Sent to the countryside, I turned the health center into a top-tier hospital.

"Uncle, I need your help. I only know a license plate number; could you help me find out the owner's information?"

Chen Ping asked in a low voice.

"That's it?" Cui Ying's father smiled. "Give me the license plate number."

Chen Ping read out the license plate number, and Cui Ying's father took out his phone and made a call.

When the call connected, Cui Ying's father only gave the license plate number, and the information was quickly sent to his mobile phone.

"The car owner's surname is Zhou, and he lives in Cuipingyuan Community in the south of the city, Building 15, Room 203. Is that enough? Do you want me to check all his family information for you?" Cui Ying's father asked.

"That's enough. Thank you, Uncle." Chen Ping nodded and left.

Chen Ping had just left the room, and before the door was completely closed, he heard Cui Ying's mother's quiet reprimand.

"You're so impatient, you almost embarrassed yourself."

"What's so shameful about that? Every couple does it."

Then came the sounds of Cui Ying's father and mother playing around.

Chen Ping quickly closed the door and left; he dared not listen to such things.

"Got it?"

Cui Ying asked.

"Hmm!" Chen Ping nodded.

He had to admit that Cui Ying's father was indeed capable; what he thought was difficult, he could accomplish with just one phone call.

In this society, connections are still very useful.

"Let's go then..."

Cui Ying held the car keys in her hand. She walked to the door to change her shoes, with Chen Ping following behind her.

The white Porsche drove out of the residential area, turned onto the main road, and headed south of the city.

Cuipingyuan is located in the old town of Tianhai City. The houses are not new, but the location is good and the facilities are well-established. Many families who run small businesses live there.

The car stopped at the entrance of the residential area. The security guard recognized the Porsche logo and did not stop it.

Cui Ying parked the car in the open space below Building 15 and turned off the engine.

Chen Ping pushed open the car door and got out.

Several bags of garbage were piled up next to the trash can downstairs.

The stairwell door was not closed, and the iron gate was propped up with a brick, probably for someone's convenience.

When I got to the second floor, the door to room 203 was closed.

Chen Ping stood at the door and heard voices inside, a man's and a woman's voices, not loud, but the tone was off.

He took a deep breath and knocked three times.

The door opened, and the woman stood in the doorway, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, her hair clipped back, her expression changing from confusion to recognition.

She glanced at Chen Ping, then at Cui Ying who was following behind, and frowned slightly.

"How did you find this place?" the woman asked.

Chen Ping didn't answer the question, but glanced into the room.

The living room wasn't big; it had a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV stand. The coffee table was piled with medicine boxes and cups, and there was a suitcase on the floor, open and stuffed with clothes.

The girl sat on the sofa, wearing her school uniform, head down, clutching a plastic water cup in her hand, motionless.

Her hair was combed, and there were no tear stains on her face, but her eyes were swollen and red, as if she had been crying all night.

She no longer cries or makes a fuss; she just sits there, like a blade of grass pulled from the soil and left to dry in the sun. The leaves haven't turned yellow yet, but the roots are already dry.

The man came out of the bedroom carrying a plastic bag containing toiletries.

He saw Chen Ping, his lips twitched slightly, he placed the plastic bag next to his suitcase, straightened up, and patted his trouser leg.

"It's no use you coming. The hospital has already made arrangements, and you'll be admitted this afternoon."

The man's voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded like he had thought it through for a long time and made up his mind before speaking it.

The woman stood in the doorway, her hand on the doorframe, showing no intention of moving aside.

"We know you mean well, but you're just a doctor at a local clinic. Even experts from the provincial capital have diagnosed you with schizophrenia. How can we trust you?"

Chen Ping stood at the door, neither barging in nor leaving.

"Sister, give me twenty minutes. I need to talk to the child and take her pulse again."

If you think I'm wrong, the door is open, we'll leave, and we definitely won't delay your trip to the hospital.

Chen Ping said in an almost pleading tone.

The woman didn't reply, but turned to look at the man.

The man stuffed the plastic bag into his suitcase, zipped it up, straightened up, glanced at Chen Ping, remained silent for several seconds, and then nodded.

The woman stepped aside, lowering her hand from the door frame and letting it hang at her side.

Chen Ping walked in, his footsteps very light.

He didn't rush to the girl's side, but sat down on a chair next to the coffee table, turned the chair around to face her, but didn't get too close.

Cui Ying stood at the door, not coming in, leaning against the door frame with her hands in her pockets.

"Little sister, do you remember me? Last night, on the bridge." Chen Ping's voice was soft, as if he was afraid of scaring some small animal.

The girl moved her hand slightly, but she still didn't look up.

Chen Ping didn't say anything more and just sat there waiting.

After waiting for a while, the girl slowly raised her head, glanced at him, and then lowered it again.

But the water glass in her hand stopped spinning; her fingers remained still on the glass.

"Shall I take your pulse?"

Chen Ping reached out his hand, palm up, and placed it on the edge of the coffee table, not far from her hand, but not touching it.

The girl paused for a few seconds, then removed her hand from the water glass, slowly reached out, and placed it in his palm.

Her hands were cold, her fingertips were as thin as bamboo skewers, and her nails were cut very short, so short that the white edges were almost invisible.

Chen Ping didn't rush to take her pulse; he first turned her hand over and looked at her palm.

The palm lines are deep and messy, with several shallow horizontal lines at the end of the life line. These are the result of long-term anxiety and tension, not innate but acquired.

He placed three fingers on her wrist and closed his eyes.

The pulse was the same as last night—wiry, thin, and slightly rapid—but even thinner than yesterday, as thin as a thread about to break.

This isn't a worsening of my condition; it's exhaustion, the result of not sleeping all night, and a complete mental surrender.

The vital energy of the five internal organs is still there and has not failed, but it is suppressed, suppressed very, very deeply.

He released his grip and opened his eyes.

He didn't rush to stand up or speak. He just sat there in the chair, looked at the girl for two seconds, and then turned around to face the woman standing at the door and the man standing next to the suitcase.

"Big sister, big brother, let me tell you the truth."

Chen Ping's voice wasn't loud, but every word was heavy: "The child's illness isn't schizophrenia. The core symptoms of schizophrenia are hallucinations, delusions, and disorganized thinking, and she has none of those."

She smashed things, banged her head against the wall, and stayed up all night not because she was mentally unstable, but because she was carrying too much on her mind, and couldn't hold it in any longer, so she could only vent in this way. She wasn't crazy; she was just too exhausted.

The woman stood at the door, her lips moved slightly, but she didn't make a sound.

The man leaned against the wall, his arms wrapped around himself, his knuckles gripping his sleeves tightly.

Chen Ping stood up, walked to the girl, and gently pushed up the sleeves of her school uniform a little.

The inside of my forearm is covered with dense scars, some of which have scabbed over with white marks, while others are still pink. They are new scars that have only recently formed scabs.

Tears welled up in the woman's eyes, and she covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud.

The man lowered his arm, his hand hanging at his side, his fist clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh.