The next day.
Afternoon.
Doctor Ji arrived at Qinghe Bay.
Sang Lu sat quietly and obediently on the sofa nearby, maintaining a distance that was neither too close nor too far—close enough to offer companionship without interfering with the treatment.
She pricked up her ears, catching snippets of Doctor Ji’s words.
Phrases like "gradual exposure therapy" and "targeting post-traumatic stress disorder" drifted into her awareness.
Then, she watched as Doctor Ji guided Feng Yan through vocal cord relaxation exercises.
Next came simple vocalizations—coughing, sighing.
Up to this point, Feng Yan had cooperated with a cold, unreadable expression, his deep eyes betraying no emotion.
Doctor Ji jotted down a few lines in his treatment notes.
Then, he placed a small Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table.
Sang Lu noticed the man’s ashen face tense abruptly.
His hand, resting on the sofa, tightened slightly.
Her own heart clenched in response, and she glanced at Doctor Ji.
What was he about to play?
The speaker crackled to life—
Rain.
Torrential rain hammered against glass with a dull thud.
Doctor Ji observed Feng Yan’s every reaction, scribbling notes.
Suddenly, the audio shifted dramatically.
Impact. Shattering. Flames.
The man on the sofa furrowed his brows sharply, his shoulders rigid, body taut.
His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Just as Feng Yan’s breaths grew more erratic, the sound of submersion bubbled through the speaker—
The muffled, oppressive weight of water.
Sang Lu, too, felt the suffocating tension, her fists clenching unconsciously.
When she had researched treatments for selective mutism, she’d come across "gradual exposure therapy"—placing the patient in an imagined environment that triggered their fear.
This was undoubtedly a method of cutting open wounds, scraping away decay.
Direct. Brutal.
What was Feng Yan afraid of?
He seemed to be enduring immense suffering.
Rainy night. Explosions. Then, drowning.
Just hearing the sounds sent a chill down Sang Lu’s spine.
What had the real scene looked like?
She couldn’t bear to imagine.
Abruptly, the oppressive water sounds ceased.
The shrill wail of ambulance sirens pierced the air.
Feng Yan’s head dropped forward.
His dark pupils lost focus, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.
His grip on the sofa tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the blood and smoke surging toward him.
He wanted to scream, but the shattered syllables lodged in his throat.
All sound faded from his ears.
As if he were trapped in endless silence.
Reality and hallucination tangled together, tearing at his nerves.
Then—
A touch brushed the back of his hand.
Like someone pulling him back from the edge of illusion.
His eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at his hand.
A pause.
Sang Lu was there, her lashes lowered as she carefully pried apart his clenched fingers, one by one.
A moment later, a cup of hot tea was pressed into his palm.
Warmth seeped through the porcelain, steadying him.
The overwhelming red and black before his eyes began to dissolve.
Fading, bit by bit.
Noticing his slight relaxation, Sang Lu smiled at him, her eyes crinkling.
Her voice was soft, laced with sweetness:
"Feeling better?"
For the first time, Feng Yan found himself staring at Sang Lu’s face.
Pale skin, a small, delicate nose, and clear, bright eyes beneath gently arched brows. Her slightly wavy hair was casually tucked behind her ears.
Her fresh, sweet scent unexpectedly filled his senses.
The tension in his brow eased as if smoothed by an invisible hand. He gave a slight nod.
His lips parted slightly.
Nearby, Doctor Ji perked up at the sight.
In all his time treating Feng Yan, this was the first time he’d seen the man’s lips move—
A clear impulse to speak!
Feng Yan’s vocal organs had no physical defects. His mutism stemmed purely from psychological resistance—an unconscious refusal to speak.
Doctor Ji had tried countless methods, yet that invisible wall in Feng Yan’s mind had remained impenetrable.
But today…
There were cracks in the fortress.
A mix of excitement and curiosity flickered in Doctor Ji’s eyes as his gaze settled on Sang Lu.
This was his first time meeting the rumored Mrs. Feng.
Unlike the polished, aristocratic image he’d expected of a wealthy socialite, Mrs. Feng radiated vitality—bright, lively, brimming with energy.
Doctor Ji tightened his grip on the treatment notes.
A thought struck him:
Perhaps… he had just found the key to unlocking Feng Yan’s cure.
After the session, Doctor Ji called Sang Lu aside.
"Mrs. Feng, compared to previous sessions, there’s been progress. Feng Yan showed clear signs of wanting to speak."
Sang Lu’s eyes lit up. "Really?"
She couldn’t decipher the technicalities, but if the doctor said so, it must be true.
Trust in science!
This was incredible news.
If Feng Yan could speak, communication would become so much easier.
"Yes," Doctor Ji smiled. "But we must remain vigilant, especially in the next three to four days. Feng Yan may experience insomnia, palpitations, or other reactions. He’ll need attentive care."
Sang Lu nodded eagerly. "Don’t worry, Doctor Ji. I’ll do everything I can to help."
She escorted Doctor Ji to the elevator.
Just before the doors closed, Doctor Ji added:
"One more thing—sudden emotional fluctuations in selective mutism patients can sometimes signal their readiness to speak. Please keep a close eye on Feng Yan’s reactions."
Even after the elevator departed, Sang Lu kept turning the doctor’s words over in her mind.
Emotional fluctuations…
For others, it might be simple. But for Feng Yan? Nearly impossible.
He was always so cold, so indifferent to everything.
How could she provoke a reaction from him?
Sang Lu tapped her chin, lost in thought.
Maybe invite him to watch a horror movie? No one could stay calm during a jump scare.
Or… take him to a haunted-house-themed escape room? Being chased by a ghoul might just make him scream.
Absurd ideas bubbled up unbidden.
In the living room, Feng Yan sat on the sofa, his gaze drifting toward the foyer.
After resting, he had mostly recovered, his breathing steady again.
He watched as Sang Lu wandered back in, still tapping her chin, deep in contemplation.
Feng Yan’s focus sharpened.
A flicker of curiosity stirred.
What was she thinking about? Why that expression?
After witnessing his treatment, did she find him pitiful? Or pathetic?
His eyes darkened slightly.
A shadow of something unreadable passed through them.
…
That night.
As Feng Yan stepped out of the shower, Sang Lu suddenly appeared before him, beaming.
She blocked his path.
Before he could react, she lifted a steaming bowl toward him.
Her bright eyes sparkled with gentle warmth. "Herbal calming tea—drink it for a good night’s sleep."
Feng Yan paused, the towel in his hand still draped over his damp hair. "…?"
After a silent moment, his slender fingers accepted the bowl.
The second he took it, Sang Lu spun around and darted onto the bed.
She switched off her bedside lamp with a decisive click.
Her clear, cheerful voice floated over, declaring:
"Tonight, I won’t disturb your rest. I’ll go to bed early, stay quiet, no phone, no videos, no noise, no bright lights—hope you sleep soundly till morning. Goodnight~"
With that, Sang Lu wrapped herself in the blanket and lay flat.
Feng Yan’s dark eyes lingered on the lump under the covers for a moment: "…?"
