Chapter Twelve: The Psychologist

Yin Nian was persuaded by Liang Zhicheng—or perhaps, more accurately, she began to doubt herself. She wanted to understand, on a psychological level, why she kept having nightmares, why images of the accident flashed through her mind. That was why she decided to see a psychologist.

Through a mutual acquaintance, Liang Zhicheng arranged for Yin Nian to meet with a psychologist that very day.

That afternoon, the two of them set out together to the appointment. Yin Nian wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, her body wrapped tightly in an ankle-length dress. In the elevator, Liang Zhicheng noticed that Yin Nian stood in the far corner—a first for her. She had always stood in the center, unafraid of anyone’s gaze. Clearly, the recent incident had dealt her a heavy blow, altering even her state of mind.

Liang Zhicheng drove, and Yin Nian sat in the passenger seat. She was visibly anxious, her fingers drumming the seat, her gaze flickering uncertainly between the road ahead and the passing scenery.

Arriving at the clinic, Yin Nian quietly followed behind Liang Zhicheng, almost as if she were shadowing his every step. This was rare; usually she strode ahead, with him following. The sudden reversal unsettled him. He turned and asked with a smile, “Why are you behind me today?”

Yin Nian glanced around nervously and whispered, “I don’t know why, but I’m a little scared of this place…”

Liang Zhicheng sensed something was off. “What’s wrong? Why are you afraid?”

“I’m not sure. I just feel inexplicably uneasy…”

“This isn’t like you. You’re never afraid, no matter where we go,” he teased gently, half encouraging, half jesting. “Be brave. There’s nothing to fear—I’ll always be at your side.”

Just then, a voice called Liang Zhicheng’s name. He turned and saw a man in a white shirt waving with a gentle smile. Liang Zhicheng smiled back, then said to Yin Nian, “Let’s go.”

As they approached, Liang Zhicheng made a simple introduction. The man was the psychologist they had arranged to meet—Yuan Yi, a fellow alumnus from their university, though a year ahead.

While Yuan Yi and Liang Zhicheng exchanged a few quiet words, Yin Nian observed them. She found it curious; they seemed to know each other—had they met before?

Yin Nian’s first impression of the psychologist was positive: cultured and refined, his speech measured, his voice magnetic, his gaze gentle and his smile natural.

After filling out the necessary forms, Liang Zhicheng said, “You go in—I’ll wait outside.”

Yin Nian followed Yuan Yi into the consultation room.

Inside, the space was tranquil and understated, decorated in pale blue and white. A faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air. Sunlight streamed through spotless windows, and the elegant decor was only disrupted by a vermilion wardrobe in the corner, whose purpose was unclear.

Strangely, as soon as she entered and sat on the sofa, Yin Nian’s agitation eased. Clearly, environment can alter one’s mood—especially, she thought, depending on the company.

Yuan Yi sat opposite her in an armchair, appearing utterly calm. Yin Nian sensed no particular aura from him; he seemed almost like a piece of furniture, part of the room itself. This, she realized, was by design—he surrendered his own presence, allowing her to dominate the space. Only then, in this unfamiliar room, could she swiftly feel safe enough to open up.

“Yin Nian, you have a lovely name,” Yuan Yi said, pouring her a glass of water. “Many things in life truly hinge on a single thought.”

“Thank you,” she replied. His voice was steady and gentle, instantly reassuring.

“Can you tell me about the problem you’re facing?” he asked, meeting her eyes with a slight smile—a look both encouraging and subtly suggestive.

“I’ve been having nightmares…” Yin Nian replied, then fell silent. It was difficult to bare her soul to a stranger, especially for someone as strong-willed as herself. Yet, though this was their first meeting, Yuan Yi gave her a rare sense of security. Perhaps that was the special charm of a seasoned psychologist.

“Could you describe your dreams?” Yuan Yi opened his notebook and began to write.

Yin Nian hesitated. Partly, she didn’t know where to begin; partly, the whole experience felt strange.

“Just say whatever comes to mind,” Yuan Yi guided her softly. “Or, perhaps, start with how your dreams make you feel. Are they frightening?”

His words struck right at the heart of the matter. Yin Nian blurted, “Frightening—terrifying…”

Yuan Yi didn’t press her, but simply nodded, waiting for her to go on.

“I dream of an old woman… covered in blood… crawling onto my bed and grabbing my foot…”

“She grabs your foot?” Yuan Yi repeated, both to clarify and to lead her on.

“Yes… she grabs my foot…” Yin Nian’s voice trembled slightly as she pressed her feet together. “Her hand is so cold—when she holds my foot, I can’t move it… When I wake, my foot is icy…”

“Was it your left foot or your right?” Yuan Yi asked.

Yin Nian looked puzzled, unsure why he focused on this detail.

“Try to remember—which foot was it?” Yuan Yi pressed gently, his tone firm yet patient.

Yin Nian wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she closed her eyes and tried to picture the dream. After a moment, her brows knitted and she instinctively moved her right foot, surprised. “It was my right foot…”

“Was it always your right foot?”

“I think so… Why? Does the right foot mean something?”

“In psychology, dreams are a form of subconscious expression. Details in dreams represent overlooked information in real life. If you had to guess, what does your right foot signify? Have you had any issues with it recently?” Yuan Yi’s gaze flickered briefly to the wardrobe in the corner.

“No, nothing…” Yin Nian glanced at her right foot. Almost simultaneously, a memory flashed through her mind, and she said suddenly, “Could it be… the brake pedal?”