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As Xiang asked the question, Wen Shia glared at him, her eyes sharp and piercing. "This question has nothing to do with you," she snapped, her voice cold and dismissive. "She just looks like you, that's all. You don't need to know who she is or who she was." Without waiting for a response, Wen Shia turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
Xiang stood there, stunned by her reaction. He called out after her, his voice tinged with regret, "I'm sorry! I didn't know I shouldn't ask that question." Wen Shia paused for a moment but didn't turn back. Instead, she spoke over her shoulder, her tone softer but still laced with anger, "It's not your question that made me angry. It's what you said about what she looked like." With that, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Xiang alone with his thoughts.
Xiang sat down heavily, his mind racing. He replayed the conversation in his head, trying to understand what had upset Wen Shia so deeply. Was it something he said? Or was it something deeper, something tied to the mysterious woman who looked like him? He couldn't shake the feeling that he had stumbled upon a secret he wasn't meant to know.
The night dragged on, and Xiang found himself unable to sleep. He lay on his bed, tossing and turning, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. The image of the woman Wen Shia had mentioned haunted him, as did the sharpness of her words. He stared at the ceiling, watching as the first hints of dawn began to seep through the window. The soft light of the rising sun painted the room in muted hues, but it brought no comfort to Xiang's troubled heart.
Finally, unable to bear the restlessness any longer, Xiang got up and quietly made his way to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear his mind, but the strange thoughts persisted. Determined to distract himself, he picked up his sword and began practicing in the courtyard. The rhythmic movements of his blade usually brought him peace, but today, they felt hollow and meaningless.
As he swung his sword, a sudden, sharp headache struck him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced—a deep, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from within his very soul. He dropped his sword and clutched his head, sinking to his knees. The pain was accompanied by a flood of strange, disjointed images—places he had never been, people he had never met, and events he had never experienced. It was as if someone else's memories were forcing their way into his mind.
Desperate for relief, Xiang sat down and tried to meditate. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, hoping to calm the storm within. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind refused to settle. The strange thoughts only grew stronger, more vivid, more intrusive. He felt as though he was losing control of his own mind.
"I must be going mad," Xiang muttered to himself, his voice trembling. "Maybe I need medicine. Or a doctor." The thought gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps someone could help him make sense of what was happening.
Early the next morning, Xiang set out in search of a doctor. He had heard of a man named Liming, a kind-hearted physician who treated people for free. Liming was known for his gentle nature and his ability to listen, though he was a man of few words. Xiang hoped that Liming could provide the answers he so desperately needed.
When Xiang arrived at the clinic, it was still early, and the doors were closed. He knocked hesitantly, unsure if anyone would answer. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Liming peered out, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"You're here early," Liming said, his voice calm but slightly amused. "The clinic doesn't open until 10:00. What brings you here at this hour?"
Xiang hesitated, feeling a pang of embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I didn't know the clinic would open so late. I… I need medicine. I've been having severe headaches, and I can't sleep. I thought maybe you could help."
Liming studied Xiang for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in the young man's disheveled appearance and the shadows under his eyes. Then, with a nod, he stepped aside and gestured for Xiang to enter. "Since you're already here, I might as well take a look. Come in."
Xiang followed Liming into the clinic, a small, tidy room filled with the scent of herbs and incense. Liming motioned for him to sit on a wooden stool while he prepared his tools. After a few moments, Liming returned and sat across from Xiang, his expression calm and attentive.
"Tell me about your headaches," Liming said, his voice gentle but probing. "When did they start? What do you feel?"
Xiang hesitated, unsure of how to explain the strange thoughts and memories that had been plaguing him. "It's not just the headaches," he began slowly. "I've been having… strange thoughts. Memories, maybe, but they're not mine. I see places I've never been, people I've never met. It's like my mind is… not my own."
Liming's brow furrowed as he listened. He reached out and took Xiang's hand, examining his pulse and the veins on his wrist. As he did, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly masked it. "Your energy is… unusual," he said carefully. "It's as if there's another presence within you. Tell me, have you experienced any significant emotional or spiritual events recently?"
Xiang thought back to his conversation with Wen Shia and the mysterious woman she had mentioned. "I… I don't know," he admitted. "But something feels wrong. Like I'm not myself anymore."
Liming nodded thoughtfully. He stood and walked over to a shelf filled with jars of herbs and powders. After a moment of consideration, he selected a few and mixed them into a small pouch. "Take this," he said, handing the pouch to Xiang. "It will help calm your mind and ease the headaches. But understand this—medicine alone may not be enough to solve your problem. Whatever is happening to you, it runs deeper than the physical. You may need to confront the source of these thoughts, no matter how strange or unsettling they may be."
Xiang took the pouch, his hands trembling slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll try."
As he left the clinic, Xiang couldn't shake the feeling that Liming's words held a deeper meaning. The strange thoughts and memories were not just random—they were trying to tell him something. But what? And who was the woman who looked like him? The answers, he realized, might lie in the very things he was afraid to confront.
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