When he finished his usual afternoon nap, he was surprised to find that Xu Yinsheng still hadn’t gotten up to continue grinding the game.
He brewed himself a cup of coffee and, on a whim, turned on Xu Yinsheng’s computer.
As he walked closer, Zhao Yicheng was startled to see Xu Yinsheng lying dead asleep on the sofa, still not waking up.
Had she really been sleeping this long?
So, he shut down the computer he had just started and fetched a thin blanket, intending to cover Xu Yinsheng.
But the moment the blanket touched her body, something felt wrong.
Zhao Yicheng anxiously flipped Xu Yinsheng over.
Her hand flopped weakly and lifelessly on the sofa.
Though her skin felt supple to the touch, it was ice cold.
“Xiao Yin?”
Suddenly, Zhao Yicheng felt as if his brain had been hammered repeatedly by a sledgehammer, his whole body dizzy and dazed.
Clinging to the last shred of hope, he touched Xu Yinsheng’s cold neck.
But there was no miracle—no sign of life.
Pressing his forehead against her icy one, Zhao Yicheng tried to feel warmth from her, but the temperature only dropped lower… and colder…
He dared not think further.
Clutching the already cold Xu Yinsheng tightly, a sudden spark of inspiration flashed through his mind.
He quickly laid her flat on the floor, yanked open her top, and frantically began performing artificial respiration and CPR…
Don’t die…
Please…
Late at night, the villa.
In a meticulously decorated room, the soft, bright light cast a gentle glow on the polished reddish-brown wooden floor.
Zhao Yicheng tenderly covered Xu Yinsheng with a blanket, smoothing it carefully, handling her like a fragile treasure.
Xu Yinsheng looked at the man sitting beside the bed, his expression full of affection and intoxication, and gave him a deadpan stare.
She seriously doubted whether his mind was functioning properly.
At the office earlier, Zhao Yicheng hadn’t given her any reasonable explanation.
Then, ever so trustingly, Xu Yinsheng “cordially and creatively” insulted his ancestors in various imaginative ways.
Zhao Yicheng didn’t get angry; instead, he cheerfully helped her sit up, brought her tea, massaged her back, worried she might tire herself out by cursing so much.
The entire afternoon, he served her like a royal concubine, attentive and devoted.
Xu Yinsheng was still baffled.
Could it be that Zhao Yicheng was actually an M?
He enjoyed being scolded?
The more people cursed him, the happier he felt inside?
“Xiao Yin, good night.”
He planted a gentle, indulgent, guilty, and loving goodnight kiss on her forehead.
“Mm, good night.”
Xu Yinsheng gave a long-suffering sigh.
Zhao Yicheng turned off the light, quietly slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind him.
As the door softly clicked shut, the room fell into darkness.
Soon after, a faint snore could be heard inside.
Through the door, Zhao Yicheng confirmed that Xu Yinsheng had indeed fallen asleep, and only then did his held breath finally release.
He headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his sweaty, tired face.
Looking up, he met his own reflection in the mirror—his handsome, strong face now etched with exhaustion.
His eyes, bloodshot and weary, brimmed with guilt and regret.
Splash!
He splashed his face again.
After steadying himself with the cold water, Zhao Yicheng took out his phone and dialed a number.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
After a few seconds, a cheerful yet slightly sleepy male voice answered, “Hello, Mr. Zhao. What can I do for you?”
“There’s been a situation here.”
Zhao Yicheng said gravely.
“What kind of situation?”
The man in white raised an eyebrow.
“Not a worsening of the illness.”
Zhao Yicheng recounted Xu Yinsheng’s afternoon strange behavior and shared his suspicion.
“I suspect Xiao… Xiao Qing is under too much psychological pressure, and it triggered a crisis.”
“I see.”
The man furrowed his brow and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“I’m currently on my way to Anlin City to pick up a lawyer friend. I won’t return for a week. Try to keep her calm for now. When I get back, I’ll conduct a thorough psychological assessment myself.”
The call crackled intermittently, probably because the train had entered a tunnel, causing overlapping static noise.
But the other side’s voice was still audible.
Zhao Yicheng frowned.
A week wasn’t too long, but it wasn’t short either.
There was no better choice—among the psychologists he knew, none were as reliable as this one.
They chatted a while longer about how to care for patients with mental illnesses, how to soothe emotional episodes, and how to help with depression.
Then the call ended.
After hanging up, Zhao Yicheng felt conflicted. He grabbed a chilled beer from the fridge, sat down on the sofa, sipping the drink as he pondered, his gaze complicated and unreadable.
Suddenly, he slapped himself hard across the face.
The sharp smack echoed crisply through the empty room, revealing the crushing pressure and pain inside his heart.
Holding his head, he shut his eyes tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks onto the floor.
It was all his fault!
If it weren’t for him, Xiao Yin wouldn’t have developed a mental illness!
It was all his fault!!
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
A vibrant green figure flew out from the wall.
Xu Yinsheng looked at the man on the sofa, his face bearing the bright red handprint, and clicked her tongue.
“So that’s it—you think I’m mentally ill.”
Her emerald eyes darted mischievously.
Suddenly, a wicked smile bloomed on her lips.
She flew over in a flash, wrapping her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear with a sultry breath:
“Old Zhao, from now on, we’re going to have some real fun~”
***
The next day, Saturday, the weekend.
Zhao Yicheng woke early as usual, prepared breakfast in the kitchen, and then went out to buy Xu Yinsheng’s favorite jianbing guozi (savory Chinese crepes).
He knocked twice on her bedroom door, softly calling,
“Xiao Yin, breakfast is ready. I even got your favorite jianbing guozi.”
But there was no response from inside.
Worried, Zhao Yicheng took out his phone and checked the room’s surveillance camera, but the screen was completely pixelated, showing nothing of what was happening inside.
A terrible premonition rose in his heart.
He quickly took the spare key hidden under the doormat, unlocked the door, and rushed inside.
The room was in utter chaos.
The blankets and pillows were torn apart, with goose down feathers scattered all over the floor.
Items on the nightstand, coffee table, and wardrobe had all been knocked down in disarray.
In the corner lay a young girl, curled up like a shrimp.
Her clothes were completely shredded, revealing a slender, pale neck and two bright crimson spots on her chest—strikingly alluring.
Her right hand gripped a bloodstained fruit knife.
Her left wrist was bleeding profusely, with fresh blood pooling beneath it.
Her face was ashen white, breathing so faint it was almost imperceptible.
She looked as if she could slip away at any moment.
As if noticing the man standing at the door, Xu Yinsheng weakly lifted her pale face.
Her voice was barely audible, her eyes hollow and vacant.
“You’re here.”
“Come to finish me off.”
“I know today is Saturday.”