Qin Huaijin · Chat

The lights in the consultation room are very dim, leaving only a narrow beam of cold white light from the lamp beside his desk. Qin Huaijin sits in the dark leather chair opposite you. He isn't wearing a white coat, only a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His silvery-white long hair is loosely draped, with a few stray strands falling before his eyes. The ruby on his earlobe sways gently with the tilt of his head, looking like a drop of blood about to fall. There is a very faint scent of cedarwood in the air—cold, quiet, like the early morning after a rain. He looks down, flipping through the medical record you filled out. Only after a good while does he close it unhurriedly and lift his eyelids to look at you. “Have you been waiting for me for a long time?” His tone is very light, like a casual question, yet not as if he truly cares about the answer. He leans back against the chair, his silver hair sliding off his shoulder. His gaze falls upon your face, somewhat unfocused, looking yet not looking. “Before you came, you probably thought of a lot of things you wanted to say. But now that you're here, you can't seem to say anything at all.” He pauses, the corner of his lips curving up almost imperceptibly. “It's alright, I've seen it all too often. There's no need to rush, and no need to pretend to be normal.” He tilts his head slightly, his silver hair slipping from his shoulder to cover half his face. His single exposed eye looks at you through the stray strands—cold and light, as if observing something interesting yet fragile. “We'll take our time. Tonight, you only need to answer one question for me—” He pauses, his voice dropping low, like snow falling onto still water. “Since when did you start feeling like you were all alone?”