SES Chapter 100 Part 1

Chapter 100

That day at the hospital, the nurse told Uncle Zhang that Mu Dai had woken up. He was both shocked and overjoyed, stumbling inside.

He saw Mu Dai sitting up, the blanket pushed aside, head lowered, pulling the IV needle from the back of her hand.

Sometimes people really do have a sixth sense. Just from her movements—before he even saw the expression on her face—Uncle Zhang already felt something was wrong.

He tested her with a call: “Little Boss Lady?”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were bright, but that radiance quickly dimmed, her face flattening into plain fatigue as she said, “Uncle Zhang.”

Her tone even carried a hint of impatience.

That face, that expression, that tone—Uncle Zhang had only seen them once before, on a recorded video, but it was unforgettable.

Luo Ren asked, “What was the trigger?”

What trigger caused the main personality to return—or rather, to take the controls again?

He Ruihua hesitated before saying, “Probably some kind of balance being broken.”

Because Luo Ren had just lost his temper earlier, He Ruihua now spoke a little short of breath.

He steadied himself. He couldn’t suddenly change course now; he still had his pride and persistence as a specialist, so he continued.

“Think about it. If the life she faced was that of an ordinary person, this version of Mu Dai could handle it just fine.

“She’s beautiful, gentle in nature, liked by her family, and in the future, her boyfriend would like her too. She’d have a good marriage, live a simple, fulfilling life.”

He tapped the circle on the whiteboard labeled Mu Dai. “This personality is enough to cope—more than enough.”

Luo Ren grunted an acknowledgment.

He had a good habit: no matter how much he disliked or resented someone, if they made sense, he could still listen calmly.

He Ruihua went on, almost lost in thought. “You could imagine, if life always stayed that way, maybe for her whole lifetime, Personality No. 2 and the primary personality might never have appeared again.”

That thought had a strange aftertaste. A peculiar idea flashed in Luo Ren’s mind: maybe the whole world itself was just a giant mental ward, and people could be divided into two types—those who had already fallen ill, and those who hadn’t yet.

What did it mean to be normal? Who dared say they were normal? When the world began, the word didn’t exist. It was just invented by someone, defined and used, and passed down ever since.

He Ruihua pointed toward Huo Zihong and Uncle Zhang. “According to them, they’ve never seen No. 2 appear.”

Which made sense. Around Huo Zihong and Uncle Zhang, life was ordinary and peaceful. No. 2 would have had no reason to show up.

But then He Ruihua shifted gears. “Yet Mr. Zhang mentioned that recently, Mu Dai has been going out frequently, apparently experiencing quite a lot. And supposedly, Mr. Luo, you were with her when these things happened. Tell us honestly—did you ever see No. 2, or something like No. 2, appear?”

Luo Ren sighed inwardly.

“Yes.”

“Once or multiple times?”

“Let’s call it multiple.”

He Ruihua exhaled lightly, his expression carrying the faint satisfaction of I knew it.

“You see,” he said, “the balance of one single personality ruling for nearly eight years has been broken. Sometimes we say split personalities don’t know each other exist—but that’s not entirely accurate. A person isn’t isolated. She lives in society, she reasons, analyzes, suspects. And inevitably, a struggle for survival rights breaks out.

“It’s like… let’s say one morning you wake up and find an identical copy of yourself lying beside you—taking over your family, lover, social circle, name, and wealth. What would you do? Coexist peacefully? No. We’ve run surveys—ninety percent of people said they would stop at nothing to eliminate the other, just to return life to what it was before.”

Human nature itself carries an instinct for exclusivity—toward lovers, and even more so toward oneself. Most of the time, you don’t face another ‘you’ competing for attention, but once you do…

Luo Ren asked, “And then?”

“Then the situation worsens. Chaos and collapse may follow—either madness, or… self-preservation reactivates, and the true controlling personality emerges to take command again.”

He Ruihua thought for a moment. “But that kind of deterioration usually takes time. So I think her sudden return to the primary personality this time probably had something to do with the car accident.”

Some hold the view that the body is the body and the mind is the mind, separating the two. But signs suggest there’s still a mysterious link: sometimes a stronger body fosters a stronger spirit, while other times, physical pain and illness can instantly destroy a person’s will.

The information overload gave Luo Ren a headache.

He asked, “When can I see Mu Dai?”

He Ruihua didn’t answer. That wasn’t his call—it depended on the family.

Huo Zihong spoke up at just the right moment.

“Luo Ren, we didn’t inform you before taking Mu Dai away for two reasons. One, Uncle Zhang told me you two hadn’t been together long. To me, you’re not family.”

Luo Ren smiled faintly. “Understandable.”

“The other reason…” Huo Zihong forced a bitter smile. “We’re also trying to learn how to get along with this Mu Dai.”

A chill went down Luo Ren’s spine.

“She’s… different?”

Huo Zihong struggled to find the words. “Very… different.”

At least, she’d never dealt with this side of Mu Dai before. Like Uncle Zhang, she had only ever seen it once—in that recording.

Luo Ren asked another question.

“These past few days… has she mentioned me?”

Huo Zihong looked at him, hesitating, her expression almost apologetic.

Luo Ren said, “Got it.”

Before letting Luo Ren see Mu Dai, He Ruihua gave him a warning.

He repeated it in two words: “It’s complicated.”

On the surface, Mu Dai’s case seemed simple—just that video, plus a few fragmented records. But life had a way of turning the simplest things into the most complicated.

How to put it… For the current Mu Dai, what happened eight years ago was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. The only difference was that now she was facing it with the age and experience of twenty-three.

Luo Ren said, “Then I hope she can be strong.”

But even as he said it, worry lingered in his heart. “In the room, you didn’t leave any dangerous objects, did you? Knives or anything?”

The image of that blade aimed at her chest still haunted him.

He Ruihua said, “You’ll see for yourself.”

The room was specially outfitted. Two of the four walls were one-way mirrors, making everything inside visible from the outside.

You’ll see for yourself.

Luo Ren had pictured many possible scenarios for meeting Mu Dai again—her being sad, lost, helpless, confused, even hysterical.

Reality, however, was the one that slapped him hardest.

Mu Dai was playing a video game.

The room contained arcade-grade shooting equipment—a simulation setup, coin-operated, with a rack of long and short rifles beside the screen.

Wearing headphones, Mu Dai stood tall, feet staggered slightly apart, gun in hand, face cold, eyes locked on the screen. Focus absolute. She fired continuously, her aim rising and lowering with the targets, finger never leaving the trigger.

A basket of tokens sat by her side.

Luo Ren shifted to see what game she was playing.

Something like Zombie Siege. At first, the zombies were slow, shambling. She pursed her lips, head-shaking each one. As the game escalated—tentacled monsters, giant ones, acid-spitting ones—she never let up on the trigger, firing nonstop.

But with games like that, no matter how well you play, you always lose in the end—beaten by the arcade’s need to make money.