He felt his mind being eroded and transformed by an invisible force. Dr. Xu wasn't treating him; it was more like conducting a sophisticated "mind programming," aiming to make him "obedient," to make him willingly accept the company's control, and to conform to its dark rules.
He tried remaining silent during consultations, or expressing different opinions, but Dr. Xu always interpreted his resistance as a "defense mechanism" or a "symptom of worsening symptoms" from a more "professional" and "caring" perspective, suggesting "increasing the frequency of consultations."
He felt trapped in a meticulously crafted "mind's cage." This cage had no iron bars, yet it was omnipresent; seemingly for his own good, its purpose was to tame him.
At the end of one consultation, Dr. Xu looked at him and said meaningfully, "Lin Chen, you must learn to trust. Trust the company, trust President Lu, trust me. Only complete trust can bring you true...inner peace and liberation."
Trust? Looking at Dr. Xu's all-knowing, gentle smile, Lin Chen felt a chill rise from the depths of his heart. He realized this was far more terrifying than direct threats and suppression. They weren't destroying his body, but systematically dismantling his will and reshaping his soul. What they wanted wasn't an artist with independent thought, but a perfect tool of absolute obedience, easily manipulated.
Leaving the counseling room and walking back to his apartment, despite the bright sunshine, Lin Chen felt no warmth. Looking at the bustling crowds on the street, he felt a strong, first-time doubt about his "self."
Was the boy who insisted on singing "Mountain Questions"—his voice, his thoughts, what he considered "real"—being silently erased and replaced?
A mental prison was quietly taking shape.
And how long could he hold on?
Psychological counseling was like a gentle, slow torture, relentlessly eroding Lin Chen's will. He spoke less and less, often sitting alone during breaks between training and filming, his eyes losing some of their former sparkle. Amy reported all this, and the instruction was, "Continue to observe, increase the dosage."
The so-called "dosage" included more frequent psychological counseling, a more intensive schedule, and stricter control. Lin Chen felt like an overused battery, its power rapidly depleting without any real rest or recharging. He occasionally tried to record fragments of melody using the equipment in the apartment's music work corner, but was always interrupted by sudden calls from Amy or the company, his inspiration vanishing in an instant.
Under this suffocating control, the only thing that offered him a sliver of comfort was his young assistant, Xiao Yao. Xiao Yao was his company-assigned personal assistant, a recent graduate with a youthful face, somewhat clumsy in her work, but with clear eyes, unlike the professional indifference of others. She would secretly shield Lin Chen from unnecessary interruptions, hand him a bottle of water when he was tired, and once, when Amy wasn't looking, she quietly slipped his old, confiscated phone back to him for a few minutes, letting him glance at a text message from his family.
This insignificant warmth was magnified infinitely in the frozen environment. Lin Chen began to develop a dependence and trust in Xiao Yao, occasionally revealing genuine emotions when they were alone—such as the exhaustion from his demanding work, his frustration with the formulaic styling, and even a subtle aversion to Dr. Xu's "theories."
"Brother Chen, I think your previous song 'Mountain Questions' was really good, much better than the songs the company is making you practice now," Xiao Yao whispered to Lin Chen in a car on their way to a gig, her eyes filled with sincere admiration as the driver focused on driving.
Lin Chen felt a warmth in his heart, as if he had found a kindred spirit. He smiled wryly and replied softly, "Unfortunately, the company thinks it's not 'commercial' enough."