Deep in the Act: Chapter 4

The second time Fang Chi saw Gao Zhun, he was still dressed so neatly and handsomely, his hair loosely slicked back with pomade, a black obsidian stud in his right ear. He walked into the consultation room full of energy, with Secretary Feng trailing behind him, wishing she could turn into a shadow for him to step on. He was early again. Fang Chi had just come out of the last client’s story, looking tired. “Mr. Gao, do you have a habit of wearing earrings?”

Gao Zhun set down his bag. This time it was a limited edition Givenchy, delicate to the point of being somewhat feminine. “There’s a cross-disciplinary artist gathering this afternoon. I went with the flow,” he said, kicking the bag at his feet. “Otherwise I wouldn’t use this kind of stuff.”

His shoes were Berluti, pointed, black and shiny, the kind that could pierce a woman’s heart. Fang Chi pulled his gaze back and fixed it on his face. It was the face of someone who had been suffering from chronic insomnia, slack and dull, with faint dark circles under his eyes. “You use women’s perfume?”

Gao Zhun seemed stung by his choice of words, showing a strange expression, like disgust, like fear. “No, I use cologne. Maybe it was those models… they like to hug… or when taking group photos…”

He grew clumsy. Fang Chi smiled. “Mr. Gao, can we begin now?”

He gestured to Secretary Feng at the door. She quietly walked over and closed the door. Fang Chi observed Gao Zhun’s expression. He showed that frightened look again, like some startled small animal, as if a snap of the fingers could make him faint.

“Mr. Gao,” Fang Chi sat diagonally across from him as before, holding a pen and notepad. “Last time you said your fiancee sent you here. What about this time?”

Gao Zhun reluctantly pulled his attention from the door back to the conversation. “I came of my own free will.”

Fang Chi nodded with satisfaction. “Then,” he asked him in his usual gentle tone, “why did you come? Or rather, what prompted you to seek help?”

Gao Zhun seemed confused by his question. “B-because… last time you said you could solve my problem.”

Fang Chi looked at him without blinking. “Then can you tell me, what is your problem?”

That gaze was so firm, so forceful, that Gao Zhun didn’t dare meet it. “I have insomnia, nightmares, sometimes I can’t concentrate…”

“What else?”

“Nothing else.”

Fang Chi crossed his legs. “I want to hear the truth.”

Gao Zhun thought about it, about to speak, when Fang Chi cut him off. “All of it.”

Gao Zhun swallowed, staring at the gleaming floor, almost pleading. “I told you last time, give me some time…”

Fang Chi didn’t respond. In the white room, only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Gao Zhun’s hands were clasped together, clearly very tense. Fang Chi allowed enough silence, then sighed. “Alright, I’ll wait for you.”

He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his notepad. “Mr. Gao, psychological counseling is a process of joint effort. You may not believe it, but you have tremendous potential within you. In the end, the only one who can free you is yourself.” He handed him the paper. “Of course, I will be by your side the entire time, whenever you need me.”

No one had ever said these things to Gao Zhun. He looked at him in surprise, to the point of forgetting to open the paper in his hand. Over a month of holding himself up alone was crumbling because of this sentence. The feeling of being unconditionally cared for made him want to cry, but he held it back. He didn’t dare let him know.

But Fang Chi knew. He knew all of his feelings. “Every word spoken in this consultation room, I will keep confidential for you. From anyone, unless…” He looked at Gao Zhun’s trembling, delicate fingers. “It violates the law.”

Fang Chi had anticipated various reactions from Gao Zhun, knowing roughly at which points he might interrupt him. But he didn’t expect him to suddenly ask at this moment, “What do you mean?”

Fang Chi raised an eyebrow. “For example, if your current insomnia is because you killed someone, or some other violent crime, I have a duty to report it to the police.”

Gao Zhun didn’t back down. On the contrary, he pressed further. “What if I’m only fantasizing about a crime, and haven’t carried it out yet?” He blinked, deliberately making himself appear casual. “Or, what if I’m the victim?”

Fang Chi saw through his little trick. “Victim.” This unusual word caught his attention. “Then I will keep it confidential.” He handed him the pen, which had grown warm in his grip. “Mr. Gao, I’m giving you a simple Adler questionnaire. Please fill it out.”

Gao Zhun thoughtfully unfolded the paper. There were over twenty questions on it, all about childhood experiences. He didn’t hesitate, picking up the pen and writing. Fang Chi looked at his bent neck, the proportion, the curve, very beautiful. He remembered his overreaction to safe distance last time, and suddenly wanted to conduct an experiment, an experiment about bodily stress response.

He leaned slightly toward him, and without warning, touched the left side of his temple, as light as a dragonfly skimming water. But with just that one touch, the pen dropped from Gao Zhun’s hand. To avoid it, his whole body tilted in the opposite direction. About to fall, Fang Chi quickly caught him, with a look of feigned surprise. “There was something in your hair. I was just trying to help you get it out.”

Gao Zhun was terrified, staring at him for a long time, his face red. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Fang Chi let go of him. “Victim.” He was even more certain of the truth of this word. “Have you finished the questionnaire? Let me see.”

Gao Zhun loosened his tie and handed him the paper. Throughout this process, he kept his hands tucked in, seemingly afraid of physical contact with Fang Chi. “Do childhood things have anything to do with treating insomnia?”

Of course they don’t, Fang Chi thought. He was just using this step to further explore his personality. “Of course they do,” he said while looking at the questionnaire. “You’re an only child, from a single-parent family, unmarried. These are all high-risk factors for anxiety.”

Gao Zhun clearly hadn’t recovered from the shock. He bit his thin lip, both hands gripping his sleeves tightly, his fingertips turning blue. Fang Chi put away the questionnaire and picked up the pen. “Mr. Gao, next, can you tell me about yourself?”

“Me?” Gao Zhun didn’t know where to begin for a moment. He thought about it, and followed Fang Chi’s line of thought about family. “My parents separated when I was very young. My mother… was a very strict person. She told me there was only one way to live, and that was to be above other people.”

Fang Chi pressed further. “What does it mean to be above other people?”

“To be the best.”

“You’re a perfectionist?”

Gao Zhun didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I think good things are all flawless.” At this point, he looked somewhat dejected. Worried that this dejection would be noticed by Fang Chi, he quickly added, “My mother always told me to be a real man, to show my father.”

Fang Chi asked again, “What is a real man?”

“Strong, financially capable, good to women,” he said, then laughed. “But look at me, I’m not tall. But I’ve achieved the other two.”

“Is being a real man very important to you?”

Gao Zhun thought seriously. “I suppose so. I used to cry a lot as a child. My mother always told me to hold it back. She said, a real man shouldn’t be like a woman…”

Suddenly he stopped, and said no more. Fang Chi looked at him puzzled, watching his thick eyelashes tremble in the orange afterglow of the sunset. This kind of situation was actually quite common, and he didn’t mind. He guessed Gao Zhun had probably fallen into some childhood memory. “Mr. Gao, regarding your childhood, can you randomly recall a scene?”

“A scene?” Gao Zhun’s voice, unlike his flashy exterior, was very low. When he spoke to him, Fang Chi sometimes felt a floating sense of pleasure.

“For example, the most impressive one, the one you think of often.”

Gao Zhun’s brow moved. He must have thought of something. “Once…” He seemed a bit bashful. “When I was about seven or eight, there was a kid in the courtyard who laughed at me for not having a dad. I hit him. Then…” He showed a shy expression. “His dad happened to pass by. I was very scared at the time. Watching him walk over, I was so frightened I couldn’t move. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t even ask his son. He just gently patted my head.”

After a pause, he continued, “I thought, having a dad must feel like that.”

“And then?” Fang Chi asked.

“Then he picked me up and took me home,” Gao Zhun was rarely a bit excited. “He didn’t even pick up his own son, just held his hand.”

“What did you do at the time?”

“I wrapped my arms around his neck, my face pressed against his face.” Soon, his expression dimmed. “But after he left, my mother cried.”

Fang Chi understood this curiosity and dependence on adult males. “What kind of person was he?”

“I heard he was a doctor,” Gao Zhun glanced lightly at him. “Like you. You’re both kind, willing to help people.”

Fang Chi’s face grew hot, his chest feeling a bit tight. “What else?”

“He’s quite similar to you,” Gao Zhun looked at him with clear eyes. “You’re both tall, with curly hair. The last time I saw you, I felt you could help me.”

Fang Chi fell silent, not speaking for a long time. Guilt crept out from the cracks of his soul. He could have been kinder to him, but he chose to be malicious. Afterward, Gao Zhun talked about his family, many of his experiences. Just as he was getting to Zuo Linlin, Fang Chi interrupted him and arranged their next appointment time. Gao Zhun chose every Wednesday at four in the afternoon.

When he left, Fang Chi came out of the consultation room and walked him all the way to the elevator. The elevator doors slowly closed. Gao Zhun smiled politely at him from inside. Then the elevator descended, the indicator numbers dropping one by one. Fang Chi suddenly felt a strong desire to understand him, to help him.

That evening, when Zuo Linlin’s call came in, Fang Chi was studying materials on PTSD. She asked in a lowered voice, “Have you started?”

Fang Chi took off his glasses, his emotions a bit complicated. “Yes.”

“He’s in a very good mood today. He’s been talking about you.”

Fang Chi smiled bitterly. “What did he say about me?”

“He said a lot of good things about you. Said he’s glad I know you, said he sees hope,” her tone was sweet, with a hint of coquettishness. “Charles, really, thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” The resentment in Fang Chi’s heart rose again. Just as he was frowning, wanting to hang up, Zuo Linlin suddenly asked, “Charles, what exactly is his illness?”

Fang Chi paused. “He’s not ill.” For some reason, he vaguely sensed that Zuo Linlin’s state was subtly different from the last time they had spoken on the phone. “Something happened, but I’m not sure yet. Even if I am sure, I can’t tell you, because I’m his doctor. I have to be responsible for him.”

The other end of the phone went quiet for a moment, then said, “You can’t even tell me, Charles?”

She knew what tone to use on him, that mix of forcefulness and flirtatious intimacy. Fang Chi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright… I suspect he has a traumatic experience. I’m mainly suspecting he was robbed.”

“Impossible,” Zuo Linlin said. “He would tell me about something like that. There’s no need to keep it bottled up.”

“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll look down on him,” Fang Chi inserted the bookmark and closed the materials. That page was about psychological adjustment after violent injury. “Many men who have been robbed have experiences of being discriminated against by women. Besides, he’s a proud person.”

“Being robbed causes insomnia? Causes him to smash things? Causes him to take sleeping pills?”

“Maybe he was beaten, or some other violence. We don’t know what he went through,” Fang Chi sighed. “And Linlin, this is just a guess.”

Zuo Linlin finally agreed to end the call. Fang Chi repeatedly warned her not to mention these things to Gao Zhun. She promised, and finally said softly, “I can only rely on you, Charles. I only have you…”

Three days later, Friday evening, Fang Chi finished work and was driving home. At the intersection of Jiujiang Road and Xizang Middle Road, he saw Gao Zhun in a casual suit. He was carrying a small cardboard box, but it seemed heavy. He had to stop and rest every few steps. Fang Chi merged over, pulling up to the curb and rolling down the window. “Mr. Gao!”

Gao Zhun turned around. Fang Chi naturally called out to him. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

Gao Zhun took a step toward him, but immediately stopped, that panicked and frightened look appearing in his eyes again. “No trouble, I’ll walk back. It’s very quick.”

Only then did Fang Chi remember what Zuo Linlin had said, “He suddenly stopped driving, won’t even go to parking lots.” So he pushed open the passenger door. “Give me the box.”

Gao Zhun agreed, placing the cardboard box on the seat and giving him the address. Fang Chi nodded and stepped on the gas. Gao Zhun’s home wasn’t far, a high-end apartment complex. Fang Chi parked the car at the entrance of the complex, got out and lit a cigarette while waiting for him. Looking up at the cluster of buildings, the villas high and low, windows of varying sizes glowing with warm and cool lights, he couldn’t help but think that Zuo Linlin lived in one of these buildings, in one of these rooms, lighting up one of these lamps.

Gao Zhun walked over from afar, diffusing an invisible expensive sweet fragrance in the hazy evening light. When he got close, he said softly, “Thank you.”

Fang Chi stubbed out the cigarette. “It’s just a short walk from here. Want a ride in my car?”

“No,” Gao Zhun said. “Want to come up and sit for a while? Linlin said she hasn’t seen you in a long time.”

“No,” Fang Chi took the box down. “How have you been feeling these past two days?”

Gao Zhun took it. “I drank again yesterday, because I couldn’t sleep… Had a dream at three in the morning, afraid of waking her up.”

Saying this, he said goodbye and walked into the complex. Fang Chi called out to him. “You can call me.”

Gao Zhun turned around, not quite understanding what he meant.

“If you have a nightmare, you can call me,” Fang Chi said. “Even at three in the morning.”