Username: jianjg
Password: 20140420
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A new interface jumped out.
Jian Jing gently took a breath, hurriedly drank a mouthful of ice beer, suppressed the excitement in her heart, and slowly began to read the text above—
This is the last time I’m writing a medical record diary. Tomorrow morning, I will undergo the final treatment to completely seal those memories. In fact, I can hardly remember what happened, but the professor said hypnosis just hid the memories which could be triggered by some inducements and come back to the surface at any time.
To defeat those memories, one needs a weapon.
He believed the fact that I saved a child was most suitable to deal with him. Because I saved a life, nothing is greater than this and more powerful to confront him.
Well, just like he expected.
But he was right. Few things made me so happy that could be comparable, probably only when I got my first published book.
But the weight of a book is in no way comparable to the weight of a life.
The professor said that when we save others, we are also saved by them. I understand a little now. Did I rescue that kid? Perhaps.
Anyway now, it is the act of saving others that is saving me.
It sounds a bit tongue-twisting, but that's what it means. He hoped I would never forget this feeling.
It's very difficult to kill yourself, but very simple to kill others.
It's very difficult to save others, and it's the same for saving yourself.
No matter how he brags about death, life is always more difficult than death.
So he is a coward, and I am a hero.
Then the question is, who is he?
I closed my eyes and could only see a heavy dark cloud. Who is he? —
Jian Jing let out a breath. In just a few lines, she was already sweating with tension.
This was a diary written by "me", not only recording the treatment process, but also memories about "him".
She did find the key.
At the same time, the purpose of the password also had a reasonable explanation.
—When we save others, our souls are also saved.
It turned out to be like this.
It should be like this.
Jian Jing thought for a while and decided to still read in reverse chronological order, rather than directly view the earliest entry.
She had to get close to him slowly—
Had a nightmare again.
In the dream I could no longer see his face clearly. The professor said this was the part I forgot first, meaning his appearance was nothing worth remembering to me.
That makes sense. What I remember most clearly is his voice, popping up suddenly when I'm not paying attention. The professor said I would occasionally say some strange things - things he had said - but I was not aware at all.
The professor suggested that I write them down, and then refute them one by one. He said I was hypnotized, those were not my true thoughts, so I must learn to distinguish.
PS: Anyway I have nothing to do in the hospital. All the books they give me to read are in English, French or Swedish. The Chinese novel is called Fox Spirit on the Snowy Mountain.
Are they kidding me?
Oh, I think I just remembered something.
—Being alive means endless pain and endless tears.
Why would I have such thoughts?
How should I refute this?
My head hurts. I want to eat ice cream. That's right, ice cream is great, cakes and fried chicken are also great. If I hadn't been born, I wouldn't be able to eat these things.
And, and there are many more happy things.
Playing with classmates is fun, writing stories for others to see is fun, watching movies is also fun.
Isn't it true that one's life has more joy than pain after all!
PS: I have had no homework recently, so my pain is less—
The beer can was empty.
Jian Jing didn't spill a drop, she had to stop working temporarily and take out two more cans from the fridge. In order not to interfere with reading, she inserted a straw to drink while reading.
To be honest, alcohol is really a good thing. Otherwise reading such a diary in the middle of the night would make her hair stand on end.
After gulping down a third in one breath, she continued.
The narrative became heavier—
Today I took a walk around the garden with the professor. He said I needed fresh air and more sunshine, to feel the breath of nature.
I didn't want to move, but I complied for William's sake.
William is a golden retriever.
The professor is annoying. I know he means well, but he has to experiment on me.
There were many peonies blooming in the garden. He asked me, is it better for the flowers to bloom or to wither. I said they look nice blooming, and can become fertilizer when withered.
The old man's Chinese is not bad. He recited a poem, saying they will turn into spring mud to better nurture flowers. Right?
That was what I meant. Then he had me dig up the flowers, no, to be precise, dig them up by the roots and burn them into ashes, then sprinkle the ashes on the ground.
It was tiring work. Was he just trying to wear me out?
When I finished, he pointed to the messy ashes and the flowers nearby, and asked me, don't think about value, just say, which is more beautiful, the blooming or the dead?
I had to admit, fresh flowers look better than fertilizer.
"We don't need to vilify death, but we shouldn't glorify it either," the professor said. "Anyone - I mean, regardless of whether they are educated or not, poor or rich - would make the same choice as you."
I wanted to refute him, but I didn't know how... maybe, but... no, I can't forget, I need to remember, I can't forget!—
As the timeline moved forward, the tone of the logs grew darker and darker.
The shadow of death also became heavier and heavier.
Why would anyone praise death? What exactly was he trying to do?—
He said human beings are very fragile animals. If they don't eat, they will starve to death; if they don't drink water, they will die of thirst. When they get sick or injured, they die quickly.
In order to maintain fragile life, people have to do many unhappy things. Adults hate working, just as students hate going to school, but these are things that must be done.
Only in this way can they earn money to buy food and clothes, avoid starvation and cold, and have money to treat illnesses so they won't die prematurely.
But is this meaningful? Working and going to school is painful, getting sick and injured is painful. Bearing so much pain just for the sake of living, isn't living itself painful then?
I told him there must still be times of happiness.
He said yes, but very brief, very faint, like the summer fireflies flashing in the night then disappearing. After a fleeting moment of happiness comes the long, endless darkness.
I asked if it was worth it for those tiny fireflies.
He said rather than spending a lifetime missing those brief moments, it would be the ultimate happiness to die at the happiest moment. If when you close your eyes, the last thing you see is dancing fireflies, that would be supreme bliss.
To die in happiness, no more pain, only tranquility and joy.
I asked, in the future, would the fireflies not come again?
He said maybe, but meaningless.
Why?
Happiness is only true at the moment of happiness. At other times, they are all illusions that deceive you into pain. Just like the candy parents use to coax children when taking medicine.
Without the candy, how would you be willing to take the bitter medicine? But essentially it still makes you suffer. Don't be fooled.
Happiness is just a trap.
He was right about this, but I... I am occasionally seduced by the illusion of happiness too. No, if there is no happiness then there is no pain, then I'd rather not have... Dad, Mom!!
Dad, Mom!! Mom!!!! Why me? Why me of all people! What did I do wrong?? Why why!!—
This entry was a turning point. The above were diaries written after gradually recovering.
Although the statements were occasionally fragmented, they were still coherent. Further down, the narrative became chaotic.
But this was the most valuable part.
The ravings instilled in "my" mind, and "my" constant struggle against them.
Jian Jing had reason to believe such dialogues had been staged countless times during the missing period—
Why? My dad and mom, why did you kill them? You bastard!
—My dear, quiet down, you shouldn't be angry with me for this.
You killed them.
—You think your parents loved you very much, no no, they loved themselves, not you. What is there to love about you? As a baby you were just a little thing that couldn't do anything. Why did they spend money raising you?
Liar, cheater!
This isn't out of fondness, to be honest, this is an investment. Do you understand the meaning of this word? Just like making money, the money and effort they spend on you today will need to be recovered. When they grow old, you will have to feed them and help them urinate just like they raised you up, this is the essence of your birth.
Who believes your bullshit?
- Happiness, family, love, they're all lies to trick you. Without tricking you, how would you willingly repay them? My dear, life has been full of sin since birth. You think you came into this world to enjoy life? How naive!
Oh, you seem to have calmed down. Let's have a nice talk.
I saved you, my dear. I saved you from a scam.
You killed someone.
Death, yes, let's talk about death.
We have nothing to talk about -
Jian Jing took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were already bloodshot from staying up all night.
There were a few beer cans in the trash, but neither her biological clock nor the alcohol could make her fall asleep.
A diary can only be written after sorting and organizing, so the information revealed is relatively complete. This is of course very helpful for solving the case, but it's probably not even a tenth of the torment "Jian Jing" suffered.
Just thinking about how much she had suffered made Jian Jing's chest feel tight.
When "Jian Jing" experienced this, she was only fourteen years old.
At the same point in time, the biggest conflict in her and her family was the incompatibility between her hobbies and studies, and the biggest annoyance was her test scores falling out of the top ten in the class. The most angry she ever got was when her parents disagreed to let her go on a long distance trip with her classmates.
Two worlds, they really are two different worlds.
This even made Jian Jing feel a nameless guilt, inexplicably blaming herself.
What kind of days did "she" live? And what kind of days did I live? I merely got lucky and lived in a stable world.
This sense of guilt was like a pair of twins, adopted separately by a poor family and a wealthy family. She was the wealthy one, living a comfortable life with a happy childhood, and this was not because of anything else, just good luck.
She felt ashamed, guilty, uneasy, even somewhat embarrassed.
And this evoked another kind of shame, the shame of occupying her body. The real me had died, yet I managed to be reborn in another version of me.
I stole "her" wealth, status, fame and even feelings.
We are the same person, can I really feel at ease enjoying all of this?
The negative emotions rushed in like a tide, drowning her.
Jian Jing's rationality clearly told her: this has nothing to do with you, your emotions are just affected because you absorbed some negative energy.
But...she couldn't do it.
Humans are inherently emotional creatures, often empathizing with others, let alone when this person is actually herself.
Such a suffocating experience, such painful ordeals.
Unexpectedly, Jian Jing was reminded of The Hiding Child.
As "Jian Jing's" second work, The Hiding Child did not have the imaginative feel of a children's fairy tale like White Cat. Its attitude towards death and murder was calm to the point of indifference.
She had thought this was just the peculiar mentality of a teenager, but looking back now, it was extremely frightening upon closer examination.
She had sealed away her memories, but what about her emotions?
Perhaps, beneath the calm surface, terrifying undercurrents had always been churning. The waves slowly eroded the shore until they swallowed her up without a sound.
Public opinion was just the last straw.
Jian Jing closed her eyes and held back her tears.
