Treatment

"His father? Who?"

"Zeng Yuancheng. I shouldn't have to ask if you know him," Yuan Hang said, "The 2010 Xingcheng City Sishan District Adolescent Psychological Crisis Intervention Center fire case you had me investigate—the main person in charge of that institution was Zeng Yuancheng. The case file records that he died from carbon monoxide poisoning caused by the fire."

Zhuang Mingqi asked faintly, "Am I carbon monoxide?"

Yuan Hang: "..."

"Gentlemen."

The moment that name was spoken, Shen Zhengning's expression instantly darkened. Social awareness has progressed over the past decade or so; the panaceas touted back then have long since been proven to be dregs and scum. Any discerning person could tell what that place was just by looking at it—he tapped the table. "Jokes are jokes, don't get too into character. What's the deal with this Zou Jinliang, and how did Zeng Yuancheng die? You need to explain it clearly first so we know how to cooperate."

When he got serious, the other two coincidentally softened their tones. Yuan Hang said as tactfully as possible, "Zhengning, it's still unclear what's really going on with this case. Although you're a victim, the killer's motive actually has nothing to do with you. The key lies with Mr. Zhuang. We need to verify the actual situation from back then with him."

If Zhuang Mingqi hadn't mentioned the Xingcheng fire case to him, Yuan Hang might have suspected that Zou Jinliang was making baseless accusations with ulterior motives. But the fact was, Zhuang Mingqi did know the hidden story, so it was necessary to ask the person involved to clarify how much of Zou Jinliang's words were true and how much was false, and whether there was an old case involved.

And as Shen Zhengning's friend, especially after seeing him implicated and seriously injured, he knew that trying to snatch away the person Shen Zhengning was determined to protect would be no easy feat. But whether Zhuang Mingqi was truly innocent, whether he was genuinely in love with Shen Zhengning or just using him as a shield—that was something Yuan Hang couldn't yet confirm.

Shen Zhengning's gaze shifted to Zhuang Mingqi, but Zhuang Mingqi calmly lowered his eyelids, avoiding his stare, and rose from the sofa with composure. "Okay, I'll cooperate. Let's go."

"Wait a minute."

Shen Zhengning stopped Yuan Hang. "Since an informed party is cooperating with the investigation, I can accompany him, right?"

Both of them were startled. Zhuang Mingqi immediately said, "No! Your wound hasn't healed. It's enough for me to go with him alone. It's fine, don't worry."

Yuan Hang quickly followed up, "Right, right, your health is important. He's not a minor who needs a guardian, and besides, with me here, can't you be at ease? It's just some questioning. I promise to bring him back to you in one piece."

"You didn't say no, so I guess it's okay." Shen Zhengning nodded. "Got it. Have a seat for a moment while I change my clothes."

"Zhengning!"

Yuan Hang desperately tried to signal Zhuang Mingqi with his eyes. Zhuang Mingqi turned and shut him out of the hospital room, but it was useless for him to follow inside anyway. He didn't dare to physically pull Shen Zhengning back, so he could only stand a couple of steps away, anxiously trying to persuade him to change his mind. "Zhengning, I'm really fine. Don't risk your health. Just wait for me at the hospital. Whatever you want to hear, I can repeat it for you when I get back, okay?"

"Stop standing there meowing and go get me a pair of shoes." Shen Zhengning endured the pain of his wound being pulled as he changed into his regular clothes, selectively feigning deafness. "Recalling a painful past once is enough. Repeating it is like secondary trauma, and I'm not a sadist."

Seeing that he was getting nowhere, Zhuang Mingqi became momentarily choked with anger. "What about you? What if the wound reopens from the bumps on the road? I can't be subjected to secondary trauma, but you can?"

"You don't have to do this," he said softly, almost pleadingly. "Zhengning, you don't have to..."

The past was already ashes, only memories remained. He had walked through all those years alone anyway. He had already received more than enough pity and favor; he couldn't keep running away. It was time to gather his courage and personally tear open the wound that had lain dormant in the passing years, never to heal.

To deal with him, Shen Zhengning used a single, simple, and blunt sentence: "Do you need me?"

Zhuang Mingqi opened his mouth, but his throat felt blocked. He couldn't utter the word "no," which felt as heavy as a mountain.

The past was like a turbulent abyss below a cliff. Standing at the start of a lone rope over the precipice, he finally realized clearly that this vulnerable feeling wasn't the deceptive flutter of the suspension bridge effect, but rather the confidence and trust personally nurtured by the man before him. It was the safety rope tied to his body, accompanying him to the other side.

If Zhuang Mingqi hesitated for more than a second, the answer would have been obvious, let alone such a long silence.

"Then it's settled," Shen Zhengning decided irrefutably. "At such an important moment, never mind a mere knife wound, I'd have to go even if it were raining knives."

He was just that kind of hopeless control freak who would rather endure pain to keep the progress bar in his own hands than sit back comfortably and enjoy the results.

This deadly man even had the leisure to smile at him. "Besides, I already took a knife for you. As an exchange, shouldn't you fulfill my wish?"

Zhuang Mingqi fought back the stinging in his nose, half-squatted down to place the shoes in front of Shen Zhengning, and looked up at him. "...Didn't you say it was a coincidence?"

Shen Zhengning put on his overcoat, and in a rare gesture, reached out and used his fingertips to brush aside a stray lock of hair on his brow. His tone was also uncharacteristically gentle. "Well, now I need a wish."

Zhuang Mingqi pushed the wheelchair into the interrogation room. The clerk thought he was a lawyer accompanying his client, but it turned out the "lawyer" carefully settled the "client" and then took a seat in the middle himself.

Yuan Hang opened his notebook and routinely stated the procedural notices. Shen Zhengning sat within Zhuang Mingqi's line of sight, glanced at the camera in the room, and his gaze returned to Zhuang Mingqi's hand resting on his lap—nothing could be seen from the back of his hand; the old scar was hidden beneath his sleeve, on the inside of his wrist.

"Previously on... skipped."

Zhuang Mingqi had spent over a decade learning to live in peace with this memory. So far, the results were rather remarkable. At the very least, he could now calmly narrate that turning point in his life in front of so many people without a change in expression. "July 2010, the summer vacation of my second year of high school. Because I admitted I was gay, my father sent me to an Adolescent Psychological Crisis Intervention Center. I heard the doctors there were very good at treating this kind of 'psychological illness'."

"Our center is affiliated with Xingcheng Third People's Hospital and has extensive experience in adolescent psychological crisis intervention and correcting defective behaviors. President Zhuang, look, these are the various commendations we've received, and the banners sent by parents..."

Zhuang Shize was in no mood to listen to him boast. He just frowned and asked, "Director Zeng, all the cases your center has treated before were completely cured, right? Any relapses? Will it affect their future life?"

The center's director, Zeng Yuancheng, was a refined middle-aged man. He answered in a soft and gentle voice, "Rest assured, we will do our utmost to save the child and correct his psychological problems. During the closed treatment, the hospital will confiscate his mobile phone to avoid outside interference. If you need to know about his situation, we can have the child write you a letter, or arrange a visit."

"We'll see," Zhuang Shize waved his hand impatiently. "A misfortune to the family. A perfectly fine child suddenly develops a mental illness, and I'm at my wit's end. Director Zeng, the person who recommended you told me you are an expert in this field. I trust you. I'm leaving this child in your hands. You absolutely must cure him."

A seventeen-year-old Zhuang Mingqi followed a nurse down the corridor to a private room on the third floor. Outside the window, the trees cast a thick, green shade, and there was a lawn below. It was quiet everywhere, as if there were no other patients. The nurse found him a patient gown, took his temperature, measured his blood pressure, recorded his physical data, and finally instructed him, "Rest here for now. Director Zeng will come to see you later."

There was no clock in the room, and his phone had been taken. Zhuang Mingqi grew bored while waiting and curled up on the bed, falling asleep. After an unknown amount of time, someone woke him up. It was a middle-aged doctor in a white coat with a long face, an aquiline nose, and rimless glasses, no different from any other doctor one might see.

"You're Zhuang Mingqi, right?" The doctor smiled. "I'm your attending physician. You can just call me Dr. Zeng. Your father told me about your situation. I'll be helping you from now on, and you must do your best to cooperate with me. Together, we'll overcome this problem and strive to return to normal and go home soon."

Zhuang Mingqi was not in high spirits. There was still a bruise at the corner of his mouth, and he was as pale as a paper doll. In truth, he had no expectations about going home. He gave a perfunctory nod. "Okay."

But Zeng Yuancheng said enthusiastically, "For today, just get used to the environment. At noon, I'll have Xiao Liu take you to the cafeteria for lunch. We'll start the treatment in the afternoon."

The cafeteria food was unremarkable. A few other patients and their caregivers were also eating. No one spoke, and the atmosphere was as somber as a mourning hall. After an afternoon nap, Zhuang Mingqi followed that Nurse Liu to the second floor and entered a treatment room that resembled a multimedia classroom.

Zeng Yuancheng turned on the projector. A nurse, holding a metal tray, placed a small cup of medication and a glass of water by his hand.

Slides flashed across the screen one by one: naked male bodies, embracing, kissing, entwining... Reflected in his eyes, they gradually blurred into swaying, indistinct blocks of color. An intense wave of nausea surged up. After vomiting, he would gasp for breath for a moment, drink some water, and then continue. It was a cycle that repeated over and over. For two hours, the only sound that echoed in the treatment room was his dry heaving.

Zhuang Mingqi finally understood why he had said "administer treatment"—the use of "administer" was the same as in "administer torture" or "administer measures."

This treatment continued until the third session, at which point he naturally began to resist. He refused to take the emetic and said to Zeng Yuancheng, "I'm not doing this treatment anymore. Call my dad. I want to go back."

Zeng Yuancheng still maintained his good-tempered facade. He smiled at him, a smile tinged with a piercing contempt and ridicule. "Xiao Zhuang, not cooperating won't do."

Zhuang Mingqi swept the metal tray of medication away with his hand and kicked over the chair, furiously demanding amidst the loud clatter, "Cooperate with what? Cooperate with you killing me?!"

The door to the treatment room was suddenly pushed open from the outside. That Nurse Liu led two male orderlies into the room. Without a word, they restrained him, forced him onto the bed, and tied his hands and feet with restraints. They stuffed a towel in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue. Zeng Yuancheng, with a victorious smile, pulled two wires from an unfamiliar machine, and pressed the cold electrodes against his temples—

A horrific, sharp pain exploded deep within his brain. The electric current grew from weak to strong, scraping across his nerves like one knife cut after another. His heart spun completely out of control, slamming erratically against his ribs like another frenzied living creature. He couldn't struggle, couldn't cry for help, couldn't even pass out. He could only let out silent screams in an ever-clearer state of despair.

Help...

Stop... please, make it stop...