A few days later, Li Shanqing actually put together a resume, and, with his remarkable resourcefulness, included a recommendation letter from a well-known molecular biology professor. However, instead of sending it to the high school program email for the lab, he sent it directly to Zhuang Xu.
Zhuang Xu received the new email while accompanying his mother as they left the group’s headquarters building.
That morning, his mother had finally begun to emerge from her grief and told Zhuang Xu that she had received a call from Zhou Kaiqi, agreeing to attend a joint decision-making meeting at the headquarters the next day.
Since his father’s passing, the group had been in chaos, with every department shirking responsibility, and hardly any project was progressing smoothly.
As soon as the decision-making meeting began, Han Miao acted arrogantly, repeatedly interrupting reports from the lab departments. Zhuang Xu spoke up several times to explain on their behalf, and Han Miao quieted down for a few minutes before starting to make things difficult again. Several executives, led by Zhou Kaiqi, couldn’t stand it and confronted him. In the end, nothing was decided, though two teacups were smashed.
Zhuang Xu’s mother remained calm, speaking only after the cup-smashing had cooled the room: “Han Miao, when Zhicheng was still here, I never saw you know so much about medicine. Have you been studying on your own recently?”
“It’s been a while, Sister Yuanshuang,” Han Miao replied, his attitude improving slightly but still far from respectful. “You don’t know the company as well as I do.”
The meeting ended without any decisions, and everyone left the room with grim expressions.
Zhuang Xu had often visited the labs with his father in the past and was familiar with several lab supervisors. They stopped Zhuang Xu and his mother to chat briefly, sharing the sudden difficulties the labs were facing. As they spoke, they mentioned Zhuang Xu’s father, their eyes reddening.
After leaving the company, they headed to Zhou Kaiqi’s house.
Zhou Kaiqi loved cooking, and in the past, their two families had gathered almost weekly to try his newly learned dishes. This time, since Xu Yuanshuang was finally willing to leave the house for the company, Zhou Kaiqi suggested they come over for dinner to liven things up, and she didn’t refuse.
Just as they got into the car, Zhuang Xu’s phone pinged with a new email notification—it was from Li Shanqing.
Zhuang Xu was no longer surprised that Li Shanqing had his email address. Given what he knew of Li Shanqing’s ability to gather information, anything seemed possible.
Over the past few days, Li Shanqing hadn’t been too clingy, sending only one or two messages occasionally. Zhuang Xu didn’t reply to any, but Li Shanqing didn’t pester further, just kept sending messages here and there, starting new topics on his own.
Some of Li Shanqing’s messages actually intrigued Zhuang Xu, like the project he had submitted to the Bingang Regional Science and Engineering Awards for selection. It involved a new-generation medication capsule for sustained-release devices, referencing SyncPulse, using multi-layered nanomaterials in different regions, and calculating drug release quantities.
This was exactly one of the projects the group’s nanomedicine lab was working on. If the recipient had been Zhuang Xu’s father, he would likely have responded with encouragement. But Zhuang Xu wasn’t his father. His personality was more assertive, and whenever he recalled Li Shanqing’s smug expression in the car that day, or his unrestrained demeanor, he chose to ignore the messages and not reply.
If he responded, Li Shanqing would surely become relentless, which gave Zhuang Xu a headache.
Take now, for example. Li Shanqing clearly knew—and even Zhuang Xu could confirm—that his resume was undoubtedly outstanding. Yet he still wrote in the email with feigned humility: “Zhuang Xu, the competition for your group’s lab high school program is so intense. I saw your award-winning resume in last year’s news and I’m so worried mine isn’t good enough. Could you help me evaluate it?
“By the way, Professor Zhao was my training professor for the IBO. When I mentioned applying for the program, he insisted on writing this recommendation letter for me. I tried to refuse, but I had to accept it. I’ve CC’d you on it.”
It was as if a peacock were spreading its tail.
Zhuang Xu was speechless, not wanting to open a single attachment, and set his phone aside.
At that moment, Zhou Kaiqi’s phone rang. He took the call and turned to Zhuang Xu and his mother: “We need to make a detour to pick up Silan from school. The driver called and said the car broke down.”
Zhou Silan, Zhou Kaiqi’s son, was two years younger than Zhuang Xu and in high school. His school wasn’t far, and as the car approached the gate, Zhuang Xu saw him. Zhou Silan, in his school uniform, stood neatly by the bike rack with his backpack.
Compared to the person who sent the email, this was what a real high school student looked like.
When the car door opened, Zhou Silan politely greeted Zhuang Xu and his mother before quietly slipping into the back row of the van.
Zhou Silan was a year ahead of Li Shanqing, in the critical phase of preparing for university. Zhou Kaiqi was always attentive to his son’s studies, and as soon as Zhou Silan settled in, he began discussing his recent academic progress.
Zhou Silan had always admired Zhuang Xu and kept steering the conversation toward him. Zhuang Xu shared some of his own experiences with university entrance exams, and Zhou Kaiqi teased his son: “Silan, his path isn’t exactly something you can follow. Stop asking.”
“He makes it sound easy, winning this award and that,” Zhuang Xu’s mother said coolly from the side, “but the night before competitions, he and his father would stay up together, sleepless.”
After she spoke, the car filled with soft laughter, then fell silent. For a moment, it felt like they were back months ago, when the two families gathered harmoniously, only to be swiftly pulled back to reality.
Zhuang Xu didn’t grow up in Bingang.
During his childhood, his schools changed with his parents’ work, from a daycare at a national medical lab in the inland to a school for military dependents near his father’s service base, then to a private coastal middle school where he skipped two grades and won several awards, earning attention from many universities.
When choosing a university, Weiyuan Biotech’s headquarters had just moved to Bingang, and his father hoped he’d familiarize himself with the new labs and company management, so he enrolled at Bingang University.
His life plan had been perfect: graduate university, pursue further studies, join the lab, and gradually become his father’s right-hand man. There seemed no room for error.
But life wasn’t a fairy tale, and Zhuang Xu wasn’t the always-successful person he once thought himself to be. Facing an unimaginable painful reality, he still had to grit his teeth and move forward.
After a while, Zhou Kaiqi broke the silence, talking about Zhou Silan’s prospective schools and majors. The car grew lively again.
Zhuang Xu listened, noticing his phone screen light up with several new messages. He knew who they were from but didn’t check. His mother noticed and asked, “So many messages—aren’t you going to look?”
Rather than read Li Shanqing’s baffling texts, Zhuang Xu even less wanted to explain this person’s existence to the family and friends in the car. He glanced at his phone, finding most were lab group notifications, with only one from Li Shanqing: “Zhuang Xu, did you get my email? The application deadline is next week. Please take a look, I beg you!”
With his mother’s eyes still glancing over, Zhuang Xu worried she’d have questions if he didn’t reply, so he typed briefly: “I’m busy. I’ll look tonight.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Li Shanqing replied. “Even though my health’s bad, if it’s your message, I’d stay up all night waiting.”
Zhuang Xu had never met a teenager like this. He wanted to tell him to communicate normally and stop sending such bizarre messages, but knowing Li Shanqing’s personality, Zhuang Xu feared saying so would only encourage more. He held back and put his phone away.
Dinner at Zhou Kaiqi’s house was distracted for all five of them. They made small talk, trying to avoid the fact of his father’s absence, but often circled back to it, achieving the opposite effect.
After dinner, they sat for a while before Zhuang Xu and his mother said their goodbyes. On the way home, his mother gazed quietly out the window. As the car entered a tunnel, Zhuang Xu turned and saw her leaning back against the headrest, asleep.
The tunnel’s lights flickered, shadows stretching across her face, her cheekbones slightly protruding, her skin so thin it seemed transparent.
His mother had been a financial manager at a large corporation but had fallen seriously ill years ago, narrowly escaping death. She’d been recovering at home since. After his father’s passing, in just a few weeks, she’d become so thin she was unrecognizable, resembling her post-chemotherapy hospital days.
Zhuang Xu looked away, staring out the window, allowing himself a rare moment of distraction.
At home, his mother woke up, and they said little before returning to their rooms.
Zhuang Xu reviewed reports and project updates from Zhou Kaiqi and the lab supervisors, then washed up and was about to sleep when he remembered he hadn’t checked someone’s resume. With no real urge to sleep, he opened it.
Li Shanqing’s resume was indeed impressive. At just fifteen last year, he’d won a silver medal at the Biology Olympiad, the only medal from Binhai City in three years, and, as he’d mentioned, a gold at the city’s Science and Technology Innovation Competition.
The list of accolades filled more than two pages, no wonder Professor Zhao’s recommendation letter was so heartfelt, calling Li Shanqing the most gifted student he’d seen in training Binhai City’s IBO competitors.
Setting aside personal feelings, if such a talent joined Weiyuan Biotech’s lab team in the future, it would be a rare asset for the group. Zhuang Xu put aside his biases and, with an appreciation for talent, replied to Li Shanqing’s email: “Your resume is outstanding. You should have no problem securing an internship spot.”
It was late, and Zhuang Xu hoped Li Shanqing was asleep to avoid those harassing replies before bed, but his hopes were dashed. Li Shanqing immediately responded with a “thank you” email and a text: “Is it really outstanding? I’m still not confident. Can we talk on the phone to discuss it in detail?”
…
Zhuang Xu replied: “No.”
Li Shanqing sent several crying emojis. Unable to take it, Zhuang Xu called him. Li Shanqing picked up in less than a second, cheerfully saying, “What’s up, Zhuang Xu? Calling me so late—what’s the matter?”
Zhuang Xu had meant to warn him sternly, but Li Shanqing’s audacity to play the victim nearly made him take a deep breath. If he put that energy into studying, Li Shanqing would probably have a PhD by now.
“Zhuang Xu,” Li Shanqing called again when he didn’t respond, “Zhuang Xu, is the signal bad?”
His hoarse voice, likely from daily asthma steroid inhalers, wasn’t unpleasant.
Without seeing Li Shanqing’s smug face, just hearing his frail-sounding voice, most people would find it hard to be too harsh with him.
Zhuang Xu was certain Li Shanqing had used his appearance and voice to take advantage of others plenty of times.
But Zhuang Xu wasn’t most people and wasn’t swayed. He warned seriously: “Li Shanqing, if you stop bothering me every day for no reason, we could have more meaningful exchanges about academics and work in the future.”
“What kind of exchanges? In what capacity?” Li Shanqing asked. “As your friend? If not, forget it.”
He spoke lightly, casually, even with a clear hint of provocation and willfulness.
Caught off guard by his imperviousness, Zhuang Xu’s patience was nearly exhausted: “What benefit would you get from being my friend?”
“You’re so mercenary, always talking about benefits,” Li Shanqing said, his tone tinged with grievance.
Zhuang Xu paused for two seconds, and Li Shanqing added: “If I send you meaningful content, would that count as bothering you?”
Logically, meaningful content wouldn’t count as harassment, but Zhuang Xu didn’t want to fuel his boldness and avoided saying so, replying instead: “Don’t contact me until you’re in the lab.”
“That’s too long! It’s a summer program, and the list won’t be out for at least three months,” Li Shanqing complained loudly. “That’s how you treat an outstanding student? Fine, I won’t apply then. Let someone else do it.”
But without warning, Li Shanqing gave himself an out: “Never mind, your lab wouldn’t want to miss such an excellent intern. I’m too considerate to let you lose me, so I’ll still apply.”
“I’ll try not to bother you, okay?” Li Shanqing said softly.
Three or five years later, Zhuang Xu would have rejected him outright, knowing exactly what kind of person Li Shanqing was.
But at the time, Zhuang Xu didn’t know and let him off lightly, saying nothing against it—a natural human lapse.
