Chaoying Psychotherapist [Zhongyingmei]

Cynthia's cell phone.

[10 minutes ago on xx, xx, xxxx]

【: You hung up on me? 】

[6 minutes ago on xx, xx, xxxx]

【: I have something to tell you. 】

[3 minutes ago on xx, xx, xxxx]

[: Tony Stark talked to you? 】

[just on xx, xx, xxxx]

[:? 】

Cynthia turned off the phone screen again.

Reid on the side watched her complete this move four times in 10 minutes, and couldn't help but hesitate to say: "..."

Cynthia received his gaze, turned her head to look over, and smiled as if nothing had happened: "What's wrong?"

Rhett immediately looked back like a baby: "No, it's nothing."

Cynthia raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, is it?"

She draws her voice, turns around, leans against the wall and looks at him.

Reid met her gaze, hesitated for a while at a loss, still pursed his lips, and stammered: "I...I was just thinking, won't you reply to Mr. Wayne's message?"

"Why should I reply to his message?" Cynthia asked with great interest.

Rhett froze for a moment, as if he hadn't thought she would ask this question.

"'Why message me?'" he repeated, confused. "Isn't it polite to message me?"

Cynthia opened her eyes in confusion on purpose: "Yes. But Mr. Wayne is my ex, can I make an exception?"

Reid fell into confusion: "ex? I don't have an ex, so I don't know much about it.... But the book says that no matter who the message is, you must reply as soon as possible."

He must be reading some books on emotional intelligence tips.

Cynthia thought and smiled slightly.

"Ah, 'Whoever's the message'," she said, nodding approvingly. "Yeah, that's true. I'll get back to him right away."

She lowered her head, pinned her blond hair behind her ears with one hand, and turned on her phone.

[thia: unsubscribe. 】

After typing these two words neatly, she raised her head and smiled at Rhett, "That's all right. Thank you."

Rhett, who didn't look at what she replied: "Well...you did a good job."

He imitated Hodge's tone of encouragement, and stretched out his hand to pat Cynthia's shoulder stiffly.

Cynthia: "Pfft."

Rhett: "? What's wrong?"

Cynthia shook her head quickly: "It's nothing. I was just thinking, are you the only one working here today?"

The two of them are still in bau's office, and everything is as usual, except that the other agents are nowhere to be seen.To be precise, after understanding the relationship between Cynthia and the threatening letter, they were all dispatched by Hodge to do missions, and only Rhett was left, pitifully guarding his desk, and had to accompany (bei ) Cynthia chat (tiao) days (xi).

As soon as this was mentioned, Rhett's expression faltered.

"I..." He blushed a finger and scratched his neck, "I didn't get the license to hold a wooden barn last year, so I have to stay and take the exam again today."

Cynthia surveyed his typically bookish, thin frame.

"Oh, good luck," she said, "you'll pass this time."

Rhett sighed.

"Actually, I'm still not sure if I can...I mean...I didn't pass the test the year before last." He lowered his eyes dejectedly, "I feel like I just have no talent in sports."

Cynthia patted him on the shoulder comfortingly: "Don't say that. Shooting is actually a very easy task. As long as you grasp the feeling well and add a little luck, anyone can hit the red heart."

Rhett looked up at her. "Can you shoot too?"

"Well... if you shoot from professional training, no."

Cynthia shrugged.

"But every time I open the wooden warehouse, I can hit it."

Red's eyes widen. "'Both hits'? Really? How do you do it?"

"Based on feeling," said Cynthia.

Facing Rhett's confused gaze, she touched her nose and said with a smile, "Maybe you think it's a bit idealistic, but that's how it is to me.

"I held a wooden barn for the first time when I was three years old. At that time, I was kept in a circus. One day I passed by the back door and saw an old man huddled there, so I gave him dinner. As a reward, he He gave me a wooden warehouse, told me that there are many bad guys in the circus, and asked me to protect myself.

"The first time I actually shot a gun was 12 years old. At that time, the old man who gave me the wooden barn had become my adoptive father and took me around Gotham. At one point, I was working in a dance hall on our block. , a man dragged me off the stage and tried to take off my clothes. Other people in the audience were indifferent, and many cheered to join him. I broke free and took the broken wooden box my adoptive father gave me. You pulled the trigger, it hit the man in the stomach, and people ran away."

She said, paused, and looked down at her empty palm.

"I still remember that the scene was very chaotic at that time, there were many people, the lights were dim, and the music was harsh and harsh. I was holding the wooden warehouse, my arms were bound by the falling belt, and the posture was not correct. I just thought about it. Gotta hit him or I'm dead' and just clenched the fingers like that - 'Bang'."

Her rosy lips moved up and down, uttering the syllable softly.

"Blood, everywhere."

Rhett was dumbfounded, his animal eyes staring at her in amazement, speechless.

Cynthia glanced at him and smiled.

"From then on, I began to realize that I was a little different." She looked at the clouds outside the window with distant eyes, "After that, I opened the wooden warehouse a few times sporadically. I used that shabby little pistol every time, and never missed a single bullet every time."

Rhett swallowed.

"I originally..." he said with difficulty, "I thought that the subject of shooting would be a little more... more mathematical. You know, the calculations of range, wind, sideways, etc... were all things I thought something to master."

Cynthia laughed.

"It's better to be able to master these things," she said, "but after all, shooting is a discipline that requires practical operation. Sometimes it's okay to let rationality go for a while."

Rhett nodded half-understanding.

"I guess that's the one step I can't learn," he said. "I have to go to the shooting room and practice."

Cynthia looked over with interest.

"Can I come with you?" she asked, "Can I go to the shooting room?"

Rhett froze for a moment, then said a little happily: "Of course. You can go. You can teach me by the way."

"Spread your feet shoulder-width apart, with your toes turned outward naturally, with your chest in your chest and shoulders down, squat slightly to the left and back, with your eyes level..."

The two stood in front of the shooting window, both wearing earplugs.Cynthia took aim, and behind her Rhett was dryly reciting the gist of the shooting position.

Yes, it was Cynthia who was shooting.

"Please, Rhett." Cynthia turned her head and looked at him helplessly, "You just memorized the regulations in the manual, right?"

"But these regulations are correct, and I can't remember them wrong." Reid said innocently.

"The better you remember, the worse you will perform."

Cynthia said, re-aiming.

"If you stick to your posture, you will forget your original intention. Your original intention is to hit the target, not to put on the right posture, Rhett."

She stared fixedly at the opposite target, took a deep breath, aimed, exerted force, and pulled the trigger.

"boom--"

The bullet flew out of the gun barrel she was holding in an instant, slashed a straight line in the air, hit the target, and made a small paper flower on it.

Nine rings.

It barely touched the edge of the tenth ring, but still didn't go in.

Cynthia dropped her arms.He took off his headphones and looked back at Red.

"How?" she asked in a low voice.

Rhett gave her a thumbs up: "God, you can..."

Before she finished speaking, Cynthia's cell phone suddenly beeped urgently and loudly.

The sound was so loud that both of them were taken aback. Cynthia tried to cut it off, but it didn't work. The phone seemed to be possessed by some kind of virus. Even turning off the phone couldn't block the source of the noise.

Rhett frowned: "A Trojan horse?"

Cynthia shook her head while holding the phone, without speaking.

She saw the bat logo flash across the screen.

The next second, behind them, the door of the shooting room slammed open.

A burly man walked in slowly pushing a cleaning cart.

"Cleaning service," he murmured, glancing at them with his narrow eyes.

Rhett and Cynthia looked at each other for a moment, and both saw the caution in each other's eyes.

"Please put the car here first," Cynthia said softly, "We don't need to clean it yet."

The man paused.

He looked at Cynthia, with suppressed pain and anger in his eyes.

"I don't think you need to," he said.

Cynthia's heart sank.

Rui pulled her back and quietly hid her behind his back.

Cynthia still tried to save: "Sir..."

Hearing her voice, the man trembled, and let out a series of growls from the depths of his throat. He stretched out his hand to grab and pull it from the cart, and then brought out a wooden mechanism.

"Shut up!" he growled at Cynthia, pointing the black barrel of his gun at her.

Cynthia raised her hands and closed her mouth.

"You...a woman who charms the crowd with your clever words." The man gritted his teeth, "Your voice can confuse people's minds!"

Cynthia raised her eyebrows innocently.

"Stop! That little brat over there! Don't move if you don't want to die!" The man suddenly turned around quickly, aiming his gun at Rhett who just took the opportunity to move aside.

Rhett raised his hands, except for the two shooting wooden bins strapped to his legs, there was nothing.

"Hey, sir." Cynthia said, "Can you make my death clearer?"

The man turned his gaze back.He looked at Cynthia, the resentment in his eyes was like substance.

"It was you," he said. "It was you who killed her."