They are not the same girl 😨

‘Was she suffering from multiple personalities? Or was it schizophrenia?’

‘Or was she simply being stubborn, refusing to admit the truth?’

Pei Xingyan’s mind was a whirlwind of questions, his thoughts shrouded in a thick fog of confusion.

“Shall I help you recall?” he asked, tilting his head. “That day, you ran back from the classroom, tripping and falling twice. After you got back, you immediately started sending these messages on your phone, cursing relentlessly for an entire day and night. During that entire period, you didn’t send me any other messages. It couldn’t possibly be some bug with the software I’m using, could it?”

Su Sansan’s lips trembled.

Her small, delicate mouth quivered uncontrollably at that moment.

She could only shake her head in denial. “No, it wasn’t me… I truly didn’t do that… I wouldn’t do such a thing…”

“Then who did it?” Pei Xingyan pressed. “What were you doing yesterday?”

“I… I didn’t… Please, don’t ask anymore. This kind of thing won’t happen again.” She avoided answering directly, shaking her head persistently.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, as if she were genuinely aggrieved.

Yet she couldn’t articulate what she had done yesterday; she couldn’t even conjure up a believable lie.

Pei Xingyan softened his voice, shifting closer to her. “I told you I don’t blame you,” he continued to press gently. “I’m just curious why you acted that way. Won’t you tell me?”

Still, Su Sansan continued to shake her head, wiping away her tears with her small, delicate palm.

Whether she was steadfastly denying it, trying to bluff her way through, or had genuinely forgotten, one thing was certain: the distress on her face was undeniably real.

She was genuinely terrified that this incident might cause him to leave her.

Pei Xingyan took her hand.

Her body trembled, and she timidly raised her lowered head to look at him.

A flicker of joy crossed her face; though her tears had not yet dried, her hand instinctively began to caress his in return.

“Won’t you tell me?” Pei Xingyan murmured, leaning closer, his tone deliberately gentle. “I won’t blame you… I’m actually a little worried about you. You sounded quite distressed back then, and I’m just genuinely concerned…”

This feigned concern, however, played perfectly into Su Sansan’s desires.

Slowly, her sobs subsided.

She subtly shifted her hand, settling into a more comfortable position within Pei Xingyan’s grasp, before beginning to murmur, “I truly don’t know who did what… Please, can we not talk about it anymore? I promise this kind of thing will never happen again. Will you believe me?”

A stretch of silence followed, leaving both of them without words.

Pei Xingyan decided to deduce from her words: someone doing many things without their own knowledge…

A possibility bloomed in his mind, and though it seemed absurd and incredible, he felt it held a certain degree of plausibility.

He was the first to break the stalemate. “You truly have no recollection whatsoever…”

Su Sansan shook her head with fierce resolve. “That’s right, I know nothing.”

Her determination was akin to that of an underground revolutionary prepared for martyrdom.

“If that’s the case,” Pei Xingyan continued, “then wouldn’t it be like a split personality?”

“Split personality?” Su Sansan paused, her body noticeably trembling.

She instinctively wanted to shake her head, but Pei Xingyan’s subsequent words held her captive.

“Oh, I don’t really know much about such conditions,” Pei Xingyan said casually. “But I’ve heard that people with those illnesses are quite pitiable. If someone were in that situation, I’d actually feel quite sorry for them.”

Su Sansan stiffly retracted her motion to deny.

She blinked, then tentatively offered, “Perhaps… perhaps it might be like that… Perhaps a bad person did bad things to you, and it has nothing to do with me…”

She covertly glanced at him from the corner of her eye, carefully observing Pei Xingyan’s reaction.

Pei Xingyan remained expressionless, yet he noted this subtle detail.

He nodded, shrugging. “Indeed, anything is possible. But if it truly were that way, then it would hardly be your fault. After all, one can’t be held responsible for things beyond their own control.”

Su Sansan’s ears twitched, and her eyes brightened slightly.

Her throat worked, as if she wanted to speak, but ultimately, she remained silent.

She was on pins and needles, her body twisting restlessly, a sign of inner turmoil only found in someone grappling with a profound internal conflict.

After a long moment, she finally seemed to reach a decision, leaning closer to Pei Xingyan and seizing his hand with her free one.

Her fear was palpable; her dark, glistening eyes flickered, now misted with fresh tears. “Baby, if I truly have such a condition, will you dislike me because of it? If it’s really like that, please don’t blame me… and don’t abandon me…”

Pei Xingyan forced a small smile, offering reassurance. “Of course not! If you’re ill, then you’re also a victim. How could I possibly reproach you?”

“Mmm, mmm, mmm, you’re right,” she affirmed, nodding repeatedly.

Then, she buried her face in his chest, murmuring like a sleepwalker, “Baby, you’re so good to me, so kind… I don’t want you to hate me, please don’t hate me… I’ll always be good to you…”

Pei Xingyan, playing along with the mood, gently stroked her hair.

Where she couldn’t see, his gaze grew increasingly complex.

Su Sansan’s behavior had all but laid bare her true feelings.

He lowered his eyelids, continuing to guide her, his voice a soft inquiry. “Do you think you’re such a patient? Don’t overthink it, just tell me.”

Her body was pressed close against his, and every subtle detail was clear to his senses.

He could perceive Su Sansan’s frantic unease, her inner struggle.

The core of her struggle was singular: whether or not to admit the truth.

Finally, her trembling ceased, as if a decision had been made.

Su Sansan lifted her head, forcing a smile that was undeniably strained.

Yet, to his surprise, her voice was suddenly unnervingly cold, and her smiling expression utterly rigid.

She abruptly offered an apology:

“I’m truly sorry. I was the one who did all those things…”

She had confessed.

Pei Xingyan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“It was because you… you were talking to other girls at that time, weren’t you? You seemed a little too close, and I got jealous, so I lost control.” Her voice was defiant, her neck stiff, as if to physically prevent her body from trembling. She continued, “Seeing you get close to other women hurt me so much, that’s why I did those things… I’m sorry.”

Her choice of words felt as if it belonged to an entirely different person, now stiff and distant.

Su Sansan appeared utterly distraught, all strength draining from her body after uttering the final word.

Yet she forced herself to rally, clutching Pei Xingyan’s shoulders with a strength that felt strangely unfamiliar to him.

“Can you forgive me this once?” she pleaded. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Pei Xingyan remained silent.

She, too, remained silent for a long moment, her head bowed, before suddenly erupting, striking her own face with a resounding slap.

This was not an act the gentle girl he knew would commit.

Pei Xingyan quickly reached out to stop her.

But Su Sansan refused to spare herself.

As if in self-punishment, she delivered several more slaps to her face. “If I ever act like this again, just punish me like this,” she cried. “As long as you don’t ignore me, anything is fine. Beat me, scold me, just don’t leave.”

While she spoke, Pei Xingyan finally managed to grasp her hands, pulling her into his embrace to temporarily halt her self-destructive actions.

Su Sansan trembled slightly, then instinctively burrowed deeper into his arms.

Her voice reverted to its former gentle tone as she softly repeated her assurances, wrapping her arms around Pei Xingyan’s waist.

She paid no mind to Pei Xingyan’s answer, simply repeating “Baby, baby” over and over.

Pei Xingyan remained silent, sitting still, even forgetting to avoid intimate contact with the girl in his arms.

He only felt a cold sweat breaking out on his back.

The girl who had just apologized, the girl who had just punished herself—though she wore Su Sansan’s face—was absolutely not Su Sansan.

He could not be mistaken.

Her tone, her expression, her every action indicated that this was not the same girl now nestled against his chest, calling him “baby” repeatedly.

He hadn’t been wrong.

Something was definitely wrong with her.