The dream jumped forward a few times. During that time, Mr. Wei was wheeled in by the young man and thanked Wu Ling.
He looked like he was ninety or a hundred years old. His face was covered in age spots and wrinkles, his eyes were cloudy, and his speech was barely intelligible.
This was the first time I'd gotten a good look at the old man, and suddenly he seemed familiar.
Mr. Wei couldn't speak clearly, so the young man beside him spoke on his behalf.
Wu Ling obviously knew who Mr. Wei was, so there was no need for them to introduce themselves. I stared at Mr. Wei for a long while, then listened to the young man's account. Gradually, I began to match him with an old gentleman from my memories.
"...None of us knew at first, but he'd been suffering from schizophrenia for more than thirty years. He'd hidden it very well. His other two personalities... His other two personalities were his late wife and son. The three personalities knew about one another and coexisted peacefully, even working together to keep it from us." The young man gave a bitter smile. "At several events, art exhibitions, and gallery shows, he seemed perfectly normal. His family had all received the same artistic education, so he had no trouble with the knowledge side of things. And when he needed to paint on the spot, his advanced age made for a convincing disguise."
The young man sounded utterly helpless as he said this.
Mr. Wei wore a wistful expression, too.
"Mr. Wei was very content with that life, as though his wife and son were still by his side, and their family was still together. But as he got older, he developed some of the health problems common to