Mad Dog

As the girl’s voice, hoarse yet gentle, filled the hospital corridor, it became so quiet that one could almost hear a pin drop. Each person felt as though their brains had short-circuited.
In fact, Shen Lei was somewhat aware that Jiang Qi had bipolar disorder, as the boy had once candidly confessed it to him.
But the problem was that he hadn’t taken it seriously.
Shen Lei observed that Jiang Qi seemed perfectly normal on the surface—just a bit cold and aloof—and thought that his so-called ‘bipolar disorder’ was probably just the type of depression most young people experience nowadays, maybe with a bit of irritability added. It didn’t seem like much of a problem.
How could he have known things were this serious?
As Zhi Qi recounted her story, Shen Lei felt his heart grow heavier with every word, until she finished speaking, and he finally settled into his thoughts.
After all, human hearts are made of flesh; he still held a fondness for Jiang Qi, whom he had personally guided into the industry.
Now that it was confirmed that the boy had severe bipolar disorder, which could almost be grounds for a mental illness diagnosis, the judicial process in determining whether Jiang Qi had ‘hurt anyone’ would likely be more lenient.
At the very least, once the two background actors found out Jiang Qi had a mental illness, they would probably realize they could hardly pursue a case against him and might agree to a monetary compensation scheme.
“Director Qu,” Shen Lei pondered for a moment, looking at the dazed Qu Heng, and said, “Since Jiang Qi has medical proof of a neurological issue, once a public statement is made, the losses to the crew won’t be that significant. Could you consider not pursuing charges against Jiang Qi?”
Actually, these matters should have been discussed by Xiao Yongfei, the manager, but he had been too stunned to speak.
Now brought back to reality by Shen Lei’s words, he hurriedly added, “That’s right, Director Qu. With the medical certification for Jiang Qi, suing isn’t a favorable option for either party.”
Of course, Qu Heng understood all these intricacies. It was just that, at that moment, he hesitated.
Good directors and good actors have always appreciated each other, and it was undeniable that Jiang Qi had brought him a lot of joy and a sense of novelty during the filming of “Pride.”
Because of this, he was even angrier about Jiang Qi’s self-destructive behavior.
Qu Heng had poured too much effort into “Pride,” and all of that was at risk of going to waste because of Jiang Qi’s actions. How could he not be furious?
But now he was being told that Jiang Qi was a patient.
Yes, sometimes the line between genius and madness is thin, after all.
Qu Heng sighed silently.
He no longer brought up the idea of suing Jiang Qi but instead asked, “Can he continue filming?”
If possible, even if the film wouldn’t be released or pass inspection, he still wanted to finish “Pride.”
But no one answered Qu Heng’s question, and the stairwell fell into a deep silence.
Nobody knew what Jiang Qi’s future held, whether Chunding would terminate his contract because of this incident, or what would happen to the ads and other commitments he had previously signed…
No one knew if this boy would still have a place in the entertainment industry, if the name ‘Jiang Qi’ would remain.
Gradually, everyone dispersed.
In the end, only Shen Lei, Xiao Yongfei, and Qiu Mi remained outside the ward. They glanced through the glass window at Jiang Qi, then left with worried expressions.
Having spent several months with Jiang Qi, Qiu Mi’s eyes were red.
After silently seeing the three of them off, Zhi Qi repeated the names ‘Shen Lei, Xiao Yongfei, Qiu Mi’ in her heart. Perhaps only these three could be considered Jiang Qi’s ‘friends.’
The girl stood in front of the elevator, dazed for a while, before turning to return to the ward.
The boy lying motionless on the hospital bed was in a state of fainting from overstimulation; he seemed to struggle even in sleep. His handsome brow was slightly furrowed, and his thin lips were pressed tight.
“Jiang Qi.” Zhi Qi walked over, sitting in the chair beside the bed. The girl gently held the boy’s cold fingers, softly murmuring his name.
Then, she leaned forward, resting her chin on his rigid shoulder, her long eyelashes fluttering.
“Jiang Qi.” In the quiet ward, the girl smiled, as mischievous as a cat pawing at a dangling toy, and gently muttered, “Finally, it’s just the two of us.”
For them, being alone truly felt like a luxury.
Zhi Qi thought that not just Jiang Qi, but she might be sick too.
The girl then took out her phone, which had been vibrating in her pocket, glancing at the screen displaying calls from her parents, Zhi Yu, and friends like Meng Chunyu. She silently ended the calls and switched the phone off.
Right now, she didn’t want to deal with anything else; she just wanted to take good care of Jiang Qi.
“Don’t worry.” Zhi Qi pointed gently at the boy’s pale lips. “You’ll be okay.”
In fact, she hadn’t shared the follow-up of that ‘accident’ from years ago with anyone.
Seeing the ashen-faced Jiang Qi leave the doctor’s office, she had about five minutes to process everything. After that, her mind was a flurry of conflicting thoughts.
At that moment, Zhi Qi made a decision: no matter what, she couldn’t abandon Jiang Qi.
So she tightly gripped the prescription the doctor had given her and hurriedly followed the direction Jiang Qi had gone—he hadn’t taken the elevator but had used the emergency exit.
Afraid that she might lose sight of him, she ran quickly.
However, Zhi Qi never expected that when she pushed open the heavy door of the emergency exit, she would witness a scene she would never forget.
Jiang Qi hadn’t left. He sat in the corner of the emergency stairwell, wearing the same school uniform that had been half-soaked by the rain, expressionless as he bit down on his arm.
Zhi Xi stared in shock at his once fair and slender arm, now marked by countless bite marks, fresh wounds overlapping old scars, seeping blood…
“Jiang—Jiang Qi?” Zhi Qi trembled as she looked at him, her voice shaking. “What are you doing?”
Jiang Qi didn’t answer, nor did he even look up. He continued his self-destructive behavior, and this was what ‘self-harm’ looked like—seeing such a terrifying act in the stairwell made her fear what he would do to himself if he went home and had tools at hand.
Zhi Qi couldn’t bear to think about it, instinctively rushing over to grab Jiang Qi’s shoulders to stop him.
“Don’t bite yourself, I beg you!” Zhi Qi’s voice was hoarse and choked, as if she too were on the verge of collapsing: “Jiang Qi, let’s get you treated, okay?”
She knew he had heard everything, so she didn’t want to repeat what ‘illness’ Jiang Qi had; she didn’t want to hurt him again.
But Zhi Qi wanted Jiang Qi to be treated.
“You should leave.” The boy, with his eyes downcast, spoke coldly: “Just ignore me.”
Zhi Qi grasped his icy fingers, shaking her head, her lips pressed tight in stubbornness.
“Do you not understand what I’m saying?” Jiang Qi lifted his eyes, his pale irises cold as unfeeling amber: “Or are you not afraid that I might hit you?”
“Jiang Qi, you don’t need to scare me.” Zhi Qi smiled gently. “I’m not afraid of you.”
She wanted to gamble, to wager that Jiang Qi would never hurt her, no matter what.
So, Zhi Qi was determined to stay by Jiang Qi’s side, to prevent him from harming himself or others. She continually reassured herself: “We’ll get you treated, and you’ll be fine.”
Yet Jiang Qi did not accept her kindness.
“Just go. I can’t control myself.” He pulled his fingers from her gentle grasp, dismissing himself: “I realize now that when I go mad, I’m no different from a rabid dog. Just go.”
“No, you’re not a dog.”
Zhi Qi crouched in front of Jiang Qi, looking at him. Hearing him belittle himself like that made the girl’s eyes red with unshed tears.
“Jiang Qi… let me tell you something.” The girl sat beside the boy on the stairs, their backs against the wall. Even with their wet clothes clinging to them, she didn’t feel cold. In the silent corner, only Zhi Qi’s soft voice whispered gently—
“I remember telling you before that when I get to university, I want to major in wildlife protection. Everyone said I was unrealistic, but you never said that.”
Zhi Qi sniffled, feeling somewhat aggrieved: “But I know it’s unrealistic; after graduating, I might not even find a job. Protecting animals isn’t something one person can achieve, but… someone has to do it, right?”
“When I was ten, I went to an aquarium with my mom and watched a ‘show’ featuring seals, sea lions, and dolphins. At the time, I didn’t understand much, but I thought it was really fun.”
“After it ended, everyone was leaving, but before I could get out, I realized I had left the souvenir my mom bought me inside.”
“When I went back to get it, I saw the staff training the animals, and they were hitting a little dolphin. I was shocked to hear them say the dolphin had made a mistake and was going to get hit, and they wouldn’t feed it.”
That scene had remained vividly etched in Zhi Qi’s memory over the years.
Even now, a ridiculous ‘wish’ formed in her mind; she wanted to protect them, like that distressed little dolphin.
“Jiang Qi, you’re not a dog; you’re just… trapped.”
Zhi Qi once again took the boy’s cold hand, leaning her soft forehead against his slender shoulder, gently murmuring: “You’re my little dolphin.”
She would help him heal; she was sure of it.
No matter the past or present, because Jiang Qi had never been someone ‘beyond help.’
The sixteen-year-old Jiang Qi slowly overlapped with the present, both lying on the hospital bed, pale and frail.
This was the second time she had seen Jiang Qi suffer a breakdown, but was it truly the second time? Or was it merely what she had seen?
Prison wasn’t the most brutal place, was it? During his time there, had Jiang Qi ever lost control like this? What had he experienced in the years they were apart, in those endless nights when she knew nothing about him…
Zhi Qi’s gaze swept over the thin blanket covering the boy’s slender body, and her heart skipped a beat.
The girl suddenly had a bold and reckless thought, causing her breath to catch and quicken.
She wanted… she wanted to see those places on Jiang Qi’s body that she usually couldn’t see.