One Page Crease

Zhou Jibei, the most famous "crazy lady" in the upper class, was smoking a cigarette and slamming the psychiatrist's information book onto the sandalwood table. As the page flipped, a photo with a face as cold as snow pierced the hustle and bustle - Xu Nandu, twenty-three years old, with a resume as perfect as a precision instrument. Zhou Jibei used his nails to make a crease on the edge of the photo and smiled wildly: "That's her." There was an undercurrent in the treatment room. The androgynous short-haired heir sat cross-legged on the leather sofa, and every frivolous lie turned into a winding ink mark on the medical record at the tip of Xu Nandu's pen. It wasn't until a certain hypnosis session that Zhou Jibei grasped the doctor's wrist in confusion, and was shocked to realize that the old cigarette scar on the other person's wrist was exactly the same as the one on his collarbone. Two souls bitten by their families licked each other's wounds in the agarwood that filled the clinic. Xu Nandu said that the year she stepped on broken glass to escape from her gambling father on a rainy night, Zhou Jibei was smashing her mother's favorite antique vase with a red wine bottle. Love grows wildly under the broken moonlight. When Zhou Jibei pressed Xu Nandu against the carved wooden door of the Zhou family's old house and kissed him, the red sandalwood beads made the doctor's back hurt. But when Xu Nandu opened the door of the club box, the room was filled with the smell of smoke and alcohol, and Zhou Jibei's sneer shattered his dream: "Doctor Xu? He's just a beautiful toy to accompany the acting." During the confrontation on a rainy night, Xu Nandu's suitcase rolled over the messy medical records on the floor, and Zhou Jibei crushed the sedative bottle on the coffee table with his bare hands. The blood flowed across the folded medical record that had been smoothed repeatedly. Chen Xian's bodyguard was already waiting downstairs. Two and a half years later, in late autumn in Los Angeles, Xu Nandu was curled up on the waiting chair of Han Yuejian Clinic with a high fever, while Zhou Jibei on the other side of the Pacific was tracing the creases of old photos over and over with the tip of a pen. When the incandescent lamps in the morgue burned the silhouettes of Xu Nandu's parents into eternal shadows, Zhou Jibei walked into the ward stepping on the withered yellow leaves on the ground. Amidst the sharp alarm of the monitor, the always arrogant heir of the Zhou family knelt among the broken glass medicine bottles on the floor, and pressed Xu Nandu's hand with the hanging needle on his heart: "You want my life, I will give it to you, but you must live to take it." The crease that had lasted for many years was finally tempered in blood and tears into a life-long contract. Concept: We are all reading each other's rusty growth rings in the folds of time