Forgotten Shell

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital corridor was cold and pungent. Qi Shuo stood in front of the attending physician's desk, holding the examination report and psychological evaluation results that were still warm from the printer. His knuckles were white from gripping the thin pages so tightly that he almost crushed them.

Sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the blinds, cutting out lines of light and shadow that fell on his taut jawline and the doctor's solemn face.

“Mr. Qi, the situation is not optimistic.” The doctor pushed up his glasses, his tone professionally restrained but also heavy. “According to the latest brain imaging and various assessments, after Qingran suffered that recent intense verbal stimulation that was severely insulting and traumatic, her psychological defense mechanism has been activated again, and this time the manifestation is more…complex than we expected.”

Qi Shuo's throat tightened, and his voice became dry: "What do you mean?"

"She exhibited obvious, selective memory dissociation and cognitive regression symptoms." The doctor carefully chose his words, trying to be as clear as possible. "Simply put, in order to protect herself from the extreme pain, shame, and fear, her consciousness actively cut off and sealed off parts of her memories and cognitive modules directly related to that stimulus and those that might trigger related associations. In fact... to ensure 'safety,' her psychological defenses overreacted, expanding the scope of her defenses."

The doctor paused, looking at Qi Shuo's face, which had instantly lost all color, and continued, "She regards Ms. Jin as the safest and most primitive object of dependence in her memory—'Mom,' which is a manifestation of regression to an earlier, more carefree state. As for Mr. Shen, whom she previously showed obvious emotional attachment to... unfortunately, it seems to be blocked or confused in her cognitive system."

"Perhaps because Ms. Shen was one of the key stakeholders in that conflict, her subconscious mind unconsciously linked the intense conflict scene and the fear brought about by the insulting words with Ms. Shen herself. For the sake of 'safety,' she chose to forget or avoid this relationship."

"As for spacing out, being alone, being unresponsive to or selectively ignoring external stimuli... these are all typical manifestations of dissociation and defense mechanisms. Her hearing and comprehension are physiologically sound, but psychologically, she's erected a wall, filtering out information that might cause harm or distress. Even..."

The doctor's voice was even lower. "The assessment showed that she was experiencing intermittent intellectual regression and somatization symptoms. For example, she would sometimes express her needs like a younger child, her responses to finger coordination and simple instructions were regressed, or she would feel discomfort in a part of her body for no reason. All of this indicates that her entire psychological system has undergone functional and protective degradation and disorder after stress."

Every word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing into Qi Shuo's heart.

His vision blurred, and his ears rang. Forgetting? Blocking? Regression? Somatization?

He recalled Qingran's unusually quiet demeanor these past few days, the complete, almost childlike dependence she showed when looking at Sister Jin, her complete lack of response to Shen Ci's name, and even the occasional blankness she revealed.

He initially thought it was just a dazed state after being overly frightened and needing time to recover, but he never expected that her heart, in order to survive, had chosen to enter a deeper maze, even removing the signposts it had come from and replacing them with a more fragile, yet more "safe," childlike shell.

"Is there... a way?" Qi Shuo heard his own voice asking, hoarse beyond recognition.

"This is a complex manifestation of severe post-traumatic stress disorder," the doctor said seriously. "Recovery will be very slow and unpredictable. It requires extremely patient, gentle, long-term psychological counseling and a supportive environment."

"Most importantly, avoid anything that might trigger her again. Those who make her feel insecure or confused should probably be completely and thoroughly removed from her life at this stage. Any forced contact or reminder could increase her defenses or even lead to more serious regression or breakdown."

To withdraw completely and thoroughly.

Qi Shuo closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his eyes were filled with an unfathomable weariness and icy pain. He knew the doctor was right.

For Ranran's sake, even if "quitting" meant deeper despair, he had to make a choice.

"I understand," Qi Shuo said hoarsely, carefully folding the heavy report and putting it into his inner pocket as if he were carrying a block of ice.

Leaving the hospital, the late autumn sunlight carried a false warmth. In the back seat of the car, Qingran leaned quietly against the window, clutching the rabbit doll in her arms, her gaze unfocused as she watched the street scenes rushing by outside.

Her profile appeared exceptionally white and translucent in the light, as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.

"Ranran," Qi Shuo looked at her in the rearview mirror, trying to keep his voice calm, "What do you want to eat when we get home? Your brother will make it for you."

Qingran slowly turned her head to look at him, her gaze somewhat sluggish. After a few seconds, she blinked gently, her voice soft, carrying a childlike dependence and a hint of uncertainty: "Brother... I want to eat the steamed egg custard that Mom makes."

She calls Sister Jin "Mom," but still calls him "Brother." In her cognitive puzzle, some pieces have been forcibly removed or replaced, and the remaining fragments barely piece together a world that she can accept and that is not so painful.

Qi Shuo felt as if he had been struck hard by a blunt object, his heart aching painfully. He forced a smile: "Okay, let...Mom make it when we get home."

When they got home, Sister Jin had been waiting anxiously. Seeing them return, she quickly went to greet them.

When Qingran saw Sister Jin, her eyes seemed to brighten a little. She let go of the doll, slowly walked over, reached out and tugged at Sister Jin's clothes, tilted her little face up, and whispered, "Mommy, steamed egg custard."

Jin Jie's tears welled up instantly. She quickly turned away to wipe them, then turned back and tried to smile naturally: "Okay, okay, Mom will make it for Ranran right away."

Qingran followed Sister Jin into the kitchen, standing quietly to the side and watching. She no longer asked questions out of curiosity as before; she just watched with a focused yet empty gaze.

Qi Shuo stood in the living room, watching the scene in the kitchen. His once lively and vibrant younger sister now seemed to have lost most of her soul, leaving only a quiet, fragile shell that seemed to have been trapped in an earlier time.

She remembers the taste of steamed egg custard, remembers the warmth of "Mom", but forgets "Brother Chen" who would take her to see flowers, teach her origami, and whom she relied on wholeheartedly. She also forgets the verbal storm that destroyed everything, and may even be gradually forgetting how to perceive and respond to the world like a normal girl.

Forgetting is the merciful shackle of the brain and the tragic exile of the soul.

She chose to hide in this forgotten shell, thinking it would be safe there.

But her loved ones, watching that frail figure, had to helplessly watch her get lost in the labyrinth of time, even burying the signposts she was searching for herself.

Outside the window, the autumn wind whips up withered leaves, swirling them around, their destination unknown.

Like someone forcibly "deleted" from her world, she is now filled with a despair that feels like a thousand arrows piercing her heart, yet she has nowhere to express it, guarding the other side that can never be "remembered".

After returning from the hospital and being diagnosed with Qingran's "selective amnesia" and "cognitive regression," Qi Shuo felt like a bowstring stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

He became unusually silent, barely speaking, and exuded a cold, menacing aura that kept strangers at bay, like an active volcano with churning magma inside but a surface frozen with millennia-old ice.

Only when facing Qingran could he forcefully suppress that terrifying coldness and replace it with an extremely clumsy, almost cautious gentleness, but the deep sorrow and helplessness in his eyes could not be hidden.

He no longer goes to the factory, but handles necessary matters by phone and message.

Most of the time, he stayed at Sister Jin's house, standing not far away, silently watching Qingran.

Watching her younger sister sometimes stare blankly into space, and sometimes look at Jin Jie with a dependent yet bewildered expression like an even younger child, watching her completely lose all reaction to the name Shen Ci…

With each second he looked, the invisible wound in Qi Shuo's heart was ripped deeper by an invisible knife, bleeding profusely and causing excruciating pain.

Anger, self-blame, heartache, helplessness, and the unspoken yet real resentment and anger towards Shen Ci... all sorts of emotions raged and tore wildly in his chest, unable to find an outlet, only binding him tighter and tighter.

He smoked heavily, and the bloodshot eyes hadn't faded in days. Dark stubble appeared on his chin, and he was rapidly becoming haggard and thinner, with his cheekbones protruding slightly.

Tan Huaiyu saw all of this and felt the pain in his heart. He knew Qi Shuo's pain and what he was carrying.

He couldn't make Qingran better, nor could he erase the damage. The only thing he could do was stay by her side and, in his insignificant way, become a silent anchor that would prevent Qi Shuo from sinking completely in the raging storm.

Nighttime was the hardest time for Qi Shuo.

After Qingran fell asleep, Sister Jin wearily stayed by the bedside. Qi Shuo would usually go to the cramped balcony and smoke one cigarette after another, the scarlet cigarette butts flickering in the thick night, reflecting on his cold, hard profile.

His back was upright, yet it conveyed a sense of loneliness that was about to be crushed by the weight of life.

Tan Huaiyu wouldn't bother him at this time; any words of comfort would seem pale and powerless.

He would quietly prepare warm water and a clean towel, placing them on the coffee table in the living room. Then, he would sit on the sofa not far from the balcony, without turning on the light, simply keeping him company in silence.

Without persuasion or questioning, simply by quietly presenting myself, I tell him: I am here, you are not alone.

Sometimes, Qi Shuo would return to the house carrying the chill of the night wind and the heavy smell of smoke.

Tan Huaiyu would immediately get up, go to the kitchen, bring out a pot of porridge or soup that had been kept warm and stewed until soft, place it in front of him, and say softly, "Drink something hot to warm your stomach."

Qi Shuo usually didn't even look at the food, just mechanically picked up his spoon and swallowed without tasting it. Tan Huaiyu sat opposite him, not eating either, just watching him eat, occasionally reminding him in a low voice when he paused for too long: "Be careful, it's hot" or "Eat a little more."

After Qi Shuo finished eating, Tan Huaiyu would quietly clear away the dishes and chopsticks, then wring out a hot towel and hand it to him.

Qi Shuo would be stunned for a moment at first, and then he would take it and wipe it on his face haphazardly. His cold fingertips would occasionally touch Tan Huaiyu's warm hand, and both of them would tremble almost imperceptibly.

The hardest thing is falling asleep.

Qi Shuo suffered from insomnia almost every night. Even when he managed to fall asleep, he was extremely restless, often waking up in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly, his eyes filled with lingering fear and pain.

Sometimes I dream of Qingran's innocent smile as a child, only to have it turn into her empty, bewildered eyes the next second; sometimes I dream of the disaster that changed everything; sometimes I dream of Shen Ci, of the filthy words in the office that afternoon, and of my regret for not being able to stop it in time.

Whenever this happens, Tan Huaiyu, who is sleeping on the sofa bed, will immediately wake up.

Without turning on the light, he relied solely on his senses to find Qi Shuo's sleeping mat on the floor, and gently grasped his cold, damp, clenched fist in the darkness.

Then, with her other hand, she gently and slowly stroked his tense back, again and again, with a steady and inclusive rhythm.

He didn't speak, but conveyed silent comfort through his body temperature and gestures.

Until he felt the stiff body under his palm relax little by little under his touch, the rapid breathing gradually calmed down, the tightly clenched fist slowly loosened, and the other hand gripped his hand tightly as if grasping a lifeline.

In the darkness, only their clasped hands and the sound of their suppressed breathing could be heard.

Sometimes, Qi Shuo would suddenly roll over and bury his face deep in Tan Huaiyu's neck, his arms tightly wrapped around his waist, so tightly that he almost broke him.

Tan Huaiyu endured the slight discomfort brought on by the suffocating embrace, and simply hugged him tighter, running his fingers through his sweaty hair and gently combing it. Occasionally, he would lower his head and touch his sweaty forehead or taut temples with his lips.

There was still no word. But Tan Huaiyu could feel the skin on his neck being quickly moistened by the warm liquid.

Qi Shuo is crying.

There was no sound, only the body's uncontrollable, subtle trembling, and scalding tears, silently surging forth.

Tan Huaiyu's heart shattered into a million pieces along with the tears. There was nothing he could do but hug him tighter, letting the scalding liquid soak through his clothes and burn into his heart.

He knew that this was the only way Qi Shuo could vent his emotions. At this moment when his sister needed him to be strong and support her, he could only bury all his vulnerability, pain, and helplessness in this dark corner where no one could see him, in the only embrace where he could let his guard down a little.

During the day, when Qingran's condition was relatively stable and she was doing some simple activities with Sister Jin, Tan Huaiyu would try to get Qi Shuo away from that suffocating environment for a while.

"A-Shuo, come with me to the supermarket, we're out of vegetables at home."

"A new hardware store just opened downstairs. Come with me to see if they have any suitable tools."

"The weather is nice, so I'll go for a walk, it'll only take ten minutes."

His reasons were always ordinary, even somewhat clumsy, and his tone was as calm and natural as possible, putting no pressure on Qi Shuo. Qi Shuo usually wouldn't refuse, but would simply follow him out in silence.

Walking down the street, the autumn sunlight carried a false warmth. Tan Huaiyu didn't deliberately seek out topics, but occasionally, she would point out some unimportant things to Qi Shuo—a wild chrysanthemum blooming tenaciously by the roadside, strangely shaped clouds in the sky, a comical doll in a shop window.

He didn't expect Qi Shuo to respond; he was simply using this method to gradually pull him out of that boundless, dark mind and back into this cold but still sunny and colorful reality.

Sometimes, he would naturally reach out and hold Qi Shuo's hand. Qi Shuo's hands were always cold, with thin calluses.

Tan Huaiyu gripped his hand tightly, warming him with the heat of her palm. Qi Shuo was initially a little stiff, but soon, he would almost imperceptibly grip back, as if that warmth was the only real thing he could hold onto at that moment.

Tan Huaiyu only mentioned Shen Ci once.

That was when Qi Shuo woke up from another nightmare, extremely depressed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tan Huaiyu held his hand, remained silent for a long time, and then said in a very soft voice:

“A-Shuo, I know you hate, you resent, you feel that he didn’t protect Ranran well, that his appearance brought all this to light… You might even think that if it weren’t for him, Ranran wouldn’t have gone to his office, wouldn’t have heard those things…”

Qi Shuo's body suddenly tensed, and his fingers tightened sharply, pinching Tan Huaiyu painfully.

But he didn't pull his hand away; he simply continued speaking in a calm tone:

"But Teacher Shen... he's probably not feeling much better than you right now."

Qi Shuo suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes staring at him intently, filled with a furious rage that had been provoked and an unbelievable pain, as if questioning: You're speaking up for him?

Tan Huaiyu met his almost murderous gaze without flinching, simply shaking her head slightly, her voice still soft: "I'm not speaking for him. I'm just stating a fact. That day in the hallway, he looked... almost broken. Ranran completely shut him out, even forgetting about him. For someone who valued Ranran so much, this is probably a crueler punishment than killing him."

“Ranran’s current state is probably one of unimaginable pain and self-blame every single day. The gradual forgetting is torture for you and for Sister Jin, but for him… it may mean eternal torture and a hopeless exile.”

Tan Huaiyu paused, looking at the intense emotions churning in Qi Shuo's eyes, which ultimately settled into a deeper, deathly pain, before slowly saying, "Hating him, blaming him, is your right. But perhaps, in punishing him, fate... has already made the cruelest arrangement."

Qi Shuo didn't speak, but turned his head back and stared intently at the ceiling, his chest heaving violently, like a wounded and trapped beast letting out a silent roar.

But Tan Huaiyu could feel that the grip on his hand was loosening very slowly, bit by bit.

He knew that these words could not dispel Qi Shuo's resentment, but perhaps they could cool down the raging fire in his heart that was almost burning him up, and transform it into a deeper and more powerless sorrow.

Sometimes, knowing that your "enemy" is also suffering no less than you do does not bring comfort; it only adds a heavier, more tragic layer of fate to the whole affair.

The days passed by in a state of repression and careful guarding.

Qingran's condition fluctuated, and most of the time she was as quiet as a shadow.

Qi Shuo remained silent, but the terrifying, crimson in his eyes, on the verge of collapse, seemed to gradually settle into a deeper, heavier weariness under Tan Huaiyu's silent companionship and meticulous comfort day after day. But at least, the taut string had not truly snapped.

He would still wake up in the middle of the night, still smoke, and still look at his sister with a pained expression when she stared blankly into space.

But at least, he would silently drink the hot soup Tan Huaiyu brought him; he would almost imperceptibly hold Tan Huaiyu's hand when she took his; and when he woke up from a nightmare, he would subconsciously seek out that warm embrace, then bury his face in it, drawing strength from that faint yet firm support.

Tan Huaiyu is like a silent tree, rooted in the land beside Qi Shuo, a land already ravaged by wind and rain.

He couldn't shield them from all the storms, nor could he heal their deep wounds, but he stood there, using his not-so-broad branches and leaves, to offer as much shelter as possible to the man beside him who was on the verge of collapse, and a silent yet resilient strength called "companionship" and "acceptance."

Love, in times of turmoil, is perhaps more than just sweet companionship; it is also—

When you fall, I wish to be the silent earth beneath you.

When you break, I would be your clumsy hand to pick up every single piece.

Even if the world collapses, I will be here, sinking with you, or waiting with you for the moment when the sun rises again, though we don't know when.