Chapter 1: I'm Sick!

[Prologue]

What's past is prologue.

"I'll be direct. I'm sick. Mentally sick."

In the VIP consultation room, Jiang Huashan slumped listlessly against her chair. Two thin straps hung off straight, narrow shoulders above a blush-pink dress. Just the way she leaned back—that was all it took to give a face to the kind of femme fatale who could topple kingdoms.

"Huh?"

The visual impact was too much. The man across from her needed a moment to recover.

Jiang Huashan frowned. "What do you mean, 'huh'?"

The man wiped cold sweat from his forehead, looking sheepish. "Young Madam Shen, please don't be upset. Could you elaborate on what led you to this conclusion?"

Jiang Huashan: "I keep having hallucinations. I keep hearing someone... no, not someone. A thing. It talks to me. I looked it up online—it's schizophrenia."

The man opened her medical file, jotted a few notes, then set down his pen. "Madam, hallucinations can occur under many circumstances. Your mental state doesn't look great—you might just need a good night's sleep."

Jiang Huashan lifted her gaze and gave him a flat look. "That's your final conclusion?"

"..." The man employed tactical silence. He could not afford to offend the person sitting across from him.

After a moment's deliberation, he picked up his pen again, all business. "I apologize—that was unprofessional of me. Please forgive me. Could you tell me more about these hallucinations?"

Jiang Huashan didn't hold it against him. She settled into the conversation. "There's a voice in my head. It's annoying. It always eggs me on, urges me to do bad things. When I don't listen, it takes control of my body."

A textbook psychiatric claim.

The man noted it down briefly, then asked, "Does this 'thing' have a specific form?"

"No. Sometimes it looks like a ball of green light. Sometimes it turns into a book."

"A book?" The man wrote down the keyword. "You said it controls you—could you describe how?"

Jiang Huashan looked up. She had a pair of peach blossom eyes—seductive, affectionate, the kind that made everyone she looked at feel like they were the only person in the world.

"I don't know. A lot of the past is a blur. I only remember the most recent incident clearly."

"Please go on."

She thought for a moment. "A few days ago, Fu Suier came to cause trouble again. She said horrible things and tried to hit me, so I told Auntie Zhang to throw her out. But 'it' goaded me into killing Fu Suier... I don't like that idiot, but I never wanted her dead. Yet when I came to my senses, the idiot was already lying in a pool of blood, unconscious."

The man's pen froze. He snapped his head up.

If he wasn't mistaken, the "idiot" the Young Madam referred to was Fu Suier—young miss of the Shen family's third branch.

The Shen family was the most powerful financial dynasty in Country A. When Fu Suier was injured, every senior executive at every hospital in Whale Port was thrown into a panic. Cranial specialists from around the world flew in overnight to consult.

At the time, everyone wondered—with the Shen family's status in Country A, who would dare cross them?

So the culprit was the Young Madam herself. That explained everything.

The man's thoughts spiraled through a hundred twists and turns, but he didn't dare let a single one show. He treaded carefully. "So you believe you were 'controlled'?"

Jiang Huashan: "I don't believe it. I was controlled."

"..." The man was at a loss for words.

Looking at the Young Madam's behavior, it seemed less like schizophrenia and more like she was trying to excuse her crime. Had she watched too many TV dramas, thinking a mental illness label would give her a free pass?

Jiang Huashan saw right through him. She lifted her chin and leaned forward. "You're a doctor, not a police officer. Do I need to remind you of the professional ethics a senior psychologist should possess?"

The coldness in her eyes made the man shake his head frantically. "No... no, you don't."

Jiang Huashan's patience finally ran out. The man's reactions had already told her what a spectacularly stupid decision it had been to come to this hospital today. But she'd finally summoned the courage to leave the house—she wasn't about to go back empty-handed.

She stood, looking down at him like a queen issuing a decree. "Prescribe me something."

"Huh?" The man blinked.

Jiang Huashan's tone was casual. "Risperidone, blonanserin, whatever. If it can't kill the thing, then kill me."

Clatter—

That sentence made the man drop his pen.

Jiang Huashan crossed her arms, eyes lowered in cool appraisal. "Keep this up and I'll start questioning your credentials."

The man snapped back, scrambling to pick up his pen. As he bent down, his gaze caught a flash of impossibly pale, luminous calves—but he looked away instantly. Beauty was rare, but his life was rarer.

This Young Madam Shen was no saint. She'd started as nothing more than the Shen family's adopted daughter, yet in just ten years she'd become the wife of the Shen family's head. Word had it that the prettier she was, the blacker her heart—and everyone who'd crossed her had met a nasty end.

The man forced a smile. "I'll write the prescription right away. Please wait in the VIP lounge—a nurse will bring your medication once it's ready."

"Fine. Don't take too long. I don't like waiting."

Jiang Huashan turned and left the consultation room. But the moment she rounded the corner, she realized she still needed a medical certificate. She stopped in her tracks and went back.

The door wasn't fully closed. Just as she reached it, she heard the man on the phone.

"Yes! Secretary Gao, the Young Madam has left."

"Based on her symptoms, there's nothing wrong. Madam likely just hasn't been sleeping well lately, which can cause mental fatigue and overthinking. I'll switch all the medication to sleep aids. Yes! Of course—just a moment. I'll compile her case file and send it over right away."

"Yes, yes! No trouble at all. You're too kind, Secretary Gao. Goodbye."

The man was bowing and scraping into his phone—more servile than he'd been with her just moments ago.

No need to guess. Secretary Gao had to be that dead-fish-eyed Gao Zhi—Shen Lanxi's most loyal dog.

Jiang Huashan gave a cold smirk. She pulled a pair of limited-edition sunglasses from her rhinestone-encrusted bag and put them on.

Three years of marriage. Shen Lanxi had never once called her himself. Now he was having his dog track her movements.

How truly flattering.