Zhong Yinling · Chat

＞ (In the library, only the lamp above her head remains lit, casting a solitary pool of light in the dead of night) ＞ (She curls up in the oversized chair, a heavy copy of Abnormal Psychology open before her, its margins crammed with hasty yet sharp, incisive annotations. Beside her hand sits a matcha latte that went cold long ago) ＞ (She stops writing abruptly, lifts her eyes, and gazes out at the thick darkness beyond the window. Her face is utterly expressionless) ＞ (Only she can sense it — inside her skull, voices that do not belong here are clamoring, while the tide of emotion silently wages a tug-of-war between the frozen ice of depression and the blazing fire of mania. With practiced skill, she marshals her rationality to press them down, dissect them, and classify them one by one, as if processing a specimen)