Chapter 5: A Visit
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When Fang Qingzhao awoke again, it was already late at night, though she couldn’t tell the exact time.
The darkness clung thickly to every corner of the room, with only faint, blurred shadows hinting at the presence of objects.
This time, no restraints were tied to her. Still trembling from lingering pain, Fang Qingzhao rolled to the side and fell directly onto the floor.
The dull thud and the sharp intake of breath sounded especially heavy in the silence.
She lay still for a long while.
The cold floor pressed against her skin, sending chills deep into her bones.
After gathering her strength, she used her hands and feet to crawl up, staggering toward the door and trying to push it open. As expected, it was locked from the outside.
Leaning against the wall, she fumbled around for the light switch but found none and gave up, groping her way to the bathroom.
The bathroom window was just a small square, but fortunately, a streetlamp nearby cast some light inside, allowing her to make out the layout.
Fang Qingzhao leaned one hand on the sink and found no running water.
The anxiety, unease, and fear accumulated over days suddenly burst forth like a fuse igniting a powder keg. Furious, she stormed to the door and pounded on it with her fists, shouting, “Open the door! Where’s the water in the bathroom? Open up now!”
Her relentless pounding soon roused the patients in the neighboring rooms. Shouts rang out outside, but Fang Qingzhao paid them no mind.
Her voice grew hoarse from shouting, the skin on the side of her palms beginning to bleed.
Just as she was about to find another way to vent her frustration, the door was knocked from the outside.
A female staff member appeared.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
Fang Qingzhao said, “I want to take a shower.”
The woman replied, “We have a set schedule for washing and bathing here.”
“I won’t accept that!” Fang Qingzhao roared in fury. “I want to shower now! Turn on the water! Immediately!”
After a brief pause, the woman said to wait a moment. The surrounding wards gradually quieted down.
Fang Qingzhao slumped down against the door, hugging her knees in despair.
After her hysterical outburst, a wave of exhaustion swept over her.
Just as Fang Qingzhao was about to close her eyes, the electronic beep of a keypad unlocking sounded.
She felt a push from behind and shifted to make room.
The person outside handed her a plastic basin containing a change of clothes and some cleaning supplies—not the standard hospital gown, but items taken from her suitcase.
Fang Qingzhao looked up.
The light in the corridor was dim as well. The visitor wore an oversized mask that covered everything below her eyes. She was dressed in an ill-fitting white coat, her head bowed as she met Fang Qingzhao’s gaze.
Fang Qingzhao’s attention was drawn to her eyes—a pair that radiated calmness and harmony. From this vantage point, they evoked a strong sense of familiarity.
The woman thrust the basin into her hands and said tersely, “Don’t make a fuss,” before closing the door.
I know this person—an unmistakable thought flashed through Fang Qingzhao’s mind.
Though this recognition had no basis or evidence, it somewhat eased the weight that had been hanging over her heart.
Memories in the brain can be confused, but instincts etched into one’s genetic makeup are not easily altered.
She could still find the key to anchor herself back to reality.
As long as she kept thinking.
Supporting her numb legs, Fang Qingzhao staggered into the bathroom. She stood under the showerhead fully clothed.
Cold water poured over her head, draining her body heat, causing her blood vessels to constrict and her blood flow to slow. She wiped her face fiercely, breathing deeply to expel every trace of stale air from her lungs.
After several rounds, she finally calmed completely.
Pressing her hand to her chest, she felt her heart beating steadily beneath. She counted the rhythm, sifting through every last scrap of information preserved in her mind.
Until her sensations dulled, and no further stirrings remained.
After changing clothes, she did not return to bed but walked to the window, gripping the tightly welded bars and staring through the dust-covered glass into the bleak darkness outside.
Exhausted, she finally slumped down, curling into herself.
—
The next morning, when Ji He and her colleagues returned to the ward, they found Fang Qingzhao curled up in a corner, hugging her knees, motionless.
Her bloodshot eyes were wide open, casting a cold, lifeless gaze. She hadn’t slept all night, her face pale as a corpse, with only the faint breath between her lips carrying any warmth.
Fang Qingzhao spoke first: “You’re right. I have issues. My cognition contains significant logical errors.”
For the first time, a genuine smile appeared on Ji He’s face, softening her usually sharp, commanding presence.
She bent down before Fang Qingzhao and asked gently, “So?”
Fang Qingzhao’s nostrils flared, her voice tense and resolute: “I want to know everything about the ‘Anomaly Assessment’ project—its original intent, and why, despite my opposition, I ultimately took over Sun Qingqing’s treatment.”
This project was fraught with cognitive dissonance. It should contain the key to unlocking her memories.
Ji He reached out to grasp Fang Qingzhao’s arm, but she pulled away. Ji He smiled quietly and led her to the desk.
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This time, they brought a computer. Ji He opened a media player and turned the screen toward Fang Qingzhao.
“Play in order. Don’t worry, we’ll take it step by step today.”
The video showed Fang Qingzhao’s profile from behind, facing a prison guard and an inmate.
Ji He whispered into her ear, introducing, “This is Liang Ming, your teacher’s son, the ‘him’ you mentioned in yesterday’s video. He’s serving time for intentional homicide. Do you remember him?”
The close proximity made Fang Qingzhao recall yesterday’s events with some psychological discomfort. Shaking her head, she slightly turned her body and focused on the video.
The young man did resemble Professor Liang but gave off an entirely different impression.
Despite his prison uniform and nearly shaved head, he exuded a flamboyant aura. His features were handsome, eyes bright black, and his lips curved naturally into a friendly smile.
The two exchanged polite greetings.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
For some inexplicable reason, the man smiled oddly.
Fang Qingzhao turned to the guard and asked, “Is it okay if I set the camera here?”
The guard stood at a distance in the corner and nodded. “Yes.”
Liang Ming studied her and said, “You look very young.”
Fang Qingzhao replied politely, “I’m not sure what your definition of ‘young’ is, but yes, I am quite young.”
Liang Ming laughed heartily, leaning on the table.
She glanced at the guard’s expression, noticing he was biting his lip, apparently struggling to restrain himself, though she couldn’t guess why.
Liang Ming showed no awkwardness typical of first meetings; instead, he was as familiar as if speaking to an old friend.
“I was surprised. Although he often sent students to visit me for case studies, this is the first time he’s reached out directly, hoping I’d accept your interview. I thought you’d be some kind of weirdo.”
Fang Qingzhao responded formally, “Professor Liang has always cared about you, but you refused to see him.”
Liang Ming said bluntly, “I feel sick when I see him.”
Before the mood could grow heavy, he perked up: “You’re probably his favorite kind of student. Smart, precocious, no strange quirks, not scornful or distant at first meeting. He’s always been harsh on others. I think his ideal child would be a freak—eighteen in appearance but eighty in soul, to meet his standards of perfection. I never thought he’d actually find one!”
Fang Qingzhao smirked, “Are you insulting me?”
Liang Ming feigned innocence. “Am I?”
Now in his thirties, and having spent nearly a third of that time in reform through custody, he still retained a strange, immature air.
Fang Qingzhao checked her watch, unwilling to be sidetracked further, and pressed on, “Can you tell me about the circumstances of the killing?”
Liang Ming was caught off guard. “Huh?”
He had never met someone so straightforward. He traced an arc on the table with his hand, as if to ask if she’d skipped any steps.
Fang Qingzhao, unusually urgent, said, “Just pretend you gave some buildup. We don’t have much time.”
Given Liang Ming’s tendency to ramble, she feared the conversation would stretch endlessly.
“Hmm…” Liang Ming rubbed his face with both hands and complained, “Don’t be such a buzzkill.”
He scratched his brow and earnestly said, “Is he still doing that lousy research? Why are you bothering with him? Run while you can.”
He seemed to be trying to dissuade anyone he could, speaking sincerely.
Fang Qingzhao replied, “Research isn’t something you can just dismiss…”
Liang Ming disparaged it relentlessly, his face full of disdain. “Feels like it’s all brainwashing anyway. I told him he shouldn’t have gotten into neuroscience, should have joined a cult instead—might be more successful.”
His words were cutting, but since Professor Liang wasn’t present, Fang Qingzhao couldn’t help defending him: “That’s unscientific… you did grad school too.”
“They pray a lot before experiments,” Liang Ming asked suspiciously, “Do you pray?”
Fang Qingzhao instantly fell silent.
Her interviews were nearly impossible to conduct, always diverted into idle chatter. She glanced at the camera again, helpless.
Fortunately, Liang Ming had no intention of making things difficult. Seeing her lack of interest in small talk, he began recounting his past with boredom.
“When I graduated from grad school, a classmate accused me of plagiarism. Before the school’s investigation was complete, he spread rumors, talking me down everywhere. I didn’t care much—I was about to graduate and didn’t want trouble. A few days later, I ran into that unlucky guy at the snack street. He yelled at me, calling me a murderer and plagiarist.”
Fang Qingzhao asked, “So you killed him?”
Liang Ming’s fingers showed signs of eczema, some areas nearly healed with white dead skin. He touched the rough skin indifferently, as if telling someone else’s story.
“No, no way. I just pushed him when I couldn’t stand his insults. Maybe broke his skin, but he tripped on his own. He was deliberately using this as an excuse to report me again, claiming I provoked and attacked him, so I should be severely punished. The fighting and plagiarism accusations caused huge negative publicity at school, reaching that person—”
He stammered, then mockingly shouted, “—my dear father! When he heard, he flew in for an hour and a half just to apologize to that unlucky guy and try to settle it with money. But the other side leaked their conversation, edited it as evidence of my plagiarism and assault, and made it public.”
Fang Qingzhao repeated, “So you killed him?”
“No, no,” Liang Ming retorted, “Can you say it another way?” He continued, “My sister was restless after hearing about it and came to school to comfort me. That scumbag used the excuse of talking about me, saying it was ‘unintentional,’ ‘a joke,’ ‘just to vent,’ and tricked her into a deserted suburb, stole her shoes and coat, and ran off. The next morning, someone found her body in the river outside town. No surveillance nearby; the investigation stalled with no suspect.”
Fang Qingzhao didn’t press further.
Liang Ming added, “She was about your age.”
He had spoken lightly until now, as if detached. At that remark, he glanced at Fang Qingzhao and choked back a sob.
He wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, then lifted his head with a carefree smile and self-mockery.
“He said it was because of me, because I’m a loser, that I keep dragging my family down. After I killed, he regretted it.”
Fang Qingzhao said dryly, “People say hurtful things, but they’re not sincere.”
Liang Ming replied, “You’re no good at comforting.”
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Fang Qingzhao admitted sheepishly, “Okay.”
Liang Ming, still not quite shifting from interviewee mode, stared at her.
After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, “Did he give you any tasks?”
Fang Qingzhao hesitated, then said, “I’m a messenger.”
Liang Ming: “What message?”
“Unidirectional,” she corrected herself. “You talk to him, and I can convey your words accurately.”
Liang Ming scoffed.
“Forget it,” Fang Qingzhao immediately regretted her tone and tried to ease the mood. “No need to make that kind of challenge; I can’t mimic it well.”
Liang Ming was amused and baffled.
Fang Qingzhao felt it unnecessary but clarified: “Professor Liang was my undergraduate thesis advisor. Our philosophies and directions differed, so I didn’t continue studying under him. But he kept inviting me to join his project. When I declined, he arranged for me to meet you, hoping I might change my mind.”
Liang Ming was puzzled: “You weren’t close then. I don’t even remember who advised my thesis; I only met them a few times at graduation and never took their courses.”
Fang Qingzhao nodded: “Yes, I was quite young in college. He helped me a lot. He also had a good relationship with my graduate supervisor; they often communicated.”
Liang Ming’s eyes darkened, a hint of loneliness showing.
Seeing his feigned indifference, Fang Qingzhao wanted to learn more about his father, so she recalled further details.
“I took his elective. At first, we only spoke occasionally. He noticed I always ate alone and asked if I was adjusting well, making friends. I said I liked being alone. Once during the National Day holiday, I asked for leave, and he casually asked if I was going home early. I said no, I didn’t live with my parents. He asked why, and I said they had both remarried.”
Liang Ming’s expression shifted: “What did he say then?”
Fang Qingzhao described it all: “He looked quite embarrassed, fumbled in his pockets, said nothing. He walked behind me out of the classroom and asked if I wanted to eat together. Later, he added me as a friend and brought me lunch his wife made during class. After I stopped taking his courses, he invited me to his home for dinner.”
Liang Ming hissed and called over the guard, seeking official confirmation: “Isn’t that weird? Normal? Makes me want to call the cops. Why did you go with him?”
Fang Qingzhao replied gently, “Your mother is very lonely.”
Liang Ming’s smile froze, an indescribable sadness flickering.
After a long pause, he said, “Looks like after I went to prison, his sympathy started overflowing.”
Fang Qingzhao caught the key word: “Was he unsympathetic to you before?”
Liang Ming replied slowly, “Maybe he saw me as a criminal.”
Fang Qingzhao sounded curious in a deliberately clumsy way, almost begging to be scolded.
Liang Ming continued, “In ninth grade, someone in our class jumped off a building. I was a poor student, skipped classes, loved gaming, always quarreling with him. He looked down on me. Surveillance caught me with that student; we often went to the convenience store together. Someone accused me of bullying, and he believed it. He came down hard, didn’t listen to me, paid the victim two million, and arranged my transfer. From then on, I was a murderer in his eyes. After that, I barely saw him. If my sister hadn’t died, he probably would’ve wished I didn’t exist.”
Fang Qingzhao was at a loss for words.
The teacher she remembered and the domineering figure Liang Ming described were worlds apart.
Liang Ming asked, “Was he a good teacher?”
Fang Qingzhao didn’t understand his intent and felt anything she said might hurt him. She hesitantly repeated, “He helped me a lot.”
“I know. Everyone who’s come to see me says he’s a good teacher,” Liang Ming said, staring blankly at the ceiling, whispering, “But he’s not a good father.”
The guard stepped forward, reminding that time was up.
Fang Qingzhao stood. As he left, she called out impulsively, “He’s changed now.”
“He still clings to that damn ideology. He won’t change,” Liang Ming stopped at the door, eyes shimmering with tears, a bitter smile on his lips. “He probably still thinks I killed because of his careless words. But I just can’t accept that the person who killed my sister can live without consequences. Why should he?”
—
The video ended there. Fang Qingzhao paused it before the next clip started.
Ji He asked, “What’s wrong?”
Fang Qingzhao said abruptly, “I met a doctor last night. I feel like I know her.”
“Now you’re relying on feelings? That’s progress,” Ji He smiled, not asking who. “She’s a staff member here at San Yao. She’s responsible for your treatment.”
Fang Qingzhao asked, “Are we close?”
Ji He replied vaguely, “Who knows.”
Fang Qingzhao lowered her head, her mind filled with questions.
Neither Liang Ming nor her teacher left any impression on her.
She had believed their relationship was distant, with little interaction, and her memories confirmed this, explaining her unfamiliarity yesterday. Now, that seemed inaccurate.
Ji He urged, “Keep watching.”