The atmosphere in Room 404 of St. Jude's Private Hospital was thick enough to taste. It was a suffocating blend of high-end antiseptic, the metallic tang of blood, and the sickly-sweet scent of white lilies that had begun to brown at the edges—a floral tribute to a life that had almost flickered out.
On the bed, Lin Yan lay like a broken porcelain doll. His skin was translucent, tracing the delicate blue rivers of his veins beneath the surface. His wrists were the centerpiece of the tragedy, swathed in thick, pristine white gauze that seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights of the ceiling.
Inside the darkness of his subconscious, a violent collision was settling. Two souls—one a brilliant, cynical hacker from a future era, and the other a gentle, broken boy who had simply run out of air—were finally knitting together into a single, jagged consciousness.
[System Pulse: Soul Synchronization 100%... Complete.]
[User ID: Lin Yan (Reborn)]
[Condition: Severe Haphephobia (Touch-trauma) & Panic Disorder.]
[Active Passive: 'Unconscious Broadcast' (Your thoughts are audible to those bound to you by blood or marriage contract).]
[Warning: The Host is currently unaware of the Broadcast passive.]
Lin Yan's eyelashes fluttered, a minute, rhythmic twitch that signaled the return of the ghost. Slowly, he forced his eyelids open. The world was too bright, a stabbing white glare that made his pupils shrink into pinpricks.
"Ugh... my head feels like someone tried to install a supercomputer into a toaster using a hammer," Lin Yan's inner voice rang out. It was sharp, melodic, and dripping with an arrogance that the "old" Lin Yan never possessed. "And why does my throat feel like I swallowed a handful of dry sand and broken glass? If this is the afterlife, the hospitality is abysmal."
Near the window, Lu Jingho stood like a statue carved from obsidian. He was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than a mid-sized apartment, his back to the bed. He was staring out at the rain-slicked city of Beijing, his shoulders rigid. To him, Lin Yan was a burden—a "simple-minded" boy he had married to satisfy a grandfather's dying wish, only for that boy to try and leave the world in a puddle of red on their anniversary.
"You're awake," Jingho said. He didn't turn around. His voice was a flat, baritone resonance that vibrated through the floorboards. "The doctor said if you didn't wake up by noon, we'd have to consider long-term care. My mother has been crying for three days. I hope you're satisfied with the spectacle."
Lin Yan blinked, his sapphire-blue eyes focusing on the back of the man's head.
"Satisfied? Oh, you 'Neutral' refrigerator," the inner voice snapped, a crisp, electric sound that jolted through Lu Jingho's mind like a physical blow. "Look at that posture. He looks like a man who calculates the interest on his own exhales. If I were satisfied, I'd be on a beach in the Maldives, not lying in a room that smells like a bleach factory. And look at his tie... it's crooked by exactly 0.4 centimeters. It's the only interesting thing about him."
Jingho's entire body went into a state of shock. His hand, resting on the windowsill, twitched violently. He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the corners, the ceiling, the vent. There was no one there but him and the silent boy on the bed.
"Who... who said that?" Jingho rasped, his "neutral" mask finally cracking.
"Who said what? Is the CEO hearing voices? Maybe the stress of having a 'dumb' wife finally made his circuit board short-circuit," the voice mused, sounding genuinely amused. "He's looking at the vent. Yes, Jingho, it's the air conditioning. It's judging your fashion choices."
Jingho turned slowly. His gaze locked onto Lin Yan. The boy was staring at him, his expression one of hollow, haunting emptiness. His lips were firmly shut, yet the voice—sharp, witty, and incredibly intelligent—continued to echo in Jingho's skull.
Suddenly, the door pushed open. A nurse named Sarah walked in, carrying a tray of medication. She had a practiced, sympathetic smile on her face, but through Lin Yan's newly awakened Eye of Truth, the world shifted into a data-driven HUD.
[Target: Nurse Sarah]
Current Status: Calculating / Greed.
Fact: She is hiding a high-sensitivity digital recorder in her apron pocket.
The Gossip: She was promised 50,000 Yuan by Lin Rose to record Lin Yan's "insane ramblings" to prove he is unfit to remain a member of the Lu family.
Lin Yan's eyes narrowed. The "old" soul's fear of being bullied mixed with the "new" soul's protective instinct.
"A spy in a white cap. How cliché," the inner voice hissed. "She wants a recording? I'll give her a recording. But first... if she touches me, I might actually vomit. Her skin feels like it's covered in invisible slime."
As Sarah leaned over to check the IV drip, her hand reached out to stabilize Lin Yan's arm.
The Haphephobia triggered with the force of a landslide. Lin Yan's heart rate monitor began to spike—beep-beep-beep-beep—a frantic, metallic rhythm of panic. He didn't just move; he scrambled, dragging his broken body toward the headboard, his breathing turning into sharp, terrified jags.
"Don't!" he rasped aloud, his voice cracking from disuse. "Stay... away! Don't touch me!"
"GET AWAY!" the inner voice screamed, a sonic boom of pure trauma that made Lu Jingho flinch. "I see the red light in your pocket, you vulture! You want to sell my pain? You want to touch me with those hands that haven't been washed since you took a bribe? I will bite you! I swear to God, I will bite!"
Jingho's eyes snapped to the nurse's pocket. He saw it—a tiny, rhythmic red blink against the white fabric. The rage that surged through him was cold and absolute. He realized the "voice" wasn't a hallucination. It was the truth.
"Nurse," Jingho said, his voice a low, terrifying growl that stopped her in her tracks. "Empty your right pocket. Now."
"Sir? It's just my—"
"Now."
The nurse pulled out the recorder, her face turning the color of ash.
Lin Yan lay huddled in the corner of the bed, his white-gloved hands (which he had frantically pulled from the bedside drawer) clutching his own shoulders. He was shaking, a fine, violent tremor that made the metal bed-frame rattle. To the world, he looked like a lunatic. To Jingho, who could hear the analytical fury beneath the fear, he looked like a survivor.
"Get out," Jingho told the nurse. "And tell Lin Rose that if she ever sends a scout into my territory again, I won't just sue her. I'll erase her."
As the room cleared, Mother Lu rushed in. She had been waiting in the hallway. Seeing Lin Yan's state, she moved forward to comfort him, her face full of motherly agony.
"Oh, my poor Yan Yan—"
"Mother, stop!" Jingho barked, standing as a pillar between them. He didn't touch her, but he blocked her path. "Stay back. Three meters. Give him three meters of space."
Lin Yan's breathing slowly began to level out. He looked at Jingho, his gaze guarded.
"Three meters... he actually listened," the voice whispered, a hint of reluctant respect softening the edge. "The Refrigerator has a sensor after all. Thank you, Sock-Boy. If she had touched me, I think I would have died for real this time. Now... please, just take me home. I want a door with a lock and a room where I don't have to see a single soul."
Jingho looked at his mother. Her eyes were wide; she had heard the voice too. They shared a silent, monumental realization: Lin Yan was a genius trapped in a traumatized shell, and his thoughts were the only map they had to save him.
"I'm taking him home today," Jingho said. "And Mother... fire the entire household staff. I want a new crew. No one touches him. No one even looks at him without my permission."
"Fire the staff? Ooh, look at the big man go," the inner voice teased, though there was a tremor of relief behind it. "He's finally acting like a CEO instead of a mannequin. Maybe there's hope for this marriage yet. Though he still needs to fix that tie. It's driving me insane."
Jingho reached up and straightened his tie with a twitching hand. He looked at Lin Yan, who was now staring out the window, his expression unreadable.
"Let's go, Lin Yan," Jingho said softly. "Let's go home."