Spring Night of Misty Rain - Chapter 28

Xu Luosu had originally assumed Shen Zeyu’s lethargy was a one-day affair and that she would be fine by morning. As it turned out, the next day, the exhaustion only deepened.

When Luosu went to wake her that morning, Zeyu found it impossible to even get up. Left with no choice, Luosu finished breakfast and tried to negotiate: “I have to head to the set today. Why don’t you stay and sleep at the hotel, Sister? I’ll have Li Yi keep an eye on you, alright?”

Perhaps it was the mention of Luosu leaving, but Zeyu—who had been lying motionless—suddenly sat bolt upright. With her hair a tangled mess, she muttered incoherently, “I’m going too.”

Luosu was momentarily speechless. She watched as Zeyu stumbled into the bathroom to wash up, changed into another black outfit, and followed her out the door.

Once they arrived at the filming site, Zeyu didn’t stay in the car. Instead, she followed Luosu to the shooting location, found Luosu’s personal lounge chair, and collapsed into it with a blanket. While Luosu filmed all day, Zeyu remained curled in that chair with an eye mask on, sleeping the hours away.

Whether leaning, lying flat, or curled in a ball, she slept until her curly hair was utterly disheveled.

Passing crew members looked on in surprise. During lunch, whispers began to circulate: “What’s wrong with Teacher Shen? Is she sick?”

No one could reach a conclusion. Even Qin Zhiyue couldn’t help but approach Luosu. “Shouldn’t you let her sleep in your van? Sleeping in the middle of the set so… openly… it’s a bit…” It looks bad, she meant to say, but didn’t dare finish the thought.

Luosu sipped her lotus seed and lily bulb soup slowly, her gaze fixed on the woman occupied in her chair. “It’s fine. Let her be.”

Let them talk. It wasn’t a big deal. Luosu was the project’s financier, after all; she could certainly allow her favorite teacher a few privileges.

The Call to South America

This continued for three days. By the fourth day, Luosu grew restless. That evening, she placed a video call to her second sister in South America.

Luosu had two older sisters. The eldest, Xu Qingyue, had been groomed by their grandmother to inherit the family conglomerate. The second, Xu Huaiyu, had originally studied psychology abroad but eventually pivoted to metaphysics and divination. She was currently traveling through South America, living a nomadic, bohemian life.

When the call connected, a woman with dreadlocks, honey-dark skin, and a lip piercing appeared on the screen. She flashed a bright white smile. “Yo! No wonder my divination today predicted a pleasant chat with family. It’s you, baby.”

“How are things? Is Big Sister still overworking you?”

Luosu smiled. “I’m doing well. I’m filming right now, so she hasn’t had the chance to exploit me.”

“Good to hear!”

They chatted about family matters. Huaiyu mentioned that their parents might be coming to South America for a benefit performance. Despite her interest in the occult, Huaiyu remained a highly talented violinist, and her professional and side lives were both flourishing.

After a while, Luosu cut to the chase. “Sis, remember that friend with bipolar disorder I mentioned? She’s fallen into a depressive episode. Are there any interventions I should know about?”

Huaiyu thought for a moment. “What are her symptoms?”

“She seems exhausted,” Luosu said, her voice tinged with anxiety. “She’s hardly eaten these past few days and spends almost the whole time sleeping.”

“That’s normal,” Huaiyu replied, noting it as a typical characteristic of the condition. “Anything else?”

Luosu frowned slightly. “Nothing else specifically… except maybe one thing.”

“What is it?”

Recalling Zeyu’s behavior, Luosu said, “She seems… very clingy.”

Huaiyu’s eyebrows shot up with interest. “For example?”

“In the morning, even if she can’t physically get up, the moment she hears I’m leaving, she forces herself to wash up and follow me. At the hotel, she stays as close to me as possible. When we’re out, even if she isn’t touching me, she insists on staying wherever I am.”

Huaiyu nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “The way you describe it, she sounds like a small animal.”

Luosu felt the same, but her heart was uneasy. “Sis, is this behavior bad for her?”

Huaiyu pondered this. “Her symptoms are within the normal range. The cycle of bipolar disorder is like a volcano—after an eruption, there must be a period of dormancy. Or, look at it this way: your friend is like a fallen tree. To recover, she has to endure a bitter winter before spring can arrive. Hypersomnia is her body’s protective mechanism.”

“As for her being clingy…” Huaiyu looked directly into Luosu’s eyes and sighed. “Since you were little, you’ve always loved meddling and bringing ‘broken things’ home. First it was Wang Wenqing, then Zhang Jia, and now it’s Shen Zeyu.”

“Your universal kindness brings warmth to others, but it can also hurt them. Her mind isn’t clear right now; subconsciously, she feels you are ‘safe,’ so she relies on you. But if you don’t manage the distance properly, your relationship could turn messy.”

Luosu’s expression turned somber. Huaiyu shrugged. “But this isn’t just your problem; it’s hers, too. She’s an adult. Having survived such a cruel illness, she likely has her own mental defenses. Dependency isn’t inherently good or bad. Just let nature take its course.”

Someone off-camera asked Huaiyu for a reading in a foreign language. “Duty calls. I’ve got to get to work. Bye!”

“Wait—” Luosu tried to speak, but the call ended.

The “Brooding”

Luosu sat on the sofa, ruminating on her sister’s words. Dependency? Was Zeyu leaning on her so comfortably because of the things Luosu had said before? Had she been too hasty with her promises?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shuffling footsteps. “Junior sister…”

Luosu turned quickly. Zeyu, dressed in black silk, was standing behind her holding a pillow. She had pushed her eye mask up into her dark curls, revealing sleepy, heavy eyes. “Are you going to sleep?”

She looked listless and fragile, almost pitiful.

“I… I still have some things to finish. I’ll sleep when I’m done,” Luosu managed to say.

“Oh,” Zeyu murmured. She sat down beside Luosu, leaning against her like she was weightless. “I’ll stay with you.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled her eye mask back down and drifted off.

They were so close that Luosu could feel the heat of Zeyu’s skin through their thin pajamas. She looked down at the messy curls and felt a strange sensation. Even in her lethargy, Zeyu was meticulously clean; she always smelled like sweet lychees.

“Sister,” Luosu whispered tentatively. “You’ve been very clingy these past few days.”

“Hmm?” Zeyu replied lazily. “Is that not allowed?”

Luosu stared at Zeyu’s pale, delicate earlobe. “It’s not that. I’m just worried. In the past… how did you get through times like this?”

“In the past?” Zeyu tilted her head, searching her memory. “In the past… I went through it alone. Bound to a hospital bed with restraints, watching the sun move from east to west, and the stars go from bright to dim.”

She had spent two years in that isolation. Every episode felt like being pierced through the chest by an icy snake—eventually kneeling in the cold, imprisoned by loneliness. Unable to live, yet unable to die.

A sharp pang of heartache hit Luosu. She placed her hand gently on Zeyu’s head. “Is that why you want someone to stay with you now?”

Zeyu thought for a moment. “It’s not exactly about staying with me. I want someone to… brood over me.”

Luosu was confused. “What?”

Zeyu let out a soft laugh. “Hospital walls are cold. The beds are cold. At times like this, I feel like a helpless little chick standing in the snow, shivering. I’m scared. Truly scared. So, I wish someone would ‘brood’ over me, wrap me up entirely, and then…”

Behind the eye mask, Luosu couldn’t see Zeyu’s eyes, but hearing the word “scared” made her chest tighten. Her emotions surged; she felt an overwhelming urge to hold her. So, she did.

Luosu leaned over, lifted Zeyu across her lap, and wrapped her arms tightly around her, cocooning her. “Like this?”

The sudden warmth enveloped Zeyu. Her mind went blank, and her heart raced. She instinctively curled deeper into Luosu’s embrace. The strong, steady warmth chased away the lingering cold, filling the void in her heart.

Luosu pressed Zeyu’s head against her chest and whispered in her ear, “How about now? Do you feel ‘brooded’ over?”

Her chest vibrated against Zeyu’s shoulder. With her head buzzing, Zeyu finally managed a muffled reply: “I don’t know… but I think I feel a little better.