Chapter Sixteen: Bonds of Trust

When Yin Nian opened her eyes, she felt a cool teardrop slide down the corner. She reached up and touched it, discovering a line of clear tears. The tears came first, then the sorrow.

Soon after, her heart was engulfed by grief; silent tears quickly turned into choked sobs, and the tears flowed even more freely, merging into a stream, as if she was making up for all the tears she hadn’t shed in more than a decade.

Yuan Yi handed her a tissue and nodded quietly in encouragement and understanding, a gentle smile on his face.

In that moment, silent support meant more than a thousand words.

Yin Nian remembered the scenes she’d seen in the hypnotic trance—she remembered what she had said, remembered wiping the car with a towel, remembered her forehead slamming into the steering wheel and swelling into a large bump…

She remembered it all.

Which meant, she truly had hit Mrs. Yang; the old woman hadn’t tried to extort her—on the contrary, it was she who had tried to flee the scene.

What a bitter irony.

Yin Nian had, in order to escape responsibility for the accident, chosen to block that memory out. She felt deeply ashamed of her actions. She was certain Mrs. Yang had seen her and knew she was the one responsible, but Yin Nian had stubbornly refused to admit it. How deeply must that have hurt the innocent, injured woman?

Mrs. Yang was not a bad person, nor were her children. The real wrongdoer was Yin Nian herself.

Lost in overwhelming grief and guilt, Yin Nian overlooked some details—minor inconsistencies in the logic of the event itself. But these didn’t matter anymore: from the timeline, the whole incident now formed a coherent whole.

So, her husband hadn’t lied, and what Yangyang saw was the truth. It was she who had been deceiving herself, all the while swearing that everyone else was framing her.

“Did I…really lose my memory?” Yin Nian looked at Yuan Yi, eyes brimming with tears. She already knew the answer but still wanted to hear it from him.

“From all the signs, it was indeed selective amnesia,” Yuan Yi replied. “First, during the crash, your head struck the steering wheel—that was the first blow. I suspect this may have caused a mild concussion, setting the stage for your later blackout. Then, you got out of the car and saw Mrs. Yang lying there, eyes wide open, staring at you. That scene must have terrified you, your mind went blank, and you lost the ability to think. Finally, as you stumbled backward, you fell, likely hitting the back of your head. To protect you, your body forced you into unconsciousness.”

He paused a moment, then continued: “Because you fainted in such a state of terror and couldn’t accept that you’d killed someone, your psychological defense mechanisms kicked in after you woke up. You selectively erased your memory of the shocking accident. Coincidentally, Mrs. Yang wasn’t dead. Either she’d had a brief syncope, or when you checked her breathing at first, you didn’t do it properly. That’s why everything that followed happened.”

Yuan Yi spoke clearly and logically; Yin Nian now fully understood how her selective amnesia had come about—cause, process, and result—a series of coincidences leading to a tragic misunderstanding.

Had she realized Mrs. Yang was alive when checking her breathing, none of this would have happened. And if she hadn’t tripped and hit her head, she wouldn’t have fainted, and thus wouldn’t have lost her memory.

It all seemed as if it were destined.

Yin Nian let out a long sigh, finding it hard to believe the truth was so strange, and amazed that the mind could so thoroughly deceive itself. But the incident had happened, and no matter how well it was hidden or denied, there would always be traces left behind: the terrifying scenes in her nightmares, the flashes of the accident, the constant unease and anxiety—all pointed to something deeper and more hidden.

Now, at last, she understood what that secret was.

Yin Nian lowered her head in grief. She realized she had not only hit someone, but had also developed a strange form of amnesia. Most frightening of all, she didn’t know if she had forgotten other things as well.

She had once been so confident, always certain of her own words and deeds. But now, after this amnesia, would she ever be as sure of herself? When someone questioned whether she had said or done something, would she still deny it with conviction, still believe herself?

This incident struck at her confidence far more than the accident itself. It threatened to overturn the self-assurance she had built up over thirty years, forcing her to reevaluate herself and rebuild her understanding and behavior.

Whether she had hit someone seemed less important now—as long as Mrs. Yang hadn’t died, money could solve the problem.

But the psychological blow, the spiritual harm, was immeasurable.

It was difficult for Yin Nian to accept this result. In truth, she could not accept it at all.

“How can I know if I’ve forgotten other things?” she asked Yuan Yi, her voice full of sorrow.

“If it’s not something critical, it doesn’t really matter,” Yuan Yi said. “Amnesia is a rare event, after all.”

“Will this happen again?” Yin Nian asked anxiously. If she were to keep losing her memory, how could she live and work?

“From a psychological perspective, this would not normally happen. Only in cases of sudden emotional trauma, coupled with a preexisting brain issue, would it occur. Based on your experience, I suspect your selective amnesia is closely related to the blows to your head. If you hadn’t had two consecutive head injuries, you probably wouldn’t have lost your memory. So I suggest you have your head checked for mild concussion or any other trauma, just in case.”

“I understand…” Yin Nian looked at Yuan Yi with gratitude on her face.

“You should take some time to rest and adjust your mood. Don’t take this too seriously, and don’t let other people’s judgments weigh on you. Just be yourself and enjoy the present,” Yuan Yi said with a gentle smile—both encouraging and comforting.

“You’re a good doctor,” Yin Nian said sincerely.

“Thank you.” Yuan Yi smiled warmly, but then, as if remembering something, glanced at the vermilion wardrobe in the corner, a trace of solemnity flashing across his face.

When he turned back, his expression was calm again. He cleared his throat and asked, “Any other questions?”

Yin Nian had a few lingering doubts, but they were minor details and didn’t affect her understanding of the main event. Compared to the accident, she was more concerned about the amnesia itself. “No, not for now…”

Yuan Yi closed his notebook. “Given your current instability, I suggest you come back in three days so we can check on your recovery. If you’re stable then, we can have another follow-up a week later, and if everything’s fine, we can end the consultation cycle in half a month. What do you think?”

Yin Nian agreed.

After these two consultations, Yin Nian had developed a strong trust in Yuan Yi. His calm and gentle demeanor made her feel at ease; his kind smile and encouraging gaze made her feel welcome and accepted, as if no matter how shameful or embarrassing her confession, he would neither mind nor judge.

She could truly sense the compassion in Yuan Yi—he genuinely cared about her, not just out of professional obligation or courtesy, and not simply for the sake of treatment. That was especially rare.

Yet Yin Nian could vaguely sense a subtle sorrow and pain in Yuan Yi, something he occasionally betrayed unconsciously. Perhaps it was this deep pain that let him empathize with his patients so well and quickly build a strong bond of trust.

When Yin Nian rose from the sofa, her legs felt weak and she nearly collapsed. Yuan Yi reached out to steady her. Up close, Yin Nian noticed a small patch of white hair on the left side of his forehead, hidden beneath his black hair—hard to notice unless seen from below and close by.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No need. It’s my job. Really, you should thank yourself—for having the courage to face your pain,” Yuan Yi replied with a gentle smile, withdrawing his hand.

“See you next time,” Yin Nian said, feeling much of her sadness dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm.

Outside, Liang Zhicheng was waiting. When Yin Nian emerged, his first glance was not at her, but at Yuan Yi behind her, his gaze probing. Yuan Yi nodded silently and said nothing.

After Yin Nian and Liang Zhicheng left, Yuan Yi returned to the consultation room, sat in the armchair, and gazed motionless at the sofa, as if turned to stone.

He didn’t know how much time passed before his phone vibrated, breaking the spell. He took it out and answered.

“How is it?” came a low male voice from the other end.

“She believes now, but her mental state isn’t good. She needs close observation. If there’s a problem, don’t act rashly—come to me at once,” Yuan Yi replied.

“Alright.” The call ended.

Yuan Yi put away his phone and stared blankly ahead. Just then, a creaking sound came from somewhere. He slowly turned his head toward the vermilion wardrobe in the corner. The creaking continued, coming from inside the wardrobe.

Yuan Yi rose and walked slowly toward it.