Seeing Qi Zheng here was the last straw Lin Qiao could cling to for survival. To ensure everything went smoothly, while keeping her eyes fixed on the door, she breathed onto the window and quickly traced the letters SOS with her finger.
After Qi Zheng entered the ward, the nurse left soon after. She was clever enough not to notice Lin Qiao, so the message she had written remained undiscovered. Qi Zheng, however, lingered inside for quite some time without emerging. Lin Qiao stood on tiptoe, waiting desperately by the door, but grew increasingly hopeless as she saw no sign of him. Still, she couldn’t give up—this was her only chance to save herself. She breathed onto the glass again, rewriting SOS. Just as she finished the final stroke, a turning point emerged.
Qi Zheng finally stepped out of the ward, his brow slightly furrowed as if deep in thought, and without glancing toward Lin Qiao’s room. Lin Qiao anxiously began pounding on the door, hoping to draw his attention. Her knocking interrupted his thoughts, and he turned toward her in confusion.
Delighted, Lin Qiao began gesturing frantically at the window, trying to explain something to Qi Zheng while repeatedly pointing at the SOS on the glass, hoping he would understand.
Qi Zheng was clearly intelligent, though visibly hesitant. He stood in place for about a minute, scanning the surroundings before slowly approaching her ward. Lin Qiao wasn’t sure if he could hear her through the door, so she resorted to her old method: she wiped off the SOS and quickly wrote a new message: *Save me, I’ve been wrongly locked in!*
Qi Zheng read the message with a frown, his deep brown eyes gazing intently at her. Lin Qiao feared he might mistake her for a mentally unstable patient too. She quickly erased the message and wrote a phone number instead. Then, she mimed holding a phone to her ear and wrote beneath the number: *Call him.*
Qi Zheng tilted his head slightly, cautiously scanning the corridor. It seemed he spotted someone approaching, so he immediately turned back, gave Lin Qiao a thumbs-up gesture, and left. Soon after, Lin Qiao saw Dr. Zhao, the doctor who had injected her with sedatives, approaching.
Lin Qiao quickly wiped off the writing on the window, retreated to her bed, pulled the covers over herself, and pretended to be dazed. Had Qi Zheng really understood? He gave the thumbs-up, so he should call the number, right?
The number she had written was Shen Qingzhou’s. But since Qi Zheng hadn’t taken notes, would he forget or misremember it? Had she written it clearly enough, or had it been too messy for him to read correctly? This was her only chance to connect with the outside world—if anything went wrong, she had no idea when she would get another opportunity.
She couldn’t expect Shen Qingzhou to magically find this place—it was a mental hospital, after all. He was just a feng shui master, not a god who could divine everything. She needed to figure out a way to save herself and help him find her.
Dr. Zhao arrived at Lin Qiao’s ward a little later. Perhaps he had met Qi Zheng and spoken briefly. Lin Qiao had returned earlier, but she wasn’t sure if that was actually what happened. If they had spoken, what had they said? Were they even working together? If so, Dr. Zhao might already know she was planning to escape—would he come in and inject her again?
Terrified, Lin Qiao pulled the blanket tightly over her face. The sound of the door unlocking made her grip the sheets tightly, trembling. The doctor’s shoes clicked loudly on the polished floor, each step matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. Lin Qiao felt as though a heavy stone pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Just as she felt she couldn’t take it anymore, the blanket was suddenly yanked away. Dr. Zhao stood beside her bed, expressionless, looking down at her. They stared at each other for a moment before he coldly remarked, “If you want to suffocate, you can cover yourself again.”
Lin Qiao blinked in confusion, deliberately feigning a dazed and clueless expression. Dr. Zhao studied her for a moment before slowly sitting down on the chair and watching her with calm detachment.
“Fang Zheng will be here soon. I came ahead to warn you—don’t provoke him when he arrives.” He paused briefly, pointing at his chest. “He’s ruthless. Don’t think he’ll show you mercy just because you’re a woman.”
Lin Qiao took a deep breath and cautiously asked, “Have you helped him deal with many cases like this before?”
Dr. Zhao leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, appearing thoughtful. “Not too many, but enough.”
Lin Qiao couldn’t help but blurt out, “Aren’t you afraid someone will find out and send you to prison?”
Dr. Zhao didn’t seem very old—probably in his late twenties, around the same age as Shen Qingzhou and Fang Zheng, though slightly younger than Qi Zheng. His features weren’t particularly striking, but together they left a strong impression. His dark under-eye circles and pale complexion gave him a ghostly pallor. He met her gaze without hesitation, his voice cold and unyielding, like ice frozen solid.
“Scared? Of course. No one wants to go to jail.” He gave a sarcastic smirk, though it wasn’t really a smile. “That’s why I make sure I never leave any evidence that could put me behind bars.”
Lin Qiao studied his expression and asked pointedly, “You’re so confident there are no flaws?”
Dr. Zhao crossed his legs, arms folded, and gave her a dismissive sidelong glance. As the chief psychiatrist of the mental hospital, he seemed more like a patient himself.
“No, I’m not confident at all. I’m actually very insecure. Insecure people tend to be more cautious, which is why I can do this.” He stood up, towering over her coldly. “I didn’t come here to chat. I’m telling you—if Fang Zheng asks you anything, just go along with him. If he’s happy, he’ll take you out of here. Once you’re out, it’ll be easier to escape.”
Lin Qiao looked surprised. “Why are you helping me?”
Dr. Zhao leaned in closer, and Lin Qiao instinctively pulled back. He chuckled at her fearful reaction, though the smile was unsettling. His eyes were dark and deep, his face sharp as a cold blade.
“Miss Lin, didn’t I just explain enough? This is a transaction. I’m giving you a warning: cooperate here, and once you leave, don’t talk about this place.” He straightened up, his tone meaningful. “If you agree, we’ll be even. If not…” He narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice. “I won’t mind keeping you here forever. Places like this only need a piece of paper to keep you locked up indefinitely.”
Lin Qiao shivered at the implication. Dr. Zhao, however, wasn’t done.
“Once you’re in here, whether your condition improves or not, when you’ll recover, and when you’ll be discharged—all of it depends on what I say. Think carefully. When you meet Fang Zheng, don’t say anything foolish, not even when you leave.” He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Miss Lin, this isn’t a threat. If you leave, we’ll go our separate ways. But if you seek revenge, I can always say you suffer from delusional disorder. All of this could be your hallucination. No one here will support your version of events.”
It was a blatant threat, but one Lin Qiao had no choice but to accept. The nurse from last night was proof enough. She knew Dr. Zhao was dangerous, and since she had been locked in with them, if anything went wrong, they would certainly collude. The only witnesses were Lin Qiao and the hospital staff. If their testimonies aligned and Dr. Zhao produced medical proof of her supposed mental illness, the court would obviously believe them.
True, there might still be surveillance footage. But all it would show was a woman struggling as doctors and nurses escorted her into a ward—just like every other psychiatric patient. She had no way to refute that.
Exhausted, Lin Qiao rubbed her temples. Her mind had been working nonstop since yesterday, desperately searching for a solution, but she had come up with nothing.
As Dr. Zhao had said, Fang Zheng arrived soon after. He entered alone, closed the door, and sat facing her. After a moment of silent eye contact, he spoke softly, “Have you made up your mind?”
Lin Qiao stayed silent, afraid that if she spoke, she might say something he didn’t want to hear—and then get another injection.
Fang Zheng seemed to sense her fear and chuckled. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t let him inject you again.”
Lin Qiao looked at him doubtfully. He raised his hand as if to stroke her head, but she instinctively flinched backward. His hand froze midair, and the smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by a heavy expression.
Damn it, she must have upset him. What the hell was wrong with him? He had never been this neurotic before. Had being in the mental hospital triggered something?
What had happened to Fang Zheng in Shen Qingzhou’s cursed house? Why had he become so unhinged after staying there for a while? It was a shame such a handsome face had gone to waste.
“Lin Qiao, I’ve always been lenient with you because I thought we had no connection. I didn’t want to drag an innocent person into this.”
His words sounded noble, but they made Lin Qiao’s expression darken. So he actually knew she was innocent?
Fang Zheng stared at her and continued, “But you shouldn’t have gotten so close to Shen Qingzhou. Since I can’t touch him for now, I had to start with you. I just wanted to tell you about his time in America. Why wouldn’t you listen?”
To avoid provoking him again, Lin Qiao finally broke her silence, forcing herself to sound gentle. “I’m willing to listen now. Would you still be willing to tell me?”
Fang Zheng curled his lips into a complicated expression.
Lin Qiao couldn’t read his mood and cautiously continued, “Can we talk somewhere else? This isn’t really the right place.”
Fang Zheng’s smile widened into a mocking grin. “Lin Qiao, stop dreaming. You still want to run? Do you think I still have a way out now? I admit—I acted impulsively when I brought you here yesterday, but you left me no choice. I didn’t want to do this. Why won’t anyone give me a chance to be a good person? Now that things have happened, I won’t regret my decision. I won’t let you go back to Shen Qingzhou. Do you think he’ll let me go?”
Before Lin Qiao could speak, someone else interrupted.
In less than twenty-four hours, Lin Qiao had imagined this moment more than once. She had pictured how Shen Qingzhou would look when he came to rescue her—but reality was nothing like any of her fantasies.
In all her imagined scenarios, none could match the tangible, real presence of him standing before her now.
“Apparently not.” Shen Qingzhou kicked open the ward door, rushed to the bed, and immediately grabbed Fang Zheng’s collar, hurling him aside. He stood protectively in front of Lin Qiao.
With a calm, icy politeness, he said, “Fang Zheng, deluding yourself into believing you’ve suffered great harm and forcing others to agree with you—those are symptoms. You belong in this bed. This kind of illness is known as a compulsive need to publicly humiliate yourself. This hospital is clearly more suitable for you.”
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