A Letter from Keanu Reeves

According to a Feng Shui master, the “ghost” wouldn’t be sent away until the hour of Hai (9–11 PM).
The others chose to stay overnight at the Chen residence, but Chen Wan braved the rain to retrieve his car. Cao Zhi also stepped out, having half-jokingly, half-seriously hinted at his plans during dinner earlier. Now, it was unclear whether he was leaving conveniently or deliberately intercepting someone.

“You weren’t out parking the other day, were you?”
It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

There’s no need to wear a six-figure suit just to park a car. Chen Wan would always return to the Chen residence dressed casually, in shirts and jeans, looking as though he placed little value on appearances. Low-profile and ordinary, he showed no hint of ambition.

Chen Wan turned his head to glance at Cao Zhi calmly, twirled his car keys, and replied firmly, “I was just parking.”

Cao Zhi chuckled softly in the dark, “If you say so.”

Maintaining a polite façade, Chen Wan bid him farewell, turned, and left.

There was a rusted dog chain carelessly discarded on the flat ground near the security booth.

Without hesitation, Chen Wan stepped over it, his gaze unwavering and his mind at peace. He was no longer the illegitimate child who, in his youth, had been leashed and humiliated like a dog.

Though the Chen family appeared affluent and glamorous, it was a cesspool of filth, scandal, and corruption. The distortions and cruelty of the wealthy were incomparable to those of ordinary people.

Who would have thought that a child born into such a family would have been tied to a dog kennel, left without enough food or clothes?

As a child, Chen Wan envied the beggars on the streets. At least they had freedom.
Living in that hell was worse than death.

The Volkswagen he drove was inconspicuous among the fleet of luxury cars parked at the Chen residence. Upon closer inspection, the car had several new scratches, low on the body, likely caused by those boys who had bullied Judy earlier that evening.

He wondered if they had punctured his tires as well.

The rain began to pour harder. Not wanting to alarm anyone in the house, Chen Wan crouched to check the tires. After confirming they were intact, he got in the car.

Closing the door, a wave of deep fatigue washed over him. Without turning on the lights, he leaned against the steering wheel, resting there for a long time to gather himself.

Large raindrops pounded against the windshield. Even in the sealed car, he could hear the distant sounds of wind and waves, and the rustling of palm leaves against the window.

Chen Wan lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, feeling oxygen fill his lungs and relieve the suffocating weight of the rain and darkness. His hand fumbled in the dark until it found the radio dial. He turned it on to break the silence.

A compilation of Cantopop hits from the early 2000s was playing:
“You live happily,
While I struggle to survive.
Many on the mountaintop overlook my exhaustion.
You define living,
I insult survival.
Only suited to dwell in the valley,
Piecing together my chaos.
No end in sight, no grace to find,
You and I are worlds apart.”

The phone vibrated on the dashboard.

Startled, Chen Wan moved his fingers, clenched his fist, and finally mustered the strength to answer.

“Good evening, Mr. Chen.”

“Monica.”

“Apologies for the late call. Since you missed your follow-up appointment last week, the prescription can’t be continued. I needed to inform you.”

Last week, Chen Wan had been preoccupied with Zhao Shengge’s return and had forgotten about the appointment. He quickly apologized, “My apologies, Monica, that was my oversight. Please add the missed consultation fee to my account. It’s my fault.”

Monica paused briefly and replied with mild exasperation, “That’s not what I meant, Mr. Chen.”

Her patient displayed strong empathy toward others but neglected himself.

As a doctor, she couldn’t let it slide. “Are you free in the next couple of days? It’s important to come in for a session during this treatment phase—it’s not ideal to interrupt.”

Monica had been Chen Wan’s psychologist for many years. Chen Wan didn’t think he had any psychological issues, but Zhuo Zhixuan had noticed certain oddities in his behavior and occasional extreme thoughts. Concerned, Zhuo arranged for him to see Monica, a senior from his time at Columbia University.

Though Chen Wan wasn’t particularly invested in his treatment, he didn’t want to disregard his friend’s concern or cause trouble for his doctor. He offered, “If it’s not inconvenient, I can come over now.”

Relieved, Monica agreed. Patients like Chen Wan, who seemed cooperative but were actually resistant, were the hardest to handle. “All right, I’ll wait for you at the clinic.”

Not wanting her to work too late, Chen Wan sped through traffic, arriving at Tidu Street before 10 PM. Monica poured him a glass of water and asked, “How have you been recently?”

Chen Wan appeared cooperative, describing his recent experiences and symptoms in detail, just as he did in every session. Monica conducted a hypnosis session with him.

Under the effects of medication, the pathological, authentic aspects of his personality emerged.

“I severed their arteries.”

Monica’s hand paused briefly in her notes but quickly resumed, her voice calm and soothing.

“I amputated their right limbs.”
“The dogs wouldn’t eat their bones.”

In his relaxed state, his speech was chaotic, rapid, and fragmented—a stream of abstract concepts and true reflections from his subconscious, devoid of logic.

“Bullet speed: 6.8. It could be faster.”
“Working overtime. Very late.”

After a long while, Chen Wan added, “He didn’t look back.”

About twenty minutes later, Monica ended the hypnosis session.

Monica was the only person besides Zhuo Zhixuan who knew about Chen Wan’s feelings. Seeing the same name resurface in her notes, she said, “Mr. Chen, you didn’t tell me he’s back.”

Under the bright white lights, it finally dawned on Chen Wan that Zhao Shengge was truly back. It wasn’t a dream in the hypnosis chamber or a trace on an EEG or psychological CT scan.

He smiled and replied, “Yes, he’s back.”

Monica nodded, her expression unreadable.

Since this new variable had appeared, Monica rearranged Chen Wan’s psychological tests. Over the years, Chen Wan had transitioned from reactive depression to covert depression, displaying rare clinical traits. His psychological state and behavioral characteristics were highly complex and contradictory.

Most people thought of him as kind and gentle, yet many of the tests reflected his self-destructive tendencies. He suppressed his nihilism and rebellious impulses under a veneer of gentleness and adherence to societal norms.

His exceptional empathy and ability to connect with others came at the cost of ignoring and suppressing his own desires and needs.

Currently, he was barely maintaining a semblance of stability.

“Do you think his reappearance will significantly impact the treatment plan we originally devised?”

Chen Wan, though unconvinced he was ill, never dismissed the effort others put into his care. He considered carefully and replied, “Not too much, I think.”

“Why?” The doctor’s gentle tone belied her deep understanding of the weight of that name.

“My life shouldn’t change much,” Chen Wan said, slowly and deliberately. “The emotions you’ve asked me to record—joy and sorrow, fulfillment and resentment—they’re still mine. I give them to myself. I can control them. Everything is up to me.”

“Doctor, let’s stick to the original plan. There’s no need to treat this as a new variable or opportunity.”

Though his words were calm, Monica felt an even stronger sense of unease. This affirmed Chen Wan’s indifference to himself, his absolute refusal to seek external help.

Still, she didn’t argue with him, instead offering a suggestion. “Perhaps you could—”

Chen Wan shook his head slowly but firmly. “I’m not unwell because of him. And—”

“I believe I need to, and absolutely can, control my own emotions.”
“Please help me achieve that.”

Reluctantly, Monica agreed. Chen Wan was one of her most resolute patients—cooperative and courteous yet stubborn to the core, nearly impervious to external influence.

“Fine,” Monica said. “I respect your wishes. But if possible, I’d recommend taking at least a week off. I need to closely monitor your state during this critical phase and provide systematic, continuous therapy and training.”

Chen Wan hesitated. “I’m sorry, doctor. My schedule is packed right now, and I really can’t spare the time.”

“How about three days instead of a week?”

Chen Wan still apologized, his tone firm. “Not now, but I can make time later.”

Monica fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “At the very least, take your medication and attend your appointments on time.”

Chen Wan smiled and agreed. He wasn’t someone who avoided treatment or deceived his doctor. It was just that a new project with Ke Xiang was in progress, leaving him with barely any time to sleep, let alone rest.

On Thursday night at 10 PM, Chen Wan drove alone to the Portli Casino. Even on a weekday, the casino was bustling with people.