Shu knew his current state was deeply wrong, but...
He was still alive.
At the very least, he was still alive.
Yeah...
Why am I still alive?
Time truly slipped through his fingers. When Shu finally snapped out of his daze, the nurse was already standing beside him, tapping his shoulder to indicate it was time to eat.
The page of the book in his hand remained unchanged. With lowered eyes, Shu silently placed the bookmark back in its spot, held the book, and stood up.
As usual, the nurse led him to the cafeteria. Shu obediently took a tray, got his food, sat down, and ate, methodically placing every single bite of food into his mouth.
His movements were as rigid and precise as a machine, mechanically executing a set of pre-programmed instructions to keep his biological functions running.
Across the cafeteria, the doctor watched Shu's routine behavior, poking at his own bowl of rice with a heavy sigh.
At least Shu was willing to eat. He ate a normal portion, and he didn't show any signs of resistance.
He just lacked any initiative. For a patient like this, as long as the staff took careful care of him, he could live a long, stable life.
At least, that was how it appeared on the surface.
But the doctor still felt something was deeply wrong.
It was too deliberate... Shu's current state was simply too deliberate. He was deliberately staying alive; he was deliberately acting normal.
It was like Truman from The Truman Show, having already meticulously planned his escape, looking directly into the hidden camera and delivering his comforting catchphrase one last time—
"In case I don't see ya... good afternoon, good evening, and good night."
The doctor had even reached out to old Dr. Bai. He felt that since he had only been interacting with Shu for a month, he might be missing something. Perhaps Shu's former attending physician could spot the underlying issue?
But Dr. Bai's final answer was...
He didn't know.
This veteran psychiatrist—who had treated Shu for four years, who was a top-tier authority in the field of psychological medicine, who had served as a micro-expression expert and psychological negotiator for criminal investigation teams—had stated his opinion with blunt honesty.
He had only seen the real Shu twice in his entire life.
The first time was during their very first meeting, when he didn't understand Shu, and Shu didn't fully understand him either.
The second time... was during this recent psychotic break, when Shu had stripped away all of his disguises and revealed his truest, rawest self.
If we go by past experience, then Shu is perfectly fine. Because if he really wanted to hide something, he wouldn't let you... or at least, he wouldn't let YOU... see any flaws in his act.
The words stung a bit, but the doctor still managed to extract the hidden meaning behind Dr. Bai's blunt assessment.
Either he's perfectly fine... or something catastrophic is about to happen.
So which was it? He honestly didn't know. All he could do was take it one day at a time, and perhaps increase the level of supervision.
Shu neatly placed his tray in the return area. Then, clutching his book, he walked away without a word.
The sun set and the moon rose. Night arrived precisely on schedule.
The nurse once again found Shu staring blankly in the courtyard, clutching his book. The page was still the exact same one; it hadn't turned.
"Thank you."
Prompted by the nurse, Shu stood up, returned to his room, and placed the book on his nightstand.
The nurse followed him in. After recording his vitals according to protocol, she presented the familiar tray.
A few pills and a cup of warm water, just like always.
"Here is your evening medication. Try to get to sleep early," the nurse said. After watching Shu swallow all the pills, she made a quick note on her chart—accustomed to this routine—and turned to leave.
Silence immediately fell over the room.
Shu stared at the closed door. He waited for a full ten seconds before silently raising his hand, revealing the single pill he had hidden in his palm. He gently dropped it into a small, concealed pill bottle.
This was the only pill in his evening dosage that differed from his daytime medication.
Its purpose...
Probably a sleeping aid.
On his first day here, he hadn't just suffered from anorexia; he had also suffered from severe insomnia. The doctor had noticed, and from the second day onward, this specific pill was added to his regimen.
Shu had spent one night testing it to verify that his lack of sleep wasn't just a physical anomaly, and from then on, he had meticulously palmed this specific pill every single night.
The small pill bottle now held nearly thirty sleeping pills.
More than enough to be a lethal dose.
Now, back to the original question.
Why is he still alive?
The doctor's intuition wasn't wrong. Shu was deliberately staying alive, and he was making absolutely no effort to hide that deliberateness.
He didn't pretend to be healthy. He certainly didn't pretend that everything was fine.
The only thing he was hiding was right now.
Shu gently placed the small bottle—the arbiter of his life and death—on top of the book on his nightstand. Then, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the coin.
The moment the metal, warmed by his own body heat, touched his palm, a rare, faint glimmer of light finally broke through the deadness in his eyes.
He rubbed his thumb over the engravings on the coin, pressing hard, as if trying to brush away all the accumulated dust and grime of the world.
Bright moonlight streamed through the window. The moon had arrived once again, bearing witness to what Shu was about to do.
The night sky remained a black canvas, sparsely dotted with stars. But tonight was a full moon, and a bright one at that.
The moonlight was strong enough to illuminate everything. Even if the sun was gone, the moon could still reveal the beauty of the world...
"Haa..."
Shu let out a soft breath. He stared at the moon for a long time. His half-lowered eyes were exactly what the moonlight was trying to illuminate... but just like the dry well that had once trapped Shu, the moon's light couldn't reach the bottom.
It's about time.
Shu pulled his gaze away from the moon and refocused entirely on the coin in his hand.
Why was he still alive? ...Because the coin told him to live.
Every single night, Shu flipped this coin, letting it decide his life or death.
Or rather... he asked the coin if it consented to his suicide.
Heads, consent.
Tails...
Perhaps Kiana's expectations truly were bound to this coin... For a month, Shu had flipped the coin thirty times, and every single time, the coin had fiercely and resolutely rejected his plea.
Thirty rejections...
Flick—
Shu flipped the coin for the thirty-first time. For the thirty-first time, he entrusted his plea to the luck residing within it.
May I...
May I commit suicide?
...
In the Bible, those who commit suicide are barred from entering Heaven because of their cowardice and original sin.
But Shu didn't care about Heaven.
He only wanted to escape this hell.
When he flipped the coin, he already knew exactly what answer he wanted. But he believed in the coin's choice far more than his own desires. He believed in its luck.
Heads, consent.
Tails, reject.
The coin landed on the back of his hand, sealing his fate for the night.
Slowly, Shu moved the hand covering the result. When he finally saw the face of the coin, his half-lowered eyelids finally lifted just a fraction.
A faint, subtle smile touched the corners of his mouth.
Ah...
She finally agreed...
He smiled, his eyes utterly devoid of light.