The Moon Runs to Me

“Dr. Chen, I think I’m sick.”

Chen Wenping was a leading professor of psychiatry at Nanjing Hospital. With thirty years of practice, she’d seen patients of all kinds.

Psychiatric patients were different from ordinary ones—they often didn’t realize they were ill, didn’t consider themselves patients, resisted treatment, and rejected outside help.

She’d encountered no fewer than a hundred cases like Qin Sang’s—people with extremely low self-evaluation who developed severe self-loathing.

But Qin Sang was different. When her agent accompanied her to the appointment, she was remarkably composed, even smiling—outwardly gentle and well-behaved.

“I can’t sleep. It feels like I’m trapped in a cage. I can’t breathe. Every time I close my eyes, I hear voices whispering around me, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.”

Her expression was calm as she spoke, but her eyes held a hollow stillness.

“I try hard to hear what they’re saying, but something always stops me.”

Chen Wenping fell silent. Qin Sang’s condition was already severe.

Because of her special status, her agent had spoken with her before the consultation. She already had a general understanding of Qin Sang’s symptoms.

She couldn’t sleep. She felt nauseous, wanted to vomit, couldn’t keep anything down—like an anorexic. And yet she said nothing, still acting like everything was normal. She ate what Sister Wen brought, answered every question with “I’m fine,” and behaved like a perfectly ordinary person.

It wasn’t until that night—when Sister Wen realized she’d left her phone at the apartment and went back to retrieve it—that she discovered the truth. The room was empty. Only the balcony door on the side was open, Qin Sang’s slippers left at the threshold, while she herself stood at the railing’s edge.

The night wind billowed her thin pajamas, making her fragile frame look like it could be carried away. Her eyes were vacant, as if she couldn’t hear the outside world.

Sister Wen was terrified—half her soul nearly left her body. She clamped a hand over her mouth, suppressing the chill that shot straight to her brain, and crept closer, barely managing to pull her back.

Qin Sang seemed unaware of how dangerous her actions had been. She only asked in confusion, “I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to hear what they were saying. Sister Wen, can’t you hear it?”

Sister Wen had always been strong, believing nothing could truly break her. But that day, seeing Qin Sang’s pale face and bewildered words, her heart ached unbearably.

She choked back tears. “Sang Sang, you’re sick.”

Qin Sang was sick, and no one had noticed.

She was too good at hiding it, too concerned with others’ feelings. No matter how much she suffered, she never showed it. She always said she was fine, said she’d get through it—and people believed she truly wasn’t affected by the gossip.

But no one knew how serious her condition had become. Sister Wen only learned after that night that Qin Sang hadn’t slept properly in a long time. She was anxious and restless but forced herself to appear calm. Everything Sister Wen brought her, she’d eat on the spot—only to vomit it all back up later. She couldn’t keep food down, her hair fell out in clumps, and she’d even developed auditory and visual hallucinations.

Perhaps she really hadn’t intended to die. She was just sick—so sick she couldn’t find a way to save herself.

“Dr. Chen, am I that bad now? Is there still a way for me to get better?”

Qin Sang asked, lost and bewildered.

Chen Wenping tried to keep her tone even. “Depression isn’t just a psychological symptom—it’s a mental illness. Illnesses can be treated and cured. As long as you don’t avoid treatment, you will get better.”

Qin Sang nodded, very seriously. “I want to get better. My mother’s health is poor, Xiao Yan and her grandmother are also unwell. I’m the only one who can protect them. I can’t fall.”

She cared too much about others—putting everyone above herself. Family, agent, even a junior assistant—she treasured them all. Only herself, she placed at the very bottom.

Patients like Qin Sang, who appeared the calmest, were often the sickest.

After a systematic evaluation, Chen Wenping found that Qin Sang’s sense of self-worth was extremely low. When faced with slander and malicious attacks, a normal person’s first reaction would be anger, then hurt—and they’d instinctively fight back. But Qin Sang’s first response was to flee, retreating into her safe space—a self-protective mechanism. Yet even after retreating, she still felt unsafe and would begin to question herself, wondering if she really was as terrible as they said, leading to deeper self-loathing. It was a vicious cycle.

So Chen Wenping’s recommendation was clear: “In Ms. Qin’s condition, I advise against continuing her current work. Acting is a profession that relies heavily on external validation. Too much attention brings uncontrollable judgment. The online noise and public opinion are detrimental to her current state—negative comments will only worsen her self-loathing.”

Qin Sang was the most cooperative and compliant patient Chen Wenping had ever treated.

She held on as if she truly wanted to escape from that terrible life.

Chen Wenping told her directly: “I’ll prescribe medication. Take it on time. If the results aren’t good, we may consider MECT as supplementary treatment. Don’t stay cooped up alone when you have free time—get out, breathe fresh air, get some sun. Exercise can boost your mood. Most importantly, you need to accept yourself and believe in yourself.”

Qin Sang followed almost every piece of advice.

She took her medication on time, showed up for follow-ups, put work on hold, regulated her sleep schedule, and exercised two to three hours daily. But that alone couldn’t fully free her.

Fighting depression was a long process.

For someone like Qin Sang, who severely lacked self-worth and validation, recovery was especially difficult.

Qin Sang had been a victim of online bullying and a survivor of depression. Her symptoms were actually very severe—Chen Wenping and Sister Wen hadn’t told her the full truth to avoid distressing her. She believed she only had mild depressive tendencies that would improve with active treatment.

In reality, she’d already developed many accompanying symptoms—psychological, physical, even suicidal ideation. This was severe depression.

Patients with major depressive disorder rarely recover through medication or therapy alone, let alone on their own. It’s incredibly hard to escape—which is why so many die by suicide each year.

Qin Sang was fortunate. She’d managed to break free from the nightmare.

But now, late at night, Chen Wenping received a call from her.

Qin Sang was honest. Huddled in a corner, she looked troubled. “Dr. Chen, I don’t think I’m doing well.”

Chen Wenping’s heart sank. Major depression is rarely fully cured. Maintaining five years of normal functioning was already remarkable.

“What happened? Has something been stressing you lately?”

Qin Sang shook her head, then hesitated and nodded.

Chen Wenping kept her voice calm. “That’s okay. If you don’t mind, you can tell me about it. I’m happy to listen.”

“Dr. Chen, do you remember the little bear I told you about?”

Chen Wenping nodded. “I remember. You said you had a bear you really loved, but you lost it.”

“Mm. I think I’ve found that bear now.”

Qin Sang lowered her gaze, a little incoherent, unconsciously picking at the skin around her nails without even realizing she’d broken the skin.

She looked very nervous, very lost.

Chen Wenping understood the crux of the issue. “Then—do you still like that bear very much?”

Qin Sang froze, her eyes vacant, as if lost in thought.

After a long moment, she nodded earnestly. “Yes. Very much.”

“Dr. Chen, am I useless? After all these years, I still can’t let go. I thought I could handle it easily—face my past like a normal person. But I can’t. I’m really such a failure.”

Qin Sang had never wanted to confront her past. Even though she’d followed Chen Wenping’s advice for five years, giving herself positive affirmations, she still couldn’t do it.

Wen Minzhu had ripped open her barely healed wound in front of everyone. She was at a loss, forced to watch as that ugly scar was exposed to the world.

She’d tried so hard to live, never daring to stop—afraid that if she did, she’d be dragged back into the abyss.

After the gaokao, everyone else looked forward to their upcoming college lives, celebrating their release from three years of pressure, rejoicing over their new beginnings.

Liu Chengcheng messaged her, asking her score and which school she planned to apply to.

She didn’t dare reply. Didn’t dare look.

Occasionally, she’d scroll through QQ updates and see everyone sharing their lives in detail. Once the gaokao scores came out, their futures were more or less settled.

Back then, the class had one QQ group. She worked the night shift at the coffee shop, with only a handful of customers lingering.

The group was buzzing—everyone sharing which schools they’d be attending.

At the time, unlike the later WeChat group, everyone used their real names. Many familiar faces appeared in the chat. Some had gotten into Nanjing University of Aeronautics and Astronautics, others into Shanghai Jiao Tong University.

[@Jiang Mingyi, you’re going abroad soon. Shouldn’t we have one more get-together before you leave? We were classmates—treating us to a meal isn’t too much to ask, right?]

Jiang Mingyi: [Scram]

[You and Xie—one of you got into Tsinghua, the other’s going abroad to gild your resume. You’re living the good life—what’s wrong with bleeding a little?]

[Exactly! It’ll be hard to get together again after this.]

Maybe he was persuaded. Jiang Mingyi eventually agreed—with one condition.

Jiang Mingyi: [Fine, I’ll treat. You pick the place. But whether Xie comes—that’s not up to me.]

Later, when she saw her classmates again, she was stunned—like a lifetime had passed.

Xie Yuncan came too.

The young man walked lazily at the back, saying little. He seemed in low spirits.

While the others laughed and joked, she quietly watched from the side. As she cleared the table, she overheard him on the phone.

The woman’s voice on the other end was sharp: “I chose a path for you, and you refuse to take it—are you trying to drive me to death?”

The young man’s expression was indifferent, a cold glint in his eyes. “Do what you want.”

He hung up. But the phone didn’t stop.

He looked annoyed. But no one noticed his discontent.

She stole a glance, then lowered her eyes. On a sticky note, she wrote, word by word, a simple wish.

An ordinary sentiment—nothing significant. But it was the only thing she could do.

“Sang Sang, why do you think you’re so terrible?”

Chen Wenping’s voice brought her back to the present.

Qin Sang thought for a long time. “Because I’m useless. I can’t protect the people I want to protect. And I can’t face my own shame like others can.”

“I just feel…”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Then have you ever tried to fight for it?”

Chen Wenping looked at her, her voice calm. “Sang Sang, you need to be braver.”

“Perhaps—”

She paused, offering a gentle, encouraging smile.

“Sometimes, you should also listen to what the little bear has to say.”