Chapter 73: The Woman in Chains

“Damn it, it’s happening again.”

Li Zhuiyuan’s vision blurred as if his body had slipped out of alignment with his mind. A strange, unsettling detachment took hold—what psychologists would call a disassociation of self-identity.

In his mind, he saw again his mother’s face—aloof, mocking—an expression she wore more and more in recent years.

He knew that if he allowed this state to spiral out of control, to sever fully, then he’d lose the identity of “Little Yuanhou” forever. He’d become emotionally numb, shut off from kinship and human connection—unable even to pretend to care.

And yet, some part of him liked that kind of life. He didn’t want to let it go.

Maybe, if his mother weren’t in the picture, he wouldn’t resist so much. He might even want to try and see what that detachment felt like. But now, just because she was there in his mind’s eye, he found himself afraid.

Perhaps even Li Lan never imagined that all the time and effort she had spent finding her son therapists and interventions…

…would prove far less effective than being a cautionary tale herself.

“Little Yuan, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” Xue Liangliang was startled. He feared the boy was having some kind of breakdown because of him.

In his mind, Li Zhuiyuan frantically recited his family network—an anchoring technique. This time, he even invoked Northern Grandpa and Northern Grandma, repeating Qin Li’s name more and more.

That girl, whose eyes saw only him—he couldn’t bear to face her gaze and respond with cold indifference.

He kept chanting to himself: I only just figured out how to approach the eighth volume of physiognomy—I haven’t dared try it yet, that doesn’t count as mastery! My theory of fate structure and projection isn’t fully complete either. Sure, I’m making progress, but what if I hit a wall later?

No, even if I mastered those two, there’s still all those books in Great-Grandpa’s basement. I couldn’t possibly finish them all, let alone master them. I’ll definitely fail. I won’t understand them. I’ll hit a wall, burn out, give up!

Smack!

A sharp, silent snap echoed within him—his awareness and identity locked back into place.

Li Zhuiyuan finally let out a breath, sinking against the chair, face dripping with cold sweat.

Yep—nothing cures dissociation better than academic defeat.

This sudden episode might have been triggered by breaking into the eighth volume last night—it had knocked him out of his usual “underachiever” mindset.

“Little Yuan, are you okay?”

“I’m fine now, Liangliang-ge.” Li Zhuiyuan wiped the sweat from his forehead. To reassure him, he even added deliberately, “It’s not because of this—I have epilepsy.”

“Oh, I see. Just sit tight, don’t move. I’ll get you a warm towel.”

“Okay. Thanks, Liangliang-ge.”

Once Xue Liangliang left, Li Zhuiyuan caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye—it was Yingzi-jie.

She was at this hospital too? Did her grandparents get transferred here from the town clinic?

That meant Great-Grandpa might be here as well?

But Li Zhuiyuan stayed put, not chasing after her. He didn’t want Xue Liangliang to come back and panic if he found the seat empty.

Xue Liangliang soon returned with a fresh towel. He carefully wiped Li Zhuiyuan’s face, even gesturing for him to lift his arms so he could dry the sweat under his sleeves, keeping him from catching a chill.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Xue Liangliang smiled. “Yesterday you said you were local, but I heard you speaking Nantong dialect to the nurse during your blood test.”

“I grew up in Beijing. Just recently came back to my hometown.”

“Beijing, huh? I’ve been there—once, for a university exchange event. I visited Weiming Lake.”

Li Zhuiyuan thought to himself: Funny we didn’t bump into each other.

“City kids have it so good,” Xue Liangliang sighed.

“Where’s your family from, Liangliang-ge?”

“Me? I’m from a rural part of Anhui. My family house is beautiful—just poor.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded. He, too, thought the old houses in Siyuan Village were lovely, especially the flat roofs and upturned eaves—elegant designs.

“Such a pity though. Once families get wealthier, they tear them down to build concrete homes.”

“That’s to live better lives.”

“I get it, but I think in the future, when ordinary folks have it good, they’ll start to enjoy tourism like people in developed countries. If we don’t demolish the old homes, maybe they could become attractions.”

Li Zhuiyuan looked at Xue Liangliang and marveled at the older boy’s keen insight.

He wasn’t a natural-born genius or one of those gifted classmates—but he had a knack for observing patterns, seeing the root of a problem. He could think long-term.

Maybe that’s a kind of genius too.

“Haha, you probably think I’m talking nonsense. Like who’d ever pay to line up just to visit some old village houses?”

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. “I think you’re right.”

“You’re smart too, really. I can tell. How are your grades?”

“Pretty good. Not many kids in class can beat me.”

“That’s because you’re still young. In lower grades, the curriculum’s light, the gap is small, and there’s less competition. Wait till junior high, high school, college—you’ll understand. Don’t get cocky now.”

“Got it.”

Then Li Zhuiyuan pointed toward the stairwell. “Liangliang-ge, I just saw my cousin going upstairs. Her grandparents are in this hospital. She and my aunt should be staying with them. I want to say hi.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“No need to trouble yourself. I can go alone.”

“No way. Not until we get your test results and confirm you’re okay. I’m taking you home personally.”

“Alright, Liangliang-ge.”

The fourth and fifth floors were inpatient wards. Without a patient name, Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t search for a room number—he had to peek into each one.

It didn’t take long before a loud, familiar voice rang out: “What the hell is this?!”

It was Great-Grandpa.

Li Zhuiyuan immediately rushed over, Xue Liangliang close behind.

In the hallway, patients and relatives had begun poking their heads out, drawn by the commotion.

At the room’s door, he pushed it open.

Inside, Li Sanjiang stood with a peachwood sword in hand, shielding Yingzi, Third Aunt, and two other middle-aged adults behind him. Two elderly patients lay convulsing on separate beds—presumably Yingzi’s grandparents.

Their bodies jerked violently, fresh blood streaming from eyes, ears, nose, and especially the mouth—flooding the sheets and pooling on the floor.

And yet, even like this, they struggled to speak through bloody, gurgling mouths:

“Spare us… spare us… Bai Family Matron…”

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