Though the police hadn’t named Dai Linxuan, many had witnessed the acid-throwing incident, and with so much attention on him, rumors inevitably leaked in elite circles.
Lai Li was so irritated he wanted to punch someone.
For seven straight days, he didn’t seek out Dai Linxuan—to lure the snake from its hole, waiting for him to open the safe. But his brother never entered the study once, making Lai Li doubt if the soil he’d seen was just his imagination.
Not entirely fruitless, though. Alone, Dai Linxuan dropped his mild, composed facade, revealing his true private self… It only made Lai Li more restless. His brother was teetering on the edge of breakdown.
The first weekend after classes resumed post-holiday, Lai Li finally lost patience—the surveillance light in the liquor cabinet had gone dark.
The cameras were installed when Dai Linxuan bought the apartment; he’d even caught Lai Li entering his room at dawn and staying two hours via them.
Lai Li video-called. No answer—Dai Linxuan texted back that he was in a meeting.
Two hours later, he called. “Little Chestnut, what’s up?”
Lai Li cut straight to it. “You turned off the living room surveillance?”
Dai Linxuan paused at the near-accusatory tone, then laughed. “Yeah, I did. Remember to have it removed sometime. I was wrong to install them behind your back—I’m sorry, Brother won’t do it again.”
Lai Li stayed silent for a long time.
“Still mad?” Dai Linxuan thought. “Free tomorrow night? Come home for dinner.”
“No time,” Lai Li said.
“Day after?”
Lai Li stared at last night’s footage: Dai Linxuan asleep on the bed, peaceful, a slender ankle exposed—perfect for binding.
His eyes darkened. To the oblivious man on the line: “I want to eat alone with you.”
Dai Linxuan didn’t refuse, just said, “In a bit—should calm down after the shareholders’ meeting.”
Lai Li paused a beat. “Dai Linxuan, are you resorting to brush-offs like ‘when I’m free’ with me now?”
“Not brushing you off—I’m really busy.” Dai Linxuan didn’t want to dwell. “Eaten dinner?”
Lai Li: “No.”
“What’re you planning to eat?”
Lai Li said calmly, “No appetite. Not eating.”
Dai Linxuan asked patiently, “Why no appetite?”
“Because even He Xunzhang doesn’t fob off He Shuxin like this—’In a bit, won’t be so busy.'” Lai Li snapped like he’d swallowed dynamite, eyeing the woman approaching him. “Won’t starve. Hanging up.”
She set down a cup of coffee with a smile. “Sorry, kept you waiting.”
Lai Li closed the surveillance, removed his earbuds. “Can we start?”
A name tag hung on the woman’s chest—Psychological Counselor: Xu Hui.
She observed the young man before her impassively. “Were you just on the phone with your partner?”
Lai Li paused mid-sip of coffee, looking up at her.
“I didn’t hear anything—just saw your expression passing by outside.” Xu Hui gestured to the glass wall. “The person on the other end must be special? You look… different.”
“How different?” Lai Li was impermeable.
“It’s hard to describe.” Xu Hui didn’t elaborate and instead turned to the main topic. “I really can’t issue a depression certificate here. The scale doesn’t prove anything. It’s best to go to the hospital for a detailed diagnosis.”
This was Lai Li’s second time here. Last time, he had completed the scale and left.
“Can’t we consult without a diagnosis?”
“Of course we can.”
Lai Li leaned back against the sofa, seemingly pondering how to broach the subject. After a moment, he lifted his eyelids. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”
Xu Hui followed his lead. “What specifically? Difficulty falling asleep or shallow sleep?”
“Difficulty falling asleep,” Lai Li said. “I have to take sleeping pills every night to fall asleep.”
Xu Hui asked, “Do you have a lot of dreams?”
Lai Li paused. “Not too bad. I basically forget them when I wake up.”
“That’s normal. Most people don’t remember their dreams.” Xu Hui continued, “Any other symptoms?”
“Loss of appetite.” Lai Li furrowed his brow slightly. “For example, eight dumplings take me half an hour to eat.”
Xu Hui asked, “Is that for a full meal? That’s a bit little.”
Lai Li hummed in affirmation.
Xu Hui didn’t jump to conclusions and asked about something else. “Are you busy with work or studies usually?”
Lai Li said, “Very busy.”
Xu Hui asked gently, “What do you usually do after you’re done being busy?”
She listened as the young man before her described his daily routine. He woke up very early every day, exercised for an hour after getting up, made a simple breakfast, ate it, and then headed to the company, where he stayed busy all day.
In the evenings, when he returned home, he often sat on the sofa lost in thought. He couldn’t remember what he had been thinking about, and half an hour would pass by the time he snapped out of it. Then he would take a sleeping pill and go to bed.
Lai Li finished in one breath and stared into the counselor’s eyes. “Does this match depression symptoms?”
Xu Hui shook her head. “Hard to say. Most depressed patients don’t like exercising much, and normal people can have sleep issues too. It’s not exclusive to depression.”
Lai Li fell silent, curling his fingers against his philtrum, lost in thought.
Xu Hui picked up her coffee, took a sip, watched the young man in front of her for a moment, then set the cup back on the coffee table with a smile. “For a more accurate judgment, it’s best if the person themselves comes.”
Lai Li suddenly raised his eyes, his gaze piercing coldly toward Xu Hui.
“The symptoms you just described have nothing to do with you personally, right?” Xu Hui said mildly. “I don’t recommend proxy consultations. Observations and descriptions from others often carry subjectivity and aren’t entirely accurate.”
“…”
“You came for yourself last time,” Xu Hui encouraged. “How about we focus on you today?”
After that remark, the young man’s aura shifted. The listless state vanished, replaced by irritability and impatience. He became completely uncooperative with the consultation, just like last time when he filled out the scale with utter nonsense—though the fabrications were somewhat sophisticated.
She knew full well he was brushing her off, yet she couldn’t find any logical flaws or useful information.
After three hours, Xu Hui only figured out Lai Li’s true intention—he wanted to take a leave of absence and needed a suitable reason.
At the end of the session, Xu Hui stood to see him out. “I really can’t help with the diagnosis report, but for pure consultation, I’m fairly professional. Every word you say stays in this room and won’t be known to a third party, so I hope next time you come, we can be a bit more honest—if there is a next time.”
Xu Hui believed Lai Li was very likely to return.
She had told him last time that they didn’t make diagnoses here, but he had come anyway today. Even after his proxy consultation was exposed, he didn’t leave and sat through three full hours, which showed he truly had needs.
He just didn’t trust her enough yet. It would take time to build a good therapeutic relationship.
Most importantly, compared to the person he was consulting for, Lai Li’s own issues seemed even bigger.
On the surface, Lai Li was just a young master with a somewhat cold personality and a bad temper—nothing obviously symptomatic.
Xu Hui’s sense that something was off with Lai Li came purely from experience. She had been in this field for over twenty years, collaborating with schools, mental hospitals, and even prisons. She had seen all too many people. Sometimes, no clear evidence was needed; a single glance or expression felt off.
Lai Li appeared “normal” at first glance, but she always had this indescribable subtle feeling in her heart, which grew stronger the more time they spent together.
“Buzz—”
The young man in front of her pulled out his phone and glanced at it. The mask of irritability and impatience shattered suddenly, revealing a flash of genuine malice, as if the next second he might storm out, turn left into the supermarket, buy a knife, and stab someone.
Xu Hui’s heart stirred. “Did something happen?”
Lai Li, of course, didn’t answer. He left without looking back, his footsteps hurried.
A themed party centered on romance and revelry was underway in a VIP box at Cloud Summit, gathering second-generation heirs from half the circle.
The space was as large as a hall, with rhythmic music pounding the eardrums. Occasional “pop” sounds of wine bottle caps bursting punctuated the noise. The young masters lounged with their male and female companions, playing games in groups of three or five. Some played human billiards, others ground against their companions’ crotches while chatting and laughing casually.
Dai Linxuan sat on a high stool at the bar counter. Though in the midst of the clamor, he exuded an inexplicable sense of solitary detachment while drinking alone.
In his peripheral vision, two figures approached, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.
Dai Linxuan curved his lips into a smile of ambiguous meaning. His pale fingertips lightly pinched the slender stem of his wine glass, the clear pale red liquid swaying gently, reflecting a face that lost its refined elegance. It resembled the usually low-key, scholarly degenerate immersed in this den of debauchery, inadvertently revealing his true colors.
He Xunzhang stopped, hooking his younger brother He Shuxin’s shoulder as he leaned against the bar. He tilted his head insincerely. “My bad, I forgot you don’t like these kinds of scenes.”
He Shuxin quickly scanned Dai Linxuan, then lowered his head, his gaze flickering. “Brother Dai.”
Dai Linxuan glanced at him with a smile and said to He Xunzhang, “I really don’t like it much. I prefer more private atmospheres.”
