Chapter 89: The Past – “Are You Afraid of Me?”

Perhaps it was because of that casual remark, “I’m leaving,” but the boy truly developed a sense of crisis.

He was malnourished, standing just over five foot three, and the hospital scale had registered his weight as featherlight.

Bo Chengyan carried him the entire way.

Even when he set him down, he had to hold his hand.

Otherwise, the boy would simply keep staring.

Qi Jing had no clear idea of where he was, but he had noticed the strange things happening around him.

The scenery had changed in the blink of an eye.

For someone who had endured long-term high-pressure confinement, this was nearly impossible to accept.

It triggered an intense sense of insecurity.

Everything was unfamiliar.

Utterly unfamiliar from start to finish.

But perhaps he was fortunate, because Qi Jing saw this man and initially judged him to be a good person.

It was pure survival instinct.

He did not want to be left behind.

Especially since he could not speak, he had no choice but to resort to body language.

The residence was a single-level flat, and the treatment room was very quiet.

Yet Qi Jing refused not only to communicate but also to be left alone in the room with the doctor.

The moment he was abandoned there.

He would burst into tears, his face streaked with them, though he dared not make a sound.

The doctor tried to calm him down, but it was no use—the boy simply kept shrinking back.

Finally, because the doctor got too close.

The boy turned and slid right off the bed.

He ended up falling.

His knee sustained a large bruise.

In short, the session did not go smoothly at all.

~~~

Bo Chengyan settled him on his lap, with the medicine kit nearby. He tended to the injury with one hand.

The boy in his arms received a carton of milk, complete with a straw, though his eyelashes were still damp.

Perhaps it was because he was ill.

He often trembled a little.

He would glance at the man.

Engaging in what he thought was “secret observation.”

“Don’t cry.”

Bo Chengyan’s expression was gentle; he was not truly angry. He merely glanced at the bruised knee.

No one knew what he was thinking.

Qi Jing was still watching when the man suddenly turned toward him. Their eyes met.

There was a pause of one or two seconds.

The boy quickly looked away.

He seemed a little embarrassed.

Bo Chengyan watched him drain the carton, then took the empty one and stared at him steadily for several seconds.

The crying had stopped.

The method suggested by the assistant was indeed effective.

After all, he was just a child.

Crying required effort from the mouth, so offering something to drink did the trick.

He gradually quieted down.

Focused entirely on sipping his milk.

~~~

Qi Jing thought he would not have to go into that room anymore. The afternoon passed much more peacefully, and he even haltingly recited Bo Chengyan’s name a few times.

“Mm. Good.”

It was praise.

But before Qi Jing could even smile, Bo Chengyan scooped him up and carried him into the room. The boy tensed completely, clutching tightly at the man’s clothes.

There was a conversation in the room.

“I’m very sorry, but I truly can’t determine what triggered him.”

“His parents are already gone.”

A pause of one or two seconds.

“They probably weren’t very responsible people either.”

Bo Chengyan said this plainly to the doctor.

He made no effort to shield the boy in his arms from the words.

After all, the child was so young.

“That’s most likely an issue stemming from his family of origin.”

“This… is rather tricky.”

Their rapport was only just forming.

No one knew what the child had endured.

There was no clear starting point, no leverage to work with.

On top of that, he was already exhibiting traumatic social withdrawal, mutism, somatization… even phantom pain…

It would be difficult to resolve quickly.

“Let’s start with conservative treatment.”

“But the course of therapy could take a very long time.”

Months in the best case, or years in the worst.

Bo Chengyan could not help furrowing his brow slightly.

The boy in his arms, however, merely looked down at the floor and noticed something new there.

A carpet.

“Can I stay with him during sessions? In one week, we can try an independent consultation.”

~~~

Companion consultations went more smoothly.

He could manage some short phrases.

“Li-Little Jing.”

The emotional strain even made those two words come out stuttered.

But at least he was engaging with the doctor.

Bo Chengyan sat beside him, glancing sideways.

The boy’s bangs were still quite long. For safety’s sake, the caregiver had only trimmed them slightly last time.

No major haircut.

“Qi Jing.”

Bo Chengyan’s tone was calm and steady.

The boy looked up at him.

His eyes were quite moist.

“Say it again. Say, ‘My name is Qi Jing.'”

The doctor was momentarily stunned.

He wondered if that was advisable.

After all, no one knew the root cause of this traumatic social withdrawal. It would be easy to unwittingly step on a “landmine” during interactions.

Gentleness was essential.

But right then.

“I-I’m… Qi Jing.”

The boy’s voice was still childish and halting, spoken word by word, a touch blunt.

The moment he finished, he immediately glanced at the man beside him.

“Very good.”

Bo Chengyan’s expression softened further. He then turned his gaze to the doctor.

The doctor snapped back to attention and continued.

“How old are you?”

Qi Jing’s face went blank with confusion. He had forgotten. As his memory traced backward, the pain resurfaced.

His expression shifted.

“Fifteen years old, Little Jing.”

The boy jolted back to awareness. His breathing grew rapid as he clutched that finger tightly once more.

“Fi-Fifteen… years old.”

He repeated the answer.

That first proper session ended just like that.

No real progress had been made.

It seemed that recalling the past only brought him pain.

~~~

Around eight or nine in the evening.

Bo Chengyan placed him on his lap, feeding him dinner with one hand while taking a call with the other.

“Put his household registration in Macau.”

“I’ll enroll him in school.”

The voice on the other end belonged to a collateral branch of the family. The couple had wanted children for ages but failed repeatedly with IVF.

Inevitably, they made the request: “Could we see the child sometime?”

The air grew deathly silent.

Qi Jing had no idea what was happening. He simply stared down at the spoon in his porridge, unsure why it was not being fed to him.

“Not-not hot,” he stuttered out.

Only then did Bo Chengyan move, bringing the spoon to his lips and feeding him.

The people on the line must have heard the sounds.

“Is that… the child?”

“Ah Yan, I’ve heard he has some psychological issues?”

“It’s fine. Once he’s treated and cured, he might just forget all about his previous parents.”

“We can accept that.”

Qi Jing swallowed the bite and turned his gaze to the food on the table. At first, he had not been able to use chopsticks properly, as if some barrier prevented him from holding them steady.

Bo Chengyan glanced at the child on his lap. The boy’s face was so innocent. He looked at the porridge bowl, then back at Bo Chengyan.

It was as if he had grown dependent.

He seemed to believe that the man would understand without words, so he spoke even less.

“I’ll raise him at my side.”

That was the final statement.

Delivered quite offhandedly.

There was a stunned pause on the other end before they recovered and offered a few polite remarks.

They hung up hastily.

Qi Jing simply stared at Bo Chengyan, puzzled as to why he was not being fed.

“Speak.”

“Slowly.”

~~~

In principle, Qi Jing did not show outright resistance to every stranger. The initial assistant, the resident doctor, and the caregiver.

They had all been able to approach him without issue.

Bo Chengyan later reflected on this and arranged for the doctor to stay in the apartment opposite. The man came three times a day, always wearing his white coat.

A uniform instilled a certain sense of trust.

Whether a suit or work attire.

It signaled safety.

The doctor was surprised later on. He noted that once he donned the white coat, the boy clearly became more willing to respond positively.

He had assumed casual clothes would foster greater rapport.

But the white coat proved far more reliable.

In this manner, about a week passed.

Qi Jing could finally spend time alone with the doctor without such strong aversion.

The sessions were no longer confined to one location.

The early conversations were simple.

“Have you eaten?”

“Were you happy today?”

“What’s your name?”

He answered them all well.

Until—

“Does your ankle still hurt?”

Qi Jing froze. Color drained from his face bit by bit as he looked down at his foot.

His vision blurred.

He could feel the skin scraping, the metal slicing into flesh.

The pain was unbearable.

When he regained awareness, Qi Jing found himself already in Bo Chengyan’s arms.

Fuzzy voices echoed in his ears.

“Even just recalling is too much for him. Exposure therapy isn’t working.”

“Mr. Bo, perhaps we should consider hypnosis…”

~~~

Later, Qi Jing noticed the doctor was not coming around as often. At first, he was curious but did not know how to express it.

He stuttered a few attempts.

Then gave up.

Until he sensed a shift.

His body language was no longer effective.

Bo Chengyan was not picking him up anymore.

The boy sat on the edge of the bed, looking up helplessly at the man. His lips parted slightly.

He was very panicked.

He reached out to grab that finger, but there was no response.

In desperation, he tried:

“Hug.”

It was minimal progress.

Or perhaps even less than back at Great Cool Mountain.

At least then, he had been willing to speak.

It had been on his own initiative.

Now, he either said nothing and pointed with his finger, or he watched for cues. Bo Chengyan would teach him a phrase, and he would repeat it.

His avoidance behavior was severe.

“Speak.”

Bo Chengyan withdrew his finger, repeating the instruction calmly. His expression remained gentle.

But to the boy, it felt different.

He was close to this man, yet he also felt a touch of fear.

Perhaps it came from instinctive observation.

The man exuded great authority.

Bo Chengyan had never smiled.

Qi Jing’s breathing quickened. He stared at that finger, aching to reach out and hold it.

But he didn’t dare.

“Hug… hug.”

He forced the two words out.

“Say it again. I’ve taught you.”

Qi Jing was rejected once more.

His mind was a chaotic whirl, his peripheral vision flickering with faint blue light and shadows.

He kept searching for pathways.

“I want… a hug.”

“Wrong.”

Rejected again.

Qi Jing finally broke into tears. A layer of mist clouded his eyes, blurring his vision almost completely.

“I… I want…”

Bo Chengyan pulled out some tissues and gently wiped away the tears, his brows and eyes serene as ever.

“Say it properly. Who do you want?”

They went back and forth like this, tugging gently.

“I want… I want you to hug me.”

Qi Jing sobbed until his eyelids swelled red. He didn’t dare reach for the finger now. Instead, he just hiccupped, his head tilted back as he gazed upward.

Bo Chengyan looked down at him, a faint twitch in his brows. Very obedient.

“Little Jing.”

“Say it all together, no stuttering.”

In the end, Qi Jing cried even harder. With no immediate reassurance, he braced his arms against the bedsheets and tried to slide off the bed to walk. But as expected, he couldn’t steady himself…

Strong arms scooped him up.

Bo Chengyan didn’t consider himself cruel. He supported the boy’s waist and gazed at the tear-streaked face with calm composure.

“I’m not refusing to hug you.”

“You have to learn to speak.”

Tears streamed steadily from the corners of Qi Jing’s eyes. Amid sobs, he clung desperately to that shoulder.

The follow-up therapy shifted tactics.

First, they had to address the aphasia.

Bo Chengyan had little faith in the doctor’s approach of bringing in as many people as possible for interaction.

No need for that.

He would handle it himself.

In all of Qi Jing’s social connections, the one unbroken thread from start to finish was Bo Chengyan.

It went on for about half a month.

He had taken over in mid-April; now it was May.

At first, Qi Jing cried constantly. Later, perhaps realizing it did no good, the tears dried up.

He simply watched.

Then he tried hard to speak.

“I’m not eating because I’m full.”

Bo Chengyan set the spoon aside and glanced sideways at the boy.

“Can you sleep alone?”

The fear of solitude had been intense lately, so Bo Chengyan stayed by his side until sleep came, then left—only to return the next day.

Bo Chengyan was not a man of overflowing emotions. He couldn’t pinpoint any shifts, but he acknowledged a growing fixation.

The boy in his arms could evolve.

He was compliant.

Qi Jing spoke without a stutter this time:

“I can’t.”

“…”

In the end, Bo Chengyan stayed in the chair, watching over him as he slept.

Qi Jing lay at the bed’s edge, fingers initially clenched around Bo Chengyan’s. But then, as if remembering something, he released his grip.

He withdrew his hand, tucking his chin into the blanket with a muffled air.

People could sense the change.

No more indulgence.

Or at least, not to the same degree.

Bo Chengyan’s brow furrowed faintly. Free of ulterior motives, he simply asked:

“Why’d you stop holding on?”

A flicker of confusion crossed the boy’s eyes. Being kept company already felt like a gift; he dared not ask for more.

In a soft voice, he ventured:

“Is it okay?”

Bo Chengyan blanked for an instant, then recovered, his tone gentling:

“Yes.”

Only then did the hand extend, grasping tight.

Bo Chengyan kept vigil through the night.

Even as dawn broke, faint creases lingered on his brow. So soon?

The doctor visited later, offering strong approval. Indeed, communication from someone close worked best.

Progress was already promising.

“Very good. Just take it step by step like this.”

“No external injuries on his legs—encourage him more.”

“As for the hypnosis sessions…”

Qi Jing remained in the room, the door ajar to keep him in sight.

The boy couldn’t make out the words clearly. He rubbed his eyes and swiped at the air.

Something…

He couldn’t see it.

996 brimmed with melancholy. It dared not charge in recklessly—the host was too young, the magnetic field too chaotic.

Stabilize first.

Or risk rejection.

Footsteps sounded at the door.

Bo Chengyan entered to find the boy frowning at the empty table.

Nothing was there.

Yet he seemed on the verge of reaching out to touch…

“Little Jing.”

Qi Jing turned his head and replied, “I’m here.”

The regimen was strict.

Every statement demanded a response.

Constant talk, constant connection.

Bo Chengyan had cleared his schedule entirely. He refused to call it emotional turbulence—more a critical phase.

Like a kitten still nursing.

Leave it alone…

And it might not survive.

“What are you looking at?”

Bo Chengyan asked.

He expected honesty: the table, perhaps, or the bottle behind it.

But Qi Jing paused, then said:

“Nothing.”

He tilted his head up, eyes clear and bright.

Only then did Bo Chengyan realize he disliked negative answers.

~~~

Qi Jing had no idea how long Bo Chengyan would stay. After all, those words—”Then I’ll go”—still echoed. Worry gnawed at him.

He strove to master speech.

Even upon learning he must practice walking, he showed no fierce resistance like before with the hugs.

His eyes merely rimmed red as he tilted his head up and said slowly:

“I’ll… try.”

He noticed the stutter.

Anxious, he tried again:

“I’ll try.”

The words flowed smooth.

Bo Chengyan hadn’t anticipated such ease. A slight frown creased his brow.

“Don’t rush.”

Qi Jing forgot to reply. Instead, he gripped the bedside table and pushed himself upright.

His breath hitched despite himself.

A dense, prickling ache surged through his ankle—wet and sticky, as if weighted down.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

The boy’s face drained of color soon enough, but he couldn’t bear not to walk. Too many rejections.

Mist veiled his eyes. He glanced up at the other man.

Bo Chengyan’s expression darkened.

Qi Jing panicked harder, convinced he’d failed. Helpless, he ducked his head, body slumped against the table. He bit his lip.

Eagerly, he lifted a foot.

Heart-wrenching pain stabbed through…

But the step never landed.

He was swept into arms.

“You’re afraid of me.”

The words carried a soft sigh.