Chen Yuan's Account (3) - -

　　In order to make me a normal person, my mother moved us near the execution ground for reverse indoctrination. But after witnessing numerous executions, I became accustomed to it. It was always a few common reactions, always the same routine of dying. Gradually, I started to feel that the death penalty was just an ordinary thing.

　　Reverse indoctrination didn't make me a better person; instead, it made me face the fate of a bad person with more equanimity. My mother was completely unaware of this, still opening that window for me every day with her head bowed.

　　Of course, my mother didn't give up on conventional means either. There was a doctor named Yang who had a clinic in town and also worked as a part-time psychologist. Back then, not many people sought psychological counseling, so most of the time, he treated minor illnesses like colds and fevers.

　　I became a regular visitor to his clinic, receiving psychological therapy from him. To disguise my visits as medical treatment, my mother even started dating Yang, a bachelor in his fifties, claiming that he was helping to take care of me.

　　The people in town gossiped behind my mother's back, mocking her for still pursuing a man when her son had grown so big. They laughed at her romantic endeavors while she paid a significant amount for my therapy. Psychological treatment was expensive, and the medication was even more expensive. Since Yang didn't have the qualification to prescribe psychiatric drugs, he obtained them illegally for me.

　　It wasn't that we couldn't go to a legitimate hospital for treatment and medication, but my mother didn't want to. She kept everything hidden because she didn't want any records of my psychiatric treatment, hoping that I could quietly get better without affecting my future life.

　　She had complete trust in Yang's skills and always believed that I still had a future. It was solely because of my mother's reasons that I didn't leave any records of psychiatric treatment.

　　According to Yang, my antisocial personality was triggered by childhood trauma. He claimed that through hypnosis, he could find my psychological shadows, unearth my hidden pain, and reshape my subconscious to achieve the therapeutic goal.

　　It sounded miraculous, but it never succeeded even once. Successful hypnosis relies on trust as a crucial prerequisite, and I couldn't place my trust in Yang. Therefore, he couldn't dig up anything from me.

　　When the root cause could not be treated, only the symptoms could be managed. Yang prescribed me a drug called chlorpromazine, which could stabilize emotions and suppress criminal impulses. However, this medication had significant side effects, making people dull, drowsy, and even causing cognitive impairments. Although he consistently prescribed it for me, I never took it. As a result, neither the root cause nor the symptoms were addressed.

　　It didn't harm Yang; if he couldn't cure me, he could keep treating me indefinitely, and I would remain his patient. In the end, my visits to the clinic turned into snacking and reading, truly fulfilling the pretext of "taking care of the child."

　　Together, Yang and I deceived my mother, leaving her completely in the dark. To afford the exorbitant costs of my treatment, my mother worked at the factory and took up additional odd jobs in her spare time. She hadn't reached forty yet, her face still youthful, but her hair had turned half white.

　　Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would hear my mother weeping and sighing. Other times, I would witness her full of hope, busy and never stopping.

　　My father saw through my true nature at a glance and decisively chose to leave, but my mother remained deluded and refused to give up. Many women are like that, seemingly fragile, yet still yearning for someone to rely on. She had only one son left, and in me, she saw an illusory future, placing all her hopes on me. She expected me to lead a normal life like most people, studying, working, getting married, having children, and providing support in the future.

　　She hadn't done anything wrong; she was just a normal mother.

　　But I am not a normal child.

　　I cannot fulfill my mother's expectations, and I feel suffocated and miserable by her side.

　　Studying, working, getting married, and having children—these are not what I want; the only thing I crave is crime, and that is the path I am destined to take.

　　You may wonder why I am so certain about my future criminal path.

　　It is the result of my attempts at self-redemption.

　　The time spent at the clinic was not wasted; I extensively read Dr. Yang's collection of psychological books and discovered the path to salvation within them.

　　Childhood traumatic experiences can have a butterfly effect, profoundly shaping a person's entire life. That is the terrifying aspect of childhood shadows.

　　I transformed from a good child into a bad one, and there were traces to follow.

　　I deliberately avoided that period of my life, causing me years of agony.

　　Through self-study of psychology, I gradually understood that if I didn't unravel the psychological knots caused by childhood shadows, I would continue to suffer, never finding liberation.

　　In second grade of elementary school, I locked a classmate in an abandoned storage room, observing everyone's frantic search. But I had no grudge against that classmate; it was his father who had harmed me.

　　His father's name was Zhou Hongxing.

　　Zhou Hongxing sexually abused me—a seven or eight-year-old boy.

　　Being young, there were many things I didn't understand, but witnessing a seemingly kind adult suddenly become grotesque was real, and the fear and pain I personally experienced were also real.

　　Afterward, I was terrified and told my father, hoping he would help me seek justice. But my father hesitated and ultimately told me not to go to that classmate's house again.

　　If even my father couldn't confront it, I dared not either. Unable to alleviate my pain, I resorted to retaliating against Zhou Hongxing's son.

　　Ordinary revenge was unsatisfying. I merely locked his son in a storage room, and in return, he sexually abused me again, warning me not to touch his son.

　　All along, Zhou Hongxing had been a gentle and kind person, treating everyone well, always wearing a smiling face.

　　The first time he met me, he smiled and said, "This child is so likable." He bought me many delicious treats.

　　But in the end, he revealed his most terrifying side to me.

　　No one would believe a child's accusation against a good person, not even my own father.

　　Afterward, I stopped mentioning this incident to anyone, but I gradually became sensitive, gloomy, and vengeful. Even for trivial matters, I would immediately seek fierce revenge. Each act of retaliation felt like compensating for the initial inability to retaliate.

　　But it was always like scratching an itch through a boot—unable to alleviate the deep-seated hatred in my heart.

　　I gradually realized that Zhou Hongxing was the root of my psychological knots. No one could save me except myself.

　　I must kill him.

　　For the past ten years, I have been planning to kill Zhou Hongxing. When I was young, I had no power to resist his abuse. Now I have grown, and he has aged. Killing him would be as easy as squashing a fly.

　　You say I cast a shadow over Zhou Hongxing's happy family, but why don't you mention that he ruined my entire life?

　　By killing him, I can find liberation.

　　That is the true reason for me to kill Zhou Hongxing.