The next morning was a waking nightmare.
Ren Wei woke up on his mat. Li Mei was already gone, likely to get their "morning" gruel—in
reality, to give him space, to let him acclimatize to his cage. She was smart. She knew not to
push.
He sat up, his body aching. The "leash" was a dull, cold weight in his chest. It was a feeling of...
melancholy. A baseline sadness. He suspected, with a cold dread, that this was its "idle" state.
The hook, just... resting in his mind, waiting to be tugged.
He had to function. He had to act.
His entire life, his old life, had been about understanding the "why." Why did people do what
they did? He had studied personality disorders. He knew the literature. Borderline. Narcissistic.
Dependent.
Li Mei... Li Mei was a textbook. She was a perfect, terrifying storm of 'Borderline Personality
Disorder' with co-morbid... everything.
● Pathological Fear of Abandonment: Check. The core of her entire being.
● Unstable Interpersonal Relationships: Check. She didn't have any... except one. An
"all-or-nothing," 'Favorite Person' (FP) relationship. He was her FP.
● Black-and-White Thinking: Check. Jiao, Sun Xiao, Zhang? They were "insects."
"Weeds." "Trash." He was a "god." A "treasure." There was no middle ground.
● Impulsive, Self-Destructive Behaviors: ...No. That's where the model broke. She wasn't
self-destructive. She was... other-destructive. Her "impulses" weren't directed inward.
They were projected outward. Weaponized.
He was a psychologist trapped, quite literally, by a patient.
This... this was his dilemma. He couldn't fix her. His attempt to "fix" her, his "understanding," was
what she had interpreted as love. As seeing her. It had sealed his fate.
He couldn't leave her. The leash was real.
He couldn't fight her. She was in his head.
So, what was left?
Mitigation. Harm reduction.
If you can't cure the patient, you manage the symptoms. Not for her sake. For his. For his own
survival.
He had to treat her... but not in a way she would recognize as "treatment."
This... this was a new, twisted game of therapy. He had to validate her "feelings" (her
pathological, insane paranoia) while simultaneously trying to establish "boundaries" (stop her
from murdering people).
He was... he was going to be the best... loving... hostage... the world had ever seen.
She returned. She was her, the "shy, gentle" Li Mei. She carried two bowls of gruel, her eyes
downcast, as if she were... afraid. It was a performance. A test. She was acting like the "guilty,
scared" partner, to see if he would act like the "forgiving, loving" one.
He took a deep breath. He had to play.
He looked up at her, and he manufactured a small, broken, tired smile. "Mei," he said, his voice
a masterpiece of "exhausted, but still loving" affection.
She visibly relaxed. Her "scared" mask melted, replaced by genuine, happy relief. "Ren Wei,"
she whispered.
"Come. Sit," he said, patting the mat. "We... we have to eat. We have to... to win. Together." He
used their "word." Together.
She practically beamed. She sat, giving him his bowl.
The intimacy was a lie. It was a negotiation.
"Mei," he said, stirring the sludge. "Last night... you... you scared me. That... that feeling... it..." Her face tensed. "It... it's just the bond, my—"
"I know," he said, cutting her off, but gently. "I... I understand. You... you were scared I was
scared. You were... 'catching' me." He was using her logic. Validating.
"Yes!" she breathed, her eyes shining. He gets it!
"But... Mei," he said, leaning closer. "You... you can't... you can't do that. To... to other people."
Her face clouded. "What...?"
"Jiao. Sun Xiao. Zhang." He said their names, not as accusations, but as... problems. "They...
they're loud. They're... stupid. They're weeds. I know." Validating, validating...
"But... if you prune them," he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper, "the... the elders... the
Inner Sect... they'll notice. They... they'll get... jealous."
He was reframing "murder" as "being too conspicuous."
"They'll... they'll see us," he continued. "They'll see you. They'll... they'll see how strong you are.
And... and they'll get... afraid."
He looked her dead in the eyes. "And... they... they'll take you away from me."
There. He'd done it. He'd tied "not murdering people" directly to her core fear.
Li Mei's eyes went wide. She hadn't... she hadn't thought of that. She had been so focused on
him, she hadn't seen the system around them.
He was right. If she was... "discovered"... she'd be... separated... from her treasure.
"So..." Ren Wei whispered, "you... you have to... let me handle them."
"You?" she breathed.
"Yes. Me. With... with this." He tapped his head. "With... with my 'stupid... fancy words.' The...
the insects... they're... they're dumb. I... I can handle them. I... I can talk them away. Like... like I
did to Hu Long."
He was... negotiating. He was bargaining for the "right" to handle all... "social interactions."
She stared at him, her mind, for the first time, not seeing him as a "treasure," but as... a partner.
A... a tool. A... a weapon.
"You... you would do that?" she whispered. "For... for us?"
"For us," he said, his face a mask of pained, profound love. "So... so no one... ever... gets in the
way. Again. And... and so no one... ever... takes us... from each other."
He had just become her... her public relations manager. Her... handler.
A slow, proud smile spread across her face. "You... you are smart," she said, her voice full of
awe.
"And you," he said, "are... everything."
He leaned in, and he kissed her.
It was... vile. It was a kiss of pure manipulation. He was a psychologist, treating his captor.
And she... she kissed him back, her small body trembling with a joy and a love so pure, so real,
that it made Ren Wei want to vomit.
He had just won his first "therapy session."
He had just, in effect, become... complicit.