Zhang Wu’s worry about the aftereffects of this drug wasn’t something new. Ever since he had secretly noted the drug’s serial number back in the warehouse, he had been quietly trying to gather information. After all, for Shanhai Manor to mobilize such a massive effort just to auction this off, it certainly wasn’t something ordinary.
Zhang Wu’s intelligence came mainly from exchanging information with others during his detention. Later, because the new boss needed people, he was released early. During the intervals when he was attending the technical school for mechanical and electrical studies, he continued quietly probing for news. He also had some private channels: he tracked down several people who had dealt with the pharmaceutical company before problems arose, and combined that with rumors he overheard during his earlier surveillance—his understanding of BSW991 was quite thorough. That term “Master,” for instance, was actually a conventional term used by the person administering the drug.
This was why Zhang Wu was so concerned about Qi Ji.
But the other party might not even be aware of this. After asking the question, Zhang Wu carefully observed the boy’s expression.
Qi Ji’s reaction was better than Zhang Wu had expected; he didn’t show any major abnormality. He composed himself and shook his head. “No.”
Still, Zhang Wu couldn’t fully relax. “Xiao Qi, this is a crucial question. Think carefully; there’s no rush to answer. This ‘Master’ is someone your subconscious sees as absolutely obeyable. Whatever they say, you consider to be completely right. Think back—after leaving Shanhai Manor, in the people you’ve come in contact with, has there been anyone like that?”
Qi Ji paused, then shook his head again. “No.”
Neither Doctor Zhao nor Pei Yusheng matched Zhang Wu’s description.
“Does this kind of person always exist after using the drug?” he asked. “After I left, I was unconscious. By the time I woke up, I was already somewhere safe, and I don’t remember what happened. Everyone I interacted with were familiar faces.”
Zhang Wu, however, showed no surprise. “You’re not the only one, Xiao Qi. Everyone who’s taken it doesn’t remember what they went through while the drug was active.”
Qi Ji blinked. “Everyone?”
“Well, not literally everyone,” Zhang Wu said. “But in every case I’ve learned about, it’s like that. That’s why users are completely unaware of being conditioned and will obey someone else’s orders unconditionally.”
He didn’t go into the specifics of the conditioning process— even if the police were lucky enough to intervene, it would still be a scar for Qi Ji.
Still, based on the nature of the drug, Qi Ji could roughly guess what it involved.
He forced himself to calm down, ignoring shame or other distracting emotions, and focused on the question. “But I really haven’t met anyone like that. I went over it just now—no one made me feel they were absolutely right.”
Even Pei Yusheng, who had saved him from the fighting ring, hadn’t made him feel compelled to obey.
“Maybe there are exceptions?”
Zhang Wu was silent for a moment. “If there are, then that’s all the better.”
But in all previous records of the drug’s use, there had never been an exception—this, he didn’t say.
“Let’s go through the process,” Zhang Wu said, shifting gears. “Just recall what you can; don’t force yourself.”
Qi Ji nodded. “Okay.”
“The way the drug works is like this,” Zhang Wu said seriously. “After long-term use, certain nerves—well, I can’t remember the details, so I’ll keep it simple. After the last dose, the person under the drug will enter an uncontrollable state. During this time, no matter what is done to them, they won’t resist, and may even develop an attachment to this treatment.”
To consider Qi Ji’s feelings, Zhang Wu avoided terms with sexual connotations, speaking in a grave tone.
“But this acceptance isn’t limitless. After a certain point, under the drug’s impact, the person partially regains awareness and forms a psychological defense to protect themselves, sometimes resisting.”
“During this process, the person will imagine a protective figure—like a relative or an object—to shield them from pain. The one administering the drug will then shatter this illusion, showing them they can rely only on the drug-giver. This usually takes about two months. By the end, the person will be completely obedient.”
Two months.
Qi Ji noted this timeline. Zhang Wu had also taken two months to be released.
But in reality, Qi Ji hadn’t needed that long to recover. Although the drug’s physiological effects lasted a long time, he was able to return to normal work in just over two weeks.
He mentioned this, and Zhang Wu considered it. “There are cases under two months,” he said.
“That situation was special,” Zhang Wu continued, “from gossip I heard earlier. The drug was given by a husband to his wife. When the woman formed her psychological defense, she imagined her protector as her husband. The man didn’t break her illusion, making himself the strongest figure in her mind. Within a month, she recovered and became completely obedient to her husband.”
Qi Ji was surprised. “They were already married—why use the drug?”
“For money,” Zhang Wu said. “Her family was wealthy, and the man had none—he was just a freeloader, good at pleasing her for a time, but not for life. He used this to make her obey him completely. Once this story got out, the drug manufacturer was punished, and the drug became underground-only.”
Zhang Wu waved his hand. “That’s beside the point. Let’s focus on the drug’s effects.”
He said seriously, “Xiao Qi, that example is exactly what I worry about. Since you regained awareness so quickly, is it possible someone you relied on triggered your recovery?”
Qi Ji realized the implication. Yet even after multiple reminders, he couldn’t identify this “cunning, scheming figure.”
He shook his head. “There was no one I could trust at that time.”
Zhang Wu furrowed his brows. The hypothetical enemy was more hidden than expected.
He tried another approach: “Then imagine—who would your first instinct be to protect you?”
This time, Qi Ji didn’t hesitate. “My dad.”
“Ah?” Zhang Wu was momentarily stunned, then quickly clenched his fist and hit his palm in realization. “Right! How did I not think of that? Could be a senior!”
He hurriedly explained. “After the police rescued you, you must have received treatment. Maybe the doctor arranged for your father to comfort you. As your imagined protector, he could have brought you back to awareness.”
The more Zhang Wu spoke, the more it made sense. “It’s normal for a child to obey their parents.”
“Xiao Qi, think—was your dad by your side when you woke?”
Qi Ji’s lips quivered slightly; he didn’t answer.
Zhang Wu asked cautiously, “Anyone else you thought might protect you?”
Qi Ji thought, shook his head. “No one.”
At that time, the only person he could trust was his late father. He could have considered He Xiu as another option, but they had been out of touch for years, and when they finally met, Qi Ji still withheld information, so obedience wasn’t unconditional.
Zhang Wu didn’t press further. “If there’s none, then there’s none.”
He had said so much mainly to warn Qi Ji not to be unknowingly controlled. Since there truly was no “Master,” that was the best outcome.
“You’re fine—that’s what matters,” Zhang Wu said. “At the end of the day, just trust your own judgment and don’t be swayed.”
“I understand,” Qi Ji said sincerely. “Thank you, Wu-ge.”
“No need,” Zhang Wu waved his hand. “Honestly, if I hadn’t met you, I might not be where I am today.”
Qi Ji was puzzled. “Wu-ge, why do you say that…?”
“You might not remember,” Zhang Wu smiled. “The day you first entered the ring, I happened to be watching. In three years, I’d seen hundreds of matches, and you were the most unique.”
“Because I looked too weak?” Qi Ji asked.
“That’s part of it, but not the main reason,” Zhang Wu said. “The key is your calmness.”
“I’ve seen all kinds of competitors—gangsters, gamblers, even pros taking side gigs. No matter their skill, everyone here was feverish, aggressive, even the audience, swept up in excitement. But you—completely different. Calm in a place like that. You didn’t fit in.”
Qi Ji chuckled. “Maybe I just take things lightly.”
After all, owing that much money, he had been betting with his life.
But Qi Ji didn’t anticipate what Zhang Wu said next.
“Take things lightly? I don’t think so. I’ve seen people with nothing left, their hearts resigned to death. Their resignation isn’t like your calmness.”
“I was curious, so I watched closely. That’s how I met you backstage after the match.”
Qi Ji recalled. “The first time you spoke to me?”
“Yes,” Zhang Wu asked. “Do you remember what you were doing then?”
With his excellent memory, Qi Ji answered easily. “I… was drawing?”
He remembered a commercial draft was due that night. After the match, with nothing to do backstage, he had grabbed some discarded flyers and sketched a draft.
Zhang Wu laughed. “Right, you were drawing.”
Qi Ji was confused—what did that have to do with calmness?
Zhang Wu quickly explained. “I wondered why you were so calm, but when you drew, I saw excitement in your eyes. I realized your coldness wasn’t constant—it was just that the fighting ring didn’t move you.”
Zhang Wu smiled. “And then I learned you’d already been through several years of college, despite looking so small. Even more impressive.”
Most fighters had dropped out of school early; high school graduates were rare.
“My family had a problem, and I finally scraped together fifteen thousand for a class. Lost it all in one day, left penniless. I thought, never mind—might as well earn here. But then I saw you. Such a determined kid. How could I give up?”
“So I kept self-studying and earning money on the side.”
Later, his ability to remotely control the electrical system was related to that self-study.
Qi Ji didn’t expect that.
“Anyway,” Zhang Wu said, grinning sheepishly, “you’re a great kid. Your future’s bright. Make sure you live well.”
He patted Qi Ji’s shoulder.
Qi Ji swallowed hard, inhaled deeply, and said, “I’ll remember, Wu-ge. Thank you.”
“No need,” Zhang Wu waved. “What I say is simple talk—nothing fancy. Just listen casually.”
They chatted a bit more before Zhang Wu left; he didn’t know when the colleagues would return, and bumping into them wouldn’t be ideal.
Soon, the colleagues returned to the villa, bringing some skewers from their lakeside outing for Qi Ji.
He thanked them and chatted briefly before returning to his room. Outwardly calm, Qi Ji’s mind was actually a whirlwind, endlessly analyzing.
Something was wrong.
Despite Zhang Wu’s long explanation, what bothered Qi Ji most was the “imagined protector.”
Zhang Wu didn’t know Qi Ji’s father had died. Qi Ji hadn’t explained, but once a box is opened, it’s hard to close. Fragmented memories began surfacing.
He remembered curling up in his father’s arms, crying, begging him not to leave. He recalled drawing together into the night, staying awake to finish sketches, fearing that if he slept, his father would disappear. His father would soothe him, promise tomorrow would be together, and carry him to bed while telling bedtime stories. He would eventually fall asleep, waking to find his father still there.
These memories were warm and comforting, condensed from years of longing.
And now, awakened by Zhang Wu’s words, Qi Ji sensed something off.
It wasn’t possible.
Many details didn’t fit.
Crying in his father’s arms wasn’t allowed—his mother had never let him cry, insisting he learn independence and sleep alone.
Drawing together for two days straight wasn’t possible; his father was only free during Lunar New Year, and even then, busy with family visits. Their old house didn’t even have a proper studio.
So whose voice, whose hands, had reassured him?
Confusion and disorientation overwhelmed him. He felt like he was piecing together a map but one crucial part was missing, leaving the truth hazy—more maddening than complete ignorance.
That night, Qi Ji tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
The next day, the group continued their survey. Despite completing his tasks on time, Qi Ji seemed absent-minded, several times failing to respond when colleagues called.
That night, they planned to stay at the lakeside villa, but since the next morning was free, Qi Ji chose to return to the Rose Villa. He didn’t care where he stayed, but Pei Yusheng had pulled an all-nighter yesterday; he needed rest. Qi Ji pushed thoughts of his father aside to focus on caring for his employer.
When the driver took him back, Pei Yusheng hadn’t returned. Qi Ji intended to wait upstairs but was stopped by Aunt Lin, who handed him a bowl of shrimp congee, saying it was on Mr. Pei’s orders.
After finishing, Qi Ji went to the master bedroom. He tried not to overthink, even briefly considering checking on the three white cats tomorrow. But once in the room, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the matter at hand.
Many memories of his father were tied to nighttime.
He remembered sneaking glances at his father in bed. His father noticed, didn’t get angry, just smiled and read bedtime stories in that calm, low voice.
With that voice, Qi Ji drifted into a soft, comforting sleep but forced out one question: “Will I see you tomorrow, Dad?”
The voice had said gently: “Yes. As soon as you open your eyes, I’ll be here. I’m staying with you. I won’t go anywhere.”
God, so… cheesy…
Qi Ji buried his face in his knees, completely immersed.
Yet, he suddenly understood Zhang Wu’s point. This imagined protector—his father—was the best and safest figure for him.
He had never doubted this before, but now realized that the one who had soothed him and kept him safe hadn’t been his real father.
Then who had it been?
The final piece of the puzzle was missing. Qi Ji was desperate. The most frustrating part was his uncontrollable attachment—despite knowing the person wasn’t his father, he still felt they were the best.
The warmth and joy he had felt… yet he didn’t know who it was.
He lifted his head, taking a deep breath. The air didn’t fully clear his thoughts, but adjusting his position, he touched something soft.
Looking up, he saw the object dangling from the chair: the cat-shaped pillow Pei Yusheng had casually left the day before.
Recognizing it, Qi Ji’s mind flashed back to Pei Yusheng’s words yesterday: “Don’t keep hugging it all the time.”
“All the time…?”
He stared at the snow-white belly, long tail, and soft paws. It clicked—this was the pillow he had hugged to sleep, the one that had comforted him when his father couldn’t.
But why was it on Mr. Pei’s bed? Why had he left it there for so long?
Before Qi Ji could process, the door opened.
Someone entered at this hour…
Before he could turn, a familiar low voice called:
“Qi Qi.”
Qi Ji jolted.
That single nickname hit him like thunder—it was the one his parents had used as a child.
Not just the nickname—the tone was familiar, as if…
“I’ve always liked you.”
“I’m right here with you. I won’t go anywhere.”
In an instant, the last puzzle piece snapped into place. Memories surged like waves, overwhelming his frail body.
Impossible.
How could it be…
The man raised his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
The steady voice burned into Qi Ji’s senses. Before he could fully react, his body had already decided—
Qi Ji leapt and bolted, this time truly fleeing the room.