A pervasive mist shrouded the world. Nearby trees were cloaked in a white veil, and as my gaze moved further away, nothing else could be seen.
The low visibility made one feel, in a trance, that there was only this stilt house between heaven and earth.
I stood beneath the long corridor of the stilt house, lost and unsure where to go.
Should I move forward? Or choose to stay?
The empty surroundings made me feel insecure, though loneliness itself was what I was most accustomed to.
My mind was empty. It felt like I had left something important behind, or someone. But I couldn’t recall it for a moment.
I caressed the long pillar of the stilt house, feeling the marks of erosion left by long years upon it. Every intricate line pricked my palm.
The sensation was so real.
I attempted to walk down. As soon as I lifted my foot, before placing it on the next step, I heard a clear voice from behind me.
“Yuze Ah-ge.”
I sharply turned back, only to clearly see a pair of pitch-black eyes.
Within those deep eyes lay heavy affection and uncontrollable obsession.
My heart trembled violently twice, the force shaking my chest with pain.
“Shen Jianqing…”
In that instant, I remembered what I had forgotten, and in that instant, I regained consciousness.
“Shen Jianqing!”
I suddenly opened my eyes in the boundless night.
This was just a dream.
This was another dream.
A faint echo of me calling his name in distress still hung in the air. I couldn’t even tell if I’d jolted myself awake by shouting too loudly.
This was also why I moved out of the dorm.
I’ll never forget the first time I woke up screaming Shen Jianqing’s name in the dorm and then met my roommates’ strange gazes.
They didn’t necessarily discover anything; they even teased me about secretly having a girlfriend behind their backs.
I didn’t know how to answer, feeling inexplicably guilty.
But after it happened too many times, they inevitably grew suspicious. Someone tentatively asked me,
“Who is Shen Jianqing? Is it someone from our school? When can we all hang out together?”
I stammered and equivocated, only saying he was a friend from another school.
Later, I decided to move out, not just because I was afraid of disturbing them, but even more so because I feared shouting something absurd in my sleep. Fortunately, I had saved some money before and also asked my parents for a bit more, buying a small apartment in the city center not far from the school, a place where I could settle down.
Unconsciously, autumn had fully arrived, and the nights were cold and desolate. Nights in the city center are never short of lights. My room was close to the street and on a high floor, so I could overlook the city’s night view simply by opening the window. The neon lights from downstairs spilled their colorful glow into the room, allowing shapes to be faintly visible even without switching on the lights.
This was completely different from the Miao village. There, at night, it was an absolute, pure darkness.
Sleep had left me. I got up, went to the window, and stared at the hazy lights in the distant building.
The building opposite was a skyscraper commercial complex, touted as a place where one “could live out their entire life within the building,” integrating dining, entertainment, medical care, and elderly care all in one structure. It even had tutoring centers for children.
Because time had passed, I had already figured out the main function of each floor and become familiar with the lights that stayed on all night.
This was yet another of countless sleepless nights for me.
It’s laughable, but in the Miao village, in Shen Jianqing’s stilt house, during those days and nights yearning for freedom, I often slept dreamlessly. Yet, when I returned to my own world, when I finally attained the freedom I so desperately desired, I found myself unable to sleep at night.
I always dream of Shen Jianqing. The moment I close my eyes, his face fills my mind.
Sometimes it’s his normal appearance, but more often it’s his obsessive, fierce look. Most frequently, it’s our last encounter: him falling clumsily to the ground, still threatening me fiercely.
This is a very painful experience.
The more I want to forget him, the more I want to start a new life, and the more powerless I feel against this situation.
I left the Miao village, but I think I haven’t truly left that Miao territory.
No, I need to rest. Tomorrow there’s a very important lecture. I thought, lying back on the bed, closing my eyes, and forcing myself to fall asleep quickly.
In the latter half of the night, I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, barely holding on until dawn. As soon as morning came, I got up without hesitation, packed my things, and headed to school.
Today’s lecture was given by a renowned psychology professor, with the theme of life, health, and safety. The faculty required all senior students to attend, and it counted for academic credit.
I was the first to arrive. The lecture hall was empty, and it felt as if I suddenly had immense power of choice, able to pick any desired seat.
Just as I chose a seat in the front row near the aisle, the front door suddenly pushed open, and a tall girl walked in. She had shoulder-length hair, with a thin silver ribbon woven through it. The ribbon hung down her shoulder, looking very docile and also very familiar.
I was stunned for a moment, unable to resist looking at her twice.
The girl also didn’t expect anyone to be in the classroom. She looked left and right and quietly said, “Senior… Senior Li, you’re here so early?”
I asked in surprise, “You know me?”
“In our Faculty of Arts, who doesn’t know you?” The girl smiled, a dimple appearing on her cheek. “It’s just that you don’t know me.”
She spoke as she confidently walked onto the podium, pulled a USB drive from her bag, and began setting up the equipment. With her head bowed and her hands busy, she said, “I told myself this student assistant job would be worth it; I’m getting to be in the same frame as the Faculty of Arts’ recognized heartthrob!”
I felt a bit awkward, unsure whether to respond. Not responding seemed impolite, but her choice of words was quite exaggerated.
The atmosphere grew quiet.
Just when I thought she wouldn’t speak again, she continued, absorbed in her own thoughts: “Shouldn’t this be the part where you ask my name?”
She was quite the familiar type. I could only go along with it and ask, “So, what’s your name?”
The girl immediately said proudly, “I’m your direct junior from the same academic lineage. My name is Zhao Rugu. The ‘Rugu’ from the saying ‘New clothes are not as good as old ones, and new people are not as dear as old friends.’”
Zhao Rugu. Hmm… Never heard of her, no impression at all.
As we spoke, the lecture hall gradually filled up. Zhao Ruguyu skillfully opened the lecture materials and, neither humble nor overbearing, began organizing the seating for our group of senior students, awaiting the arrival of the main lecturer.
Just before the start, the professor arrived, along with other teachers from the faculty. Zhao Rugu finished her tasks, then quietly approached me with a slight bow, pointed to the empty seat beside me, and with a twinkle in her eyes, asked, “Senior Li, can I sit here?”
I stood up to let her have the seat.
The lecturing professor was very serious and stern, imparting common knowledge about mental illnesses.
“Some of you are about to enter society, while others might choose to continue their studies. Whichever path you take, you cannot neglect your mental health. Next, I want to introduce you to a psychological condition you’ve probably heard of often—Stockholm Syndrome.”
A considerable buzz of discussion immediately erupted in the lecture hall. Everyone seemed very interested in this condition, some even discussing their understanding of it with each other.
The professor sat high on the podium and cleared his throat loudly, and the classroom immediately fell silent.
“Stockholm Syndrome, also known as Hostage Identification Syndrome. Its name comes from the very famous bank robbery and hostage crisis in Stockholm, Sweden… Clinically, victims not only do not loathe or resent their captors but instead develop other positive emotions, such as identification and gratitude, and some even develop love.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the lecture hall burst into chaos like a boiling pot. Everyone began voicing their opinions and judgments on this strange, unsettling psychological condition.
Amid the commotion, cold sweat soaked my body, and I felt like I was sitting on a bed of needles. It was as if my heart had sunk to the depths of the ocean—heavy, suffocated, and gasping for air.
Once the commotion quieted down, the professor surveyed the classroom and said coldly, “Do you all think this condition is rare and peculiar? In reality, it’s not an uncommon illness.”
Everyone’s gaze was fixed on the professor, their interest in the topic boundless.
“For example, a wife who endures domestic violence but refuses to divorce. She defends her husband in front of others, even believing he was merely momentarily confused. A bullied student develops admiration for their tormentor, even helping them bully other students. In ancient China, there’s the story of ‘a tiger’s accomplice’. This psychological phenomenon has drawn our attention for a very long time.”
The students all wore expressions of sudden realization.
Zhao Rugu suddenly leaned towards me and said, “Senior, do you think there are really people with Stockholm Syndrome around us? Liking someone who hurts them… that’s too strange, right?”
Before she could finish her sentence, I abruptly stood up.
Everyone’s eyes immediately focused on my face, and even the professor looked over in surprise.
I imagine my expression must have been terrible at that moment, but I truly couldn’t stay there any longer.
“Classmate, what’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath and said, “Professor, I’m feeling a bit unwell.”
The professor waved his hand: “Then hurry to the infirmary.”
It felt like I’d just been granted a great reprieve, and without even stopping to pack my bag, I bolted out of the classroom.
The air outside was much fresher than inside, but I still couldn’t catch my breath. Every word the professor said echoed in my ears. I didn’t know what I was trying to escape from by leaving.
I had asked myself a long time ago: Do I hate Shen Jianqing?
Of course, I do.
His obsession, his madness, almost ruined my entire life.
Yet, when I heard the professor’s words, I couldn’t help but feel an uncontrollable sense of guilt and fear.
Stockholm? I firmly believe I’m not that kind of emotionally fragile person. I’ve known for a long time that relying on others is the least reliable choice.
So why am I running away?
In countless sleepless nights, I had asked myself if I hated Shen Jianqing. I had received countless affirmative answers.
And now, another question, one I had never considered before, suddenly arose in my mind.
Li Yuze, when Shen Jianqing was gravely injured, you clearly had the best opportunity, why didn’t you leave?
