7 Works

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Inside the hospital room, the moment Fang Qingzhao heard the name Shen Zhiyang, her heart skipped a beat, and her fingers twitched spasmodically. The elderly man in the video was already talking about Shen Zhiyang’s situation.

“She was kidnapped by a lawyer. It’s been nearly three years since the police rescued her. During these three years, her treatment showed no progress. Her parents no longer wanted to take care of her and decided to place her in a psychiatric hospital. But her condition is completely unsuitable for such a facility. Medication only keeps her temporarily calm. Ordinary hospitals won’t admit her, and the expensive ones are out of their parents’ consideration. I personally investigated the three hospitals her parents arranged for her… the last two pages of this file in your hands… I believe that’s tantamount to a death sentence for the rest of her life.”

The document wasn’t lengthy; Fang Qingzhao skimmed through it swiftly, finishing before the man’s explanation ended. She placed the folder back on the table.

Her hands clasped neatly on her lap, sitting upright. As she lowered her head, a few strands of smooth, dark hair fell beside her face, accentuating the startling fairness of her skin.

“Teacher, after all these years, do you still believe the wrong person is Liang Ming? Do you still think he’s an abnormal who needs correction?”

Liang, the teacher, lips moving slightly, his breathing and expression clearly out of control. After a brief pause, pretending not to hear, he avoided Fang Qingzhao’s gaze and continued.

“After she disappeared, her parents had two more children, a son and a daughter. They had seemingly moved past that dark period, but Shen Zhiyang’s return was ill-timed. Her parents tried to forcibly correct her behavior, to make her ‘normal,’ but it backfired, triggering her violent tendencies. She hurt her younger brother at home, smashed the television and several appliances. Her parents were exhausted, unable to bear the tremendous mental and financial pressure, and decided to give up on her completely. But she was only sixteen, had done nothing wrong, and shouldn’t have her life end like this.”

Fang Qingzhao opened her mouth, hesitated, and after much thought gently shook her head.

“I’m sorry, teacher. I admire the power of order and uphold the functioning of rules, but this does not conform to my rules.”

The teacher trembled, clutching his chest. The oversized sleeve of his shirt slipped down, revealing a gaunt wrist. His voice was rough, as if rasped over a blade, responding slowly to her previous question.

“Qingzhao, I’m just—speaking as the most selfish father—I hope he is not a murderer. I have no right to judge right or wrong. I am also an executioner. Pain intensifies and drives people to extremes. If I hadn’t wrongfully accused him, he would never have reached that point.”

Fang Qingzhao handed him a tissue, sighing.

“Teacher, that bullying never really ended. His stubbornness was never about challenging your authority, but your prejudice has always denied his defense. He’s not a reader who flips through the chapters you wrote for him; he’s a writer with his own will. You don’t trust him, and he has every right to reject you.”

The old man’s tears burst forth uncontrollably. He wiped his face roughly with the tissue. His frail back bowed under the weight of his emotions, the contours visible beneath his clothes.

One hand supported his forehead, the other gripped the wooden armrest as he leaned over the table, forcing out a hoarse, barely audible voice.

“These years I have reflected on how my son and I became mortal enemies. I recall many forgotten memories.”

“When Liang Ming was born, he was very fussy, always wanting to be held, crying if not. Like a clingy child. I was busy with work and had little time with him. Every time we met, he excitedly clung to me, asking me to tell stories. Though he couldn’t understand, he liked to sleep in my arms.”

“Everything changed when he started school. He disliked studying and hated his teachers. When I tutored him, he was constantly distracted, laughing and ignoring me, taking two hours to finish one page of math problems. I was baffled, lost my temper, shouted at him, scolded his misbehavior, and forced obedience. He looked at me with hurt and disappointment and stopped liking me. I ignored it.”

Fang Qingzhao’s own childhood held no warm memories with her parents, making it difficult to empathize or judge. Yet she could feel the helplessness and frailty of this once brilliant mentor.

Like a lonely soul finally finding a worthy listener, he revealed the thoughts he had buried deep, fearing others’ eyes.

“By the time I wanted to make amends, it was too late. In middle school, Liang Ming hated me. I’d walk behind him in silence, and he’d show disdain and impatience. When I asked if he wanted fruit, he snapped that I was annoying, and gave me the cold shoulder. I didn’t understand why he was sulking and thought he was spoiled. We clashed relentlessly, neither willing to yield.”

“I consulted colleagues who said rebellious teens see their fathers like unwashed socks after days of sweat—breathing is wrong. It’s a physiological aversion. I tried to keep distance, and for a long time we became invisible to each other, not speaking a word. Looking back, it was a lose-lose battle. Why did we persist so stubbornly?”

The old man was lost in melancholy memories, tears blurring his vision, trembling under the chill.

“I misunderstood him because he behaved emotionally unstable in front of me. When someone said he drove a classmate to death, I panicked. I shouldn’t have pressed him so wildly, forcing him to lie against his will. But I couldn’t think calmly, couldn’t tell if he was sulking or if it was true. Besides, the person was dead; even without solid evidence, public condemnation was enough to convict. I dared not take the risk and unilaterally sent him away.”

“I thought that was the adult way to handle it, to avoid obscurity in the future. But since then, he stopped answering my calls and refused my money. My wife tried to mediate, but he ignored her. He no longer wanted to recognize me as his father. He inherited my stubbornness.”

He gasped for breath, as if something pressed upon his throat.

“When he was a graduate student, a friend—his advisor—called me privately. Liang Ming’s situation was bad; the middle school incident was uncovered, and he got into trouble outside school. I was told to find a lawyer and prepare.”

“I asked who started it. They said the surveillance had no audio but showed Liang Ming was the aggressor. If it blew up publicly, the school would have to intervene. It was bad, possibly jeopardizing his graduation.”

“I was worried. I had conflicts of interest and feared opponents would exploit it, worsening the situation. I called Liang Ming, but he ignored me. I wanted to solve the problem, not distrust him. Then the other side secretly recorded and edited a false narrative. I’d never faced such a bold and malicious student and was caught off guard. I tried to explain, but he just sneered coldly. We couldn’t communicate normally anymore.”

He covered his face and wept bitterly.

“I cannot accept Qingtian’s death. Holding her, my soul left me. Liang Ming pulled me away, telling me not to touch her. I was shocked and lost control, saying hurtful things in anger. I didn’t dare think deeply then. What I fear most is that I caused my daughter’s death. Do you understand? What father would push his son to kill?”

“I lost a daughter and sent my son to prison... The one who needs forgiveness is me. Besides self-deception, how else can I survive?”

Fang Qingzhao stepped behind him, placing a hand awkwardly on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort.

The old man sank into the chair like a decaying plant.

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Regret was his withered branches, and pain his roots. Consolation could no longer save him. His entire being was written with a desperate desire for release.

The pent-up emotions erupted from a narrow crack; his cries were like sharp blades, circling in the air before falling and tearing him apart.

Teacher Liang pushed away Fang Qingzhao’s hand, wiped his face, revealing eyes reddened by tears, forcing a smile more painful than crying.

“Am I an obstinate old fossil?”

Fang Qingzhao tactfully replied, “You are a highly respected teacher.”

He gathered himself, sniffed, and asked with unsteady breath, “Qingzhao, can you not completely deny the ‘Abnormality Assessment’ project because of me? There are truly people who need it.”

Fang Qingzhao stepped back and returned to the seat opposite, remaining silent.

“Alright.” The teacher, unable to hide his feelings, wiped his eyes despondently and mustered strength.

“Thank you for listening today. I actually invited you with no other purpose than to see you again.”

Fang Qingzhao looked at him intently, uneasy, and asked, “Teacher, are you alright?”

He smiled, “I’m fine, very well. Liang Ming finally agreed to see me. I’m visiting him tomorrow. Hopefully, we won’t argue this time.”

Fang Qingzhao felt somewhat relieved and sincerely suggested, “He cares about you. If he argues with you right away, you can cry a little. He thinks he’s very skilled at comforting.”

Teacher Liang chuckled but was tempted by her condition and considered it. Then he frowned.

“Too difficult to pull off.”

They exchanged a few more words before he said he had guests waiting. Fang Qingzhao politely excused herself.

Teacher Liang stood and saw her to the door.

At the moment of parting, he couldn’t help but ask,

“Qingzhao, what would conform to your rules? If she jumped from the top floor of the San Yao building, would that fit your rules? If she continued to rot away, locked like a dog in a tiny room, would that fit your rules? Why is it that being able to be a person doesn’t fit your rules?”

At the doorway, Fang Qingzhao paused, seemingly moved by his last words. She turned the handle twice but couldn’t decide, then bowed lightly and closed the door behind her.

That soft closing echoed across time and space, resonating in the present Fang Qingzhao’s heart.

A normal person would not so frequently repeat others’ viewpoints.

Unless it was a predetermined script.

…She was someone else’s creation.

She raised her hand to touch her face and noticed her right hand trembling violently.

Unwilling to expose her vulnerability, she clenched her fingers tightly beneath the table, straightened her back, and stared unwaveringly at the screen.

·

The last file was not a video but a call log.

“Senior, have you heard?”

Fang Qingzhao asked, “What happened?”

The other side choked on a sob, “Teacher Liang had an accident. He committed suicide.”

“…”

“Senior?”

“I’m here. When did it happen?”

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“Just now. Yesterday, the teacher called several students to his study for a talk, and everyone felt something was off. This morning, we saw him at school and greeted him. He said he was going to see his son and asked if we liked his new clothes. He seemed very cheerful. But this afternoon, the school received news… the teacher was gone.”

“…”

“The teacher’s wife said his health check last year wasn’t good; he was under conservative treatment with little effect. He lost over thirty pounds this year and didn’t want to stay in the hospital to avoid a disgraceful end, so he quietly prepared… recently, everything was going well, so he chose today to leave and told us not to be sad. But…”

“…”

“Senior, are you okay?”

“I’m listening.”

“The teacher left some belongings, including something for you. Do you want to see it?”

“Okay, I’m coming now.”

·

The following developments were easy to predict.

Fang Qingzhao sat numb, processing the chaotic information.

Ji He pulled the computer back, breaking the silence.

“Sun Qingqing, that is Shen Zhiyang, her case was your teacher’s last wish. After his death, the entire team nearly fell apart. Perhaps out of nostalgia or gratitude, you ultimately entrusted San Yao to invest and take over the project. Afterward, everything unfolded as you know.”

Fang Qingzhao seemed indifferent, analyzing.

“My cognitive conflicts mainly stem from yesterday’s lecture and this conversation in the study. It proves whoever altered my memories watched these two videos and used them to interfere.”

Ji He relaxed, snapping his fingers in agreement.

“The earliest footage was a public lecture with archived video, so it’s hard to investigate thoroughly. But that recent segment came from surveillance in Teacher Liang’s study, and only a few could access it. We can trace it and identify suspects.”

Fang Qingzhao turned her head, pale and cold, asking sharply, “Who?”

Ji He replied, “Unfortunately, after Mr. Liang’s suicide, students called to view the study footage again had the video posted in the group by his wife. The group files were downloaded 26 times. We questioned each downloader but found no suspicious targets. It’s possible someone leaked it and denied it later or, like you, simply doesn’t remember.”

Fang Qingzhao showed no reaction.

“Don’t rule out the video being fake.”

“You can check frame by frame. Didn’t you suspect the audio? You can freely inspect the audio track to see if I’m lying.” Ji He responded frankly and kindly. “If you’ve forgotten how, I can find someone to teach you.”

Fang Qingzhao’s dark eyes gleamed coldly like glass, her defensive posture sharp as thorns.

“Even if you’re telling the truth, that doesn’t mean you’re my friend.”

Ji He was prepared. He pulled out his police badge, ID card, even driver’s license from his pocket, laid them neatly on the table, inviting her to inspect.

“We serve the people,” he said sincerely, with emphasis. “I didn’t show them before because you wouldn’t believe me and might have broken them.”

Fang Qingzhao replied stiffly, “I don’t believe you.”

She was now filled with doubt about everything. Reality was a vast lie.

Fang Qingzhao demanded firmly, “Unless I meet Zhou Sui Rong.”

Ji He laughed mockingly.

“Fang Qingzhao, in your current state, what right do you have to bargain with me? I helped you recover your memories because you killed someone, not because you’re my ancestor.”