Who would study psychology unless they had some issues?! Chapter 223 - 223 221 Soaring in the Skies

223: Chapter 221: Soaring in the Skies 223: Chapter 221: Soaring in the Skies Since we want to inject desire, what should we inject first?

According to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, human “needs” from bottom to top are: Physiological Needs, Safety Needs, Love and Belonging Needs, Esteem Needs, and Self-Actualization Needs.

Generally speaking, the more basic and lower-level a need is, the more it can drive a person to satisfy it.

The first choice, naturally, should be the easiest to ignite—

Nan Zhubin cleared his throat: “Speaking of which, a few days ago, I t with the director of your departnt.

We talked about you, and he even asked to inquire sothing of you.”

He made a show of rembering: “I originally planned to tell you during this consultation, but now it seems— if I don’t seize the opportunity to ask, I might not get a chance later.”

This topic was quite out of the blue, even a bit fanciful.

Moreover, there were flaws throughout.

How could a consultant talk about their client’s specifics with others?

Why would the art school’s director ask Nan Zhubin to inquire about sothing from Li Minglu?

But with Li Minglu’s current sluggish mind, he couldn’t pinpoint the discrepancies.

Instead, due to his previous brain activation by Nan Zhubin, he started to subconsciously focus— what question did the director ask Nan Zhubin to inquire about?

“We discussed this in the café below your art building.

Speaking of which, I used to be envious during my graduate study days that your art school was wealthy enough to have a whole floor converted into a café on its ground floor.”

Nan Zhubin patiently enriched the event’s details, then shifted the topic once more.

“Do you know what we ate that day?”

Again, a flight of ideas leaped as if it were a mind racing with schizophrenic thoughts.

“I ordered a small slice of strawberry mille-feuille.

You know— sweets always make people happy.”

Nan Zhubin’s tone was gentle, soft, carrying a hint of nostalgia and yearning, perhaps even a bit lyrical: “I don’t know if you’ve tried it, it’s a type of multi-layered sweetness that’s not overwhelming.

When you bite in, there’s the slight sourness of strawberries first, and then the aroma of light cream, paired with a latte— it really lts on your tongue.”

“Your director ordered a cheese tuna egg bagel, which isn’t a sweet.

I’ve always wondered why such a small sandwich-like thing could be so expensive.

Later, a little girl from our Psychological Consultation Center liked it a lot, and I sneaked a taste; it was savory and fresh, yet slightly sweet from the cheese, and the bagel’s crust was fragrant, very wheaty, and chewy.”

As he said this, Nan Zhubin couldn’t help but make a clicking sound.

That emotion, so full it was about to overflow, was almost directly drilling into Li Minglu’s head.

Of course, no matter how detailed Nan Zhubin described it, the aroma of food wouldn’t fill the air, this wasn’t a gourt ani.

But Nan Zhubin’s longing for food did evoke Li Minglu’s mories of the café he frequented for four years during his art school days, and surprisingly— he started to feel a little tempted.

“Of course, these desserts don’t fill you up.

Later, we dashed to a Hui barbecue spot behind the West Gate and ordered grilled lamb ribs, the whole piece, the kind that’s charred on the outside but juicy and tender inside,” Nan Zhubin said, rubbing his hands, “paired with their homade chili powder, just gnaw on the rib— it’s unbeatable.”

Don’t worry about why a Psychology College dropout and an art school director would suddenly go from coffee to gnawing on lamb ribs together.

The important thing isn’t the backstory, but the specific content of the events.

As he said this, Nan Zhubin raised his head and suddenly asked Li Minglu, “That place is newly opened, you probably haven’t tried it.

Want to give it a shot?

My treat?”

Li Minglu pursed his lips, casually, his tongue and throat moved.

—Gurgle.

Nan Zhubin fixed his gaze on the air in front of him, taking in everything from the corner of his eye.

[First layer of desire, successfully activated.]

Continue.

“After the al, your director took to your school again.

He said he wanted to show so paintings.”

An odd sequence— aning Nan Zhubin and they started with dessert at the art school’s café, then ran outside for grilled ribs, and finally returned to the school to view paintings.

“But before we got to see your school’s collection, I encountered your school’s cat—is it called ‘Captain’?”

“This was another aspect I envied about your art school back in the day, where leaders were so leisurely that they even established a stray cat shelter, and could ta stray cats into campus pets.”

Nan Zhubin portrayed a recalling expression: “‘Captain’…

I rember it being a ginger cat?

Not afraid of people, long-haired, layered fur, sotis it would even co over and nuzzle my hand.”

He then wiped his fingers: “Female students often took it for baths, so it was quite clean, clean enough to bury your face in.”

“When I ran into it, it had already been lazily sunbathing for most of the day.

When you bury your nose into the fur on its neck and take a deep inhale, mm—” Nan Zhubin squinted his eyes, “—exhilarating.”

Not to ntion the slightly exaggerated psychopathic expression on Nan Zhubin’s face at this mont.

He suddenly turned around and asked, “Did you also have these stray pet boxes when you were studying?

Are the cats you fed still there?”

Li Minglu suddenly sniffed.

His face, which had been leaning against the window sill, unexpectedly pressed further against the cold, rough plastic and iron sheet at that mont.

—Gently rubbed.

His fingers holding the window sill involuntarily tightened slightly.

[Second layer of desire, activation complete.]

“Where were we just now?

Oh, right.” Nan Zhubin suddenly slapped his forehead, standing up and pacing back and forth, unconsciously moving closer to Li Minglu.

“—The question your director asked to inquire.”

Nan Zhubin tapped the palm of his left hand with his right, as if finally rembering the important matter after a long digression.

“It’s about the designs, collections, and most importantly, your graduation project during your student years.

I heard they even went to the graduation exhibition back then.”

Nan Zhubin didn’t blink: “But now it seems your art school’s warehouse is full, so they want to clear out so past designs, including yours.”

“It was said that those works might be disposed of as junk.” Nan Zhubin lanted, “After all, you know, besides those of you from the Chinese painting and oil painting professions, others at the art school play with sculpture.

Those students like to experint with plastics, iron sheets, and whatnot.”

“Those materials alone can fetch quite a bit.”

Li Minglu’s fingers clasped around the window sill suddenly tensed again.