blank math problems with just a glance, and didn’t care about losing points or ranking.

Even the homeroom teacher didn’t believe he couldn’t solve them, seeming more worried about Zhou Shiyu’s state. The afternoon when grades came out, he called Zhou Shiyu to the office.

“Academic performance is certainly important, but proper relaxation is also necessary. I think you’re under too much pressure in sophomore year. The student council is responsible for the school celebration at the end of the month. As student council vice president, you should go help out too.”

In Second Middle School’s student council, Zhou Shiyu had always been the most miraculous existence.

He became vice president in his first year and remained in the same position until nearly graduating second year. Not only that, since he took office, every student council president had to have his approval before the matter was finalized.

Not to mention deciding major and minor matters—both presidents had to consult with him before confirming plans.

Zhou Shiyu had no interest in managing the student council; he simply didn’t want to be managed by others, so he became a manager first.

Naturally, he had no intention of agreeing to the homeroom teacher’s well-intentioned suggestion.

Until the next day during the student council meeting between classes, as Zhou Shiyu passed by the auditorium, he suddenly stopped when he glimpsed a familiar figure.

So Sheng Sui was also participating in the school celebration activities.

It wasn’t difficult to find out that Sheng Sui was performing in a stage play organized by the publicity department. The only thing that surprised Zhou Shiyu was that the girl was playing an inconspicuous background tree in the stage play.

Without even a single line.

During that period, Zhou Shiyu would punctually appear in the school auditorium during afternoon study hall. To avoid disturbing the stage play rehearsal, he always sat alone in the most hidden corner.

The script was a very clichéd and boring comedy, and no matter how densely packed with interesting jokes, it would become tasteless after hearing it too many times.

During rehearsals in the days leading up to the school celebration, everyone from leads to supporting actors inevitably lost some interest. The student council officers who snuck over to watch the stage play also became fewer and fewer.

In the end, the only two people in the entire venue who remained enthusiastic were Sheng Sui on stage and Zhou Shiyu below.

Sheng Sui dutifully portrayed a tree, standing straight and, when background music played, would appropriately wave her hands to make the cheap leaves on her costume sway.

Compared to the two absent-minded “trees” on either side of her, Sheng Sui’s tree stood out particularly.

The girl was covered by heavy costume, so Zhou Shiyu couldn’t see Sheng Sui’s face. He just watched over and over as the tree in the neglected corner energetically stretched her arms, and his heart would suddenly soften.

Zhou Shiyu remembered long ago, when he followed behind Sheng Sui walking into school and saw her deliberately avoid that blade of foxtail grass struggling out from between brick cracks.

Like that foxtail grass, Sheng Sui perhaps had long understood that no matter how hard she tried to perform, the vast majority of the audience below wouldn’t notice a tree serving as background in the farthest corner.

Perhaps the girl never minded whether she was ignored.

She just wore clumsy, cheap costumes and performed with self-appreciating effort, enjoying every moment she could stand on stage.

Every time stage play rehearsal ended, Sheng Sui would remove her stuffy headpiece, revealing a small face covered in fine perspiration, stray hairs sticking to her smooth, full forehead, her face full of tranquil smiles.

Sheng Sui’s personality was more inclined toward shyness and wasn’t good at making friends. When the leads and others left arm-in-arm, she would only hold her headpiece and smile and nod at those in the corner who never thought to include her in their play, never forgetting to bow goodbye to the older students.

Under the bulky, heavy costume, the girl appeared even more slender. She would always wait until everyone else left the stage before departing. When she lowered her head walking down from the stage, the black curtain blocked Zhou Shiyu’s view, preventing him from seeing Sheng Sui’s expression clearly.

Whenever this happened, Zhou Shiyu always had the urge to get up and approach, wanting to smooth down the slightly disheveled hair on top of the girl’s head while softly telling her:

—You did very well today too.

Perhaps heaven really heard Zhou Shiyu’s hopes. On the day of the school celebration, just as it was about to be the publicity department’s stage play’s turn after two more acts, the deputy director suddenly ran backstage in a panic.

As student vice president, Zhou Shiyu was responsible for maintaining order at the venue. He was constantly monitoring Sheng Sui’s situation, and immediately went to inquire about the situation after noticing the commotion.

“…One of the actors suddenly sprained his ankle. Although it’s just a background role, there are fixed stage positions. Teaching someone new the positions now probably won’t be in time…”

Zhou Shiyu told the director not to panic, saying calmly: “I can replace him.”

The director was shocked: “Vice president, you’re going to replace him? But you don’t know the positions either—”

“I’ve watched your rehearsals,” Zhou Shiyu didn’t want to dwell on this topic, having someone bring paper and pen, “Tell me his starting position.”

The absent person was actually the performer playing a background tree next to Sheng Sui.

The unexpected joy came so suddenly that Zhou Shiyu’s eyes flashed with surprise. Under the other person’s astonished gaze, he accurately stated all the position changes and calmly asked someone to fetch the costume.

“One thing,” he stopped before leaving, turning to look at the publicity department director who was still immersed in shock, “Don’t gossip about the substitution.”

“Ah? Oh, oh, you want to keep it low-key, right? No problem, no problem, vice president, don’t worry…”

It had nothing to do with keeping a low profile.

Zhou Shiyu simply didn’t want this situation—wearing ridiculous, laughable costumes—to serve as the “first meeting” he had long anticipated.

Zhou Shiyu’s timely rescue meant the substitution news hadn’t spread yet, so when he walked toward the performance group wearing the tree costume as the show approached, no one noticed anything unusual.

He immediately locked onto Sheng Sui, who always stood in the farthest corner.

As if sensing his gaze, the girl holding the tree branch-shaped headpiece looked up, her clear round eyes looking directly at him, giving Zhou Shiyu, hidden behind the headpiece, a sudden illusion of being seen through.

Except for the two brief encounters at the hospital, this was the first time in his life he could legitimately walk toward Sheng Sui instead of hiding behind her to watch her back.

“…Are you okay?”

As soon as he approached, he heard Sheng Sui’s gentle inquiry tinged with embarrassment: “I just heard the deputy director say you weren’t feeling well? Is it too hot, are you having heat stroke?”

The backstage was noisy and chaotic with people coming and going. A few steps away, the publicity department director was giving a pep talk, with students making noise together, completely overlooking the two people by the black curtain.

“…Maybe,” Sheng Sui was too close, making it difficult for Zhou Shiyu, accustomed to observing from afar, to adapt momentarily. He mumbled quietly, “It’s fine now.”

“Heat stroke still needs attention,” Zhou Shiyu was thankful for the bulky headpiece that prevented Sheng Sui from realizing someone else was inside, as she worried on her own: “When we go on stage later, the lights will be very hot, and it’ll only be stuffier inside the headpiece.”

Zhou Shiyu silently listened to the girl speak, gazing unabashedly through the headpiece at her somewhat childish yet gracefully beautiful face, his expression unconsciously gentle.

After a while, Sheng Sui took something out of her clothes pocket. Unable to remove the outer costume conveniently, her hand could only reach out through the collar of the costume.

A thin, snow-white hand extended toward Zhou Shiyu. He looked down and saw a cooling patch in the girl’s palm.

“This is for you,” perhaps feeling her behavior was ridiculous, Sheng Sui’s voice carried a hint of laughter, “Someone gave it to me before. You can stick it on your head to cool down. I think it should make you more comfortable.”

After pursing his lips in silence for several seconds, Zhou Shiyu extended his tree branch-shaped arm and accepted Sheng Sui’s kind gesture, suddenly feeling some inexplicable jealousy.

Sheng Sui was so kind to him not because he was Zhou Shiyu, but because he had borrowed the identity of that temporarily absent male student.

So they usually had such a good relationship?

Why hadn’t he noticed any clues during rehearsals?

“…Thank you.”

Zhou Shiyu finally just gave low thanks. He was very clear that besides this, he had no standing to ask anything else.

The view from inside the headpiece was narrow and obstructed by mesh, giving Zhou Shiyu only a small rectangular window in his field of vision. He watched Sheng Sui shake her head with a smile after hearing his words.

For the first time, he discovered that when the girl smiled, she had shallow dimples at the corners of her lips, like a half-crescent of pale silver moon.

“It’s nothing,” Sheng Sui smiled with curved brows, worriedly glancing at the director joking with others nearby, leaning closer as her body tilted toward him.

“After we go on stage, if you really don’t feel well, you can tug my sleeve too. Don’t tough it out alone—”

“Are you this kind to everyone?”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Zhou Shiyu frowned at his rudeness and impropriety, his brain racing to figure out how to make amends, when Sheng Sui beside him suddenly spoke.

Facing Zhou Shiyu’s inexplicable question, Sheng Sui’s expression showed clear bewilderment: “I just feel like you seem different from before today.”

The girl slowly blinked, her voice very soft: “…You never really talked to me much before.”

“……”

Zhou Shiyu didn’t know how to respond for a moment. Then cheers and applause from the front stage completely interrupted their conversation. The previous act had ended, and now it was their turn to perform.

“—Come on, everyone take a deep breath and get ready! It’s just a simple stage play performance, just go boldly! Don’t have any psychological burden!”

After the publicity department director’s final pep talk, he waved his hand for the technical department officers to lower the curtain, took a deep breath, adjusted his costume slightly, and strode confidently onto the stage with his head held high.

Sheng Sui followed the crowd, while Zhou Shiyu was last in line.

The cooling patch the girl had given him was warming slightly in his clenched palm, its wrinkled packaging like his indescribable tangled feelings.

Before going on stage, Zhou Shiyu reached out to tug Sheng Sui’s sleeve, seemingly able to feel her body temperature through the cheap, thin fabric.

The publicity department director who had already gone on stage seemed to be giving more instructions. Zhou Shiyu didn’t listen at all, only saying quietly:

“I didn’t mean to question you just now. Don’t misunderstand.”

Sheng Sui’s movement up the steps paused slightly. She turned back, her cheerful voice coming from inside the headpiece: “Mm, I know.”

The stage play’s background music had already started, and as the people in front quickened their pace, Zhou Shiyu felt Sheng Sui grasp his hand in return, pulling him up with her.

“Hurry up,” Sheng Sui quickly let go, not noticing Zhou Shiyu’s stiff fingertips, softly urging, “The performance is about to start.”

Watching the figure quickly walking toward center stage, he could feel the girl’s genuine excitement even from behind.

Zhou Shiyu gently rubbed his left hand that Sheng Sui had held, still not understanding what she, as an unnoticed supporting character, found to be joyful about.

Just as he didn’t understand why, despite having just embarrassed himself, the corners of his mouth were uncontrollably turning upward.

The stage play he had watched nearly a hundred times was still incredibly boring. During the main characters’ performance on stage, laughter occasionally erupted from the audience below.

For Zhou Shiyu, the only difference was perhaps the thunderous heartbeat that kept growing louder and louder.

The scorching stage lights fell down. When scenes changed, even background props like them had to constantly change positions.

As a nonsensical stage play performance, ridiculous exaggeration was one of the most important elements, so even the background props’ movement required the “trees” to hold hands and shake the “branches” on their arms, walking sideways in pairs.

Zhou Shiyu was led by Sheng Sui, who was immersed in the stage play, walking across every inch of the stage’s edges and corners under the witness of the entire school’s teachers and students, and more so in the unnoticed corner.

He had never held hands with any other member of the opposite sex, and never knew that a girl’s hand could be so small and thin, as if he could easily envelop the girl’s hand in his palm if he wanted to with a reverse grip.

Zhou Shiyu didn’t do this.

He let Sheng Sui hold his hand, occasionally hearing her softly murmur the main characters’ lines despite having no dialogue herself, his chest feeling very full.

Sheng Sui had the ability to soothe inner panic and pain, making Zhou Shiyu reluctant to let go until the play ended.

Those who have always been submerged in mud are not afraid of darkness. Only those who have also seen warm sunshine will feel fear of the dark.

Because they have also seen sunlight, they develop greed. And the greed in one’s heart is the source of all human suffering.

Finally, the music stopped, and all the actors on stage stood in neat rows, bowing to thank the audience.

Sheng Sui let go of Zhou Shiyu’s hand.

As endless applause rose and fell, Zhou Shiyu suddenly realized that during that incredibly boring performance, only he had taken it seriously.

Now the performance was over, and all the actors returned to reality.

Only Zhou Shiyu was still struggling, reluctant to leave the play.

Clearly, both he and she were just the most insignificant unnamed background props in this play.

When leaving the stage, students eager to share their joyful feelings impatiently ran down the steps, while Sheng Sui, with no companion, patiently stood at the end of the line.

Zhou Shiyu followed behind her, watching the girl remove her headpiece for the last time. Her forehead hair was dampened by sweat, but her clear, round eyes were particularly bright.

“…Sheng Sui.”

Before the girl completely left him and walked into the crowd, Zhou Shiyu stood on the last step, waiting for Sheng Sui to turn back and look up at him.

“About the performance just now,” Zhou Shiyu’s voice was low and slow, instantly drowned in the high, excited cheers, unsure if the girl could hear, “I’ve watched seriously many times.”

“—You’ve always done very well.”

These words, even if only by borrowing another person’s identity, even if only hidden behind a ridiculous, bulky headpiece, Zhou Shiyu hoped Sheng Sui could know.

—She wasn’t an unnoticed supporting character.

—At least she still had one loyal audience member who seriously watched every one of her performances, even if she had no lines, even if she could only stand in the farthest corner of the second row during the final bow.

Without needing to know who he was, Zhou Shiyu wanted to tell her that the light within her had saved a young man mired in mud countless times.

That was all.

What responded to him was Sheng Sui’s long silence and gaze.

Zhou Shiyu lowered his eyes, thinking perhaps his confession was too abrupt and had frightened the girl who was as pure as white paper. So should he make a joke to brush it off, or—

“Thank you.”

The cheerful response interrupted all his wild thoughts. Zhou Shiyu looked up slightly stunned, meeting those beautiful black eyes directly through the headpiece’s mesh, and saw Sheng Sui suddenly break into a smile.

“Although it sounds strange,” when the girl spoke while looking at his eyes, Zhou Shiyu felt as if time itself had stopped, “but really, thank you very much.”

“—My only audience.”