Psychological fragments

Night had fallen, and darkness, like ink, slowly seeped into every corner of the city.

Two police officers from the local police station arrived at the scene: one a vibrant young officer, the other a composed and experienced middle-aged officer. The young officer was taking notes, his pen flying across the paper, while the middle-aged officer's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, occasionally posing a few questions.

"Is she your patient?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Name?"

"Lin Nian," I added, "Lin as in forest, Nian as in longing."

"age?"

Thirty-four years old.

Do you have contact information for family members?

I paused briefly and flipped through her blank registration form; the emergency contact person section was completely empty.

"Nothing was left behind," I replied.

The middle-aged police officer frowned slightly but said nothing. The forensic doctor had already arrived briefly and made a preliminary judgment that the cause of death was cardiac arrest. There were no external injuries or signs of struggle, temporarily ruling out the possibility of homicide. However, according to regulations, the specific cause of death still needs to wait for the autopsy results.

"We will check her identity information and contact her family," the middle-aged police officer said. "Don't leave the city during this period. We will contact you if there are any problems."

"Okay." I nodded to show my understanding.

After they left, I sat alone in the consultation room. Xiao Zhou had already finished get off work, and the entire clinic was empty, with only the faint light from the corridor lamps.

My gaze lingered on the spot where she had last lain, where the first aid marks on the floor were still clearly visible—a wad of blood-stained gauze, an empty adrenaline syringe, and a book that had slipped out of her canvas bag.

I slowly approached and bent down to pick up the book. The pages were worn, and the cover was so frayed that the title was almost illegible. I gently opened the title page, and a line of handwriting in ballpoint pen came into view:

*Xiaomin, live well. —Grandma*

I closed the book and put it back in her canvas bag. Inside were a few other items: a notebook, a pen, a half-empty pack of tissues, and a plastic water bottle.

I put my bag aside and went back to my office to sit down. My mind was completely blank, as if it had been emptied out.

4:37. This time seems etched into my mind. I looked up at the clock on the wall; the hands pointed to 9 p.m. More than four hours had passed since she passed away.

I suddenly recalled her gaze as she scrutinized the archives from the doorway during her first visit. I remembered her words: "Some people come to a psychologist not to get treatment, but just to have someone to talk to," and "Do you believe a person can be two people at the same time?" I remembered her last warning: "Please be careful."

She used the phrase "Please be careful."

It's not "Be careful," it's "Please be careful."

This detail suddenly popped into my mind. In the previous four consultations, she had always addressed me as "you." Only in the last consultation did she switch to "you (formal)."

Is this deliberate distancing, or an expression of respect?

I don't know. But I have a vague feeling that those words weren't spoken casually. She was conveying some kind of message to me.

What message is being conveyed?

Three days later, the Major Crimes Unit came to visit.

At 10 a.m., I was organizing Lin Nian's consultation records, preparing to hand them over to the police. The door was pushed open, and two visitors walked in. The one in the lead was in plainclothes, about forty years old, with a square face and piercing eyes. Following closely behind was a young police officer whom I had seen before.

"Dr. Shen?" The square-faced man pulled out his badge. "I'm Fang Jue from the Municipal Public Security Bureau's Major Crimes Unit. I have a few questions for you."

I nodded to them, signaling them to sit down.

Fang Jue did not sit down, but stood by the window, gazing at the sycamore trees outside. The young policeman took out his notebook, ready to take notes.

"Lin Nian," Fang Jue began, "no, she should be called Zhao Min."

I was stunned.

"Zhao Min?"

"Hmm." Fang Jue turned around and looked directly at me. "You may not know this, but your patient is a serial killer suspect who has been wanted nationwide for five years."

"A serial killer suspect?" A buzzing sound filled my mind.

"Four cases." Fang Jue approached and sat down opposite me. Four men, all dead from cyanide poisoning. All the deceased had contact with her under her alias, but direct evidence had been lacking. After the fourth case, she disappeared and became a wanted criminal.

I was speechless. Lin Nian flashed through my mind—the woman in the gray hoodie, with a soft voice and shifty eyes. She killed four people?

"We now suspect," Fang Jue continued, "that her coming to see you was not a coincidence."

"What do you mean?"

Fang Jue didn't answer directly, but instead took a folder out of his bag and gently placed it in front of me.

"Take a look at this first."

I gently lifted the cover of the folder, and six yellowed photos came into view, each carrying the weight of a soul.

First image: Chen Jianguo, male, 52 years old, psychological counselor, H city. Died in a car accident in 2017.

Second photo: Li Minhua, female, 48 years old, psychological counselor, City C. Drowning in 2018.

Third photo: Zhang Mingyuan, male, 55 years old, psychological counselor, D city. He fell from a building in 2019.

Fourth photo: Wang Xiuying, female, 50 years old, psychological counselor, G city. Suffered carbon monoxide poisoning in 2020.

Fifth photo: Zhao Zhiqiang, male, 53 years old, psychological counselor, City B. He went missing in 2021 and has not been found to this day.

Sixth photo: Sun Lihua, female, 49 years old, psychological counselor, City A. Died in a car accident in 2022.

I looked up, and Fang Jue's gaze pierced through me; his voice was deep and powerful.

"These people," he said slowly, "were all the psychologists Zhao Min consulted under the alias. And, without exception, they are all dead."

My fingers began to tremble involuntarily.

"you mean……"

"Starting in 2017, every city she visited would have a different therapist. Then, that therapist would die unexpectedly a few months later." Fang Jue's eyes were deep and complex as he gazed at me. "You're the seventh."

Lin Nian's face, her words, and her last gaze appeared in my mind.

"Think carefully," Fang Jue's voice interrupted my recollection, "During her five consultations, was there anything unusual? Did she say anything special? Did she do anything special?"

I tried to calm myself down, closed my eyes, and recalled every detail of those five consultations.

For the first time, her gaze lingered on the door of the archives room.

The second time, "some people come to see a psychologist not because they want to get treatment, but just because they want someone to talk to."

The third question was, "Do you believe that one person can be two people at the same time?"

The fourth time, "Be careful."

The fifth time, she didn't say anything and just collapsed.

I opened my eyes and told Fang Jue all the details.

After listening, he remained silent for a long time.

"The archives?" he finally asked. "Why is she interested in the archives?"

I shook my head.

"And," he continued, "what did she mean when she said, 'There's someone next to you who isn't who you thought they were'?"

I shook my head again.

Fang Jue stood up, walked to the door, and then turned back.

"Dr. Shen," he said, "I suggest you think carefully about whether any suspicious people have appeared around you recently. Also, you'd better check your files."

After he left, I sat alone in the examination room.

The sun was shining brightly outside the window, and the sycamore trees were full of lush green leaves. But I only felt a chill.

I stood up, walked to the door of the archives room, and stared at the door.

When she first came here, her eyes were fixed on this spot.

What is she looking at?

I pushed open the door and went inside.

The archives room is small, about twenty square meters, with metal cabinets on all four walls. Each cabinet is numbered and arranged alphabetically by the patient's surname. My clinic has been open for over ten years, and there are at least a thousand files here.

I found the cabinet that started with "L" and took out Lin Nian's file folder. It was very thin, containing only five consultation records.

I flipped through the pages one by one. Just like the previous times, nothing special.

Just as I was about to put it back, I noticed a detail: there were a few faint marks on the back of the file folder.

It looks like someone lightly scratched it with their fingernail, leaving behind some numbers.

I looked closer and identified four numbers: 0723

What does this mean? Is it a date? A number? Or something else?

I stood there for a long time, thinking. Then, I made a decision.

I was looking for file number 0723 in the metal cabinet.

There were many cabinets, and I looked through them one by one. Finally, I found it on the bottom shelf of the third cabinet.

Patient ID 0723, Patient Name: Li Mingyuan.

I pulled out the file folder and opened it. Inside was only one piece of paper, not a consultation record, but a sticky note.

The note had a line written on it:

*If something happens to me one day, please check this person—He Chunfang, female, approximately 55 years old, with a Henan accent, claiming to be a patient's family member, appeared in the waiting area three times in June 2019. She asked the receptionist about my schedule.*

I was stunned.

Who wrote this? Did Li Mingyuan write it? Why would he put such a note in the file? What did he mean by "an accident"?

I turned the note over, and on the back there was another line of numbers: 0531

It's numbers again.

I stood there, my hands trembling slightly.

I suddenly remembered what Fang Jue had said: "You'd better check your files."

I gently set down the 0723 file folder and began searching the cabinet for 0531. Once I found it, I carefully opened it. Inside was another note, with another number clearly written on the back: 0812. Then came 0924, 1107, 0103, 0318. Seven file folders, seven patients, seven numbers, one after another, like an invisible chain. The last file folder, 0318. Patient's name: Zhou Jianguo. I opened the folder; inside was only one piece of paper—the very note that read "He Chunfang."

I arranged the seven file folders neatly on the table and stared at them.

0723→0531→0812→0924→1107→0103→0318。

This is a chain. It starts with Li Mingyuan and ends with Zhou Jianguo. Who is Li Mingyuan? Who is Zhou Jianguo? What is their connection to Zhao Min? And what is their entanglement with He Chunfang?

I suddenly recalled the question Lin Nian raised during the third consultation:

"Do you believe that one person can be two people at the same time?" I didn't understand it then. Now, I think I understand a little better.

But she wasn't referring to "one person," but rather "someone close to you who isn't the person you thought they were." Who is that person? Is it me? Or someone else entirely?