Lu Pingzhang had taken a break from therapy for a while. When he saw his psychologist again, it was several months later.
They sat in the same seats as last time. The office looked exactly the same—down to the therapist’s jacket, which was the very same one she’d worn before.
“Mr. Lu, long time no see,” the psychologist greeted him first this time. “You look a little troubled.”
Lu Pingzhang frowned, his brows furrowed with impatience.
He must’ve been having a rough few days. Though his outfit was still neat and presentable, the psychologist could pick up the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on him.
After a long silence, Lu Pingzhang finally said, “I kissed him.”
The psychologist could hear the regret and frustration in his voice. She kept her usual calm, attentive posture, giving him a look that was both accepting and encouraging.
It took a while before Lu Pingzhang continued, “And I had a physical reaction.”
The psychologist didn’t show any surprise. Her voice remained as composed and gentle as ever: “That’s normal. It’s quite common between adults. Or, when someone starts to develop romantic feelings for another person, there’s a natural desire to possess them.”
Lu Pingzhang reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he lowered his hand, he glanced at the time.
“How long has it been since you went home?” the psychologist asked. “You’re getting anxious again.”
“Fourteen days and nineteen hours,” Lu said after checking his watch again. “I might need something—maybe meds.”
But the psychologist didn’t prescribe anything. She simply continued the conversation. “You’ve developed feelings for Qiao Jin. Wanting to be close to him physically is a natural result of that.”
“This isn’t normal,” Lu Pingzhang said irritably. “He’s my younger brother.”
For the first time, the psychologist visibly showed disapproval.
“Then who exactly is Lu Boyang?” she asked gently.
Lu Pingzhang froze.
Nothing had ever left him speechless before—not at the negotiating table, nor in the ruthless arena of fame and fortune.
Inside his mind, it felt like an intense battle was taking place. His collar, with two buttons undone, drooped powerlessly, a stark contrast to the sharp, confident image he usually projected in the media.
He glanced at the time again. Then he realized what he was doing and became even more agitated.
Lifting his head, he looked at the psychologist—this time, truly like someone in need of help.
“If I don’t go home today, Qiao Jin’s going to move out tomorrow. He thinks I’ve been avoiding him because I hate him. How could I possibly hate him?” His voice trembled with pain. “Qiao Jin isn’t Lu Boyang. So how do I stop seeing him that way?”
“He was never Lu Boyang,” the psychologist said firmly. “The one you’ve been projecting onto Qiao Jin this whole time isn’t Lu Boyang—it’s ‘family.’ And that doesn’t conflict with the feelings you’ve developed for him. What you’ve been experiencing is the warmth, comfort, and sense of belonging that comes from having family. From there, attachment and dependency grew.”
She paused for a moment, then added gently, “But I need to remind you—if that dependency becomes too strong, it may cause significant pain when your relationship hits any bumps down the line.”
Lu Pingzhang hadn’t even sorted out his “present,” let alone the “future.”
He looked at the time again—already 5 p.m.
If he left work now, he’d make it home before sunset. He could catch Qiao Jin sitting in the hanging chair, reading, bathed in golden light.
It had been a long time since he’d seen that image—one that was seared into his memory.
The sunlight would fall across his face, especially highlighting the bridge of his nose and the warm curve of his lips.
And all Lu Pingzhang wanted was to kiss those lips—on the balcony, in the living room, or on the bed in their bedroom.
Any later, and the sun would set. The light would be gone.
To hell with it.
Qiao Jin had never been Lu Boyang.
He never wanted to kiss Lu Boyang. Never wanted to sleep with Lu Boyang. The person in those images was always Qiao Jin.
Only Qiao Jin.
The psychologist smiled, encouraging him: “Right now, you’re lucky. Qiao Jin is someone who truly suits you. Congratulations—you’ve found someone you love.”
Lu Pingzhang stood up decisively and chased the sunset home. By the time he opened the door, the twilight had already faded.
The sunset was gone. Qiao Jin wasn’t on the hanging chair reading—he was sitting on the couch.
But that didn’t matter.
He could be anywhere.
—
Lu Pingzhang had finally untangled his own heart, and he was determined not to let Qiao Jin fall into the same confusion.
But Qiao Jin had already fallen.
Three years later, he lay on the bed. The restraints around his wrists were long gone, but faint red marks still crossed his skin.
He hadn’t slept a wink.
All night, he ran through everything that had happened in the past three years, again and again, from beginning to end.
And when he looked at Lu Pingzhang now, his gaze was filled with even more regret and pain than Lu Pingzhang’s had ever been when he looked at his psychologist.
He couldn’t help it.
He couldn’t keep using Lu Boyang’s eyes, enjoying Lu Pingzhang’s meticulous, brotherly care, being treated like some sort of replacement—
While at the same time doing those things in bed with his older brother.
His eyes turned toward Lu Pingzhang, filled with a silent plea.
He had never begged Lu Pingzhang for anything before.
Lu Pingzhang interrupted his chaotic thoughts, trying to sort them out and soothe him. “I’ve always known you were Qiao Jin.”
But Qiao Jin didn’t believe him—he turned his face away.
This time, Lu Pingzhang didn’t try to touch him. He just gently stroked the underside of Qiao Jin’s jaw, which had been reddened from last night in bed.
Qiao Jin flinched away again. He couldn’t help it—he was starting to reject Lu Pingzhang’s touch.
He didn’t hurt his own eyes, but he began refusing to eat, refusing to talk.
What made Lu Pingzhang most anxious was how often Qiao Jin now stared at his phone, waiting for Fu Linxiao to call—and how he spent the entire night awake.
It was all too similar to what had happened before. He had no choice but to take a more proactive approach: he brought back the same psychologist from back then.
She hadn’t changed much—clear skin and a neat, gentle hairstyle made her look just as non-threatening as ever.
It was the first time she had ever set foot in Lu Pingzhang’s home, and the first time she had met Qiao Jin—three years later.
Following her advice, Lu Pingzhang left the room. Qiao Jin watched him close the door, then quietly exhaled in relief.
The psychologist sat across from him. She noticed the faint bruises still visible on his neck but didn’t linger on them.
She smiled gently. “It seems you’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
Qiao Jin sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, eyes downcast.
She wasn’t bothered by his resistance or silence. Her voice softened. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe something to eat? I heard you haven’t eaten in two days.”
Qiao Jin glanced at the phone on the table but said nothing.
Compared to working with Lu Pingzhang before, this was far trickier.
Lu Pingzhang had wanted to solve the problem. Qiao Jin, on the other hand, was refusing to engage at all.
“Can you tell me why you keep looking at your phone?” she asked with a calm, non-intrusive smile. “Are you waiting for a call? Or is there something important saved on it? You can pick it up, just to check.”
Qiao Jin didn’t follow her suggestion. He glanced at the phone again, then shifted his gaze back to her.
“I’m going to take a wild guess here—Mr. Lu won’t let you have it, is that it?” She motioned toward the door, where Lu Pingzhang was likely standing outside. “If there’s something you need, could you tell me? Maybe I can help.”
That unfamiliar use of “Mr. Lu” stirred something in Qiao Jin.
He frowned and thought for a moment, then shook his head and finally explained, “No. If I insist on doing something, he’ll eventually give in. He’s very… indulgent with me.”
“That sounds nice. Something to be envied,” the psychologist affirmed gently.
But Qiao Jin’s brows drew together again. “But the person he’s indulging… is Lu Boyang. His brother. Not me.”
The psychologist nodded, signaling that she knew who Lu Boyang was.
She was familiar with Lu Boyang, and she also knew about what had happened between Lu Pingzhang and himself—this made Qiao Jin relax slightly.
Still, his gaze kept drifting to his phone and the clock.
Outside, the sky had turned completely dark. A bit of light from the streetlamp outside spilled in through the balcony window. The long hand on the clock was pointing to the nine—fifteen minutes to nine o’clock.
The psychologist asked, “How can you be sure Mr. Lu’s indulgence is meant for his brother and not for you?”
Qiao Jin looked at her, puzzled, thinking for a long time before finally speaking. “Once, we went for a walk. There’s a big soccer field in the neighborhood.”
He tried to recall the scene but got lost in the memory. “A soccer ball came flying toward us, and the first thing he protected… was my eyes.”
“How did he protect them?”
“He stretched out his arm, shielding my eyes and deflecting the ball.” Qiao Jin said, “If that ball had hit me, it would’ve hit my eyes directly.”
He turned his head toward the door and fell silent for a moment before finally speaking in a hoarse voice. “I can’t tell if, when he’s looking at me, he’s really seeing me… or if he’s seeing his brother.”
His voice was even raspier than before, and his face had gone pale—partly from insomnia, partly from the chaos in his mind.
“It’s because of the special circumstances,” the psychologist said gently. “Your ophthalmologist told us that your eye pressure is unstable. You wouldn’t be able to survive a second corneal transplant.”
Qiao Jin listened quietly. Outside, the wind had likely picked up—branches were tapping against the windows, making soft noises.
The warmth and calm of the room gave him a sense of security, and the psychologist blended her voice into that stillness, so it wouldn’t feel intrusive. “For example, if you lost a finger, and it was replaced with Lu Boyang’s—would that make you Lu Boyang?”
Qiao Jin stared blankly at a fixed point in the air, lost in thought.
Just then, his phone rang.
He glanced at the clock—the hand had just struck twelve.
As he exhaled, he shook his head and answered the call.
On the other end, Fu Linxiao asked, “Xiao Qiao, are you okay?”
Qiao Jin didn’t answer the question. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, same as always,” Fu Linxiao replied. “Did Mr. Lu find out about it? Did you two fall out? What’s going on over there? Are you really okay?”
“I’m fine,” Qiao Jin replied, then added, “Don’t forget to call me tomorrow.”
After hanging up, his entire body visibly relaxed. Even the way he sat on the sofa became less stiff and guarded.
The psychologist didn’t press him about the call. Instead, she said softly, “I’ve heard about you before, Mr. Qiao—three years ago.”
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