Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

Bian Zhizhi's heart was pounding wildly in her chest.

A thought flashed through her mind: When patients start imitating you, it means you are no longer an outsider.

You became a part of his inner world, a reference point for him to construct his self.

At the time, she thought that statement was too far-fetched.

Now she understands.

Wei Zixian is imitating her.

Wei Yanqiu's words were warnings devoid of any emotion.

At this moment, Wei Zixian, through this imitation, silently declares that boundaries are being erased little by little.

In a way she couldn't stop.

Bian Zhizhi stood up, but in her haste, the magazine on her lap slipped onto the carpet.

She herself was startled by the sound, frozen in place, staring at the open pages of the book on the ground.

Wei Zixian raised his head, looked at her, and raised his eyebrows slightly, as if asking: What's wrong?

Bian Zhizhi forced herself to smile.

Although she felt her facial muscles were as stiff as plaster.

"Young Master, it's...it's nothing." Her voice was a little dry, and she cleared her throat. "I dropped the book."

She bent down, picked up the magazine, and placed it on the table.

"I'll go get a glass of water," she said, turning and walking towards the door.

His steps were hurried and disordered, almost as if he were fleeing.

But just as her hand touched the doorknob, Wei Zixian's voice came from behind her: "Bian Zhizhi."

This was the first time he had called her by her full name.

Three words came out of his mouth.

Without any hesitation, as if he had already recited it to himself many times, he finally found the right moment to say it.

Bian Zhizhi's back froze.

She didn't turn around, but she could feel his gaze on her back.

"...What?" she heard herself ask.

The sound was very soft, almost drowned out by the wind outside the door.

A brief silence followed behind him.

She could hear her own heartbeat, thumping in her eardrums like a drum.

Wei Zixian said, "Your tea has gone cold."

Just this one sentence.

It was incongruous and uneventful.

Her fingers gripped the doorknob tightly, the metal digging into her palm.

She took a deep breath and turned to look at him.

Wei Zixian had already lowered his hand from his chin and resumed his usual upright sitting posture.

The illustrated guide was closed and placed on the sofa next to him.

He looked at her, his gaze calm, but something seemed to be flowing deep within his eyes.

Very faint, very subtle.

It's confusion.

He was confused as to why she was suddenly so flustered.

Bian Zhizhi tugged at the corners of her mouth, trying to make the smile look more natural.

"Young master, it's cold," she said. "So I'll go get you a hot one."

Wei Zixian nodded, said nothing more, picked up the illustrated book again, and turned to a new page.

She opened the door, went out, and then gently closed it again.

The moment the door closed behind her, a small patch of her shirt was already wet.

It was cold sweat.

That night, Bian Zhizhi couldn't sleep.

She lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling light.

The scene from that afternoon kept replaying in her mind.

Wei Zixian rested his chin on his hand, closed his eyes, and sunlight fell on his face.

I shouldn't think about it.

She forced herself to stop.

But memories surged up like an out-of-control tide, wave after wave.

She recalled the first time she met him.

Three months ago, she was led into this activity room by Butler Li and saw Wei Zixian sitting on the sofa by the window, with his back to her, looking at the gray mountains outside the window.

He only showed her his back.

It seems like it might break at any moment, or bounce back and injure anyone who gets close.

She walked over, sat down opposite him, and introduced herself.

He didn't turn around, didn't speak, and didn't even move.

At that time, she thought this was probably the toughest battle of her career.

But she didn't expect it to be this difficult.

I never imagined it would be this dangerous.

Bian Zhizhi sat up, leaned against the headboard, and hugged her knees.

This afternoon, the tone of Wei Zixian's voice when he called her "Bian Zhizhi".

She should have corrected it back then.

She should have said, "Please call me Miss Bian," or at least, she shouldn't have reacted so obviously.

But she didn't.

She just stood there, frozen in place, as if under a spell, and then fled in a panic.

Like a fool who feels guilty after doing something wrong.

Bian Zhizhi raised her head and looked at the tree shadows outside the window, which were shining brightly in the moonlight.

The branches and leaves swayed gently in the night breeze, and the shadows cast on the curtains swayed along with them.

She knew she was losing control.

Or rather, she has lost control.

When did it start?

Was it from the first time he touched clay, when his ears turned red?

Was it when he held her hand tightly in the movie theater?

Was it from the moment he began to imitate her mannerisms and internalize her as a part of his world?

Or even earlier, from the first time she saw him sitting in the sunlight?

she does not know.

Bian Zhizhi got out of bed, walked barefoot to the window, and pulled back the curtains.

The night breeze was cool, seeping in through the cracks in the window and blowing on her face.

She shivered, but didn't close the window.

She needed the coolness to soothe the burning thoughts in her mind.

But it can't be cooled down.

The way Wei Zixian rested his chin on his hand, the way he closed his eyes, the way he called her "Bian Zhizhi"—it was like a silent film, replaying in her mind over and over again.

Every detail is frighteningly clear.

Bian Zhizhi slammed the window shut, drew the curtains, went back to bed, and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket.

Bian Zhizhi cried in the darkness.

Hot tears slid down my cheeks and landed on the pillow, where they were quickly absorbed, leaving only a slightly damp coolness.

She bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound.

But his shoulders were trembling, and his breathing was broken into gasps.

She didn't know why she was crying.

Crying over one's own weakness?

Crying over this doomed, hopeless transgression?

she does not know.

All she knew was that starting tomorrow, she had to rebuild that wall.

Just as Wei Yanqiu requested.

Just as she should.

But when she finally cried herself to sleep and her consciousness began to fade, the last image that surfaced in her mind was still that afternoon, his profile with his chin resting on his hand.

At the same time, Wei Zixian was also awake in his bedroom at the other end of the main building.

Tonight, stars aren't on his mind.

It was afternoon, the sunlight, and her.

He remembered the way she rested her chin on her hand, lost in thought.

I remembered the posture I had imitated.

There was no fear, no wariness, no buzzing, incessant thoughts in my head.

In this room, in this sunlight, beside her.

Wei Zixian took his hand out from under the covers and held it up to his eyes.

It was this hand, resting its chin on its hand, that afternoon.

It was this hand that held her hand in the movie theater.

Wei Zixian's fingers curled up unconsciously.

He remembered the feel of her hand.

When he reached out to hold her hand, she stiffened for a moment, then relaxed her fingers and gently squeezed back.

She held it the whole time.

She didn't relax until the movie ended and the lights came on.

Wei Zixian lowered his head and looked at his hands.