Chapter 24
Unlike more familiar mental health conditions like depression or schizophrenia, anxiety disorders were less understood.
They were often triggered by prolonged stress or adverse childhood experiences.
Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) was a chronic form of anxiety.
Sufferers experienced persistent, excessive, and uncontrollable worry about everyday situations.
Some worried about their health, constantly fearing serious illness despite repeated clean bills of health.
Others worried about job loss, heartbreak, or the safety of loved ones.
This worry transformed into debilitating anxiety, constantly gnawing at their rationality, often lasting for six months or more. Sufferers longed for relief but couldn’t escape their anxious thoughts.
They might appear nervous, obsessive, experience heart palpitations, insomnia, and night terrors.
They might even become withdrawn and difficult to communicate with.
They struggled to find joy in life, to focus, requiring more effort than others to concentrate.
Therapists often recommended a regular routine, exercise, slow breathing techniques, and muscle relaxation to manage symptoms.
Anti-anxiety medications for GAD carried a risk of addiction, so cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and supportive therapy were preferred, with medication prescribed only as a last resort.
The information provided for family members was straightforward and concise.
But Song Jingmo read it carefully.
The chibi shadow knelt on the tablet, studying every word.
Xie Zhang had enjoyed a happy childhood, with loving parents. He’d been a cherished and protected young master.
But tragedy had struck in his youth, leaving him orphaned, stripped of everything he held dear, burdened by an overwhelming despair.
Yet, his sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow him to crumble.
External pressures and internal turmoil threatened to drag him down, but he trudged through the mud, refusing to stop, refusing to fall, forcing himself to keep moving forward.
He’d walked alone for a long time.
Song Jingmo didn’t know what Xie Zhang had been thinking, sitting alone on that mountaintop when they first met.
But he remembered the thin, stoic figure, his face a mask of indifference, like a stone statue.
Seven years ago, Xie Zhang met Song Jingmo.
Five years ago, Xie Zhang sought therapy.
Song Jingmo didn’t understand.
Had his presence exacerbated Xie Zhang’s anxiety?
Xu Yi, watching the quiet shadow, relayed the psychiatrist’s words as objectively as possible: “The cognitive therapy he’s receiving focuses on addressing the excessive worry that causes anxiety, helping the patient recognize that their fears are often exaggerated and unrealistic.”
“Although Mr. Xie actively sought therapy, it hasn’t been very effective in alleviating his anxiety.”
“He’s deeply affected by his parents’ death, constantly worried about your safety, convinced that if you leave his side, you’ll be in danger, that you might leave him.”
“Just like… his parents.”
Xu Yi paused.
He hadn’t known about Xie Zhang’s parents’ death, but he knew about Song Jingmo’s accident.
These two events, combined, had shattered Xie Zhang’s carefully constructed world. His deepest fears had become reality.
He’d tried so hard to control his emotions, to suppress his constant need to see Song Jingmo.
He’d tried to convince himself that his worries were excessive, unrealistic, impossible.
He’d maintained a calm facade, seeing Song Jingmo off with a smile, while silently battling the anxiety that consumed him whenever they were apart.
But then, his worst fears had come true, shattering his self-control and rationality.
That’s why, when he first saw Song-shadow, his reaction wasn’t one of fear or disbelief. He hadn’t sought confirmation from others, hadn’t immediately installed security cameras.
He’d calmly accepted his “schizophrenia,” finding solace in his hallucinations.
After all, he already had a pre-existing condition, and anxiety disorders could trigger other complications.
“Based on the initial assessment this afternoon, Mr. Xie doesn’t exhibit any symptoms of schizophrenia, but his anxiety has significantly worsened.”
“However, this time, he isn’t receptive to therapy, exhibiting resistance and denial.”
“Therefore, the doctor recommends involving family members in his treatment, to help him reframe his thoughts and alleviate his anxiety.”
The chibi shadow hesitated, his tiny hand hovering over the tablet screen, then he slowly began to type.
【But… I’m dead.】
Xu Yi felt a sharp pang in his chest, his throat tightening, tears stinging his eyes.
Song Jingmo, whether he was present or not, was a constant reminder of Xie Zhang’s loss.
This was the reality Xie Zhang refused to face.
He couldn’t accept it and move on.
He clung to Song-shadow’s presence, pouring all his energy into sustaining his lover, wanting his companionship in these final days, before fulfilling his responsibilities and…
…giving up.
Xu Yi suddenly spoke: “Actually, I’m quite surprised.”
“About the psychiatrist calling me.”
Song Jingmo looked up at him.
Xu Yi’s expression was difficult to read. He hesitated, then said softly: “Dr. Qiao said it’s rare for a patient to provide emergency contact information and authorize the therapist to contact them directly.”
“He only listed two names.”
“One was his partner, the other… a friend.”
He said the word “friend” with a hint of surprise.
Song Jingmo wasn’t surprised.
Xie Zhang’s social circle was incredibly small.
He seemed to have no interest in anything outside of work and Song Jingmo. His only friend was his secretary, Xu Yi.
But Song Jingmo, the object of Xie Zhang’s anxiety, had never felt any pressure or constraint from him.
While Xu Yi was surprised by his inclusion in Xie Zhang’s limited circle of close contacts, Song Jingmo understood the significance of this gesture.
It was a cry for help.
Xie Zhang had wanted to live. He loved Song Jingmo and trusted Xu Yi.
He’d authorized the psychiatrist to inform his lover and his friend if he lost control.
He’d wanted to get better.
And Song Jingmo desperately wanted him to live, to move on.
Xu Yi watched as black teardrops rolled down the chibi shadow’s face, merging with the surrounding darkness.
He didn’t know how to comfort him.
This was a deadlock. Unless Song Jingmo appeared before Xie Zhang in the flesh, smiling and saying—
What accident? I’m alive and well!
…Xie Zhang wouldn’t be able to move on.
His deep-seated anxiety would never be quelled.
Song Jingmo cried silently for a long time, his chibi form shrinking.
As Xu Yi searched for words of comfort, he saw Song-shadow gathering bits of his own shadow, patching himself up, even reshaping himself.
Soon, he was back to his original size.
Song Jingmo wiped his face with a shadow handkerchief, stood up, and returned the tablet to Xu Yi.
He’d cried enough; he had things to do.
He’d helped Xie Zhang cope when he was alive; he could do it now, even in death!
It was just anxiety!
He’d stick to Xie Zhang like glue!
As for the future—
He still needed to consult a… professional, to make sure his presence wasn’t harming Xie Zhang.
Xu Yi… Xu Yi wouldn’t do. A fellow former materialist, he’d be easy prey for charlatans.
He’d think about it later, plan carefully.
He understood his importance to Xie Zhang now more than ever.
He couldn’t disappear again.
If it weren’t for their different clothes, Xu Yi wouldn’t have been able to distinguish between them when Song-shadow stood up.
But he could sense the burning determination emanating from the tiny figure.
He took the tablet, saying: “I’ll filter the work as much as possible. The development team is on schedule; there shouldn’t be any major issues for the next two weeks.”
Song Jingmo, about to jump off the desk, paused, grabbed a pen and paper from Xie Zhang’s desk, and carefully wrote down Song Chengyan’s private number, adding a note:
【If there are any serious problems at the company, contact my brother.】
Xu Yi took the note, folding it carefully.
He knew about Song Jingmo’s family background and the constant comparisons between his brother, Song Chengyan, and Xie Zhang in their social circle.
The chibi shadow thanked him with a gesture, then formed a tiny heart.
Thank you.
Xu Yi bent down, meeting Song Jingmo’s gaze. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re both my friends, aren’t you?”
“Next time, stay for dinner.”
A shadow tendril shot up, splitting into two, forming a large “ok” sign.
Xu Yi hurried out of the villa, catching a glimpse of Xie Zhang sitting at the dining table, his head lowered.
Song-shadow zipped down the stairs, colliding with Xie Zhang, who looked up instantly.
The bowl and chopsticks in Xie Zhang’s hands clattered onto the table, but neither of them seemed to notice.
The shadow figure, his expression unreadable, seemed unaffected by his earlier tears, still a fluffy, playful dandelion.
He didn’t ask how Xie Zhang had escaped the kitchen; he hadn’t actually meant to lock him in, it was just for show.
He nuzzled Xie Zhang’s cheek, then, as Xie Zhang reached out to touch him, he grabbed a chicken wing and placed it in his own bowl, the chibi shadow drooling.
Xie Zhang paused, seemingly surprised by his reaction, then smiled, looking at the lively, inky black Song Jingmo.
He picked up his chopsticks and, at Song-shadow’s urging, took a chicken wing for himself.
He ate slowly and methodically, following his usual rhythm.
Song Jingmo, eyeing his own chicken wing, piled various dishes into Xie Zhang’s bowl with his chopsticks, then looked at him expectantly.
Xie Zhang ate everything, even the last grain of rice.
Song-shadow, perched on the edge of his bowl, only relaxed after confirming he’d eaten well.
As Xie Zhang stood up to clear the table, he felt a cool tendril slip under his shirt, touching his stomach.
He paused, looking at Song-shadow, who was innocently looking at the ceiling.
Song-shadow patted his slightly rounded belly, giggled, then, having taken his liberties, zipped away, carrying dishes to the kitchen while doing the seaweed dance.
Xie Zhang, amused, followed him into the kitchen.
They had a dishwasher, but both of them instinctively placed the dishes in the sink.
Song-shadow hopped onto the faucet, turning on the water.
Xie Zhang washed the dishes.
As he washed, the small shadow clung to his wrist, pushing up his sleeves, kissing the inside of his arm.
Xie Zhang’s heart melted.
Having rolled up his sleeves, Song Jingmo stared at the running water, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
A shadow tendril stealthily reached out, plugging the faucet.
The water, instead of passing through the shadow, backed up, then sprayed out from the sides.
Song-shadow, the culprit, turned to Xie Zhang, whose shirt was now soaked.
Xie Zhang, unfazed, but wanting to finish washing the dishes, picked up the mischievous shadow and placed him on top of the faucet.
The chibi shadow sat on the faucet, blending seamlessly with its dark surface, like a small ornament.
Xie Zhang stared at this scene for a moment, then, after drying his hands, took a picture with his phone.
Song Jingmo: “?”
He was too lazy to move, but as Xie Zhang’s shadow, he had access to his perspective.
He peeked out from beneath Xie Zhang’s shadow hand, glancing at the photo.
Eww!
So dark!
Xie Zhang chuckled: “Momo is so dark.”
Song Jingmo: “?”
Hey!
He used to be fair-skinned!
Super smooth and tender!
Offended, Song-shadow zipped around Xie Zhang like a black cat, bumping into him from every angle.
By the time they left the kitchen, a shadow cat sat on his left shoulder, a shadow dog on his right, and the chibi shadow perched on his head.
Returning to the study, Xie Zhang glanced at the used pen and paper on his desk, tidying them up without comment.
Song Jingmo, having given Xie Zhang the full cat-and-dog-plus-mini-him experience, tucked the shadow animals back into Xie Zhang’s shadow as he sat down at his desk.
Xie Zhang still had some work to finish.
And when Song Jingmo was around, he could focus better, his productivity increasing.
Song Jingmo settled back into his usual spot between the ESC and F1 keys, relaxing.
While Xie Zhang worked, Song Jingmo tried to make himself slightly larger.
The chibi shadow leaned against the keys, his legs dangling. Since he was weightless, he didn’t press the keys unless he intentionally applied pressure.
So, occasionally glancing up from his work, Xie Zhang would see the chibi shadow gathering bits of his larger shadow, patching himself up, even lengthening his legs.
Song Jingmo, pleased with his long legs, swung them towards Xie Zhang.
Xie Zhang reached out, playfully lifting and swinging the tiny legs.
Song Jingmo, holding onto his finger, stood up, now almost as tall as a nearby glass of water.
When Xie Zhang finished working and stood up, Song Jingmo hopped onto his collar, settling comfortably in the crook of his neck.
He nuzzled against Xie Zhang’s warm skin.
Entering the bathroom, Xie Zhang paused.
He looked at the chibi shadow, already standing on the tiles beneath the showerhead, and hesitated.
Before, when he’d pretended Song-shadow was a hallucination, he hadn’t been self-conscious about showering, but now…
Wrapped in a towel, he stood silently, his hand hovering over the faucet.
Song Jingmo knew what he was thinking.
He’d hidden his 18+ manga collection because of Xie Zhang’s somewhat prudish and reserved nature.
But now… hmph.
A shadow tendril emerged from beneath Xie Zhang’s hand, turning on the shower.
Water cascaded down, plastering Xie Zhang’s hair to his face.
As he reached up to push his hair back, he felt a sudden lightness on his legs.
And his mind went blank.
Song Jingmo snatched his towel, grabbing another one with a shadow tendril and vigorously rubbing the now completely red-faced Xie Zhang.
What are you shy about?
I’m just your second personality, your hallucination!
What’s so embarrassing about bathing yourself?
…
Xie Zhang didn’t know how he’d managed to leave the bathroom.
But his usually pale skin was now flushed crimson.
Remembering his… reaction… and the shadow tendril…
The usually inexperienced Xie Zhang closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
Changing into his pajamas, he sat on the bed, his expression serious, and asked with a slight frown: “Where… where did you learn all this?”
Song-shadow, full and satisfied, sat cross-legged on the duvet, facing Xie Zhang, whose ears and neck were still flushed. He found this flustered Xie Zhang rather amusing.
Innocent and cute!
Just a bit… large.
But it didn’t matter; he was a shadow, he could handle it!
Any size was fine!
Just a matter of wrapping himself around it!
Not only was it painless, but he could also tease and touch Xie Zhang freely, like playing an 18+ dating sim.
Hee hee hee!
Song Jingmo, now fearless, shedding all pretense and shame, typed on the tablet: 【Want to know what else I used to read?】
Xie Zhang had a feeling things weren’t as he’d imagined, but his desire to understand his lover prevailed.
He cautiously nodded.
Song-shadow zipped downstairs, retrieved the locked tablet from the storage room, and placed it in front of Xie Zhang.
He tried the password a few times, then, failing to unlock it, sheepishly pushed it towards Xie Zhang.
Damn it, he’d been too panicked when he’d hidden the tablet, entering a random password.
And there were no cameras in the storage room…
He couldn’t remember the password.
QAQ.
Xie Zhang silently took the tablet, then grabbed Song Jingmo’s gaming tablet, logged into his cloud storage, and downloaded a video of Song Jingmo.
He held the two tablets together.
Facial recognition successful.
He placed the unlocked tablet on the bed.
Song Jingmo, who had thought he was so clever, watched in disbelief as his security measures were effortlessly bypassed: “…”
Xie Zhang: “This is an older model; the facial recognition system is outdated, so…”
The chibi shadow covered his face.
Well, it didn’t matter.
He grabbed the tablet, opened his cloud storage, and entered his password.
He made no attempt to hide his actions, and Xie Zhang watched intently.
Song Jingmo browsed through his collection of… educational materials, choosing a fluffy, slightly spicy story featuring a handsome villain who reminded him of Xie Zhang. He rubbed his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Having crossed that initial barrier of embarrassment, he was no longer afraid of social death. He even wanted to see Xie Zhang’s reaction to his… preferences.
But Xie Zhang wasn’t paying attention to the content. His expression was perplexed as he asked hesitantly: “Momo, the password you just entered…?”
Huh?
Song-shadow looked up, then realized.
Oh, the password.
Wait, his cloud storage password!!
The previously playful shadow tendril instantly curled up like a mimosa leaf.
He nervously scratched at the duvet.
His password was… uh…
Xie Zhang, recalling the sequence, said haltingly: “xiezhang… 19… cm?”
Song Jingmo: “…”
Xie Zhang: “…”
Song Jingmo had thought that, having abandoned all pretense, he was immune to embarrassment.
But apparently, he had a talent for escalating his own social suicide.
He’d set that password after a particularly frustrating argument with Xie Zhang.
He’d thought it was clever and uncrackable, so he’d never changed it.
And now… now…
The very subject of the password had witnessed him entering it.
Song-shadow straightened up, clinging to the principle that if he wasn’t embarrassed, then Xie Zhang should be. He typed on the tablet:
【You *are* 19 cm; I measured you with a ruler! I’m not wrong!】
Xie Zhang: “…”
You… measured me… with a ruler?
He racked his brain, but he couldn’t recall such an incident.
Song Jingmo quickly changed the subject.
【The password doesn’t matter! Do you still want to read this?】
Xie Zhang, temporarily setting aside the mystery of the ruler incident, looked at the tablet.
And the pure, innocent, and somewhat clueless CEO blushed crimson, destined for a sleepless night.
