After returning to the mountain villa, Qin Li did not rest. Instead, he immediately began reviewing the reports sent by his subordinates.

He had spent a considerable amount of time at the charity banquet with his entourage. Given Qin Zhangyuan’s controlling nature and obsessive attention toward him, his uncle should have already received the news and started taking countermeasures by now.

Sure enough, his informants at the Qin family’s old residence reported back: his dear uncle, upon hearing that Qin Li had appeared at the banquet unscathed and representing the Qin family, had flown into such a rage that he smashed half the room’s porcelain and glassware. The other half remained intact only because, upon learning that Qin Li had looked pale and unsteady on his feet—accompanied by a doctor no less—his uncle had regained some semblance of composure, reassured by the thought that Qin Li was on the verge of death.

Qin Li sneered coldly.

Is this all it takes to break him?

His dear uncle’s mental fortitude seems rather lacking.

Qin Zhangyuan’s fury stemmed partly from Qin Li’s public appearance, but more so from the fact that he had represented the Qin family.

Ever since Qin Li’s illness had forced him into seclusion at the villa, Qin Zhangyuan had seized control of the Qin Corporation’s surface-level affairs. The man’s greatest taboo was anyone mentioning Qin Li within the company. After all, Qin Li was the rightful heir of the Qin family. As long as he lived, Qin Zhangyuan’s grip on the company was nothing more than a temporary proxy—far from the absolute authority he craved. This gnawing insecurity fueled his hatred, making him wish for Qin Li’s death.

Qin Li suspected his uncle had already made his move.

And, predictably, it was the same old underhanded, dirty tactics.

True to his expectations, his subordinates soon informed him that footage of his appearance at the banquet and his interview with reporters had already surged to the top of Weibo’s trending list. The headline was deliberately provocative: “Qin Family’s Heir Reappears After Months, Denies Illness Rumors—But Insiders Claim Otherwise.”

Accompanying it were several trending hashtags smearing his reputation, targeting his alleged mental instability and even dredging up his personal affairs. The orchestrator behind this was obvious.

Gossip about wealthy families naturally drew high engagement. With the help of paid trolls and clueless bystanders, the rumors quickly gained traction.

Qin Li scrolled through the chaotic comments with an impassive expression:

[Such a handsome face, but with a messed-up brain. What a shame.]

[This is going too far. We don’t even know if those tabloid claims are true, and you’re already calling him crazy? Where’s your basic decency? Even if Qin Li does have a mental illness, that’s no way to talk about it. There are countless people with mental health issues—where’s the respect?]

[If it weren’t true, why would he bring a doctor with him? He’s probably afraid of collapsing at any moment… Rich people like him value their lives above all else.]

[By the way, has anyone figured out who that doctor next to Qin Li is? With looks like that, I’d be willing to visit the hospital every day!]

[Qin Li has always been mentally ill. Didn’t you read that exposé? It said he’s been unstable since childhood. Because of him, his father died in a car accident—it was brutal. Even though the Qin family suppressed details of that major accident twenty years ago, traces of it must still exist somewhere. And his mother? He drove her insane. She died in agony… Tsk, I won’t say more. If you’re curious, go look it up yourself.]

[Wait, don’t stop halfway! How did Qin Li’s mother die?]

[That’s terrifying. If he’s really like that, why is he still wandering around outside? Shouldn’t he be locked up in a mental hospital?]

……

Even though Qin Li had anticipated this, he still underestimated just how vile Qin Zhangyuan could be.

His gaze locked onto the comment mentioning his parents, the car accident, and his mother’s madness. The words seemed to twist into a vortex, pulling him in, threatening to consume him whole. His head throbbed with pain, his vision blurred, and his breathing grew ragged.

How dare Qin Zhangyuan—!

With a loud bang, he hurled his phone against the study wall, shattering it to pieces.

But the swirling vortex in his mind didn’t disappear. Instead, it expanded, warping reality, as if intent on devouring everything.

Qin Li clutched his head, his temples pounding. His chest heaved violently as he stared at the broken phone on the floor.

The sharp ringing from the shattered device lingered in his ears, morphing into a maddening cacophony of distorted noise. Gradually, it coalesced into a voice—gentle, fragmented, whispering his childhood nickname.

“Li Li…”

Qin Li’s eyes glazed over. Instinctively, he murmured, “Mom…”

But the moment he spoke, the tender voice twisted into something manic, growing sharper and more hysterical until it became a shriek:

“Qin Li!”

“Why won’t you listen?! Why did you have to go out?!”

“It’s all your fault! It’s all because of you! Why didn’t you die instead?! Die! Just die!”

Suddenly, he felt hands closing around his throat—small, delicate hands, their skin marred by scars. As the phantom fingers tightened, the scars split open, dripping blood like a vengeful specter.

Qin Li’s vision turned red. His jaw clenched, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

He gasped for air like a suffocating fish, his ragged breaths making his temples throb.

Slowly, the darkness dragged him under…

“Sir? Sir!”

Old Zhong, having heard the commotion, rushed into the study. The sight that greeted him was Qin Li slumped against the desk, his face deathly pale, one hand gripping his head, his eyes squeezed shut. Panicked, the old man steadied Qin Li with trembling hands while frantically dialing a number.

Meanwhile, Xu Xiliu, who had just enjoyed a hot pot dinner and a relaxing bath, was halfway into bed when his phone rang.

“Dr. Xu, come to the villa immediately! The master’s condition has taken a turn!”

The urgent voice on the other end left Xu Xiliu momentarily stunned, as if caught in a surreal dream.

“…What?”

The butler, barely containing his panic, quickly explained, “After returning tonight, the master seemed fine at first. But after spending some time alone in the study, there was a loud crash. When I came in, he was already unresponsive…”

Xu Xiliu immediately understood—the protagonist had suffered another episode.

But hadn’t he been fine earlier that day?

Suppressing a sigh, he quickly changed out of his pajamas, grabbed his medical bag and car keys, and headed out while continuing the call.

“Don’t panic. It’ll take me at least half an hour to get there. First, tell me about Qin Li’s current state—how severe is it? Is he violent like last time?”

“No aggression this time,” Old Zhong replied. “But he seems to be in extreme pain, clutching his head as if suffering a migraine. He’s muttering something, but I can’t make it out…”

Xu Xiliu relaxed slightly. It didn’t sound critical. “Alright, try to keep him calm until I arrive. Remove any potential triggers.”

He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but common sense told him that Qin Li wouldn’t spiral without reason. Something must have set him off.

Until he arrived, the butler would have to identify and eliminate the trigger to stabilize Qin Li’s condition.

Half an hour later, Xu Xiliu hurried into the third-floor study, medical bag in hand. The first thing he noticed was the shattered phone scattered across the floor. Then his gaze landed on the man slumped against the desk—pale, disoriented, his fingers clawing at his collar as if struggling against an invisible force choking him.

Xu Xiliu glanced at the phone fragments. His instincts told him they were connected to Qin Li’s breakdown.

But the priority now was to calm the man down before administering medication or checking for injuries.

Fortunately, unlike the violent episode on the night Xu Xiliu first transmigrated, Qin Li wasn’t lashing out this time. No sedatives would be necessary.

Instead, the man seemed trapped in a hallucination.

Xu Xiliu exhaled in relief and turned to the butler. “Did Qin Li take his medication tonight?”

“Not yet. It wasn’t time for his dose,” Old Zhong answered anxiously.

Nodding, Xu Xiliu explained that sedatives weren’t needed this time. Qin Li’s condition wasn’t severe—he just needed to be guided out of the hallucination, given his mood stabilizers and painkillers, and allowed to rest.

He was about to suggest that the butler try calming Qin Li down when he noticed the hopeful look in Old Zhong’s eyes.

Xu Xiliu: “……”

…Don’t tell me—

“Then I’ll leave it to you, Dr. Xu!” Old Zhong said brightly, his eyes practically sparkling. *“I

’ll go fetch water and his medication!”*

“Wait, hold on—”

Xu Xiliu reached out futilely as the butler scurried away.

He could only stare blankly after the retreating figure.

What kind of situation is this? I’m not a psychologist! Shouldn’t family members handle this sort of thing?

Grumbling internally, he turned back to Qin Li, who was now staring at him with a dazed, unsettling intensity.

Suppressing a sigh, Xu Xiliu reluctantly approached and crouched in front of the man.

For a long moment, he simply stared back, unsure what to say. Finally, he waved a hand tentatively in front of Qin Li’s face.

“…Mr. Qin, do you remember who I am?”

Silence.

Xu Xiliu met the man’s bloodshot, shadowed gaze. Though his eyes were unfocused, the sheer intensity of his stare was unnerving. The lack of clarity only amplified the raw hostility radiating from him, like a beast cornered in the wild.

Xu Xiliu instinctively leaned back before catching himself. With a resigned sigh, he decided to wait for the butler to return with the medication.

Since Qin Li seemed relatively docile—if disoriented—for now, there was no immediate danger.

He pulled over a chair and sat down.

Oddly, Qin Li’s gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. The eerie stare sent shivers down Xu Xiliu’s spine.

To distract himself, he rummaged through his bag for his phone. Instead, his fingers closed around a small, round object.

Xu Xiliu: “??”

What’s this?

Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a dog frisbee—a freebie from a supermarket promotion. He must have absentmindedly tossed it into his bag and forgotten about it.

After fiddling with it for a moment, he lost interest and was about to stow it away when he noticed Qin Li’s gaze shift—from him to the frisbee in his hand.

…Is he interested in this?

Xu Xiliu raised an eyebrow. Glancing between the frisbee and the brooding, volatile man before him, an inexplicable impulse seized him.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the frisbee lightly across the room.

It didn’t go far, landing softly on the floor.

Staring at the fallen frisbee, Xu Xiliu facepalmed.

What the hell was that?

Why did I just throw that?

Is this some weird human instinct—the urge to fling objects when holding them?

Mortified, he stood to retrieve the frisbee and hide the evidence of his momentary lapse in judgment.

But someone beat him to it.

Qin Li, who had been sitting quietly until now, picked up the frisbee and held it out to Xu Xiliu, his dark eyes locked onto him.

“Again.”

Xu Xiliu: “???”