After many years, Xun Yuming and Zhuang Yi meet once again. The former is now a neurosurgeon who has won an international award, and the latter is a famous psychologist.

In a dimly lit room, Zhuang Yi propped his hands on the sides of the swivel chair and pressed down his upper body: “Dr. Xun, don’t try to run away during a psychotherapy session.” The other party’s voice was low, but his phoenix eyes were clear.

Xun Yuming dared not to look at him.

“Dr Xun, do you feel guilty?”

“N, no.” Xun Yuming whispered.

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

“Because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I…I’m sick, I can’t-”

A low laugh resounded in Xun Yuming’s ears, and the dimples that bloomed at the corners of the other’s mouths diminished his indifference, “Oh, that’s great, I have a disability, and Dr. Xun is sick. We are really a match made in heaven.”

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