From the moment her daughter died in her arms, Qian developed a severe handwashing compulsion.
Compulsion is a type of anxiety disorder, where despite conscious resistance, one uncontrollably performs actions they do not wish to do.
No matter how many times she washed her hands, she always felt her daughter's blood still stained them. Whenever someone stirred her loathing or mistreated children before her, her compulsion would flare up, forcing her to wash her hands over and over.
If she didn't wash her hands, she would feel weak and hollowed out, just like now.
Many psychologists are also patients themselves. By dealing with too many patients, they easily contract psychological illnesses themselves. Healers find it difficult to heal themselves.
Around 5 meters in front of Chen Xiaoqian, a middle-aged man was hitting a girl who appeared barely over ten with a broom.
"Serves you right for stealing!"
The scene painfully pierced through Qian's nerves. Every cell in her body was screaming madly now—how she wished to wash her hands...
The girl's face overlapped with the memory of her daughter Xiaowei. Her daughter was about this age when she died.
At that moment, Jia Xiufang had already caught up and grabbed Qian's arm.
"You still dare to run!"
"Let go of me!" Qian pushed her away and swiftly walked toward the man hitting the child.
Xiufang was stunned by her daughter's shout and felt that her daughter suddenly seemed like a different person. That one glance just now was so frightening!
"I've told you countless times not to steal, yet you still dare to do so. I'll beat—"
"Stop!" Qian grabbed the broom in the man's hand, looking at the girl who was beaten black and blue, feeling the urge to wash her hands grow even stronger.
She bit her teeth hard, using the pain to distract herself.
Many people believe that psychological illness can be conquered by sheer determination, yet they don't understand the most horrifying aspect of psychological illness is the inability to control one's actions. Those who haven't personally experienced it can never comprehend the extent of such despair.
"This girl dares to steal, don't stop me from disciplining my child!" The man hesitated for a second, stunned by Qian's pretty appearance, before coming to his senses.
Qian never meddles in others' affairs. As a top psychologist, she assists only dignitaries, charging by the hour with a five-figure consultation fee, and even then, people line up for her service.
She regards herself as an extremely cold-hearted woman. If people without money came to her, she wouldn't bat an eye if they died in front of her. She has an absolutely iron heart.
Yet, ever since her daughter Xiaowei died, Qian changed. Whenever she saw someone abusing a child, she would uncontrollably intervene—this too was a manifestation of compulsion.
Looking at the girl trembling behind her, her arms already covered in bruises and eyes full of fear, the terrified gaze again reminded Qian of her daughter Xiaowei, increasing the urge to wash her hands.
"Are you her father?" Qian asked.
"Yes! This girl steals three times a week. This time, she even stole beer from the supermarket. I must break her hand so she won't forget!"
The man was an office manager at the market, renowned for his integrity, feeling very embarrassed about his daughter's actions.
Qian glanced at the girl and then at the man, speaking coldly.
"Even if you beat her a million times, she won't change unless you take her for proper treatment."
If her assessment was correct, the girl was suffering from pathological kleptomania.
Stealing things one doesn't need, clearly not for use but only for spiritual satisfaction, is a very common psychological disorder.
However, the girl's father clearly did not accept Qian's judgment, angrily pointing the stick at her.
"Move aside!"
Jia Xiufang rushed over, pulling Qian behind her, pointing and yelling at the man.
"If you dare touch a hair on my daughter, just try it!"
Beating the child a million times himself, yet not allowing others to harm a single hair—this was Tianshan-exclusive parental love, colloquially known as 'protecting the calf.'
Xiufang with a basin and the man with a stick, seemed like meeting opponents on a battlefield, charged with gunpowder, looking somewhat amusing.
Qian grabbed the girl's hand, "Though I don't know what your psychological shadow is, you can no longer control the impulse to steal. Am I right?"
The frightened girl kept shaking her head. At eleven or twelve, her little face was full of helplessness.
Seeing through her, Qian seemed to see her own daughter: successful in her previous life, yet kidnapped by a scummy ex-husband. When she rushed over, her daughter had already jumped off the building.
Xiaowei loved her mother, unwilling to leave her. Though Qian loved Xiaowei dearly and furiously avenged the scum who bullied her daughter, her heart remained empty.
"If one day you wish to overcome this impulse to steal, you can find me at White Tower Ridge Village's laundry shop." Qian felt very mocking.
This cold-blooded she-devil, only helpless against children—even if reason screamed not to meddle, her body remained uncontrollable—this was the terror of compulsion.
The impulse to save just now was not driven by a doctor's compassionate heart, but by compulsion.
Since the moment she lost her daughter, she'd lost the ability to love the world.
"You two stop fighting." Qian pulled her mother.
Jia Xiufang never received education, ready to curse like a shrew on the street, protecting the calf unreasonably. The man opposite was sprayed with her spittle stars, helplessly wiping his face.
"Shrew..."
"Say that again?!"
"Mom, don't talk now, let me say something. Your daughter turned out like this, you have responsibilities as a father. This child must have suffered some psychological shock to reach this state. The more you hit her, the worse it gets. If possible, you could take her to see a psychologist."
"Did you dare say my daughter is mentally ill?!" The man was utterly furious.
Psychologists were seen in this era as treating mental illness—a pure insult!
In his rage, Qian's mom was not willing to show weakness.
Displaying the brave spirit of menopausal Tianshan aunts, she swung the basin against the man. With her large build, thick hands, and hefty weight, the basin spun fiercely while the man dodged clumsily.
Qian stood outside the circle, watching the girl who stole things run away, her eyes gradually returning to coldness.
Without the child, the trigger for her compulsion to act hadn't been set off, and her cold demeanor returned to normal.
In her past life, she'd never shortchanged the world, embracing all its flaws with a gentle and accepting heart, yet the world—had it ever treated her gently?
Deceived into marriage by a homosexual scoundrel, suffering abuse post-marriage, finally divorcing and striving alone, only to lose her daughter.
With her mother battling the man, Qian had no intention of assisting, watching the world indifferently as a bystander.
In her nineteen-year-old body dwelled a thirty-eight-year-old indifferent soul. Besides her daughter, she felt nothing could move her emotionally—
However, when that angry father grew weary of her mother's beating and countered with a stick, accidentally hitting her mother in the head, Qian's body once again reacted in place of her reason.