The light inside the door

The morning fog hadn't lifted yet, and the room was quiet. On the dining table were only a business card and a cloth-wrapped sketchbook. Hu Li stared at the card for two seconds, then stuffed it back into the sketchbook, looked up at him with a smile, and said, "I'll go first."

Mu Tianlang buttoned up her coat, his tone calm yet tinged with tenderness: "I've already used an alias. Go through the clinic's side entrance. I'll wait for you outside. If you feel overwhelmed, send me a message with just two words—'Come back.'"

She wrote the same two words in his palm, as if insuring both of them at the same time: "Come back." He raised a sly brow, his tone casual, but his heart was at ease: "Wait for me. I'll reward you when I get back."

——

Dr. Jiang's clinic is in a quiet building, with a back entrance that's only open to appointments. The receptionist checked her alias and appointment code, then led her through the frosted glass door. The room was sparsely decorated: a cool-toned abstract painting, a pot of hanging ivy, and a small hourglass and a soft ball on the corner of the table.

"Let's get to know each other first." Dr. Jiang, in his early fifties, had clear eyes and a steady voice. "You mentioned that a fragment related to an accident from long ago is blurry. Let's clarify our goal: we won't do hypnosis to 'recover memories,' nor will we try to prove 'truth' or 'falsehood.' What we'll do is—safely review the fragment, process the body's memory response, and separate your own feelings from external information." He paused, then placed a pen on the table. "Hypnosis as a means of 'finding the truth' is unreliable; it's easy to let speculation get in. Clinically, we more often use guided imagery, body awareness, and stabilization techniques; if necessary, we add bilateral stimulation to reduce the intensity and prevent the imagery from getting out of control. A single session lasts about forty-five to fifty-five minutes. Today is just the beginning."

Hu Li nodded: "I don't want to scare myself."

"So we need to learn how to apply the brakes first." He pushed the soft ball over. "Before each session, you give a score of discomfort from 0 to 10; if it's over 7, say 'come back.' At the same time, squeeze the ball, watch the pen in my hand, and observe your breathing; if you still come up, I'll guide you through the 5-4-3-2-1 sensory grounding exercise."

She held the ball, her fingertips slowly sinking in: "Okay."

"Let's create a safe scenario first. Close your eyes and find a place that you feel safe—it could be your current home or a corner from your childhood. Collect all the colors, smells, and textures, and give it a name."

Her breathing slowed: "It's an art studio. The smell of wood, the smell of paint, the warm yellow light. The name is 'Come Back'."

"Very good. We'll stop as long as you say the word 'come back.'" He turned the hourglass over, and the sand fell slowly into the glass. "Today, let's focus on key points: pinpoint the time, place, and physical reactions that we can confirm. Only later will we touch on the crucial parts."

She hummed in agreement.

"Start with the smell. You mentioned disinfectant and moisture."

"The disinfectant had that pungent smell of the clinic area; the humidity was like coming back from the beach with clothes that weren't completely dry."

"Put the two flavors in two separate boxes, one labeled 'hospital' and the other 'outdoors.' Then find the tactile sensation."

"The plastic chair edge is uncomfortable on my legs. The railing—it's cold."

"Find the sound again, but don't look for sentences yet, just describe the shape of the sound."

"The air conditioner clicked and stopped, then started again; there was the rustling of someone walking by with their shoes rubbing together; and I could hear someone talking in the distance, but I wasn't sure."

"Mark 'uncertain' next to it, and don't name the source yet." He didn't press for details, but slowed down the pace. "What about the body's reaction?"

"My stomach feels pulled up, my palms are sweaty, and my knees feel tight."

"Very good. These are the location points." He closed his notebook. "The itinerary will be arranged five times as the first phase:"

The first step – positioning and stabilization;

The second time – outside the hospital: only the waiting area and corridor are used, not the examination rooms;

The third time – movement inside the vehicle: two stops, focusing only on the sense of movement, not on the people;

Fourth time – inside the railing: only look at the railing and the sea, not at the face;

The fifth attempt—try to string the segments together. Adjust the process flexibly according to your workload; don't force yourself to piece it all together in one go. Stop if your body tells you "no," postpone the attempt, or break it down into smaller parts.

Hu Li opened her eyes, as if she had been pulled out of a warm box: "I understand." Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "I learned a new word today."

Which one?

"Come back." She wrote it in her palm for him to see, then pulled it back and smiled to herself, like a little fox that had finally settled down on the shore.

"Very good." Dr. Jiang handed over the appointment card. "Same time next time. When you go home today, don't force it. You can draw, but stop when you feel tightness in your chest. Before going to bed, do three rounds of 'palm breathing'—inhale and open your palms, exhale and close them—and say the word 'come back' again."

——

She went out through the side door; the fog was thinner than when she arrived. Her phone vibrated; it was him: [Have you arrived?] She pulled down her mask to let in some air and replied: [Out. Good job.] She added a fox emoji at the end. He quickly replied: [Missing you.] Then a line of small text appeared—"Typing…"—followed by: [On the corner.] She smiled at those two lines, tapping the screen: [Don't forget the reward.] He replied: [Ready.] A small dot followed. Her heart warmed, and her steps quickened unconsciously.

She smiled, carrying her sketchbook as she walked forward. Around the corner, Mu Tianlang leaned against his car, his suit jacket buttoned up, his expression as cold as ever. He opened the car door for her, his gaze sweeping from her forehead to her fingertips, his tone calm: "Are you tired?"

"It's alright." She sat down, lowered the backrest a little, and lazily reached out to gently place her hand on his thigh. "President, I was very well-behaved today."

He glanced at her indifferently, then fastened his seatbelt: "Let's go home."

——

In the afternoon, he returned to the company. His assistant, Xiao Zhou, was waiting for him at the door: "Mr. Mu, the finance meeting has been moved to 2 PM. Also—" he lowered his voice, "the chairman wasn't in a good mood this morning. Rumors are circulating in the building that you've been running private lines lately."

He was about to nod when an urgent email from the CFO popped up: overseas investment projects were subject to temporary local restrictions, and fund transfers were frozen in local banks; the foreign exchange payment window was closed. The next sentence was even more jarring—the chairman's personal investments were also on the same list.

"Understood." He handed the folder to Xiao Zhou. "Prepare for the meeting according to the schedule, don't miss anything." His tone was flat, but his edge was sharp. He added three more sentences: "First, rearrange the cash flow of overseas projects, and collect what can be recovered; prioritize domestic liquidity, and list the gaps; the company secretary should prepare the statements accordingly."

The meeting ended, and his phone vibrated twice more: a partner bank replied that credit lines were being temporarily tightened; someone in the supplier group asked if payment cycles should be adjusted. He starred both emails and took a deep breath. This major crisis had come too suddenly and was beyond his expectations—his father's overseas investments had been affected by the situation, and his assets were almost frozen.

Then his mother's reply popped up: "Are you there?" He replied: "Yes." He casually dialed a voice call. It connected quickly. His mother's voice, usually gentle, sounded a little tired: "Are you busy?"

"It's over." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling on the reflection in the glass wall opposite. "I'd like you to recall something. In the summer when I was twelve, were there any unusual interactions at the company—unexpected salary adjustments, sudden collaborations, or anyone frequently coming and going?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone: "Why did you suddenly ask that?"

"He was emotionally unstable this morning." His voice was calm, as if he were simply stating the weather. "I wanted to confirm if anything was causing him stress during that time."

"My memory has always been bad." Mother Mu paused for a moment, then continued, "But during that time, your father did indeed have close contact with several business partners. I can't say whether it was unusual. I'll go back and look through that year's logs, and I'll let you know when I find it."

"Okay." He paused for a moment, then added in a low voice, "Thank you."

He hung up the phone, fastened his cufflinks, and sheathed his emotions. Outside the window, the wind dispersed some of the clouds, and sunlight, as if finely sliced ​​by a knife, fell onto the metal pen holder on the table.

An emergency board meeting was convened quickly. The legal department reported first: due to temporary local restrictions and bank compliance reviews, the project's funds were temporarily untouchable; the portion involving the chairman's personal investments was also added to the list. The finance department then drew a line at the bottom—returning from overseas was impossible, domestic resources needed to be managed, and the supply, credit, and public relations sides all needed to be stabilized simultaneously. Some suggested "holding out for a week," others suggested "disposing of non-core assets." He only said one thing: "Survive first."

After the meeting, he wrote down his decisions: First, overseas projects would be placed under safeguard measures, with no additional funding or withdrawals, and a dedicated person would monitor regulatory changes; second, domestic cash flow would be prioritized, with any funds that could be recovered immediately, and the CFO personally negotiating short-term loan renewals; third, suppliers would be settled according to contracts, with payments due to avoid a chain reaction of disruptions; fourth, a unified external statement would be maintained, with no responses to anonymous posts, and the company secretary preparing a written explanation. He closed his notebook, leaned back in his chair, composed himself, and determined not to let any outside noise enter the room and disrupt her rhythm.

——

The following afternoon, Hu Li returned home, and the aroma of scallions wafted out as soon as she opened the door. She laughed and said, "You really cooked."

"Don't mind it." He brought out a bowl of clear soup noodles, sprinkled with chopped green onions. The soup was as flat as a small lake. "Have a bite first."

She sat down, and before she even swallowed her first bite, she gently kicked him under the table, her eyes crinkling with a smile: "President, you deserve extra points for your performance today."

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear: "After lunch break, let's not talk business."

She nodded obediently, but after two seconds she became restless again: "Then what should we talk about?"

He didn't take it, but instead pressed the spoon back into her hand: "Settle down first."

The next day, after waking from her afternoon nap, she pulled her sketchbook onto her lap, casually flipped through a couple of pages, and closed it again, without trying to find a particular drawing. Mu Tianlang leaned against her side, not urging her, but simply asking, "How uncomfortable are you?"

"Two." She made a gesture. "The 'palm breathing' technique I learned the day before yesterday is quite effective."

He hummed in agreement, took her hand, and gently tapped her knuckles: "Come back."

Before evening, she sent him her second appointment time, with the note: "Stop if you feel unwell, don't push yourself." He replied: "I know."

At night, the raindrops fell like someone wiping windows. Neither of them touched any of the documents. She nestled in his arms, like a fox that had been carefully placed. His voice softened, as if he were gently smoothing her hair with his palm: "Take your time. I'll wait for you."

She rubbed her face against his chest and whispered, "I will tell."

He didn't answer, but just held the person tighter. The lamp in the room illuminated the house steadily, like a still pond that wouldn't be disturbed by the wind.

—After reviewing and practicing with Dr. Jiang many times, Hu Li pieced together the key fragments of that summer vacation more clearly: Her mother took her to the port city temporarily and stayed at a resort for a while. In the evening, her mother would take her to the pool to watch a group of children practice swimming; One day, after returning from the hospital, her mother went to run errands and she got lost in the garden. Mu Tinglang took her to the front desk to wait for someone; A few days later, her mother drove her out in a white car. The car made a short stop at the seawall and then turned back. She got out of the car. Being young, she just hid behind the railing to block the wind and saw two people on the slope, one of whom was knocked down by a wave.

The conclusion we can draw now is simple: she and her mother were merely bystanders, not involved in any action; her mother's pronouncements of "serves her right" and "retribution" were an emotional outburst, not a causal one. That day was essentially an accident, unrelated to Hu Li or Su Qin.

The one who truly raised suspicion was the young man in the trench coat and hood at the front desk. Mu Tianlang remembered this man, planning to confront him at the right time. Another extraordinary board meeting was held, the gaps in the funds drawn into a line in the meeting room, the numbers chillingly obvious; the current rate of cash flow couldn't fill the gaps, so they had to find allies. Considering both time and conditions, the Jiang family was the fastest to secure a deal. But the Jiang family also needed guarantees, so they first announced: they were willing to provide bridging funds and strategic investment, in exchange for a deep partnership, and they even proposed the most unpleasant option—a marriage alliance.

The room fell silent for a moment. Some say reality should be dealt with realistically. Tianlang sat in his chair without speaking, the veins on the back of his hands bulging, his fists clenching and unclenching. The last thing he wanted was to use marriage as a bargaining chip; that was his bottom line. He lowered his voice and replied to the Jiang family representative: "We can discuss funding, we can discuss performance-based clauses and preferred shares, and we can even use core assets as collateral, but we won't discuss people."

The Chiang family representative smiled politely but didn't budge, saying he would consult the board of directors. After the meeting, the special assistant asked in a low voice what the next step was, to which he simply replied: "Produce an alternative plan within two days, and I will negotiate. There's no need to mention the marriage alliance again."

The meeting ended, and he stood by the window watching the clouds for a while. He knew that Hu Li had finally emerged from the shadow of that accident, and now she was being pushed back by something like this; he didn't want her to carry any more burdens, and he would stand in front of her in this battle.