Chapter Eighty-Four: Emotional Closure Disorder

The man could hardly be called handsome; in terms of appearance, he was far inferior to Guan Xu—and, of course, to himself. Yet his overall bearing was excellent. He wore gray linen casual trousers, brown leather loafers, a tailored plaid mandarin-collared shirt, and a British-style blazer. His short hair and rimless glasses lent him an air of scholarly elegance. With an appropriately gentle smile, his expressions animated as he spoke, often accompanied by graceful gestures, he gave the impression of a cultured gentleman.

Lin Wanxi appeared busy, bent over her desk, writing incessantly, never once lifting her head. It was normal for her not to look up, but what surprised Qin Luo was that she did not reject the man or ask him to leave.

“All right, Wanxi, it’s getting late. Am I fortunate enough to invite you to lunch?” The man rose from his chair, his tone courteous.

Lin Wanxi glanced at him briefly, then resumed her work, saying nothing.

The man showed no sign of annoyance, maintaining his understanding smile. With concern, he said, “Wanxi, you shouldn’t push yourself so hard. If you don’t eat on time, you’ll ruin your stomach. I know you like winter melon soup; I’ll go pack some for you.”

“No need,” Lin Wanxi finally spoke, though she didn’t lift her head.

The man nodded. “Very well. I won’t disturb you any longer. Remember to eat on time.” With that, he turned and walked out.

To be honest, seeing such gentle attentiveness, Qin Luo thought that if he were a woman, even he might be moved. Yet Lin Wanxi treated it as nothing, never once meeting the man’s gaze. She truly was the epitome of an ice queen.

As the man reached the door, he passed Qin Luo, casting a thoughtful glance his way but saying nothing.

Just as Qin Luo was about to enter, the man’s voice sounded from behind. “Are you Qin Luo?”

“I am,” Qin Luo replied, turning around as the man returned.

“I’m Wang Zihao,” the man said, sizing him up with a gaze that was far from friendly.

“Oh,” Qin Luo nodded. “Never heard of you.”

“You—” Wang Zihao’s irritation flickered across his face. He had graduated from a prestigious American university with honors, returned to become a teacher at the School of Biology, and was highly valued by the faculty. He was the ace instructor of the department, renowned for his teaching standards and welcomed by the Biological Engineering School.

In other words, his standing among the biology students was akin to Qin Luo’s in the Traditional Chinese Medicine School. Yet Wang Zihao had the advantage of strong support from department leaders—something Qin Luo lacked.

Wang Zihao hadn’t expected Qin Luo to be so arrogant, even more so than himself.

With a cold laugh, he said, “I hear you’re somewhat skilled in Chinese medicine?”

“Not somewhat skilled—extremely skilled,” Qin Luo corrected. When it came to his expertise, he never conceded, not even to his own grandfather, the Medicine King Qin Zheng.

“Is that so? You’re not very modest.”

“Why should I be modest?”

Wang Zihao nodded. “Good. Seems you do have some ability. In a few days, the Medical School from Tiansen University will visit for an inspection. I hear the Traditional Chinese Medicine School has arranged for you to lead the experimental class?”

“That’s right,” Qin Luo nodded.

“I’m honored to be representing my department as well. Hopefully, we’ll have a chance to compare notes.”

“Whatever. I’m not particularly looking forward to it,” Qin Luo replied indifferently. He was busy; he had no time to compete with these kids all day in medical skills. There were plenty who envied him—if he challenged each one, he’d die of exhaustion.

“You might want to look forward to it. Perhaps I’ll make things difficult for you.”

“Whatever. If there’s nothing else, may I go in?” Qin Luo pointed to the office door.

If your opponent angers you, it means you’re not confident of victory. Qin Luo truly didn’t worry about challenges from others.

Wang Zihao suppressed his irritation and finally turned to leave.

Qin Luo knocked on the office door. Lin Wanxi lifted her head to glance at him, then lowered it again.

Qin Luo was taken aback by her attitude. After all, they had spent so much time together, and he had even touched her foot and thigh—how could she be so irresponsible?

Without waiting for her invitation, Qin Luo walked up to her with a smile. “Classes are over, why are you still working? Let’s go eat.”

“Not hungry. You go ahead,” Lin Wanxi replied.

Qin Luo’s heart leaped; she treated him differently from others.

“You’re not hungry now, but you will be later. You need to eat eventually,” he urged.

“No need.”

“What if your stomach suffers? Should I bring something back for you? How about winter melon soup?” Qin Luo borrowed this trick from Wang Zihao. He couldn’t understand how these men seemed to know Lin Wanxi’s preferences without ever having a meal with her.

He, on the other hand, often dined with her, yet overlooked such details. People never cherish what comes easily.

“No need. I’m not hungry.”

“Then shall we go out for a drink? I have something to discuss with you,” Qin Luo suggested.

“I’m busy.”

“Well—haha, Grandpa Lin came to see me earlier. He’s worried about your health. Yesterday—did you drink too much?” Qin Luo asked cautiously, trying not to touch her wounds but wanting to know her mental state, which was a delicate matter.

“Yes,” Lin Wanxi replied.

“Why so much alcohol? You should be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You—”

“You see, I’m busy,” Lin Wanxi suddenly looked up, expressionless, at Qin Luo.

Seeing her eyes, Qin Luo’s heart sank.

He finally understood why Lin Qingyuan was so worried after seeing her gaze, unable to work and coming to Qin Luo for help.

Qin Luo, too, realized something was wrong.

Her eyes were terrifying.

How to describe them?

As Lin Qingyuan had said, like someone just awakened, unable to distinguish people and things, everything seemed unfamiliar.

But that wasn’t enough. Her gaze was like a thousand-year-old cold pool, utterly devoid of emotion. Even if you threw stones into it, not a ripple would appear.

To strangers, she seemed increasingly indifferent.

But Qin Luo knew—this was an illness.

It was called Emotional Closure Syndrome.

Humans have seven emotions and six desires; the seven emotions encompass a broad range—friendship, love, kinship, teacher-student bonds, peer connections, all included.

The horror of Emotional Closure Syndrome was that it stripped away all feelings—not just love, but also friendship and kinship.

A person can survive without love, but without friendship or kinship, how can one live?

How did she become like this? Clearly, her ‘male aversion’ was nearly cured. What new shock had she suffered?

Could it be that she sought out Guan Xu last night and was rejected again?

Impossible. Qin Luo could see Guan Xu still had feelings for her.

So what was the cause? How could someone slip into such an emotionless state without reason?

Qin Luo knew the situation was becoming increasingly difficult.

More importantly, he couldn’t let Lin Wanxi know she had Emotional Closure Syndrome.

If she found out, she’d continually reinforce it with psychological hints, believing she was already afflicted and simply giving up, treating those around her with even less care.

That would make it worse, until eventually it became incurable, leaving her to live out her life in loneliness.

“Is there anything else?” Lin Wanxi noticed Qin Luo staring and asked.

“Haha, nothing. If you get hungry, go grab something or order delivery. Don’t work on an empty stomach,” Qin Luo said, hiding his shock and concern.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I need to work.”

“All right,” Qin Luo stood up. “I’ll go now. Remember to eat.”

When Qin Luo’s figure disappeared from the office door, Lin Wanxi’s hand paused mid-stroke.

Then, with renewed force, she wrote fiercely across her manuscript.

So intense was her pressure that the pen’s nib pierced the paper, carving a stark gash across the pristine surface.

Yet she didn’t stop, continuing with the same force.

The paper was shredded by the nib, left in ruin—scars crisscrossed it like the disfigured face of a woman, gaping wounds mocking her bitter life and tumultuous love.

Some women’s love flows smoothly, as if all the world’s happiness is gathered upon them, everything falling into place so perfectly it incites envy.

Others must endure endless trials, crossing mountains and rivers, slaying demons and monsters. Finally, they arrive at the paradise to obtain the scriptures—only to find them false.

Such is love: out of ten thousand, perhaps one pair like the Butterfly Lovers can transform and soar; the rest become moths, mosquitoes, cockroaches, flies, beetles… anything but butterflies, never attaining the imagined beauty.

Leaving the Biological Engineering Department building, Qin Luo exhaled the stale air from his lungs.

His phone rang—it was Li Qingcheng.

“Little brother, where are you? Weren’t we going to look at apartments together? Why can’t I find you?”

“Let’s look at apartments later. I have something important to take care of,” Qin Luo replied.

No matter what, he couldn’t leave while Lin Wanxi was in such a precarious state.

“Damn, wasting my feelings again! I just called a friend to save me a good place.”

“Sorry. I’ll treat you to dinner later to make it up to you,” Qin Luo said with a wry smile.

“You just bully me. Sooner or later, I’ll collect every debt,” Li Qingcheng said indignantly.