Dr. Bai's bluff seemed effective. Or perhaps, seeing the old man's absolute determination, Shu simply hadn't wanted to disappoint his well-meaning doctor.
Regardless of the reason, Shu subsequently began a two-year stint as an inpatient at the psychiatric hospital.
Initially, Dr. Bai thought Shu would only need a few months of treatment at most. After all, the boy was highly intelligent, his logical reasoning was flawless, and on the surface, the problem seemed confined to a toxic family environment—which he had already severed ties with.
Logically, it should have been relatively easy to guide Shu toward a healthy mindset.
...What did you mean, you had a question?
What did you mean the question is: "If we spend our entire lives, yet never manage to see the world we yearned for, then why do we exist at all?"
"Have you been dabbling in nihilism?!!"
At over sixty years old, Dr. Bai finally understood what a "piercing shriek" sounded like. Because the moment Shu tentatively shared this question with him, that was his immediate counter-question, pitched so high his voice cracked.
It was from that moment on that Dr. Bai realized he couldn't let this kid go.
Philosophy is a dangerous thing. The smarter a person is, the deeper they dive, and the more profoundly they are affected by it.
But generally... or rather, for the vast majority of geniuses, there's a natural self-defense mechanism against philosophy. Normal philosophical inquiries—even the famous paradoxes—rarely truly break them.
After all, these geniuses are essentially "born knowing." To them, philosophy isn't some insurmountable hurdle; they understand it at a glance. It's not some toxic trap they can't escape; they can pick it up and put it down at will.
Even in the worst-case scenario, these geniuses maintain a clear understanding of their own mental state. They know their limits, they know exactly where they've gotten stuck, and they will actively initiate "self-rescue" protocols.
For example, when faced with the Trolley Problem, they might propose the solution: "Tie the person who asked the question to the tracks," using their inherent authority to dismantle the premise of the problem itself.
In front of true geniuses, classic philosophical dilemmas are often just roadkill beneath the wheels of their intellectual juggernauts, producing shocking, paradigm-shifting solutions.
A genius being captured and broken by philosophy is almost unheard of.
Unless... philosophy isn't the only thing trapping him.
What truly trapped Shu was "responsibility."
It was utterly absurd. Why would the word "responsibility" ever appear on the path of "philosophy"?
The only entity you have to be responsible for in philosophy is "yourself." Everyone's internal world is unique, so everyone possesses their own distinct philosophy.
It's just like a worldview: while the broad strokes might be similar, deviations at critical junctures lead to vastly different conclusions.
So where does "responsibility" fit into philosophy? Why did the concept even exist in this context?
Could your philosophical answers fundamentally alter someone else's life, granting them a rebirth?
Let it be known, the last person to be deeply entangled in this specific kind of responsibility ended up writing something called—
Marxist Philosophy.
...
How am I supposed to save him from that?!
I can't save this kid!!
Dr. Bai harbored no delusions of becoming the second Friedrich Engels. If he hadn't needed the comparison as a cognitive placeholder, he never would have dared mention his own name in the same breath as that historical titan.
Carving a massive, century-defining problem into Shu's medical chart, Dr. Bai immediately began pondering who he could pass this poor kid off to after he retired.
It had to be someone who could keep up with Shu's labyrinthine logic. Someone who wouldn't be smooth-talked into turning a blind eye. This person would need unwavering resolve and an iron will to avoid being led astray by Shu's arguments.
Furthermore, they needed the sheer force of personality to forcibly drag Shu's thoughts away from his philosophical black holes.
Yeah, dream on. You can find anything in a dream.
The old doctor was genuinely stumped. He felt utterly powerless. The only thing he could do was keep the boy company and wait for him to voluntarily change his mind and focus on something else.
What else could he do? Toss Shu into a brutal survival situation, forcing him to abandon his excess thoughts just to stay alive?
Admittedly... if the sole issue was "philosophy consuming the mind," that brutal solution would actually be highly effective.
Most people get lost in philosophical musings simply because they have the luxury of a full stomach. Excess time and energy lead to idle, ultimately useless thoughts.
Subject them to true suffering, and those useless thoughts evaporate instantly. The patient is naturally "cured."
...
Wait, since when did suffering ever cure a genius?! It just tortures them into producing brilliant poetry and literature!
See, that was the fatal flaw in the plan.
Ninety-nine percent of people in this world will fight tooth and nail to survive when faced with the pressure of life and death. But there are always those bizarre outliers who will simply conclude, "If this is what living is, then screw it, I'm out!"
For them, the priority of "staying alive" is actually incredibly low.
It's just that too many people are born with absolutely nothing.
The lives of the masses are so impoverished they lack even the luxury of "independent thought" or true "human agency," reducing themselves to mere beasts of burden just to survive.
Then, they parade around the scraps of "thought" and "agency" granted to them by others, smugly declaring that these things are no big deal because everyone has them.
Those are the people who abandon excess thought under external pressure, focusing solely on survival.
A genius will only think more actively, more fiercely in the face of suffering. Then, achieving some profound epiphany like, "As the tide rises on the Qiantang River, today I finally know who I am," they will close their eyes in ultimate satisfaction, tossing their life away like garbage.
Did they die?
To them, they had ascended!!
So how do you deal with a genius trapped in philosophy?
You find something else for him to do. Something he cannot refuse, something that demands his utmost dedication. You force the genius to "waste" his limited lifespan realizing value elsewhere.
You don't let him sit alone with his thoughts, endlessly ruminating until he stumbles upon some fatal epiphany, fulfills his perceived destiny, and immediately discards the rest of his life.
That was the solution the old doctor had come up with.
"Your inpatient fees are quite expensive, you know," Dr. Bai warned, silently adding a zero to Shu's bill. With this near-extortion, he gave Shu a new objective for his two years of hospitalization.
"You wouldn't want to drain all this old man's savings, would you? I still have a granddaughter to feed..."
"What? You're not staying? Oh dear... my reputation will be ruined... Kicking a penniless patient out to fend for himself... my family will despise me..."
Shu admitted he had been successfully blackmailed by the shameless old man. Pinching his nose, he began finding ways to earn a living while confined to the psychiatric hospital.
Dr. Bai's original plan was to arrange odd jobs for Shu around the hospital. Make him tired. The ideal cycle was: eat, sleep, work, and earn just enough to break even on his bills.
If everything went according to plan, this strategy would at least keep Shu alive until Dr. Bai died of old age... or, well, retired.
Hah! I am a genius!
...
"Director Bai... Your patient just paid for a hundred years of inpatient care in advance. Sir, what is the meaning of—"
When the flustered receptionist delivered this news, Dr. Bai was utterly dumbfounded.
A hundred years of fees... And he had inflated the price tenfold! This meant Shu had somehow, miraculously, scrounged up the equivalent of a thousand years' worth of regular inpatient fees!
While that specific amount of money wasn't an astronomical sum for a hospital, today marked exactly one year since Shu's admission. It was only the sixth month since Dr. Bai had initiated his "exhaustion" plan.
How did he earn it?!
Can he teach me?!
Dr. Bai's meticulously tailored plan was swatted aside by Shu with effortless ease. It was like a gentle wave casually drowning a carp that genuinely believed it was about to leap over the Dragon Gate.
...
Two years ago, Dr. Bai personally signed Shu's discharge papers. It felt exactly like signing a formal surrender document.
Those two years had instilled a bone-deep, unprecedented terror in the old doctor.
He had lived for over sixty years. He had been a "gifted child" in his youth, and now he had a successful career and a happy family. His profession had given him a front-row seat to the boundless diversity of humanity.
He had considered himself a man of vast experience.
But it had only taken Shu two years to completely "deconstruct" him.
During the second year of his hospitalization, Shu's performance had grown increasingly flawless. It was so perfect Dr. Bai couldn't find a single fault. He couldn't find a single excuse to delay Shu's discharge any longer.
He was cured. According to the metrics and standards Dr. Bai had established, Shu was completely "cured."
After signing the discharge papers with a weary sense of relief, Dr. Bai couldn't help but recall his very first consultation with the genius boy.
If you find yourself getting along incredibly well with someone, feeling a natural rapport...
In that moment, a chill ran down the doctor's spine.
He looked at the latest evaluation data. The score [Confidence: 1.8/2.0] glared back at him mockingly.
The physiological data, all perfectly within normal ranges, was a naked display of the doctor's own incompetence.
Somatic symptoms of depression... Dr. Bai suspected Shu had completely figured him out within the first year, and had only spent the second year carefully adjusting his own physical body just to pass the medical exams.
"Am I cured?"
That was the last thing Shu said before he left.
It was another probe. But this time, Dr. Bai knew he hadn't caught it.
"Are you ready to let me go?" That was what Shu really meant.
So... how much of Shu's performance over the last two years had been genuine?
Dr. Bai feared that the only time he had seen the real Shu was on that very first day.
The sexagenarian doctor felt exactly like a teacher who had been politely escorted off the podium after a student effortlessly solved every step of a complex equation on the chalkboard.
Shu hadn't defeated him.
Shu had simply paved a custom-made road for the doctor, and then patiently waited for him to walk to the end of it.
Dr. Bai had thought about it many times since. Why did Shu do it?
Malice?
No. A person soaked in nihilism harbors no malice toward anyone.
Then... a desire for freedom?
No. Shu had never shown any yearning for the "outside world."
He was simply completing a task.
He had treated "Dr. Bai wants a cured Shu" as a problem that needed solving. And he had calmly delivered a perfect, hundred-percent score.
Keep taking your medicine. Keep coming to your follow-up appointments. That was Dr. Bai's final plea to Shu.
Please.
Stop overthinking. Just live.
Shu had agreed, sounding as casual as if he were accepting a glass of water.
...
"The beach, the grasslands, the snowy mountains, the forest... I mostly went to those places."
The memory faded, bringing them back to the present.
Hearing the list of locations Shu casually rattled off, the joy on Dr. Bai's face was impossible to hide.
Willing to go outside is a good thing! Willing to actually DO things is a great thing!
It didn't matter if Shu had traveled purely for fun, or if he had ulterior motives and was using the trip to verify some theory. It was all good news.
If it was the former, it meant Shu was finally willing to give himself some room to breathe. If it was the latter, it meant Shu's philosophy had undergone a major breakthrough, prompting him to take such massive action.
However, given Shu's track record, Dr. Bai felt the need to double-check.
"So? Did you have a good time?" he asked, excitedly jotting down Shu's recent activities.
He no longer cared if his questions triggered Shu's overthinking. He had to grasp Shu's current state of mind. This might be his one and only genuine opportunity to actually cure the boy.
Shu's eyes lowered even further.
"...It was very happy at the time," he stated his answer. Then, in an unprecedented move, he repeated it. "Yes, it was very happy."
Dr. Bai's pen paused.
"Pictures? Can I see them?"
It was a verification check. Just in case this was another meticulously crafted lie. And also... Dr. Bai genuinely wanted to see if Shu had actually looked happy.
With slow, sluggish movements, Shu pulled out his phone. He painstakingly opened the gallery app and scrolled back to the photos from a month ago.
He stared at the images—images of himself, completely alone in the frame. Only after a long silence did he hand the phone over.
There were quite a few photos on the phone, so many that Dr. Bai found it slightly unusual.
Was Shu the type to take selfies in front of scenery?
Judging by the backgrounds, Shu really had visited a lot of places. And Dr. Bai couldn't spot any traces of Photoshop or AI generation. For now, he had to believe they were real.
At the very least, he's still willing to humor this old man, instead of just brushing me off like before.