CHAPTER 149: CHAPTER 149; THERE’S ONE METHOD

The eldest physician cleared his throat, his voice carrying the weight of hesitation. "Sometimes, when the mind suffers a wound too grave to bear, it does not shatter. Instead, it... conceals. It locks away unbearable truths, replacing them with gentler illusions. What we see in Lady Yueyao is not simple confusion, it may be a protective delusion. To her, you are the anchor she has chosen, even if it is not rooted in reality."

Another doctor added, "It resembles what we call trauma-induced dissociative amnesia. Her memories may have been rewritten to preserve her sanity. The irritability, the possessiveness, they are symptoms of her clinging to that false stability."

For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of the brazier. Jin Shuren’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist.

A younger physician spoke softly, almost as if afraid of his own suggestion, "There is... one method. Under hypnosis, we might carefully peel back those illusions. If successful, it could reveal her true memories, or even the root of what binds her to this false narrative." He lowered his gaze. "But if mishandled, the shock may be too great. Her mind could collapse entirely and the outcome will be something else..."

The weight of the words settled between them.

Jin Shuren’s voice was low, dangerous, "So you are telling me she has chosen a dream in which I cannot leave her... and you want me to risk breaking it."

No one dared answer.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The physicians exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared lift their eyes to meet his.

At last, Jin Shuren exhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the stillness. His hand loosened, then pressed against the armrest of the chair as though anchoring himself.

"Enough." His voice was clipped, final. "Leave."

The eldest physician hesitated, bowing his head. "But, Master Jin....."

Jin Shuren’s gaze cut to him, cold and blade-sharp. The man’s words withered in his throat.

"I said leave." Each syllable rang with a command that tolerated no opposition. "If her mind has built this dream to survive, then it is not your place to shatter it."

The younger doctor swallowed, his knuckles whitening around the file he carried. One by one, the men lowered their heads in silent obedience.

The quiet shuffle of feet, the rustle of coats, and the faint clatter of medicine boxes followed as they gathered their things and filed out.

When the door closed behind them, the sitting area fell into stillness once more.

Jin Shuren stood motionless in the center of the room, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. His jaw tightened, a storm of restraint and something far darker caged within him.

Finally, he turned his gaze toward the corridor leading back to the guest room. His voice was a low murmur, almost to himself, "If she has chosen this dream... then I will remain in it with her."

He stood there a moment longer, the silence pressing in on him. Then, without another glance at the door the physicians had passed through, Jin Shuren turned and ascended the staircase.

The master bedroom greeted him with its immaculate order, everything in its place, untouched during the chaos of the last days. He stripped away the wrinkled shirt that still carried the faint trace of her scent, pausing only briefly when the memory of her clinging to him flickered in his mind.

In the mirror, the face that looked back at him was hard, sleepless, marked with shadows beneath his eyes.

For a moment, he studied it in silence, as though staring at a stranger, a man who carried too many nights of restraint and too few hours of rest.

He turned away, twisting the knob. The hiss of water answered, filling the tiled room as steam unfurled in soft waves.

Stepping into the enclosure, Jin Shuren let the cascade of water fall over him, head bowing slightly as the warmth coursed down his shoulders, carving rivulets along the ridges of his chest and spine.

He pressed his palms flat against the wall, eyes closed, the heat soaking into muscles long held taut from sleepless nights.

For a moment, the sound of rushing water drowned everything else, the whispers of physicians, the rustle of servants, even the faint, fragile rhythm of her breaths echoing in his memory.

But the silence in his head was not complete. She lingered there. Yueyao, pale and small against the expanse of white sheets, her skin cool against his hand when he last brushed her cheek. The memory coiled around his chest, tighter than any knot in his body.

His jaw was tightly clenched. He tilted his face into the spray, letting it strike hard against his skin, as if punishing himself for the weakness of remembering.

He was not a man allowed to falter. Not in the boardroom, and not in the underworld that whispered his name with equal fear and respect. And yet, here he was, standing beneath scalding water, with her image burning hotter than the steam around him.

He dragged a hand through his soaked hair, pushing it back from his face. Droplets clung to the dark strands, sliding down the hard plane of his cheekbones, over the stubborn line of his mouth. His body was immaculate, carved by control and discipline, but it carried the weight of exhaustion that no shower could wash away.

When at last he turned off the faucet, silence reclaimed the room. He reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist in one sharp motion, then paused at the fogged mirror.

Through the condensation, his reflection stared back at him, stern, powerful, and untouchable, but beneath the surface of his eyes lay something raw, unshielded. Something that belonged not to Jin Shuren, the empire’s master, but to the man who sat vigil close to a woman’s body, listening for the proof that she still lived.

He drew in a breath, long and heavy, before turning away. The towel clung damply to his skin as he crossed the cool tiles and entered the walk-in closet.