January 15, 2015.
Beijing, Haidian District.
8:30 a.m.
The waiting room smelled like lavender and old paper.
Wang Li sat in a chair that was slightly too soft, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap like a student awaiting punishment. The wall across from her was decorated with framed certificates—degrees in psychology, awards for clinical excellence, a calligraphy scroll that read "Know Thyself" in elegant strokes.
She had been staring at that scroll for ten minutes.
Know thyself.
If only it were that simple.
The door opened.
"Dr. Wang? Please come in."
The voice was warm, professional, carefully neutral.
Wang Li stood and walked into the office.
THE PSYCHOLOGIST
Dr. Lin Meixiu was a small woman in her early fifties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun and glasses that made her look like everyone's favorite aunt.
She gestured to a leather chair across from her desk.
"Please, sit."
Wang Li sat.
The office was warm, decorated in soft earth tones. A pot of white orchids bloomed on the windowsill. A small fountain burbled in the corner, the sound of water over stones filling the silence like a meditation.
It was designed to be calming.
Wang Li had never felt less calm in her life.
"So," Dr. Lin said, settling into her own chair with a gentle smile. "Your message said you wanted to discuss some concerns about your mental state. That must have been difficult to reach out about. I want you to know that this is a safe space."
Wang Li nodded stiffly.
She was not used to talking about herself.
She was used to fixing things. To solving problems. To being the one in control.
Sitting here, in this soft chair, in this warm office, she felt like a patient on her own operating table.
It was deeply uncomfortable.
"Take your time," Dr. Lin said. "We don't have to rush."
Wang Li took a breath.
And then she began.
THE CONFESSION
"Something is wrong with me."
Her voice was flat, clinical—the same tone she used when delivering a diagnosis.
Dr. Lin's expression didn't change.
"What makes you say that?"
Wang Li's fingers tightened on her knees.
"I've been seeing things," she said. "Things that aren't there. A woman who looks exactly like me. I've been receiving messages from numbers that don't exist. I've been... remembering things that never happened."
She paused.
"I think I might be having a psychotic break."
Dr. Lin nodded slowly.
"That's a very serious concern," she said. "Can you tell me more about what you've been experiencing?"
Wang Li closed her eyes.
And then she told her everything.
Well—not everything.
She didn't mention the cultivation theory. She didn't mention the past life memories. She didn't mention the ex-boyfriend who was apparently a thousand-year-old immortal with a grudge.
She just told her about the photographs. The woman with her face. The messages. The strange feeling that someone was watching her.
The fear.
Dr. Lin listened without interrupting.
When Wang Li finished, there was a long silence.
Then the psychologist leaned forward slightly.
"Dr. Wang," she said gently, "I want to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me."
Wang Li nodded.
"When was the last time you slept?"
Wang Li blinked.
"What?"
"Sleep. Actual, restful sleep. Eight hours. In a bed. Not a chair in the break room."
Wang Li opened her mouth to answer.
Then closed it.
She didn't know.
THE TRUTH
She couldn't remember.
She had been working so hard for so long that exhaustion had become her baseline. She slept when she could—an hour here, two hours there, always with one eye open for emergencies.
But actual sleep?
Deep sleep?
The kind of sleep where your body repairs itself and your mind processes the day and you wake up feeling human?
She couldn't remember the last time.
"I don't know," she admitted quietly.
Dr. Lin nodded as if she had expected this.
"Dr. Wang, you are a cardiothoracic surgeon at one of the busiest hospitals in Beijing. You work in a high-stress, high-stakes environment. You are responsible for human lives on a daily basis. And from what you've told me, you've been carrying this burden alone for years."
She paused.
"Now you're telling me that you've been seeing things. That you believe someone is impersonating you. That you think you're having a psychotic break."
Wang Li flinched.
"I'm not saying you're wrong," Dr. Lin continued quickly. "What I'm saying is that before we jump to conclusions about psychosis or delusions, we need to consider the simplest explanation."
Wang Li looked up.
"What's that?"
Dr. Lin's expression softened.
"Exhaustion, Dr. Wang. Severe, chronic, untreated exhaustion. Sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations. It can cause paranoia. It can cause memory problems. It can make you question your own sanity."
She leaned back.
"How many hours have you slept in the past week?"
Wang Li thought about it.
Sunday: two hours.
Monday: three hours.
Tuesday: zero.
Wednesday: zero.
Thursday: one hour.
Friday: zero.
Saturday: zero.
Six hours in seven days.
For most people, that would be enough to cause serious cognitive impairment.
For a surgeon?
It was a liability.
"I see," Dr. Lin said quietly when Wang Li told her.
She wrote something on her notepad.
"Dr. Wang, I'm going to be very direct with you. Based on what you've told me, I believe you are suffering from severe sleep deprivation and acute stress. These conditions can absolutely produce the symptoms you're describing—visual hallucinations, paranoid thoughts, difficulty distinguishing reality from imagination."
She set down her pen.
"I'm not saying the woman isn't real. What I'm saying is that your perception of her might be affected by your mental state. And that's not your fault—it's a physiological response to extreme stress."
Wang Li stared at her.
"You think I'm imagining it."
Dr. Lin shook her head.
"I think you're human. And humans break when they don't rest."
THE DIAGNOSIS
She wrote Wang Li a prescription.
Not for antipsychotics.
For sleep medication.
"A mild sedative," she explained. "Nothing strong. Just enough to help you fall asleep and stay asleep for six to eight hours."
She also wrote a note.
"For medical leave. I'm recommending that you take at least two weeks off from work. During that time, I want you to rest. No research. No phone. No internet. Just sleep, eat, and recover."
Wang Li stared at the papers in her hands.
She had come here expecting to be told she was insane.
Instead, she was being told she was tired.
It was almost insulting.
"What if I don't want to take leave?" she asked.
Dr. Lin's expression didn't change.
"Then I'll have to report you to the medical board as unfit for duty."
The words hung in the air like a scalpel.
Wang Li felt something cold settle in her chest.
"You can't—"
"I can," Dr. Lin said firmly. "And I will, if necessary. Dr. Wang, I've seen dozens of doctors in your situation. They work themselves to the bone, they ignore every warning sign, and then one day they make a mistake that costs a patient their life."
She leaned forward.
"Is that what you want? To be responsible for someone's death because you were too proud to rest?"
Wang Li said nothing.
Because she knew the answer.
She had already been responsible for one death this week.
The patient's wife had been in the bar photograph.
The patient had died on her table.
And now the Impostor was using that death to destroy her.
THE ACCEPTANCE
"I'll take the leave," she said quietly.
Dr. Lin nodded.
"Good. I'll send the paperwork to your hospital director this afternoon."
She stood, and Wang Li stood with her.
"Dr. Wang, I want you to understand something. Taking care of yourself is not weakness. It's not failure. It's not 'letting the enemy win.' It's what allows you to keep fighting."
She smiled.
"Whatever is going on in your life right now—whether it's a real person harassing you or your own mind playing tricks—you won't be able to handle it if you're running on empty."
Wang Li looked at her for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
"Thank you, Dr. Lin."
"You're welcome. And Dr. Wang?"
Wang Li paused at the door.
"Try to remember that the most important patient you'll ever treat... is yourself."
THE PHARMACY
She filled the prescription at a small pharmacy near her apartment.
The pharmacist—a young man with acne and a bored expression—stared at her a little too long.
"Are you... the doctor from the news?" he asked.
Wang Li's blood went cold.
"No," she said flatly. "I get that a lot."
She took the medication and left before he could ask any more questions.
THE APARTMENT
That night, she stood in her bathroom, staring at the small white pill in her palm.
She hated this.
She hated admitting she needed help.
She hated the idea of sleeping while the Impostor was out there, wearing her face, destroying her life.
But she was also exhausted.
So exhausted that even standing felt like fighting gravity.
She took the pill.
She lay down in her bed—her actual bed, for the first time in months.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in a very long time...
She slept.
THE DREAM
She was in a palace made of white marble and gold.
She was sixteen years old.
She was wearing a dress of crimson silk, and there was blood on her hands.
Her parents were lying on the floor in front of her, their eyes open and empty.
And she was laughing.
Not crying.
Laughing.
"You did this," a voice said.
She turned.
The boy was standing in the shadows, his face obscured, his eyes burning like embers.
"You made me do this," he said.
"No," she whispered. "I didn't—"
"You rejected me," he said. "You humiliated me. You chose your family over me."
He stepped forward, and she saw his face for the first time.
It was beautiful.
It was terrible.
It was a face she had loved once, in another life, in another world.
"And now," he said softly, "you will pay for that choice."
He raised his hand.
She felt the blade enter her chest.
She felt her heart stop.
And the last thing she saw was his smile—triumphant, cruel, and completely, utterly insane.
THE WAKING
Wang Li woke at 6:00 a.m.
Her sheets were soaked with sweat.
Her heart was pounding.
The dream was already fading, but the fear lingered like smoke.
She pressed her hand to her chest.
There was no wound.
No blood.
But she could still feel the blade.
"You made me do this."
She didn't know what she had done.
She didn't know what he wanted.
But she knew one thing:
He was never going to stop.
THE MORNING
She checked her phone.
Three missed calls from the hospital.
Two from Director Chen.
One from a number she didn't recognize.
And a text from the Impostor:
"Sleep well, Doctor? I hope so. You'll need your strength for what's coming next."
Wang Li stared at the message.
Then she got out of bed.
She showered.
She dressed.
She made tea.
And she opened her laptop.
The Rebellious Healer had work to do.
THE FORUM UPDATE
She logged into her anonymous account and checked the forum.
Her post had exploded overnight.
Views: 47,892
Comments: 3,204
Shares: 12,447
The top comment was from a user named "TruthSeeker99" :
"I've been reading TheRebelliousHealer's posts all night. This person knows what they're talking about. The evidence against Dr. Wang Li is full of holes. We need to demand a real investigation."
The second comment was from "AngryCitizen88" :
"This is just propaganda from the hospital. They're trying to protect their reputation. Don't fall for it."
The third comment was from "CuriousCat" :
"Guys, what if it's something supernatural? Like, what if there's actually a ghost or a spirit that can copy people's faces? My grandma used to tell me stories about that."
Wang Li stared at the comment for a long moment.
Then she typed a reply:
"That's an interesting theory. In many cultures, there are legends of beings that can steal identities. Whether they're called doppelgängers, skinwalkers, or shape-shifters, the concept is universal."
She paused.
Then she added:
"But those are just stories. Right?"
She posted it.
And then she waited.
THE RESPONSE
The replies came quickly.
"TheRebelliousHealer is back!"
"Don't tell me you actually believe in ghosts?"
"This is getting ridiculous."
"Wait, but what if it's true? What if there really is something supernatural going on?"
The theories multiplied.
Some were ridiculous.
Some were disturbing.
And some were dangerously close to the truth.
Wang Li watched the chaos unfold.
She had planted the seed.
Now she just had to wait for it to grow.
THE REALIZATION
But as she scrolled through the comments, something else occurred to her.
She was doing exactly what the Impostor wanted.
He had said he wanted to make her interesting.
He had said he wanted to watch her squirm.
And now she was spending her medical leave obsessively managing an anonymous forum, trying to control a narrative that had already spiraled out of control.
She was playing his game.
She had been playing it since the moment she saw that first photograph.
She closed the laptop.
She walked to the window.
The city stretched out below her, gray and endless, full of millions of people who would never know her name.
But they knew her face.
They had seen it on their screens, in the news, in the memes and the comments and the endless scroll of outrage.
And they had judged her.
"I'm just making you interesting," the Impostor had said.
Wang Li pressed her hand against the cold glass.
"Then let's be interesting," she whispered.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Wang Li has taken the first step toward fighting back—but she's also beginning to realize that the battle is happening on multiple fronts. The Impostor isn't just attacking her reputation; he's attacking her mind, her body, her very sense of self.
And the sleep medication may have given her rest... but it's also opened the door to dreams that are far too real.
Dreams that feel like memories.
Memories that feel like warnings.
What exactly did Wang Li do in her past life to earn such hatred?
And what will happen when she finally remembers?