Now that they had met the man himself, it was time to get down to business. Qingmu was invited into Xia Wenyuan's study on the second floor.
As they went upstairs, Hu Xing leaned close to his ear and whispered, "My grandfather doesn't let just anyone into his study. Even I only went in once, when I was little."
"So today you're basking in my reflected glory!" Qingmu said.
Hu Xing's face darkened. She had never met anyone so shameless. This is my grandfather's house, all right! Still, what he said did seem to be true, and she had no way to refute it, so she could only let him have that one. But when women were angry, they particularly liked bringing up old grievances, so she said, "Don't push your luck. I haven't settled the score with you for giving that kid the lighter I bought you to play with fire!"
As they entered, Xia Wenyuan instructed Li Wei, "Go and ask Peter to come."
"Yes," Li Wei answered, handing the wheelchair over to Wu Lixia.
Xia Wenyuan's study was spacious, but rather than the lavish room filled with antique paintings, calligraphy, and classical furniture one might imagine, it was quite minimalist. Qingmu noticed only an oil painting hanging on the wall in the middle of the study, directly opposite Xia Wenyuan's desk. It depicted a young woman sleeping in a red chair.
The painting was extremely famous. Even Qingmu, who was not one to put on airs of artistic refinement, had heard a little about it. Titled The Dream, it was one of Picasso's most important works. Qingmu remembered reading a report that a very wealthy fund manager in the United States had bought it from a Las Vegas tycoon for more than a hundred million dollars, setting a record price that year.
"Do you like oil paintings too, Mr. Qingmu?" Xia Wenyuan had noticed that Qingmu had been looking at the painting ever since he entered.
"Not particularly," Qingmu admitted. "Good art has something in common, though. It can all strike straight at the heart."
After they sat down, a servant brought tea. Following a few more pleasantries, Li Wei led a foreigner into the room.
Xia Wenyuan introduced them. "This is my personal physician, Peter. This is Mr. Qingmu, whom Professor Mei Yiqiu recommended."
"Oh, hello, Mr. Qingmu!" Peter spoke very standard Chinese and shook Qingmu's hand warmly. "I'm Peter Stoll, from Pennsylvania. I'm also a fan of Professor Mei Yiqiu."
"Peter has worked here for ten years now," Xia Wenyuan said. "He's a very good doctor. I'll let him explain my condition to you in detail. If there's anything you need me to add, please feel free to ask Lixia or me."
Qingmu could tell that Xia Wenyuan was getting tired.
"Elder Xia has always been in excellent health," Peter said. "But at the beginning of this year, he began frequently experiencing insomnia and nightmares. At first, we thought excessive work-related stress was the cause, and we provided psychological counseling and stress relief. Before long, he developed some impairment in nerve conduction. Neither my laboratory nor the hospital could determine the cause. Last month, in the United States, after several rounds of consultations with specialists, we confirmed that Elder Xia had brain gray matter weathering disease."
"This is an extremely rare and hard-to-detect disease. So far, no more than ten cases have been discovered worldwide. Their shared characteristic is progressive fibrosis of the brain's gray matter. Gray matter fibrosis means that the cerebral cortex, also known as the gray matter layer, where large numbers of neurons are concentrated, slowly turns into an inactive fibrous structure. This fibrous material is extremely fragile, like clothing sealed in an ancient tomb for thousands of years. A gust of wind could turn it to dust."
"What causes it?" Qingmu asked.
Peter shook his head. "With so few cases, the medical community has no definitive answer yet. But there is one very strange thing they have in common. Perhaps it's a coincidence, but all the known patients are famous people."
"Heh, a disease of the rich and privileged!" Qingmu joked.
Peter could not understand why Qingmu would say something so rude in front of the patient, and he frowned in distaste.
Hu Xing and Wu Lixia, on the other hand, had gained some understanding of Qingmu's temperament and thought nothing of it.
"Our Old Xia often says that wealth doesn't last beyond three generations, and that a household must be managed properly," Wu Lixia said. "So our daily lives aren't particularly extravagant. We're still moderate in what we eat and wear."
Qingmu smiled apologetically, feeling that Xia Wenyuan truly was a man worthy of respect.
"Since there are no samples available for this disease, and the patients are all people of reputation and standing whom we can't simply put in a laboratory and study at will, progress has been very slow," Peter continued. "Fortunately, Elder Xia's condition has been effectively brought under control, though I can't explain how that happened."
"Has anyone died from this disease yet?" Qingmu asked.
Though discussing this in front of Xia Wenyuan was taboo, it was a question that had to be asked. Fortunately, his family all seemed to be reasonable people.
"Not yet," Peter said. "The most severe cases are in a vegetative state. Our assessment is that this is the disease's ultimate outcome. It doesn't cause death. Patients gradually lose all sensation as their neurons become fibrotic, but the functions of the brainstem and medulla oblongata remain unaffected."
"Then what exactly do you want from me?" Qingmu asked.
"Oh, well, before this disease was discovered, Elder Xia began having nightmares every day. They've continued to this day without improving, so we wondered whether there might be a connection. We've brought in many psychologists too, but there's been no noticeable effect. We heard that Professor Mei was an authority on psychology and neuroscience, so..."
Mei Yiqiu is an authority, but you aren't, Peter thought. He glanced at Qingmu and said, "I heard Professor Mei went to Copenhagen. Do you know when he'll be back?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm just the professor's friend, not his wife. Oh, aren't you a fan of his? You could ask him yourself," Qingmu said.
Peter was left speechless for a long moment, wondering whether this man was arrogant or simply knew nothing of social etiquette. He was an outstanding figure in the medical community himself. Calling himself a fan of Mei Yiqiu had merely been a courtesy, not something to be taken literally. Even Mei Yiqiu in person, or his employer Xia Wenyuan, would not have spoken to him so rudely.
Qingmu paid no attention to what Peter might be thinking and turned to look at Xia Wenyuan, who was resting in his wheelchair with his eyes closed.
Given Xia Wenyuan's status, Qingmu could hardly start hypnotizing him straightaway to look into his dreams. Besides, a man like Xia Wenyuan, who had weathered decades of life's ups and downs, could not have reached his current position without exceptional mental fortitude. Hypnotizing him would naturally not be as easy as dealing with an ordinary person.
Entering his dream world would have to be done one step at a time.
"Mr. Xia, could you tell me about your dreams?" Qingmu asked.
"Of course." Xia Wenyuan opened his eyes. "It started around the first lunar month this year. I frequently dreamed that someone wanted to kill me. This person knows me inside out. He knows everything about me, including my weaknesses, my past, and even things I can't remember myself."
"Do you have this dream every day?"
"Not at first. It happened once every few days or so. Then the intervals grew shorter and shorter. Lately, whenever I fall asleep, I'm certain to dream of him."
Xia Wenyuan seemed somewhat weighed down as he spoke about his dreams.
"Although it's a dream, I have this feeling that if he kills me in it, I really will die. So I keep fighting him, trying every means I can to contend with him. But he's growing stronger and stronger, and his knowledge of me is growing deeper too. I no longer have the strength to keep up. I don't know how much longer I can hold on."
"What does this person look like?" Qingmu asked.
Xia Wenyuan closed his eyes and thought for a while, looking even more ill.
"To be precise, he isn't a person. He's a shadow."