I have Androgen Excess Syndrome and recently left a mental institution after three years of treatment.

On the high-speed train, I encountered a misbehaving child causing a commotion.

I asked him to quiet down, but he spat at me and threw my medication.

Not my calming pills, but his family’s regret pills.

01

Last week, I was discharged from the hospital due to a stroke of luck, and today, I returned for a follow-up.

Desperately cramming overnight, I memorized appropriate responses.

For example, “Apologize if you accidentally bump into someone, not threaten to kill them.”

“The correct approach to conflict is to call the police, not confront with a knife.”

“Killing is illegal, illegal, illegal! Repeat crucial points thrice.”

These rigid concepts already irritated me.

Then, on the train, I met another unruly child.

This little devil was shouting and bouncing around the carriage, running with a toy gun from one end to the other.

He pointed the gun at strangers, demanding snacks without regard for familiarity.

When refused, he spat at them.

The attendant approached, but the child’s parents seemed oblivious, not even bothering to glance, instead lounging on the seats scrolling through TikTok with their audio on full blast.

The attendant, enduring the stench, gently reminded them to supervise their child.

The father rolled his eyes and bellowed, “We bought tickets, so we’re customers. Customers are gods. Serve us, understand?”

The attendant began, “You’re also disturbing other passengers’ rest…”

But was interrupted by the parent, “Why can’t kids play in public spaces? Who do you think you are? !”

The attendant tried to respond, but the child suddenly grabbed the attendant’s skirt and forcefully lifted it.

Although it didn’t come off, everyone heard the fabric tear.

“Black! Black!”

The child cackled, pointing at the attendant and exaggerating, “She’s wearing black underneath!”

The attendant, a young girl, was sensitive and burst into tears, covering her skirt as she fled.

02

Some passengers who couldn’t bear to witness this scolded, “This child has gone too far!”

“Mind your behavior in public! Do you have any manners? !”

“Like parent, like child!”

The parent sneered, “As if you’re all so well-behaved!”

The child raised his gun and yelled, “Shut up or I’ll kill all of you!”

Then he spat at the nearest person, laughing.

Hands on his hips, the little brat proudly surveyed the carriage.

Suddenly, he locked onto me, ran over, and stared intently at my tablet, reaching out, “Give it to me!”

I was caught off guard, “What?”

“Give me the tablet, I want to play games!”

I said, “Scram!”

He pointed the plastic toy gun at me, commanding, “Hand it over, or I’ll shoot you!”

The parent remarked, “Why are you so stingy? Let him play for a bit. It’s just a game.”

I felt blood rush to my head, and my ears buzzed.

Two voices battled in my mind, one urging “Kill him, kill him!”, while the other whispered “Listen to him, listen to him.”

As anger threatened to overwhelm me, a voice exploded in my ear, “Killing is illegal! Illegal! Illegal! Repeat crucial points thrice!”

Realizing I was losing control, I reached for my pocket to take my calming pills.

However, the child snatched the bottle before I could.

“Give it back!”

I warned, “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

The child grinned, “You’re sick! Are you dying? !”

He opened the cap and poured the pills on the floor, “Then die! Hahaha!”

His mother gave him a thumbs up, “Good boy, so brave!”

In the next second, she saw her precious son flying through the air after my swift kick.

Before she could react, I picked up the child and slammed him to the ground like a volleyball.

A dull thud echoed.

The child wailed in pain, screaming for help.

There was a moment of stunned silence in the carriage, followed by his mother’s piercing screams, “Help! Murderer!”

The onlookers intervened, urging me not to take it out on a child while forming a protective circle around his mother, leaving me space.

Squatting down, I grabbed the child’s hair and asked with a smile, “What game did you want to play just now?” Terrified, he turned to his mother, sobbing.

I slapped him, “I’m talking to you! Speak up!”

He whimpered, “Plants vs.

Zombies…” I replied, “Alright, I’ll play with you.

Now, you’re the zombie, and I’m the plant.”

Snatching some sunflower seeds, I flicked them at his forehead, mimicking a shooter, “Pea Shooter! Pew pew pew!”

After a while, I thought the attack wasn’t forceful enough, so I turned to see a cup of iced coffee on the table.

Taking a sip, I spat it all over his face, “Now, I’m the Ice-shroom!”

The child’s face was stained with coffee, and his wet hair clung to his face.

He dared not make a sound.

“Wasn’t it fun?” I asked.

He shook his head frantically.

“You dare say it wasn’t fun? !”

I picked up his toy gun and hit him on the head, “I spent so much time playing with you, and you say it wasn’t fun? !”

He screamed in pain, clutching his head and nodding frantically, “Fun, fun, it was fun!”

I said, “Since it was so much fun, let’s play a bit more!”

The child cried, snot bubbles forming, “No more, no more, I won’t play anymore!”

His mother finally managed to push through, behaving like a dog, biting at my leg.

I stomped on the back of her neck and then grabbed her head, banging it against the floor.

In novels, characters like me are often portrayed as unpredictable, quick to anger.

I don’t know about other psychopaths, but most of the time, I’m extremely calm, much calmer than most people.

Except, in my eyes, human lives are worthless, and killing feels as insignificant as crushing an ant.

For example, if I had a knife right now, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut off his head.

03

Unfortunately, I not only lacked a knife but was also stopped by the approaching attendants.

“Call the police!”

The child’s mother shouted, grabbing my clothes, “I’m sending him to jail!”

I held her fingers, warning, “Touch me again, and I’ll cripple you.”

She cried out in pain, struggling free, and didn’t dare provoke me further, hiding behind the attendants while glaring at me hatefully.

We were taken to a waiting room at the station.

The mother demanded twenty thousand yuan for her son’s medical bills.

The attendants, however, supported me, explaining that her son had provoked me first by stealing my medicine.

Unfazed by her wounds, she immediately became indignant, crossing her arms, “How much could a few measly pills be worth? Why are you bullying my son like this?” I smiled and said, “I have a mental illness, and those pills are for calming me down.”

She clearly didn’t believe me, “You have a mental illness? So do I! No way, not a penny less than twenty thousand!”

I walked out the door, “I’m leaving, what can you do about it?” Then, I stepped back in, “Hey, I’m back.”

I repeated this several times, going in and out, “In and out, in and out, aren’t you frustrated? Can’t do anything to me, huh?” The child cried loudly, like a teapot whistling.

His mother’s face paled instantly, and her fists clenched, “Today, I’ll break every bone in your body so you know who you messed with!”

She made a phone call, glaring at me fiercely, gritting her teeth, “I’ll skin you alive!”

I nodded, “If you want to fight, let’s set a time. I have a doctor’s appointment today, but I’ll find you later… You won’t call the police, will you?”

I spoke sincerely, genuinely wanting to engage in a showdown.

I’ve read stories about serial killers abroad, and they always enjoy dismembering their victims.

Since I’ve never killed before, I couldn’t miss this opportunity,it was a tribute to my seniors.

She nodded, laughing through her tears, “Fine, fine, fine.

At a time like this, you’re still being stubborn.”

04

Soon, I learned about their family’s methods of revenge.

The place where I got off was in the outskirts, and there was a small path between the station and the bus stop.

I had just turned into the alley when four or five men blocked my way.

Each had tattooed arms and carried slap sticks and tanto knives.

“Is it you who bullied my son?”

The leader slapped me as he spoke.

Unprepared, I fell to the ground, and the others quickly restrained me.

“Little bastard, you dared to hit my son.”

He squatted down, grabbed my hair, and said, “There are no surveillance cameras here.

Even if I disable you, nobody would know.”

He continued, “Today, you’ll learn the consequences of offending people!”

I keenly picked up the information I wanted.

No surveillance?

I wouldn’t be caught if I killed someone?

What a deal!

There was a buzz in my ear, and two little figures appeared in my mind, beating drums in front of me: “Fight! Fight!”

So, I headbutted the man, then took advantage of his momentary shock to twist his arm and kick the man behind him in the groin.

That person went down, and I stood up, slamming his arm against the ground and seizing the tanto knife from his hand.

The weight of the blade sent a surge of adrenaline through my body; every cell sang with exhilaration.

One characteristic of XYY Syndrome is that my testosterone levels far exceed those of a normal male, resulting in overly developed muscles.

Finally, they were useful!

His father reacted first, swinging a slap stick at my head.

I didn’t dodge but instead swung the knife, aiming for his skull!

It was a completely life-for-life approach, like two blindfolded drivers colliding head-on.

Whoever flinched first was the loser!

This scene played out in slow motion before my eyes:

The white slap stick grew larger in front of me, and his father’s expression changed from ferocity to terror as my tanto knife whistled toward his forehead.

When the blade was less than an inch from his head, I couldn’t help but tremble.

Not from fear, but from excitement.

An indescribable bloodlust surged within me, making every pore rejoice!

But.

His father was afraid.

Just as I was about to strike, he forcibly moved to the side.

The blade struck the ground, sending sparks and causing my hand to tingle.

“Damn it, are you trying to kill me?!”

His voice shook.

I was really furious.

How could a cooked duck fly away?

I swung the tanto knife back around.

If one blow didn’t kill you, I’d try again!

His father was terrified, stumbling as he tried to crawl away.

The others also scattered, running and crawling to escape.

I wasn’t going to let them go so easily.

I chased after them, tanto knife in hand.

A minute ago, they had threatened to teach me a lesson.

A minute later, five of them were being pursued by me alone.

05

The potential for survival is truly remarkable.

I had been the long-distance running champion in the psychiatric hospital for three consecutive years, yet I still couldn’t catch up to them.

Witnesses saw this and called the police.

We all ended up at the police station.

After understanding the situation, the officer rubbed his temples and looked troubled.

“Was it really necessary to fight like this over something so trivial? You even attacked them with a knife. Are you some kind of gangster?!”

I chimed in, “Exactly, it gave me quite a fright.”

I saw the corner of the officer’s mouth twitch.

“You’re acting like a harmless lamb now, huh? With your posture, if we had arrived a moment later, would any of them have survived?”

His father seemed shaken, choking out, “Officer, thank goodness you arrived on time, otherwise…”

His sobbing demeanor was a stark contrast to the dragon tattoo on his bicep.

“Alright, alright, let’s both take a step back now. Write a statement, and then go home.”

The officer took out a pen and paper and slapped them on the table.

“You start.”

I said, “I can’t sign it.”

“What?”

“I can’t guarantee I won’t kill him.”

I meant every word, and I guessed my eyes must have looked clear and sincere.

The officer hesitated.

“Don’t joke around like that, okay? Killing is illegal, you know that, don’t you?”

I replied, “I know, but I can’t let this slide.”

The officer’s expression became serious.

“What’s your name and ID number?”

I gave him the information, and he quickly pulled up my file, frowning deeply while reading.

“Please come over immediately and conduct another psychological assessment on him.”

The officer was likely calling my attending physician.

“How could someone like him be discharged from the hospital?!”

06

Soon, Doctor arrived.

Hearing the story, he glanced at the child’s father with exasperation, “Why did you provoke this living grim reaper?”

He recounted my previous feats, counting on his fingers, “After being bumped into, you chased three people with a machete, leaving them unable to walk for a month.

“You occupied the only single room in the hospital, and no one dared share a room with you.“

“A man with bipolar disorder, who was once your roommate, became socially anxious after a week and transformed into a timid rabbit.”

“He was admitted because he got into an argument with someone and, out of anger, almost gouged out someone’s eye with a spoon.”

The father of the mischievous child’s expression grew increasingly terrified; his tongue seemed tied.

“You mean—You mean he dug out someone’s eyes and didn’t go to jail?”

“Because he was only eight years old at the time.”

The police gave me a deep look.

“Let’s give him a psychological test; I suspect he isn’t suitable for release yet.”

The doctor curled his lips and slowly took out a tablet, find the test questions.

“What’s the point? He’s memorized the entire question bank, and the results show that he’s more normal than most people.”

This mutter was very quiet, heard only by me.

The father of the mischievous child was browsing news about mentally ill people being acquitted for murder.

As he read, his legs went weak, and he plopped down on the chair, trembling all over.

I finished the hundred questions in less than three minutes.

If not for a slow internet connection, I could have done it in a minute.

The result showed that I was a kind, gentle, emotionally stable person who disliked violence.

“How could this be a good person?” The father’s eyes nearly popped out.

“You nearly minced me into meat sauce just now.

Who acts like this when they’re a good person?”

He didn’t know.

On the day of my discharge, the hospital director personally came to see me off, even hiring a band and setting up banners and gongs and drums.

All the doctors and nurses stood at the entrance, waving goodbye to me.

They gave me money, respect, and job recommendations.

There was just one request: “Don’t ever come back.”

“Yes, a normal person,” the doctor said with his eyes wide open, lying through his teeth.

“Look at these features, none missing, two eyes, just right.

Isn’t that a normal person?” He quickly packed his bag.

“I’ll take my leave first. Call me if there’s anything… preferably nothing.”

The police officer pondered for a moment before saying to me, “Since you’ve been discharged, live a normal life and don’t cause trouble anymore.”

Then, to the father of the mischievous child, “If there’s any situation, call the police, and we’ll arrive as soon as possible… I hope you’ll make it in time.”

The guy’s mouth twisted, looking like he was about to cry.

“Big Brother, I’m sorry.

I lost control and offended you.

Please let it slide.”

I generously patted his shoulder.

“Calling me ‘big brother’ is too formal… Call me dad.”

He didn’t respond.

I pinched his shoulder and smiled softly.

“Will you call or not?”

“Dad”

“Good boy.”

Then, we both leaned on the table to write our promises.

I never understood the point of this.

Writing a promise meant you wouldn’t do it? In a normal society, people talked about morality and keeping one’s word.

I was different.

I had no morals.

I wrote one line: [I promise not to kill him today.] He wrote several pages, from his precious son’s misbehavior to his offense against me, then to his elderly parents and young children, desperately pleading for mercy in thousands of words.

I clicked my tongue in admiration.

I knew a web novel author who struggled with writer’s block every day.

If he had half the skill of this man, he wouldn’t have been chased by readers for criticism.

07

After finishing the promise letters, we both left the police station.

He ran as fast as if he had two wind turbines attached to his feet.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

If Usain Bolt saw him, he might consider him a formidable rival.

But was it useful? No! While writing the self-reflection, I saw his ID card on the table.

It had his detailed address on it…

No rush, I had plenty of patience to play this game with him slowly.

I went to the pharmacy to buy sleeping pills, but the pharmacist refused to sell them without a prescription from the hospital.

I went to the supermarket to buy a machete, but because my clothes had bloodstains, the salesperson immediately called security.

What kind of world was this? Was it so troublesome to kill someone? Was there no justice left? So, I called the doctor and asked him to get me a few bottles of sleeping pills.

He was very cautious.

“Why do you need this stuff?” “I want to knock out their whole family, dismember them, put them in suitcases, and throw them into the river,” I replied.

He was shocked.

“How could you do such a thing?!”

“Do you have a better idea? Tell me.”

“I’m telling you not to kill anyone. Who wants to discuss murder methods with you, you bastard? !”

“Why can’t I kill them?”

He fell silent for a long while, his voice weary.

“Do you want to hear what you’re saying? Murder is illegal! Why? If you kill him, aren’t you done for too?”

“What if I’m not caught?”

“How thick-skinned are you… Damn, big brother, there are cameras everywhere now. How will you run?”

“So, I should pay attention to the cameras, right? Thanks for the reminder.”

“I’m tired, let’s just destroy everything.”

My elementary school teacher once told me, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way; nothing is impossible for a willing heart!”

“Don’t give such motivational speeches for this kind of thing, I give up…”