Chapter 67: Split

Just like when he was a child, as soon as Dai Linxuan coaxed him, Lai Li’s eyelids grew heavy and refused to stay open, even if he had been thinking about how to handle the next day’s consultation just a second before.

But this time, he could not fall asleep peacefully.

He felt like a bystander, clearly sensing his consciousness being tugged downward bit by bit, endlessly descending without reaching the bottom.

He could neither fall asleep nor wake up, as if he had entered another dimension between dream and reality.

He did not know how much time passed before a point of light suddenly appeared below. He saw a vibrant yet eerie field of flowers and grass, with thorny vines weaving through brambles, twisting and climbing toward an open coffin.

The coffin was black, covered in intricate and ornate patterns along its lid and edges. A perfect body lay inside, eyes closed, arms resting at its sides, fingers naturally curved in a graceful arc against the skin of its thighs.

Lai Li was absolutely certain this was not “real,” but the moment he clearly saw the face, he fell into a state of quiet rage.

He kept approaching, but the coffin always maintained a distance he could see but not touch. Thorns from the surrounding brambles pierced his body, leaving him covered in wounds and bloodied flesh, yet he could not make a sound. He failed to awaken the sleeping… brother.

Lai Li grew extremely agitated. He angrily tore at the surrounding thorns, but it was all in vain. He could only watch helplessly as a small black spot appeared on his brother’s chest, like a drop of sulfuric acid falling, corroding the surrounding flesh with the heart at its center.

Countless vines crawled into the coffin, obscuring Lai Li’s view. They burrowed into Dai Linxuan’s rotting body, trembling as they absorbed the last traces of nutrients.

Blood seeped from the coffin’s seams, flowing to Lai Li’s feet—red turning to black, emitting a foul, rotten stench.

…

Although Dai Linxuan had only fallen asleep in the latter half of the night, his biological clock was ingrained in his body. Before seven in the morning, when his consciousness was not fully awake, he felt the body pressed tightly against his shudder violently.

Dai Linxuan instantly woke up and opened his eyes to check on Lai Li, but he was immediately pressed back onto the pillow.

Lai Li braced himself over him, chest heaving dramatically, eyes pitch black as if possessed by something nightmarish.

Dai Linxuan tentatively asked, “Did you have a nightmare?”

Lai Li stared at his face for two seconds before suddenly yanking open his collar roughly.

Dai Linxuan instinctively raised a hand. “—Xiao Li?”

Lai Li used both hands to undo his buttons, his expression growing increasingly frantic. Dai Linxuan stopped midway, withdrew his hand, and instead supported Lai Li’s waist, fearing he might kneel unsteadily and tear his wounds.

Once the clothes were stripped away, Lai Li trembled faintly as he explored his body… No decay. It was as smooth as ever.

Only after inspecting every last inch did Lai Li’s senses return. His body suddenly went limp, and his face plunged straight down, landing right at the juncture of Dai Linxuan’s collarbone and neck.

Dai Linxuan’s heart jolted, but he immediately felt Lai Li’s rapid, scorching breaths, along with two hands burrowing beneath him. He slightly lifted his body, allowing Lai Li to embrace him fully.

“What’s wrong?”

Lai Li buried his face, eyes closed. “I had a dream.”

Dai Linxuan asked, “What did you dream about?”

Lai Li’s voice was low and hoarse. “I don’t remember.”

Dai Linxuan did not press further. He gently patted his back to soothe him. “Want to sleep more?”

Lai Li felt the warmth of his brother’s palm and gradually settled inside, his breathing steadying. He shook his head slightly. “No.”

“Then lie down a bit longer before getting up.” Dai Linxuan lifted his chin and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Planning to suffocate yourself?”

Lai Li said nothing. He shifted upward, then lowered his head, pressing his lips to his brother’s with eyes closed.

Dai Linxuan’s heart trembled.

Lai Li barely supported himself; the full weight of his head pressed onto Dai Linxuan’s lips, making this “kiss” feel as heavy as a mountain.

Dai Linxuan slowly closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by boundless palpitations.

He suddenly thought that even if he discarded their current boundary-crossing feelings and returned to Lai Li’s eighteenth year with the self-aware, unrequited memories, he still could not resist those “temptations.” He would still inevitably fall for him.

Like a fate long predetermined.

An hour later, they finally got out of bed. Since there were many checks ahead, they could not eat breakfast. Dai Linxuan kept him company without eating, having no appetite himself.

Lai Li sat on the bed like an oversized puppet, waiting for his brother to help him dress.

“How old are you?” Dai Linxuan chuckled and rubbed his face before fetching outer clothes to help him put them on. Since his wounds had not fully healed, changing was inconvenient, so he just layered on an outer shirt and pants without changing out of his sleepwear.

“Ten,” Lai Li said without blushing.

“May I ask this ten-year-old child if he needs help brushing his teeth?”

“Yes.”

Lai Li got out of bed immediately. When he reached for his phone on the nightstand, Dai Linxuan snatched it first and pocketed it naturally. “It’s consultation day—less phone time to avoid distractions.”

“…” Lai Li looked at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze without a word.

In the bathroom, Dai Linxuan dutifully tended to him. As he squeezed toothpaste, he suddenly recalled the past. “Do you remember the first time you brushed your teeth as a kid?”

Lai Li paused, a vague memory surfacing in his mind, so he hummed slowly in acknowledgment.

“I thought you’d know how, so I stepped out to grab something. When I came back, your mouth was full of blood. I was scared you had internal bleeding.” Dai Linxuan inserted the toothbrush into Lai Li’s mouth and said mildly, “On purpose, right?”

“…”

Lai Li stayed silent.

It had indeed been on purpose. He simply did not understand why the new toy treated him differently from the old one. So he tested the boundaries bit by bit, and soon discovered that Dai Linxuan had no bottom line with him.

For a long time after that, Dai Linxuan brushed his teeth for him, just like bathing him.

He gradually realized that acting a bit more pitiful and fragile allowed him to manipulate Dai Linxuan, to do whatever he wanted. It was far more fun than that ugly, irritable, stupid thing from before.

“So, did you come to hate me?”

“If I hated you, would I still be taking care of you like this?” Dai Linxuan tended to him meticulously, then wetted a towel to wipe his face. “—Another clean chestnut. Let’s go.”

“After breakfast.”

“Hungry?” Dai Linxuan said. “Blood draw coming up—no eating. Hang in there…”

Lai Li asked, “You too?”

Dai Linxuan had no choice but to eat breakfast in front of Lai Li. It was nearly nine, too late for time tricks; he had to finish quickly.

On the way to the checks, Dai Linxuan gave him a heads-up. “I’ve told the doctor a bit about your situation. She’s a psychiatrist, so she might not ease in like your previous counselor. She could ask privacy-invading questions that feel offensive…”

Dai Linxuan chose his words carefully—ever since learning of Lai Li’s mental and memory issues, whenever they discussed it, Lai Li seemed open but Dai Linxuan, having raised him for twelve years, could always detect subtle non-cooperation beneath the facade.

“As long as she asks, I’ll answer. There’s no privacy I can’t share…” Lai Li paused suddenly and glanced at him.

Dai Linxuan caught the implication in that look—

No privacy he could not share, except their boundary-crossing relationship.

Dai Linxuan naturally skirted it. “After the consultation, she’ll probably talk to me. If there’s anything you don’t want me to know, tell her upfront. She won’t tell…”

Lai Li’s gaze cooled as he interrupted, “If there’s something I don’t want you to know, I wouldn’t let anyone else know it either.”

Dai Linxuan detected another layer of meaning… So there was something.

Lai Li’s eyes darkened intensely as he stared at him. “Bro, you’ve been so patiently indulging me lately. Is it just to coax me into seeing the doctor?”

“…Does that even need coaxing?” Dai Linxuan laughed helplessly. “Wasn’t it you who first wanted to take a break from school to get treated?”

Lai Li thought about it. It seemed so.

Dai Linxuan turned his face away and sighed silently. “I’m not coaxing you. I just want you to be happy.”

Lai Li refused to admit it. “I’m not unhappy.”

Dai Linxuan curved his lips. “Your face scrolls two lines all day: ‘I’m unhappy,’ ‘Still unhappy.'”

And yet he had the nerve to boldly say things like “You should just lock me up.”

Dai Linxuan did not want to dwell on it and changed the subject before Lai Li could speak. “But I am a bit worried you won’t cooperate with the doctor. Be honest on those scales later, okay?”

Lai Li stared at him sullenly.

Dai Linxuan touched his hand. “Hm?”

“…I’d cooperate anyway.” Lai Li gripped his hand in response, but his peripheral vision caught a figure, and he immediately pulled away, shoving it into his pocket.

Dai Linxuan paused and subtly increased the distance.

Doctor Ye appeared to be in her forties, with a temperament somewhat similar to Dai Linxuan’s, which made Lai Li dislike her at first sight.

She approached, greeted Dai Linxuan, then turned to Lai Li with a smile and introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Ye Qingyun.”

Lai Li nodded perfunctorily, unsure if he even registered it.

“Physical checks first?” Doctor Ye had already familiarized herself with the Sea Island layout and led them forward. “You’ve had many checks during surgery, but some were missed. We’ll redo them as a post-op review.”

Lai Li had no objections.

Blood draw, weigh-in, chest X-ray, head CT… He cooperated throughout.

By the end of the full process, it was noon. They ate lunch together, and Ye Qingyun occasionally asked casual questions about Lai Li’s life back home.

“Are you still in school?”

“Took a leave.” Lai Li was curt.

In his peripheral vision, Dai Linxuan had entered the mode of taking three sips of water per bite of food.

Lai Li set down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth. “Can we start?”

Ye Qingyun said, “Of course.”

Lai Li looked at Dai Linxuan. “Bro, you sit in.”

Dai Linxuan paused, glanced at Ye Qingyun, which pushed Lai Li’s displeasure to the extreme.

Ye Qingyun smiled, easing the tension. “Why are you more nervous than the patient?”

Lai Li said matter-of-factly, “If my bro isn’t nervous, who is?”

Dai Linxuan smiled wryly, relaxing a bit as a result. He stood. “The consultation room is south. This way.”

But Ye Qingyun suggested, “Nice weather—how about a walk to digest?”

Dai Linxuan thought it fine and looked to Lai Li. “What do you think?”

“Whatever.”

Lai Li had not fully recovered; walking was possible but taxing.

Dai Linxuan fetched a wheelchair for him to sit in and personally pushed it outside. “Pretend I’m not here.”

The Sea Island was not flat; the villa sat at the peak of the island’s mountains, offering vast views.

Ye Qingyun broached carefully. “Your brother says you want treatment yourself?”

Lai Li hummed.

Ye Qingyun asked, “How long have these symptoms been going on?”

Lai Li countered, “Which one?”

Ye Qingyun’s interest piqued. “Let’s start with the memory loss.”

“Not sure exactly. I realized it at fourteen.” Lai Li paused, lifting a hand to hook his brother’s pinky. “That year, my bro graduated. He asked if I wanted a gift. I asked for a camera.”

Ye Qingyun easily inferred. “To record life?”

Lai Li nodded. “Some important moments you want to keep.”

“You don’t seem to have forgotten everything.” Ye Qingyun asked, “Do the forgotten things have common traits?”

Lai Li’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Ye Qingyun noted it and switched questions. “Why no treatment before, but now? Any trigger?”

Lai Li lowered his gaze, tightening his grip on his brother’s finger, irritation thick in his eyes—but it vanished when he looked up. “Does wanting to be normal need a reason?”

Dai Linxuan tensed, the signal traveling through their touching fingers to Lai Li.

He immediately softened his tone, reluctantly adopting a nicer one. “I don’t want it getting worse, for others to notice and expose it, affecting my bro.”

“…” Dai Linxuan sighed and patted his shoulder. “I’ll grab you two drinks.”

Lai Li grabbed his hand. “Bro.”

“Also call Mom about work stuff.” Dai Linxuan said gently. “Back in half an hour, okay?”

All three knew the real intention wasn’t the wine. Lai Li’s face shifted through several expressions before he finally nodded sullenly.

He kept staring at Dai Linxuan’s back until it vanished around the corner.

Ye Qingyun’s voice came from beside him. “Your brother is a bit anxious.”

Lai Li whipped his head toward her.

“He’s very worried and cares deeply about your physical and mental state.” Ye Qingyun withdrew her gaze and sat down on a chair nearby. “The things you’ve forgotten—they’re all related to him, aren’t they?”

Lai Li’s pupils contracted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

“Don’t you want to remember?” Ye Qingyun asked. “When only one person remembers, and the other realizes everything has been forgotten, it’s actually a very painful thing.”

Perhaps because his body hadn’t fully recovered, or maybe because he realized how much he’d affected Dai Linxuan, Lai Li could no longer handle her as effortlessly as he had with the previous psychologist. Her words even stirred a faint murderous intent in him.

The prickly chestnut burr cracked open just a sliver, and Ye Qingyun’s eyes were sharp enough to catch it.

She could tell the brothers’ relationship had crossed some boundaries, but to lower Lai Li’s defenses, she deliberately twisted it toward familial affection. “Do you know about Alzheimer’s? It’s also related to memory. Family members often suffer more than the patient themselves—watching a loved one get lost in their own memories, powerless to help…”

“Of course, I’m not saying you have Alzheimer’s. Just an example.”

Lai Li narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if she truly hadn’t noticed or was just pretending not to.

The salty sea breeze brushed past. After a long pause, Lai Li looked away and said, “It’s not exactly amnesia.”

Ye Qingyun nodded. “Care to elaborate?”

“I just can’t distinguish between dreams and reality.” Lai Li fell silent for a moment before saying softly, “I didn’t have a good childhood. It wasn’t until I was ten that I met my brother. He took me in, and every moment after that felt like… a dream.”

People don’t remember things from dreams, nor do they bother to.

Only in some unguarded future instant—like walking down the street and suddenly spotting something, or doing some ordinary task and zoning out—does a moment feel eerily familiar, as if it had already happened.

Ye Qingyun rested her elbow on the armrest, jotting notes with pen and paper. She looked more like an artist sketching than a doctor.

For ordinary patients, a doctor’s professionalism and seriousness built pressure and trust, making them more likely to tell the truth. But it clearly didn’t work on Lai Li.

Whether he opened up had nothing to do with the setting or the doctor’s expertise. It was just because he needed to toss some chips to his brother.

As for why… it wasn’t clear yet. Probably Mr. Dai’s recent actions had made Lai Li feel the pressure.

Weighing the word “chips,” Ye Qingyun continued, “Back to the earlier question. Besides being related to your brother, what do the forgotten memories have in common?”

Normally, if something was forgotten, you wouldn’t know. But Ye Qingyun was certain Lai Li could answer.

Lai Li’s mind raced incredibly fast—not at all like a mental patient. Or perhaps he’d already self-diagnosed. “They’re frequent locations, repeated scenes… or atmospheres.”

Ye Qingyun: “With your brother.”

Lai Li: “…Mm.”

Ye Qingyun asked, “Why do you think that is?”

It took a long time before Lai Li spoke. “They were too beautiful to feel real.”

Ye Qingyun: “The days spent with your brother?”

Lai Li neither denied nor confirmed it.

Suddenly, inspiration struck Ye Qingyun—Lai Li thought his brother was too beautiful to be real.

The focus wasn’t the moments; it was his brother.

“I heard your brother spent the last two years abroad doing venture capital, while you studied in the country.” Ye Qingyun asked, “Did you forget anything during that separation?”

Lai Li lowered his gaze, not answering directly. “Nothing worth remembering.”

So, no forgetting—just nothing worth remembering.

“Understood.” Ye Qingyun asked, “What do you think is wrong with you?”

Lai Li said indifferently, “Schizophrenia, probably.”

Ye Qingyun said, “Schizophrenia often comes with auditory and visual hallucinations—”

“I have those.” Lai Li interrupted, staring at the distant sea. “But most of the time, I think those so-called ‘hallucinations’ are the real thing.”

Ye Qingyun: “…Including now?”

Lai Li replied indifferently, “Including now.”

Ye Qingyun frowned slightly. Many schizophrenia patients seemed normal in daily life, at most a bit slow in thinking. They only lost grip on reality during episodes.

After a moment, Lai Li added, “For a long time after my brother brought me home, I couldn’t see any colors except in him.”

Ye Qingyun: “Be more specific?”

“Only my brother was in color. Everyone else was gray…” Lai Li said slowly, “Like an old black-and-white TV.”

Even Ye Qingyun, who had seen countless complex cases, was stunned.