Chapter 61: I don’t know

“According to your description, this patient very likely has CIP, or Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, an extremely rare autosomal recessive genetic disorder. But under normal circumstances, it’s very difficult for people with this disease to live past the age of three. The few who do survive will mostly die before the age of twenty-five. The cause of death is usually infection, inflammation, internal and external injuries, unconscious self-harm, and so on.”

The afternoon sun was bright. As Sheng Shaoyan listened to Dr. Dawson’s words, he felt as if sharp-edged shards of ice were piercing his flesh. Both “insensitivity to pain” and “death before twenty-five” were phrases that left him feeling suffocated and dizzy.

In the spacious office, even the floating dust seemed to settle. After a long while, Sheng Shaoyan’s voice was hoarse and low, “Because he can’t feel pain, he doesn’t realize it even when he’s sick or injured, is that right?”

He remembered clearly in Sui County when Shen Xici was helping the old lady downstairs pick Sargentodoxa cuneata, his arm was scratched, and he didn’t notice at all. It was only after Sheng Shaoyan pointed it out that Shen Xici said it was a little itchy.

When he was sick, even though he wasn’t injured, he asked him to check his back for wounds. The same thing happened two days ago; he twisted his ankle on the bedroom balcony but walked into the living room completely unaware.

He should have noticed sooner.

He had his doubts, but Shen Xici’s expression and tone were always so natural that they showed no trace of concealment.

“Yes, Mr. Sheng. The human body has an extremely powerful survival system, and pain is the most sensitive warning mechanism within it. It can remind humans to avoid impending harm, and it can indicate the location of an ailment in the initial stages of a disease.

Try to imagine, if you couldn’t feel pain, then a simple action like rubbing your eyes could potentially rupture your cornea because you can’t control the force.

Even if your stomach wall was eroded to the point of perforation by gastric acid, you wouldn’t notice until the acid leaked out, leading to shock and death. Similarly, you would continue to walk after fracturing a bone in a fall, only discovering it when the broken bone pierces through the skin. Before a heart attack, you wouldn’t feel any chest pain.

Likewise, you instinctively avoid hot or sharp objects. The moment you fall, your body subconsciously protects itself. This is all because your body has experienced ‘pain’ before, forming a conditioned reflex for self-preservation. But without the sensation of pain, these bodily instincts would not exist.”

Sheng Shaoyan was silent for a long time.

At that moment, he understood why Shen Xici habitually washed his hands and disinfected them, measured his temperature and blood pressure, and listened to his heart and lungs once in the morning and once at night. He understood why he got a weekly blood test and became extremely anxious for a full-body check-up whenever he fell ill.

It wasn’t because of some health anxiety at all.

He remembered once asking Shen Xici why he had studied medicine. Shen Xici had replied that it was so he could understand how each illness occurred; the more he understood, the better he could protect himself.

Everything he did was just to protect himself.

To protect himself with all his might.

He didn’t eat hot food because he couldn’t feel it if he got burned. He would check his mouth when looking in the mirror because he wouldn’t notice if his tongue was bitten into a bloody hole by his teeth. He would walk in brightly lit areas because he wouldn’t feel it if he was pierced by something sharp in the dark.

He did everything he possibly could to delay his own death.

But he was also prepared for the possibility of dying in the next minute.

That’s why he didn’t drive, didn’t form deep connections with people, and when Dong Yu asked why he wouldn’t accept a relationship, he gave the answer, “I’m worried that for my own reasons, the relationship won’t last long.”

Sheng Shaoyan was always accustomed to taking the position of a superior, to command, to conquer and seize. He had never been someone who could empathize or was good at putting himself in others’ shoes.

But at this moment, he slowly tilted his head back, resting it on the edge of the chair back, and gazed at the office ceiling, trying to adopt Shen Xici’s perspective.

Without a sense of pain, was the world a place of omnipresent harm to him?

Was he forever shrouded in the shadow of a death that could come at any moment?

He must be scared, must be terrified, right?

And how much effort did it take to keep this secret, to not show a single flaw, to prevent anyone from discovering his special condition?

Slowly closing his eyes, the contours of his side profile were like the snow-covered ridges of a mountain range. Sheng Shaoyan’s voice was raspy as he asked, “What else? What can I do to take good care of him?”

The film set was just like any other day in the past three months, with people hurrying back and forth, busy and chaotic.

“Where’s my gaffer tape! I’ve lost eleven rolls of gaffer tape this morning, you heartless bastards!”

“Director! Bad news, an extra got hungry and ate the props on the table!”

“Where’s the lighting master? Lighting Master, please, the director is looking for you!”

Lan Xiaoshan went to get their boxed lunches. At this time, Shen Xici had just finished filming and was in the dressing room removing his makeup and changing clothes. He carefully left the lid of Shen Xici’s meal half-open, allowing it to cool down without letting dust in.

Finding a comfortable position to sit, he placed his phone horizontally on a plastic stool. Lan Xiaoshan opened the channel of a film review streamer he followed, “Spicy Little Pepper.” This streamer was known for his venomous and comedic style. Ever since he discovered this “digital side dish,” his meals had become more enjoyable.

On the screen, a dense barrage of comments and gift effects never ceased. When the broadcast started, a young man wearing a simple mask made from a cardboard box and a white short-sleeved shirt appeared on camera. His voice had a naturally cheeky quality that was very distinctive.

“Good afternoon, my dear viewers! It’s lunch break time again. Today, another fan has submitted a request for Brother Thorn to review their idol.

Let me tell you, this generation of fans is really hard to manage. Isn’t it enough to just love your own idol? You have to hand him over to Brother Thorn. Are you guys participating in the ‘One Hundred and One Ways for Fans to Sabotage Their Idol’ competition?”

The comments were filled with “Hahaha.”

Biting his disposable chopsticks, Lan Xiaoshan quickly typed: 【I remember! Yesterday’s golden quote was, ‘In the film, every time her idol spoke, I felt like I was watching a supermarket standee reciting the Great Compassion Mantra. His eyes were so empty, even the two flowers painted in the background were more lively than him!’】

“Oh, this viewer has a great memory. But bringing up an old quote, the fans are going to come crying to me again, saying, ‘How could you say that about my idol! He’s really working so hard!’

You see how hard it is to be a streamer? That fan from yesterday, I’ve definitely lost her. Not only lost her, but from now on, I have one more hater!”

In the small window in the bottom right corner, the streamer clicked open a video, speaking quickly, “Alright, enough nonsense. Let’s look at today’s submission. I know this rookie too. With my experience of observing all sorts of pretty boys, he looks like the type who, in an explosion scene, the mud flying around him is trying hard to tumble and spin, while this idol stands amidst the flames, still looking completely clueless about where he is. I call it the ‘clueless wide-eyed stare’ style.

To the fan who submitted this—let’s just say, you still have time to withdraw your submission. If you hear me say something bad about your idol and start crying, I’m not responsible for comforting you!”

Lan Xiaoshan glanced at the screen. What was going on? It was his Brother Shen?!

Quickly swallowing his braised pork, Lan Xiaoshan felt a growing sense of foreboding and made a call to Ge Lanjing: “Sister Lanjing, does our studio have a PR team?”

Ge Lanjing was puzzled, “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Shen Xici?”

“There’s a venomous film critic streamer who’s showing a clip from Brother Shen’s trailer and has already started roasting him. This streamer is really harsh, and he has a huge following. I’m afraid someone will use this to smear Brother Shen!”

Ge Lanjing understood. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on it. How’s your Brother Shen’s foot injury? Has it healed?”

Lan Xiaoshan quickly reported, “Director Lu was worried too. Brother Shen said he twisted his ankle on the evening of the fifth, and today is the eighth, so it’s been almost seventy-two hours. He said it’s long healed and even walked a few steps. Only then was Director Lu reassured and agreed to start filming Brother Shen’s scenes.”

After the call, Lan Xiaoshan felt much more at ease, a sense of security that no matter what happened, someone had his back. He was envious, wondering how many years he would have to cultivate to become a capable manager like Sister Lanjing, who could handle anything on her own and never panicked.

Switching from the call screen, he clicked back into “Spicy Little Pepper’s” live stream. The comments were still dense.

Lan Xiaoshan held his breath, his fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to start typing insults back as soon as the streamer started his tirade, vowing to protect his Brother Shen!

The streamer began to speak.

“My dear viewers, this is what you call ‘I charged into the trailer wielding a four-hundred-meter-long broadsword, only to find myself drawing my sword and looking around in confusion, with absolutely no opportunity to use it.’ The biggest Waterloo of my career, am I right?”

Lan Xiaoshan was stunned.

Huh? This wasn’t right!

He had also brought out his four-hundred-meter-long broadsword, but how was this different from the scene he had imagined?

“That part where the kid draws a portrait of his mother, his eyelashes just trembled twice, and my damn tears were about to fall harder than the rain on the day Yiping went to ask her dad for money! And his micro-expressions, they were so refreshing to watch. He didn’t have a single line, but I had the illusion that I’d mastered telepathy. I knew exactly what he wanted to express!”

The streamer pulled out a wooden fish from somewhere and, wearing his cardboard box mask, began to strike it earnestly. “To badmouth his acting without even watching it, I have committed a sin of speech. This is my comeuppance, getting my face slapped. I will now knock, knock, knock, to wash away my own sins!”

The audience loved this kind of reversal and face-slapping. The comments immediately filled with “Hahaha.”

“—My friend said this movie is amazing. I’m not a fan of Wan Shan’s films so I never went. No one told me Shen Xici was like this in it! I’m buying a ticket right now!”

“—The part where the mute jumps off the cliff, I watched it yesterday and I still haven’t recovered! The aftereffect is too strong!”

“—The most surprising actor of the year. I cried my eyes out in the theater. Because of this role, I will forever have an eight-meter-thick filter for Shen Xici! Brother Thorn, hurry up and buy a ticket to watch it!”

Lan Xiaoshan was utterly confused. He called Ge Lanjing again, his mouth agape in shock. “Sister Lanjing, did we manage to do PR on this streamer so quickly?”

Hearing Ge Lanjing say no, Lan Xiaoshan scratched the back of his head. Having watched the live stream for so long, he knew very well that this streamer’s whole brand was sarcastic humor. The more venomous and satirical his words, the more excited the audience got, and the more lively the comments became. People often showered him with gifts for saying what they were thinking.

With the hypnotic “dong dong dong” of the wooden fish echoing in his mind, Lan Xiaoshan was at a loss for words. “It sounds like we can save the PR money now.”

After finishing lunch, Lan Xiaoshan was in a very good mood. The thought that even a streamer like Brother Thorn was praising Brother Shen’s acting made him happy enough to hum a tune.

As an assistant, he knew better than anyone how seriously and diligently Brother Shen worked on his acting. And although he had been with the crew for so long, he would still be stunned by Brother Shen’s performance on camera from time to time. Now, finding out he wasn’t the only one amazed by Brother Shen’s acting brought him great joy.

Sometimes he also found it miraculous. Brother Shen clearly wasn’t from a professional acting school, yet somehow his acting was so good!

The assistant director announced in the group chat that the entire crew would be moving to Ningcheng in two days to continue filming. Just as Lan Xiaoshan was thinking about starting to pack his luggage, a loud “bang” suddenly echoed from a distance. He looked up, startled.

A commotion erupted, and someone shouted, “A steel frame hit someone!”

A steel frame?

Damn, those things came in various heights, but regardless of height, Lan Xiaoshan winced just thinking about one falling on someone. Wouldn’t that cause a fracture?

As he peered in that direction, Lan Xiaoshan suddenly heard Shen Xici’s name.

“Teacher Shen! The steel frame hit Teacher Shen!”

Teacher Shen? Brother Shen?

Lan Xiaoshan’s face changed, and he ran over as fast as he could.

There were many voices around him, countless people surrounding the area, and all sorts of questions flooded his ears like water.

“Teacher Shen, how are you? Can you move?”

“Brother Shen, how are you? Where are you hurt?”

“Teacher Shen seems to be bleeding!”

Shen Xici remembered clearly. Work had wrapped up, and people on set were eating. He had come out of the dressing room to find Lan Xiaoshan. As he passed a lifting platform, he had deliberately moved a little to the side. It was a habit he had developed over the years, to avoid danger as much as possible.

But he hadn’t expected the steel frame to fall, and to fall right towards him. It was only because he heard a “creaking” sound of friction and happened to see the shadow on the ground that he instinctively rolled to the side to dodge it.

This was a conditioned reflex he had forcibly built through repeated training and simulations since he was very young. Initially, when a wooden stick fell towards him, he didn’t even know how to dodge, getting hit again and again, his body covered in bruises. Later, Grandpa He demonstrated for him, letting him observe from the side, and then he repeatedly imitated and practiced how to dodge.

Countless points of knowledge flashed through his mind, all about injury assessment and first aid methods he had learned in school.

But at this moment, they were all meaningless.

Because, although he tried his best to capture key information from the words of the people around him to deduce his injuries, all he knew was that a steel frame had fallen and that he was bleeding. He knew nothing else.

If a bone was broken and he just stood up, the people around him would surely notice something was wrong. What if he said he was fine, but his injuries were visibly severe? What if he answered that it was very painful and serious, but it was just a bruise?

No, he couldn’t do that.

He had known for a long time that this matter could not be discovered by anyone. Perhaps he would receive care and sympathy, but more likely, it would be morbid curiosity, malice, and abuse.

Lu Jiming’s voice rose above the surrounding noise, full of anxiety, “Make some space, make some space! Shen Xici, can you feel if any bones are broken? Aren’t you a medical student? If I help you up now, will it make your injuries worse? Should I call for a stretcher? Your back is covered in blood, I can’t see the wound clearly, I don’t even dare to reach out!”

A series of questions, and everyone was waiting for his answer to decide on the next step.

A rare look of bewilderment appeared in Shen Xici’s eyes.

How should he answer?

Just then, the clamor at the scene suddenly quieted, and a strange atmosphere spread, as if everyone’s attention had been drawn away.

Amidst the approaching footsteps, Shen Xici recognized a familiar rhythm.

The surrounding people were separated by the accompanying bodyguards, completely blocking the curious gazes.

Someone knelt on one knee beside him.

Shen Xici’s heart pounded like a drum. He quietly clenched his fist, not daring to lift his eyes easily.

Until a familiar voice sounded by his ear, and someone gently touched the corner of his eye, comforting him, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

In that instant, Shen Xici’s eyes stung. He wanted to say, I’ve always been so careful, but it seems I still got hurt, and they’re all asking me questions.

But, A’Shao, I don’t know how to answer.

I don’t know where it hurts.