Chaoying Psychotherapist [Zhongyingmei]

There is light in front of you.

Tranquil and milky, like moonlight, but getting stronger and stronger, it went straight through the eyelids and shone into his pupils dilated by alcohol.

Stephen Strange grunted irritably, let out a drunken sigh, and waved his hand: "...@开......"

A pair of slightly cool hands reached over and gently caressed his parched cheeks.

"……Well……"

The coolness calmed down his abnormal heat very well, Strange felt comfortable, subconsciously tilted his head, trying to get closer to the source of the coolness.

His neck was tilted to that side, and then leaned into the air, and twisted with a "click".

Strange: "...Aww."

The pain reaching the cerebral cortex finally caused his eyelids to tremble, and opened such a small slit.

A beautiful face stood before her eyes.

Exquisite eyebrows, delicate nose bridge, soft lips, flawless skin... only a little unusual.

They are all milky white, translucent, and glowing.

Strange: "...?"

The face looked at him and smiled at him.

Strange stared at it silently for a while.

Then he frowned impatiently, turned sideways, and waved his arm at it twice: "Go, go."

Cynthia: "???"

"...Mr. Strange?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Go away, whatever you are."

Strange said darkly, curled up slightly to the side, and closed his eyes again.

Cynthia was silent for a moment, and then said, "Even if you close your eyes, I can let you see me."

Strange ignored her, and didn't take this sentence to heart.

Closing his eyes, the drowsiness caused by alcohol surged up again, and after a while, he fell asleep.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself standing up.Still in his own home, but all the wine bottles, paper scraps, and clothes he got out... all disappeared.

The home was restored to the level of cleanliness that was close to obsessive cleanliness before his accident.

It was more than that that shocked him.

He raised his right hand and wiped the spotless marble tabletop with his index finger, wanting to see if it was really that clean.

When he subconsciously twirled his fingers, he suddenly realized that his hands were so stable at this moment.

Strange's eyes widened involuntarily, and he slowly raised them to his eyes.

The dull pain that made him sleepless all night, the trembling that was almost crazy, the uneven, twisted and reddened skin, together with the environment at home, returned to their original state.

At this time, he was in such a perfect state that he could step onto the operating table again and become the proud, conceited, conceited, and helpless genius doctor he was before.

"……Varied……"

Strange's breath trembled.

He clasped his hands almost in ecstasy, feeling the touch of normal skin, the warm blood pulsating beneath it, and the reassuring calm.

"Oh...God...how is this..."

He kissed his hands, covered his mouth, bent down, and almost cried.

"--Is this what you want?"

An ethereal female voice sounded in the empty hall.

"Do you want your hands back to normal?"

Strange raised his head and saw a silver figure floating in midair.

Long hair, translucent, glowing, was the woman who had just touched his cheek.

"...Who are you?" he asked, standing up. "A ghost? A monster? My fantasy?... Did you heal my hand?"

"Your hands are not healed, Mr. Strange."

Cynthia said to him.

"This is just a dream, a dream I created for you."

"...What?" Strange opened his eyes wide.

Cynthia smiled.

"Now, it's time for you to wake up."

In Strange's widened eyes, she waved her hand lightly.

Dreams began to shatter.From the edges of the room, everything melted into pieces, silently withering away.

"What...? Wait a minute—"

There was a soft "pop", like the sound of bubbles bursting.

Strange opened his eyes.

He was lying on the ground, holding an empty wine bottle in his hand, his clothes were wet, partly from cold sweat, partly because he poured the wine in the bottle on himself.

He half stood up and looked around blankly.The house was in a mess, exactly as I remembered it.Lowering his head, his hands with terrifying scars were trembling in embarrassment.

No rewinds, no miracles.

"you're awake."

Startled, Strange turned his head and saw Cynthia floating in mid-air.

"Now, can you finally calm down and listen to me?" She tilted her head and asked him with an illusory smile.

Strange looked at her and stood up slowly.During this period, due to dizziness and lack of energy, he almost fell down once.

"...What the hell are you?" Strange raised his head and asked with his palms on the table, "You created that dream for me, what do you want to do to me?"

Cynthia shook her head.

"It doesn't matter what I am," she said, "and I don't want to do anything to you. What matters is that I am a messenger."

"A messenger?" Strange repeated. "Whose messenger?"

"If you have to say it, fate." Cynthia said, with a faint light emitting from her body.

Strange froze for a moment, then sneered.

"Ha, 'Messenger of Destiny'." He shook his head. "Okay, so what did he say to me? Laughing at me for being a loser? Laughing at me for not being able to escape his palm? I'm all ears."

"He said," Cynthia approached him slowly, "your hand can recover."

Strange froze.

"...what?" he asked involuntarily, "what do you mean?"

"It's what you understand." Cynthia said, "Fate tells me that in the future, your hand can be restored—as long as you persist now."

"persist in?"

Strange looked at her incredulously.

"You say hold on? I am a doctor who performs surgery and can bring paralyzed patients back to their feet, but three weeks ago, I suffered a comminuted fracture in both hands and could no longer hold a scalpel. I tried to find someone else to treat myself, New York None of the quack doctors in the world can perform my operation, so I went to other countries to seek medical treatment... Do you know what the result is?

"In this world, no one can save me, except myself." He said, his scarred palms trembled like an old man in his dying years, "Ha! How ridiculous, how do you want me to persist? How can I work hard? I have nowhere to go, and last week I followed the advice of my colleagues to visit a gypsy witch—people really want to believe in anything when they are desperate, don’t they?"

"So, you don't believe in the existence of supernatural phenomena?" Cynthia raised her eyebrows, "Then what do you think I am?"

Strange choked.

"Your hand will be fine." Cynthia said firmly, "I can't cure you, and I can't tell you the specific method, but I'm sure, as long as you persevere now, it will definitely get better in the end."

"You will become a better person than yourself in the future, Strange. You must persevere, hope is ahead, and when you do, you will see me again."

"Wait a minute, wait a moment."

Strange couldn't help but raised his palm.

"What is...'I'll see you again'? Who are you?"

Cynthia smiled and blinked mysteriously: "You will know when the time comes."

As she said that, she turned around, flew up a little, and looked towards the huge floor-to-ceiling windows: "It's almost time, I have to go."

Strange froze for a moment: "What? Wait a minute!"

He hurried forward, wanting to grab cynthia, but his hand passed through her silver arm, he missed it, and was startled again.

"...Wait a minute, you," he stuttered, "you just left? You came to me just to tell me that I must persevere? What about the others? What is the direction of persistence? Where to investigate? Aren't you going to say anything?"

Cynthia smiled.

"I don't need to tell you this." She said gently, "You are very powerful and powerful, follow your own thoughts and ideas, and fate will guide you to the most suitable path-it couldn't be easier, isn't it? ?”

Strange asked in confusion, "Then why did you come to find me...?"

Cynthia didn't answer him immediately, but just asked with a smile: "You must have had a rough day today, right?"

"what?"

"I can feel your heart shaking, you want to give up, just now - that's why I came to see you," she said.

Strange looked at her, speechless.

"I'm leaving."

Under the moonlight, Cynthia's figure dragged a flickering silver light and gradually dispersed towards the window.

She finally turned her head, glanced at him, and said, "Keep going, reach the end of destiny, and I will wait for you there."

Metropolitan Theatre, private room on the second floor.

Cynthia slowly opened her eyes.

The purpose of entry is the dim light on the ceiling and the dark red curtains at the four corners of the private room.

The familiar black did not appear in front of his eyes.

She lay down on the sofa with her mind blank, was stunned for a while, then sighed, propped herself up, and was about to get up.

"you're awake."

Batman's dark voice rang in his ears.

Cynthia: "!!"

Startled again, she turned her head sharply and saw Batman's pointed ears sticking out behind the back of the sofa.

"Oh... my God!" She pressed her chest and complained, "Why do you always do this kind of thing??"

"What is it?" Batman said, leaning over the back of the chair and looking down at her.

"Some unexpected... things." Cynthia subconsciously said, and then she became alert, "Hey, don't say that again—"

"—because i'atn"

"—'becauseei'atn'—oh god, oh god, thank you for saying it anyway."

The two stood and sat, staring at each other (maybe it was only Cynthia's one-sidedness). After a long while, Cynthia couldn't hold back at first, and burst out laughing with a "puchi".

Then the laugh became more and more out of control.

Batman looked at Cynthia who was laughing uncontrollably on the sofa, as if he had returned to a long time ago, he sighed helplessly, his eyes softened.

"...You just won't change, will you?" Cynthia asked him panting after laughing enough.

"Fine," Batman replied, lowly, with a hint of a faint smile.

Cynthia looked up to meet the dark blue eyes beneath his mask.

"Really?" She asked, turned around, knelt on the soft sofa, lifted her upper body, climbed onto the back of the chair with her hands, and slowly approached him.

"Before, on stage, why were you angry with Chris?"

The blue eyes of the two were separated by a short distance. Batman looked at her light-colored irises, and looked away after a while.

"Just playing 'Bruce Wayne,'" he said, retracting his sharp claws from the back of the chair.

"Oh, that's how it is." Cynthia showed a sudden realization expression, but the corners of her upturned eyes showed a smile, "People say that the playboy Bruce Wayne was changed by me—then what happened to him on stage just now?" At that time, was there any jealousy?"

Batman's gaze returned to her face.

In the silence, something changed quietly inside.

Then, Cynthia heard Batman's low voice: "You just agreed to his request to pursue you, why can't he be jealous?"

Cynthia opened her eyes wide in surprise.

"He's jealous, Cynthia," said Batman, moving slowly towards her. "If so, what would you do?"

Across the back of a sofa, the breath of the two intertwined.Cynthia looked at the dark knight on the opposite side, hesitated for a moment, but still didn't move away.

The pointy nose part of the Batman mask brushed against her cheek.

"I can……"

She murmured, closing her eyes slightly.

The door of the private room opened with a "bang".

"—Hey! Batman! Cynthia still hasn't—oh."

Spider-Man rested his colorful head on his head, held the doorknob, looked at the two people who were almost stuck together in the private room, and fell silent suddenly.

The spider in his brain sensed the hindsight and snarled at him frantically.