Volume One, Chapter Thirty-Four: Quintuple Personality

The number of trainees attending the course dwindled, with many sent out of the camp at midnight. Those who remained asked no questions, nor did they discuss the matter among themselves; it was as if these people had never crossed paths in life. After all, each trainee was known only by a code name derived from an animal.

Most were eliminated, while a few departed by their own request, unable to withstand the overwhelming physical or psychological pressure.

The instructor held a particular contempt for the latter: “You are about to endure unimaginable stress. Those lacking inner strength won't even have the chance to survive. This triathlon is not merely physical training, but also a test of willpower. Trust me, willpower can push you beyond your physical limits.”

He sneered, “As for those who left, they’d have been useless even if they’d stayed.”

The camp’s physician, who was responsible for psychological evaluations, arrived at the chief instructor’s office with a stack of files. “There’s something I need to report to you directly.” She was a seasoned psychologist specializing in this unique field, formerly a psychiatrist at the 301 Hospital in Beijing and a holder of a doctorate in clinical psychology.

Of course, her presence in this grim place was tied to an incident two years earlier—she had used psychological manipulation to bring about the imprisonment of an official involved in child abuse. She now dutifully informed the instructor, “This batch includes a particularly unusual case.”

The chief instructor was a veteran of years of intelligence work along the border, someone who had seen and dealt with every type of character. Seeing the gravity in the physician’s expression, he straightened up, took the file she handed to him, but did not open it.

He looked at her and said, “Unusual? Let’s hear it. Frankly, anyone who makes it here is already exceptional.”

She shook her head. “Not in that way. He stands out innately—strangely, even. According to my tests, he displays two traits never before seen in previous trainees. The first is that, up to now, he has exhibited five distinct personalities.”

The chief instructor was taken aback and finally looked at the file. “You mean this one—Flying Squirrel?”

She nodded. “Yes, and I stress, ‘up to now.’ There may be more personalities yet undiscovered.”

Sensing the instructor did not understand the test charts, she closed the file and began to explain in simpler terms: “Dissociative identity disorder, or multiple personalities, is a severe psychological condition. The American Psychiatric Dictionary defines it as: ‘A person with two relatively unique and mutually separate sub-personalities can be identified as having dual personalities. It is a hysterical dissociative disorder.’ In cases of multiple personalities, several distinct identities coexist within one individual.”

Psychoanalysts believe dual personalities result from psychological dissociation.

Some scholars use “dual personality” for those with two identities, reserving “multiple personality” for those with three or more.

Such conditions usually arise from conflict between the individual and their environment—a defensive and adaptive mechanism developed in response to external pressures, carrying cultural “inheritance” and continuity.

It is an internal and external split of personality. The degree of this split is influenced by the intensity of environmental stress and the effectiveness of self-regulation, manifesting randomly as different traits.

In simple terms, it is as if multiple entirely different people inhabit one “host body.”

The chief instructor gestured that he understood and got straight to his concern: “I’m familiar with the basics; your methods are your own domain. You’ve previously identified dual personalities in some trainees, and their later conduct confirmed your findings. But now you say Flying Squirrel has five personalities?”

The physician took a deep breath. “Perhaps he wasn’t exactly born this way, but it’s very likely these personalities formed before the age of five. However, he has no memories from before then, so he has no awareness of it. Multiple personalities are often caused by social stress—suggesting an extremely complex upbringing. It’s hard to imagine what he went through, but one can sense the toll it has taken.”

The chief instructor showed little interest in Flying Squirrel’s past and was more concerned with the present: “So tell me, what are these personalities?”

The physician closed her eyes, as if gathering her thoughts, then opened them. “On the whole, several are positive. The most frequently present is the one you all see—I call it the primary personality. Cultured, humorous, eager to learn, intelligent, patient, humble, resilient, deeply empathetic, emotionally intelligent, and socially adept. Your evaluations described him well. You conducted peer assessments among the trainees, didn’t you?”

“We did. The consensus was that he is friendly, gentle, and good at getting along with others,” the chief instructor replied.

“That’s his ideal self, only manifesting under normal conditions without stress. The only shortcomings: he loves money and has a weakness for women.”

The chief instructor shrugged. “Who doesn’t crave wealth or pleasure? How is that a flaw? It’s a virtue.”

“And the second?” The physician picked up the file again, pointing to one entry. “This one is significant, and quite odd. Typically, alternate personalities are around the same age as the individual or younger, but this one is a man in his sixties. He appears only in solitude, engaging in internal dialogue, rarely surfacing for others to see. He is critical in that he essentially defines Flying Squirrel’s worldview—an erudite old man, deeply versed in literature, history, and philosophy. He emerges late at night to instruct the primary personality, prompting reflection on the day’s actions. He has no communication with the other three personalities, whom he regards with disdain. He is insightful and kind, crucial for maintaining a sound moral compass in complex, dangerous environments.”

Before the instructor could finish reading, the physician pointed to the second page. “Here is the third: a man in his forties, again older than the subject. There’s a touch of martial heroism here—righteous, fearless, uncompromising, with a strong sense of justice. But he is overly emotional, impulsive, stubborn, and reckless.”

“Sounds like he’s read too many martial arts novels. Isn’t that a good thing?” the instructor scoffed.

“That depends on when he emerges. If he hides away, that’s not good either,” the physician countered. “The primary personality is too rational and often suppresses this emotional side.”

Turning the page, she indicated another entry. “The fourth: this one is quite different—a teenager, not yet twenty. Timid, shy, inarticulate, introverted, lacking confidence; when faced with trouble, he becomes self-pitying and sentimental.”

The instructor nearly leapt up. “What the hell is that? How do these personalities even coexist?”

“Which is precisely why it’s a disorder,” the physician replied calmly. “Ordinary people may have flaws, but in his case, each personality is distinct and incompatible with the others.”

Finally, she pointed to a line marked in red. “The last one is actually the most dangerous.” Setting down the file, she chose her words with care. “A man in his early thirties—paranoid, violent, brooding, cunning, cruel, even bloodthirsty, with strong sadistic and violent tendencies.”

She paused, then added, “He’s often plagued by homicidal thoughts—I suspect Flying Squirrel suffered severe domestic abuse as a child.”