Chapter 73: You Make Me Sick, Li Lan

Li Lan, you really are disgusting.

Other people’s mothers are warm harbors, offering comfort and solace to their children.

But the moment he laid eyes on his own mother, Li Zhuiyuan felt the human-skin mask on his face begin to loosen.

They were mother and son—and fellow patients.

From a certain perspective, they were likely the most intimately acquainted mother-son pair on earth.

And precisely because of that, the disguises they each so carefully constructed became completely ineffective when they were face to face. Yet they both depended on those disguises to survive.

Because both of them were too smart.

Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes.

Over the past six months, his condition had come under good control. Especially in recent months, he hadn't had another episode.

He could clearly feel the changes in himself. When dealing with outsiders, he no longer scrutinized every word and gesture to perfectly perform a role.

He was gradually growing tired of performing.

Even in intimate relationships, he often chose not to put on an act, relishing those rare flickers of raw emotion—even the slightest trace.

But that was a seedling, and he believed that with care, it would one day grow into a towering tree.

Yet the higher the building, the greater the fall.

It was laughable—just one brief encounter, and all the "progress" he had made in the past six months had begun to unravel. And once it started to unravel, a complete collapse could follow.

Because in front of Li Lan, every gesture, every expression he had was forcibly summoned. Even knowing disguise was useless, people still instinctively grasped for anything to cover themselves when laid bare.

At least this wasn't like back then, taking a call at Aunt Zhang’s store, enduring Li Lan’s vicious jeers while trying to play the loving son before Li Weihan, Cui Guiying, and the others.

He had come to the residential compound only to ask Grandpa Zhang for help "decoding" the remaining site locations. That had nothing to do with whether he was Li Lan’s son or whether they had a good relationship. He knew too well the old professors’ peculiar fondness for a shared intellectual challenge—just giving them a new mystery to unravel was half the fun.

So he didn’t need to put on a show with Li Lan. He didn’t need to care about appearances.

This was Li Lan’s social web, not his.

His mother opened her arms but received no embrace in return.

Li Zhuiyuan calmly looked away. He didn’t reach out to Wu Xinhang or Teacher Yan for help in leaving.

This was his home. The woman before him was his mother. The two elderly teachers weren’t in a position to intervene. Sure, with some lying or forcefulness he could’ve managed it, but that would’ve been messy.

Things could be much simpler.

For example… he could run.

But Li Lan beat him to it.

After so many years acting alongside each other, even after a long time apart, their rhythm was still in sync.

The moment the idea of escape occurred to Li Zhuiyuan, Li Lan was already moving.

It all happened in a flash. The second she realized her son wouldn’t leap into her arms, she stooped slightly and jogged toward him.

The two movements transitioned so seamlessly that no outsider would notice a thing.

There’s not just one version of the scene, after all. It’s perfectly normal for a mother to run over and hug her child too.

And as for the child, showing a bit of shyness or unfamiliarity after so long apart was understandable.

Li Zhuiyuan was pulled into her embrace.

The boy wasn’t surprised. A seasoned performer was still a seasoned performer.

Li Lan’s eyes brimmed with tears, her expression expertly pitched. She wrapped her right arm around his back and cupped his head with her left hand, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Li Zhuiyuan felt like laughing. She could actually suppress her nausea and go through with it.

Right now, he felt as if he were being wrapped by a Dead Sinker.

But what she whispered in his ear next brought back that all-too-familiar feeling of domination and helpless obedience.

Ordinary mothers and sons are each other’s soft spots.

They, however, were knives aimed at each other’s softest points.

She whispered:

“Want to know what’s beneath that sea?”

Then, louder:

“Come, son. Come home with Mommy. Let’s have a good talk.”

A childlike smile spread across Li Zhuiyuan’s face. He raised his arms and embraced the “Dead Sinker” before him.

Moments later, Li Lan stood and apologized to Principal Wu and Teacher Yan, saying she wanted some time alone with her son.

The gesture flattered them. They quickly waved it off and said there was no need to ask their permission.

Some retired professors from Jiangsu had invited them for tea and chess. Principal Wu and the others agreed at once.

Li Lan held Li Zhuiyuan’s hand as the two of them headed home.

Along the way, many elderly neighbors greeted them, and the pair returned the greetings naturally.

No matter what questions were asked, they responded appropriately and never broke stride.

When they entered the courtyard, their warmth hadn’t cooled.

The courtyard was small—a rowhouse—so neighbors on the steps next door could still see clearly.

Even as they opened the inner door, the mother-son act continued.

Once inside, Li Zhuiyuan quietly shut the door.

The soft click that followed marked an instant drop in the room’s temperature.

It wasn’t just in his head.

Because in that moment, both mother and son lost all trace of humanity.

Li Lan was probably hungry. She sat at the table, pulled a few small bags from a box underneath, and tossed one across to the boy opposite her.

Li Zhuiyuan opened the bag. Compressed biscuits.

He’d come straight over after his exam this afternoon and was, in fact, hungry—but he didn’t want to eat that. He set the biscuits aside, saving room for the Peking duck dinner he was supposed to have later with Principal Wu.

He didn’t even like greasy duck that much.

But right now, he couldn’t wait.

He didn’t ask how Li Lan knew about the “bottom of the sea” being connected to him. It wasn’t hard to deduce.

He was in the same class as Zheng Haiyang. Tan Yunlong had visited Zheng Haiyang’s mother at the psychiatric hospital. He and Tan Wenbin had also traveled together to Shan City.

For a long stretch, only the sound of the woman chewing filled the room.

Li Zhuiyuan glanced over at the thermos. A layer of dust had settled on top. No hot water inside.

Then at the sink. The edge still held red-black stains. The long-unused faucet would release rusted water at first—it needed time to flush clean.

Li Lan had only just returned home too.

Li Zhuiyuan rested his hands on the table and idly played with his fingers, mentally replaying a few lost games against Ah Li.

Then Li Lan left the table and entered the study on the first floor—the door had been closed.

She came out holding a briefcase, from which she pulled a document folder and tossed it to the boy.

She then poured herself a cup of tap water and drank.

Li Zhuiyuan opened the folder.

Inside was a report titled: “Investigation Report on the 841 Freighter Incident.”

That was the ship Zheng Haiyang’s parents had worked on.

He read through it page by page. Some parts had been redacted—likely inaccessible even to Li Lan.

The report detailed the ship’s past, its crew, its smuggling history, and the subsequent mental breakdowns suffered by the surviving crew.

For a long while, the only sound was that of the boy flipping pages.

When he finished, Li Zhuiyuan sealed the folder with its string tie and pushed it toward Li Lan.

To him, the report was both important and useless. It lacked anything about the seabed.

Li Lan didn’t retrieve it immediately. Instead, she pulled out another folder and placed it in the center of the table, along with a small stack of blank report sheets and a pen.

Li Zhuiyuan stood and pulled the second folder toward himself.

He glanced at the title: “Fengdu Anomalies Investigation Report.”

The file had been added to over time. It wasn’t thick, and the pages were discolored—clearly compiled across multiple years.

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t read past the first page. He set it aside.

Then he pulled the blank sheets to himself, picked up the pen, and began writing down what Zheng Haiyang’s mother had described to him about the seabed.

Aunt Xu had asked her about it first, but left before she could get an answer.

So this part, only he knew.

And Li Lan was no fool like Aunt Xu.