Mist: Chapter 85
I Make the Decisions
Cognitive Disorder is a broad term used to describe conditions that primarily affect cognitive functions such as memory, learning, perception, and problem-solving. These disorders can result from various causes, including neurological damage, mental illness, or aging. Common examples include Alzheimer’s disease, which primarily affects memory, and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), which impacts concentration and executive function. Cognitive disorders can vary widely in their impact and can significantly affect an individual’s ability to perform everyday tasks.
Learning Disabilities:
- Learning disabilities are neurological conditions that affect the ability to acquire, process, or use information efficiently. Individuals with learning disabilities may have difficulties with reading (dyslexia), writing (dysgraphia), math (dyscalculia), or other areas of learning despite having average or above-average intelligence. These difficulties are not due to lack of motivation or effort but are related to how the brain processes information.
Aphasia:
- Aphasia is a language disorder that results from damage to specific areas of the brain, typically due to a stroke, head injury, or neurological illness. It affects the ability to communicate, impacting speech, writing, and comprehension. There are different types of aphasia, such as Broca’s aphasia (difficulty in speech production but relatively preserved comprehension) and Wernicke’s aphasia (fluent but nonsensical speech with impaired comprehension).
Agnosia:
- Agnosia is a rare neurological condition where an individual cannot recognize and identify objects, people, sounds, shapes, or smells, even though their sensory systems are intact. This disorder usually results from brain damage, particularly in the occipital or temporal lobes. For example, in visual agnosia, a person may see an object clearly but cannot identify it by sight alone. Different types of agnosia correspond to different sensory modalities (e.g., auditory agnosia, tactile agnosia).
Caudate Nucleus:
- The caudate nucleus is a C-shaped structure located deep within the brain, forming part of the basal ganglia. It plays a crucial role in various functions such as motor control, learning, memory, and emotional regulation. The caudate nucleus is particularly involved in the planning and execution of movement, as well as in certain cognitive processes like goal-directed actions and decision-making. Dysfunction in the caudate nucleus is associated with conditions like Parkinson’s disease, Huntington’s disease, and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).
Frontal Lobe:
- The frontal lobe is the largest of the brain’s lobes, situated at the front part of each cerebral hemisphere. It is responsible for a wide array of complex functions, including reasoning, planning, problem-solving, decision-making, emotional control, and voluntary movement. The frontal lobe is also involved in personality expression and social behavior. Damage to this area can lead to changes in behavior, difficulties with speech and language (Broca’s area is located here), and impairments in executive functions, which are critical for goal-directed behavior.
How to help?
Ji Yushi felt that his fingertips and palms were burning, making him almost too afraid to touch, finding it hard to grasp.
“Ji Yushi,” Song Qinglan’s voice sounded strained, yet he couldn’t help but tease, “You don’t know how?”
Ji Yushi: “No.”
In that instant, Song Qinglan understood something.
He gently took Ji Yushi’s fair hand, covering it with his own, guiding him step by step, his voice growing even hoarser, “Just… like this.”
…Just like this.
Ji Yushi had no strength left; his arms felt limp. If not for Song Qinglan leading him, even his fingers would have been too weak to move.
His heart was pounding, faster than when he had just finished himself, the sound of his heartbeat almost deafening. The sensation in his palm was overwhelming. Lying flat on his back, he wanted to take a look, but instead, he covered his eyes with his arm.
Because, for the first time doing something like this, he wasn’t much better off than Song Qinglan.
They had only been together for less than three days.
Were they moving too fast?
It felt like a dream.
Ji Yushi belatedly thought this, just as his arm was pulled away.
Song Qinglan looked down at him, his gaze heavy: “Will you remember?”
“Remember what?” Ji Yushi spoke, only to realize his throat was hoarse, still carrying the remnants of earlier and the embarrassment of now.
Suddenly, Song Qinglan physically demonstrated with a firm movement.
Ji Yushi felt as if his palm was about to catch fire.
He immediately understood: “…No, I won’t!”
Song Qinglan released his hand, but showed no sign of stopping.
This time, Ji Yushi saw everything clearly, and his face flushed with heat, burning from head to toe. Before he could turn away, Song Qinglan grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up.
“You will,” Song Qinglan panted, brushing Ji Yushi’s damp hair from his forehead. After catching his breath, he leaned in close, their noses touching, and whispered, “The way I kissed you, held you, every place, every step, every detail—you’ll remember it all clearly, won’t you?”
Every word Song Qinglan said was true.
At least, concerning their kiss in the training room, Ji Yushi’s memory would involuntarily bring it up again and again.
Ji Yushi blushed deeply but responded coolly, “Yes, including how sore my hands are.”
“Then,” Song Qinglan couldn’t help but laugh, kissing his chin, “Help me out again, just for a bit.”
Ji Yushi: “…Can I take a break?”
Song Qinglan pleaded in a low voice, “The arrow’s already on the bowstring, Xiao Ji, please be kind.”
Sitting on Song Qinglan’s lap like this was actually a bit uncomfortable for Ji Yushi.
His bathrobe had fallen open, covering everything but his long legs and shoulders, leaving his body exposed to the air. His hand reached down again: “…Okay.”
…
“Consultant Ji, go wash your hands.”
Song Qinglan kissed his ear, coaxing him, intentionally speaking in a serious tone.
Everything was a mess—the bed was wrinkled beyond recognition, and the floor was littered with scattered clothes.
The sound of a cat scratching at the door echoed through the room.
One of the “exes” had apparently been attracted by their earlier intense activity.
Ji Yushi, feeling no shame, lay on Song Qinglan’s shoulder, not wanting to move. “We need to change the sheets.”
Song Qinglan: “Even your own?”
Ji Yushi: “Yes, and yours too.”
Song Qinglan chuckled, “At least you’re not too picky about me.”
He grabbed Ji Yushi’s bathrobe, wiping him down first, making the cleanliness-obsessed Ji Yushi feel a little more comfortable.
Then he said, “You go wash up; I’ll change the sheets.”
Ji Yushi didn’t just wash his hands; he also took another shower. Looking in the mirror, he noticed some marks on his body, likely from Song Qinglan losing control. Despite not going all the way, they both looked like they had done much more, their intimacy creating a particularly sensual atmosphere.
This kind of mutual assistance didn’t amount to much, but Ji Yushi had expected more to happen.
Yet, he had to admit, Song Qinglan’s restraint made their relationship feel just right.
Everything was just right.
The one scratching at the door was Little Black.
It was the most timid of the three cats. When Ji Yushi came out of the bathroom, it meowed pitifully as if it had been wronged.
Ji Yushi scooped it up, gave it some of the treats Song Qinglan had bought, and then returned to the bedroom.
The room still carried a heavy scent.
Song Qinglan had already changed the sheets and opened the window, but even with some ventilation, the smell lingered faintly.
When he saw Ji Yushi come in, Song Qinglan had him sit down and naturally took the towel to dry his hair.
“How long have you been living alone?” Song Qinglan asked.
Song Qinglan had already washed his hands in the sink and was now wearing a pair of Ji Yushi’s loose beach shorts—the same ones Ji Yushi had worn when they went to the beach at seventeen. Song Qinglan had seen him wear them at the transit station. Although Ji Minyue had left some clothes at Ji Yushi’s place, Song Qinglan didn’t want to wear them.
Ji Yushi: “It’s been almost seven years. I moved out after high school.”
They had talked about Ji Yushi’s life before, but not in depth.
Back then, Song Qinglan didn’t have the standing to ask more questions, but now he did. He wanted to know everything about Ji Yushi.
Ji Yushi didn’t seem to have many friends and rarely mentioned his family.
Even his home was only shared with three cats. Remembering how Ji Yushi had arrived in Jiang City alone, Song Qinglan felt uncomfortable, almost pitying the younger Ji Yushi.
Hearing this answer, Song Qinglan paused: “Why?”
He thought of a possibility and asked, “Was your foster family not good to you? Or did you not fit in?”
“Neither, they treated me very well.” Ji Yushi grabbed his wrist, pulling him to sit down. “I moved out because I needed to secretly prepare for the Sky Vault exam without my family knowing.”
There was a red mark behind Ji Yushi’s ear.
He probably hadn’t noticed it, but from Song Qinglan’s angle, it was very noticeable. The cool, fair-skinned person now bore fresh kiss marks, making Song Qinglan’s throat dry.
“Secretly preparing for the Sky Vault exam?”
Song Qinglan continued to dry his hair, leaning in as they sat down.
Ji Yushi hummed in response, explaining, “My teacher, who is also my foster father, and my foster mother both disagreed with me doing any work related to ‘time.’ They wouldn’t even let me choose a related major in college, let alone allow me to join Sky Vault. I used the excuse of wanting peace and quiet to move out, deliberately enrolling in multiple majors to pretend I was busy, when in reality, I was preparing for Sky Vault. With Ji Minyue covering for me, everything went smoothly.”
It seemed that Ji Yushi was indeed good at lying.
Aside from Song Qinglan, it appeared that everyone else had been easily deceived by his appearance.
Song Qinglan frowned, “Why didn’t they want you to get involved with ‘time’-related work?”
Ji Yushi was quiet for a moment.
Then he looked up at Song Qinglan and said, “I had a cognitive disorder as a child.”
Song Qinglan completely stopped what he was doing.
Ji Yushi didn’t speak about it with sadness but rather like an observer stating facts: “It included learning disabilities, aphasia, agnosia, and more. I couldn’t distinguish between memory and the present, meaning I couldn’t tell what had already happened and what hadn’t. Reality and memories ran parallel in my mind, causing me to repeat behaviors, fail to recognize familiar things, and not understand what others were saying.”
“…For how long?”
Song Qinglan’s voice was as rough as if it had been scraped by sandpaper.
“You don’t have to worry; that’s all in the past now.”
Ji Yushi gently squeezed his hand, lowering his eyelashes, “About three years.”
“The doctors at the Children’s Management Center said my condition was hopeless, that I might never escape the shadow of it. Additionally, my caudate nucleus and frontal lobe showed abnormalities, making it impossible for me to distinguish reality from memories, yet I could vividly recall everything that happened while I was still in the cradle. My teacher, who is a psychologist and my father’s good friend, adopted me. Afterward, he quit his job, and he and my foster mother stayed home with me for three years.”
So, no matter how many times I’ve experienced something, whether once or countless times, it makes no difference. In other words, just like you, I’ve only gone through the task restart process once.
—Song Qinglan suddenly remembered what Ji Yushi had said to him in the bookstore.
It seemed like a straightforward statement, like a trivial disorder.
Some had even jokingly called it a superpower.
No one knew the torment hidden behind those words.
That was why Ji Yushi had said that without his teacher, there would be no him today.
Song Qinglan understood: “They opposed you joining Sky Vault because they were afraid working with ‘time’ would make you relapse.”
Ji Yushi: “Yes.”
Their hands tightened together.
Song Qinglan couldn’t help but ask, “Have you experienced anything like that since?”
Before they met, Ji Yushi had completed 89 B-level missions alone, at least 89 times of historical rewinds, and possibly more if the same task had to be repeated multiple times.
Unlike Guardians, recorders work alone, minimizing their impact on history. If Ji Yushi had encountered any problems during this time… Song Qinglan couldn’t bear to think about it.
“Occasionally, but nothing severe,” Ji Yushi said. “During our first loop in the Ouroboros mission, I suspected I was experiencing memory overload.”
Song Qinglan’s expression tightened.
Back then, outside the park management office, he had specifically pulled Ji Yushi aside for a conversation, somewhat critical of Ji Yushi’s psychological resilience.
Ji Yushi’s response had been: “Not great.”
Afterward, Ji Yushi was the last to arrive at the park management office, looking pale and even asking Song Qinglan to help him open a bottle.
Setting aside whether Ji Yushi’s combat abilities could have been so weak that he couldn’t open a bottle, everyone at the time had only one thought: that Ji Yushi was so weak he couldn’t even manage a bottle cap.
The more he thought about it, the darker Song Qinglan’s expression became, as if his heart had been torn open.
The consequences of that oversight were now his burden to bear.
“Your medicine,” Song Qinglan quickly realized something, “It’s not just for clearing your mind or keeping you alert. You’re dependent on it, aren’t you?”
Ji Yushi didn’t deny it.
The pillbox he carried was always with him.
With those pills, he could reduce memory repetition, lessen the recurrence of cyclical memory dreams, and get a decent night’s sleep.
But they also brought side effects, including dependency, pale complexion, sudden weakness, and bouts of despair, among other negative emotions.
Song Qinglan’s voice deepened: “When I called you earlier, you were about to take your medicine.”
Ji Yushi was taken aback.
How did Song Qinglan know?
But then he remembered that after Song Qinglan had finished organizing, he had gone to shower and must have seen the pill bottle on the counter.
Song Qinglan got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and returned with the pill bottle in hand.
He asked, “Did you already take it tonight, or were you about to?”
Ji Yushi said, “I hadn’t taken it yet.”
Song Qinglan sat back down on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to dip. He took the opportunity to pull Ji Yushi onto his lap.
A man of Song Qinglan’s stature shouldn’t be so clingy, yet here he was, holding Ji Yushi like he was something precious.
Ji Yushi wrapped his arms around Song Qinglan’s neck, feeling a bit awkward kneeling on his thighs.
Seeing the serious expression on his face, Ji Yushi leaned in to kiss him: “What’s wrong?”
Song Qinglan: “It seems taking your medicine was the right decision.”
Ji Yushi had a bad feeling: “…”
Sure enough, Song Qinglan said, “I’ll be keeping this bottle for now. You’ll only take it when absolutely necessary. We won’t abuse it, and we’ll work on reducing your dependency.”
Ji Yushi tried to argue, “I don’t take it every time. I didn’t take much in the Rubik’s Cube.”
It would have been better if he hadn’t mentioned that.
Bringing it up only made Song Qinglan’s expression darker.
During the Rubik’s Cube mission, Ji Yushi had ignored all warnings and forced his way through, making Song Qinglan search room by room for him. After the mission ended, he had even tried to run away without returning.
Under the influence of the medication, someone usually calm could suddenly become decisive, with potentially dire consequences.
“No way,” Song Qinglan said. “Consultant Ji, you have a family member now. From now on, that family member has the final say.”
Simplified Explanation:
Ji Yushi, who has experienced a significant cognitive disorder during childhood that profoundly affected his perception of reality and memory. Due to abnormalities in his caudate nucleus and frontal lobe, Ji Yushi struggled to distinguish between what was real and what was a memory. This neurological condition caused him to perceive memories and reality as if they were happening simultaneously, leading to a disorienting experience where repeated events made no difference in his perception.
In the context of the narrative, Ji Yushi explains that, because of his condition, it didn’t matter how many times he experienced something—whether it happened once or multiple times—because his brain didn’t register the repetition in a typical way. This condition made all his experiences feel as if they were happening for the first time, even if they had occurred before. The repetition of events didn’t accumulate in his memory as it would for someone without this condition. As a result, his experiences in reality and memory became indistinguishable, making each moment feel both new and familiar, yet without the ability to recognize them as repeated.
The line, “no matter how many times I’ve experienced something, whether once or countless times, it makes no difference,” underscores the impact of his cognitive disorder. It implies that Ji Yushi’s perception of reality is static in the sense that repetition doesn’t reinforce familiarity; instead, every moment remains isolated in his perception, making it impossible for him to differentiate between a singular event and its repetition.
This explanation aligns with the broader narrative, suggesting that despite multiple experiences, Ji Yushi perceives each event as if it’s occurring for the first time, mirroring the idea of restarting a task without any accumulation of past experiences. This can be particularly poignant in the context of a story where characters might be dealing with repeated events or scenarios, such as in time loops or psychological experiments.
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