Who would study psychology unless they had some issues?!

"Second." Nan Zhubin raised a second finger, "We don’t interact outside of consultations. If we meet at the academy, I won’t greet you first—you can decide whether to greet me based on the situation. The initiative is entirely yours."

"Third." Nan Zhubin raised a third finger, "If one day you find something I said during consultation makes you feel like I’m biased toward someone or have a skewed stance, you can tell me directly or change the consultant at any time."

Jie Nianzhou definitely thought about what Nan Zhubin said.

To be honest, going to the school’s psychological center for consultation is a kind of superficial "dual relationship."

There are always risks.

And after understanding Nan Zhubin’s identity, Jie Nianzhou still chose to sit here, having considered all those risks.

But hearing these statements again from Nan Zhubin’s mouth made Jie Nianzhou feel much more at ease.

"Very reasonable, I accept." Jie Nianzhou tugged at the corner of his mouth, "Actually, looking at it this way, Mr. Nan... Teacher, your risks are greater than mine."

"You’re risking your career to help me."

If it were a more eccentric visitor, even if they were helped, they might turn around and report the consultant for violations—some might do it for benefits, hoping to waive consultation fees, or even to extort compensation.

Some visitors might simply "want to do it."

Nan Zhubin smiled at Jie Nianzhou’s words and then said, "Okay, let’s officially start today’s consultation—our conversation just now can be considered a prelude, not part of the formal consultation. We can extend today’s session appropriately."

Jie Nianzhou also tugged at the corner of his mouth at Nan Zhubin’s joke.

Nan Zhubin continued, "Last time, we talked a lot, about your symptoms, the previous advisor, and your current state."

"Today, I want to continue from a few directions we didn’t manage to explore last time."

Long-term psychological consultation’s primary phase is information gathering.

A 40-minute consultation might spend over 30 minutes understanding the visitor’s basic situation.

And this information gathering doesn’t end, even in subsequent stages, sometimes diving into the visitor’s topics and personal feelings.

"First, I want to extend the timeline appropriately." Nan Zhubin made a gesture, "You’ve talked about recent events, what happened after your symptoms appeared."

"Now... some background information before that, I’d like to explore with you today."

Jie Nianzhou nodded slowly, indicating he understood Nan Zhubin’s request.

Then he asked, "Earlier experiences... in which aspect?"

"For example, before the symptoms appeared, during your PhD, university, even before that."

Nan Zhubin first gave a relatively wide range and then listed, "For example, your family background. Last time, I asked if you communicated your current situation with your family, and you said no."

Nan Zhubin leaned forward slightly, but not enough to be imposing, limiting his body language to a level of inquiry and discussion.

"Do you usually communicate a lot with your family?"

Jie Nianzhou was silent for three breaths.

"Not much." He answered succinctly.

"Why is that?"

Jie Nianzhou was silent for four breaths.

"My dad... is the more serious type."

Jie Nianzhou spoke tactfully, "He might be more traditional. Our topics rarely discuss moods and are more about grades and work..."

Jie Nianzhou smiled a little, "If I said ’I’m a bit tired lately,’ he might say ’Young people are always tired, it’s normal to be tired.’"

It’s a situation that unconsciously makes one want to sigh.

But it’s not time for "empathy" yet; Nan Zhubin first stabilizes the situation.

Jie Nianzhou’s speech began to slow, as if pulling these contents out bit by bit from memory.

"My mom does ask, but she..." Jie Nianzhou pondered his wording, "She instead puts a lot of pressure on me."

"If I say I’m not in a good mood, she immediately becomes nervous and keeps asking ’what’s wrong, did something happen,’ and in the end, it turns into me comforting her."

Nan Zhubin captured this detail and began to "repeat" for a deeper understanding, "You comfort her?"

"Yes." Jie Nianzhou nodded.

"Because she becomes very anxious. It’s like—I mentioned something, and she gets more worried than I am, making me feel like I did something wrong and shouldn’t have said it to make her worry."

Jie Nianzhou’s mouth moved slightly, "So I stopped saying it later."

Nan Zhubin nodded, "It seems like the roles between you two are somewhat reversed."

"Because handling emotions—it’s usually the parents for the children, but this responsibility now falls on you."

Nan Zhubin emphasized, "At least part of it."

Jie Nianzhou neither nodded nor shook his head.

His facial expression slightly relaxed due to Nan Zhubin’s words, but then started to crease again.

After the flow of memory opened a gap, it naturally surged up.

"Actually..."

"My family..." Jie Nianzhou hesitated, "is also... rule-bound."

["Rule-bound"—this is a very interesting choice of words. If "strict" describes parents to children; if "traditional," then it’s cultural. But the word "rule-bound" has a sense of distance, like standing outside looking at a cage.]

"In what way?" Nan Zhubin repeated his point of interest.

Normally, families are described as "strict" or "traditional."

"This word gives me a feeling of distance." Nan Zhubin expressed his own feelings.

Jie Nianzhou’s gaze fell downward, onto his own hands.

"Indeed." He affirmed Nan Zhubin’s feeling.

"In my family, whatever my dad says, I can’t argue. If he says I’m wrong, then I’m wrong."

"One-man rule." Nan Zhubin summarized.

Then he probed, "Is there any specific event that made you feel your family is very ’rule-bound’?"

Jie Nianzhou paused, his facial expression eased again, then grew even tighter.

He began to recall, "When I was a child, once, maybe... seven or eight years old. A classmate broke a flower pot in the classroom, the teacher asked who it was, no one admitted, and the teacher said it was me. Because I was on duty that day."

"I told my dad when I got home. He slapped me and said, ’If you made a mistake, admit it, don’t quibble.’..."

Jie Nianzhou clenched his hands, then released them.

"Later the teacher found out it was another student—because that student’s parents knew the situation and came to apologize."

"The teacher also apologized to me afterwards. But my dad..."

Jie Nianzhou tugged at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head.

Nan Zhubin spoke the unfinished part for him, "He didn’t apologize? Or show any acknowledgment of wronging you?"

Jie Nianzhou nodded.

Nan Zhubin nodded gently, speaking in a deep voice, "For a child, that’s quite aggrieving, isn’t it?"

"... It should be aggrieving."

"Should be?" Nan Zhubin repeated once more.

Jie Nianzhou was silent for a while.

"... Hmm." Nan Zhubin only let out one syllable.

Then continued to extend, "And later? During your growing up, was there anything else that made you feel—that your explanation didn’t matter, or that your feelings were unimportant?"

Jie Nianzhou was silent for four or five breaths.

Nan Zhubin waited quietly.

"... In middle school, there was once."

Jie Nianzhou’s speech became slower and slower.

He licked his lips, seemingly dry, and Nan Zhubin timely handed him a glass of water.

"Thank you."

Jie Nianzhou took a sip.

"I was bullied for a period during middle school."