Chapter 26
“Fuck.”
Jian Wu quickly closed the box, his face darkening like a storm cloud, but his ears were slightly red.
“What is this?” Lou Xi hadn’t seen clearly. “What’s wrong?”
Jian Wu took a deep breath, unable to find his voice for a long time.
Song Shuci had bought something like this before. After changing hands several times, the last time it was used should have been in their rented apartment in City A.
Is he insane…
Jian Wu’s first reaction was that Song Shuci had sent him this thing.
The alcohol-induced blood rushed to his head, and he angrily took out his phone to call Song Shuci. But after scrolling through WeChat for a while, he remembered he had deleted him, so he switched to the dial pad.
Jian Wu hadn’t saved Song Shuci’s number in his phone. He was about to ask Ling Meng when he suddenly remembered Song Shuci seemed to have said he hadn’t changed his number… He didn’t even need to think, a string of familiar digits surfaced in his mind, as if readily available, prepared for this very moment.
He didn’t have the heart to blame his brain for not deleting this useless information, “Song Shuci’s phone number,” which should have been deleted four years ago. He quickly entered the number and turned to Lou Xi.
“I might be about to curse someone out, do you mind excusing yourself?”
Five minutes earlier, Song Shuci was in a taxi, making another phone call.
The person on the other end was Wu Zhang, his colleague in America, who, like him, had come from China for a postdoc.
“Aren’t you a bit too hasty?” Wu Zhang was puzzled. “You just got back, why are you going back to China again? Don’t plane tickets cost money?”
“Something came up,” Song Shuci said concisely.
“Seriously, successful people are truly free,” Wu Zhang said enviously, then asked, “Are you going back to look for a job again?”
“I’m planning to sign with B Medical University,” Song Shuci said.
“Holy crap, you’re really not coming back to America?” Wu Zhang was shocked, “Our supervisor was hoping you would stay and work with him.” The advisor-student relationship was always an important way to build connections in academia. He was very curious: “What kind of offer did B Medical University give you? So good that you’re giving this up?”
Song Shuci briefly explained the terms, and Wu Zhang gave a fair assessment: “Not bad, but not particularly good either. If you became an assistant professor here, at least your salary wouldn’t be lower… Hey, are there any performance requirements?”
The tenure-track system in America always gave researchers headaches. There was usually a six-year probationary period with a review. If you passed, you became a tenured professor; if you failed, you faced termination. This system was gradually being introduced in China as well, with performance reviews for newly recruited university teachers.
“Yes,” Song Shuci said, “A minimum service period of six years, which is also the first review period. The requirement is two publications in CNS sub-journals or one in a main journal, two National Natural Science Foundation of China general grants or one key grant, or equivalent journals and funding.”
Wu Zhang was once again dumbfounded: “Are ordinary medical universities in China this competitive now? Is this even a humanly possible requirement?”
Song Shuci: “Mm.”
“What ‘mm’? What happens if you don’t meet the requirements? Up or out?”
“Not exactly.”
B Medical University was, at best, a medical university in a remote area. Although its reputation among medical schools was decent, due to its geographical location, the competition wasn’t that fierce.
Song Shuci said: “If you don’t meet the performance indicators, you return the housing, your salary is halved, and you can no longer recruit students. If you leave before the end of the service period, you have to return half of your salary as a penalty.”
“That’s still quite harsh,” Wu Zhang said, “Actually, these requirements, if they were at A Medical University, with your abilities, should be doable. But B Medical University has neither the platform nor the connections, it’s even difficult to find collaborations. Don’t you think these requirements are too high?”
“Indeed.”
Just as Wu Zhang was relieved that Song Shuci still seemed rational, he heard him say: “But I can do it.”
At this moment, Wu Zhang felt an unprecedented agreement with the opinion of a man he had never met, a man named Jian Wu on the other side of the Pacific — Overachieving show-offs were definitely the most annoying creatures in the world.
However, Wu Zhang considered himself a good person, so he resisted the urge to hang up on Song Shuci. Thinking of Song Shuci’s usual kindness, he took a few deep breaths and tried to persuade him one last time: “Think about it again. Even if you don’t want to stay in America, you can go to a top medical school in China. I really don’t understand why you insist on going to B Medical University. Don’t tell me it’s because you want to contribute to your hometown.”
“Can’t I go back and contribute to my hometown?”
“You can, but this isn’t contributing to your hometown, this is selling yourself to the school. Not only are the terms of this ‘contract’ harsh, but it also ties you down for six years. Have you thought about it, if it’s not good there, you can’t even leave. With so much pressure, do you really want to stay in that backwater place for six years?”
Song Shuci looked at a patch of dried white bird droppings on the taxi’s windshield and chuckled: “The birds here are quite productive.”
“Besides,” Song Shuci said, “Applying for an assistant professorship, or going to a top university in China with an ‘up or out’ system, also has pressure, doesn’t it?”
Wu Zhang felt he was making excuses: “You’ve published in Cell, who would make you ‘up or out’? And are you even someone who’s afraid of pressure?”
“No, that’s why I’m staying and signing this ‘contract’,” Song Shuci said, “Being one of the first to build up a weak subject at a university, don’t you think that’s challenging? It’s much more interesting than continuing the glory of a top university.”
“Challenging my ass. That’s assuming you succeed. What if you fail? If it were that simple, everyone wouldn’t be flocking to top universities.”
Wu Zhang became a little anxious: “Let me tell you, even your previously published papers have an expiration date. Nowadays, everyone only looks at achievements from the past five years. If you waste your best years here and don’t achieve anything, what are you going to do after six years? It’ll be difficult to go abroad or to a top university then.”
“Besides, all those academic titles in China have age limits. Have you forgotten how badly you were exploited during your PhD? Honestly, wasn’t it because your supervisor was old and approaching the age limit for applying for the ‘Outstanding Young Scientist’ award, so he was desperate for you to produce results? Do you want to force yourself into that situation again?”
Although Wu Zhang wasn’t in the same research group as Song Shuci during his PhD, since they were at the same university, he had heard about his situation.
Hearing Wu Zhang mention his PhD days, the smile on Song Shuci’s face faded. “I won’t,” he said, “What I want is different from what he wanted.”
Wu Zhang said: “We’re all mortals, what’s the difference?”
“Wu Zhang,” Song Shuci asked him, “Do you think titles are important?”
Wu Zhang was a little speechless: “If titles aren’t important, what is?”
“I used to think titles were very important, but importance also has priorities.”
Song Shuci said, “Titles aren’t as important as he is.”
He leaned back and reached out to the slightly open car window, letting the wind rush in, blowing against his fingers and into his collar.
“I know you mean well, but I don’t want to be like before, always putting him behind work for the sake of a so-called ‘better future’.”
He continued: “This time, I want to follow my heart.”
Wu Zhang was confused by these repeated “he” pronouns: “Which ‘he’? Who are you talking about? Are you even speaking Chinese? I don’t understand.”
The taxi slowly stopped in front of Jian Wu’s apartment building. The driver said to the passenger: “We’re here, you can get off.”
“Okay, thank you.” Song Shuci opened the car door and said into the phone, “I’m hanging up.”
“Hey, hey, hey, you haven’t told me who ‘he’ is!”
Wu Zhang, receiving no response, thought hard for a while, then suddenly had a realization, “Holy crap… Song Shuci, don’t tell me you’re in love?”
“I can’t believe it, didn’t we agree that research dogs don’t deserve love!?” The single Dr. Wu shouted into the phone, “If I find out you went to that backwater place for some bullshit love, I’ll spread your story throughout H University and let everyone laugh at you!”
Song Shuci’s ears hurt from the shouting. He smiled faintly and said “Whatever,” then took the phone away from his ear.
As soon as he hung up, a new, unknown number called.
Unless it was a delivery or courier service, Song Shuci usually didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers. But this time, the last few digits of the number reminded him of someone.
He moved his finger from the red decline button to the green answer button and pressed it.
“Hello.”
“Song Shuci, are you sick!?”
The familiar voice came through the speaker, probably fueled by rage, no less loud than Wu Zhang’s. But Song Shuci, recognizing the voice, still held the phone closer to his ear.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rubbing his temples.
Jian Wu, still holding the “hot potato,” was furious at his innocent tone: “You’re asking me ‘what’s wrong’? Do you think this is funny? Seriously, what are you thinking? Even if we’re broken up, you shouldn’t do this, right?”
Although Lou Xi had gone back to his room, to prevent his anger from penetrating even two doors, Jian Wu still wrapped himself in the quilt for extra soundproofing.
He finished his rant, but the other side remained silent, not making a sound. Just as Jian Wu was about to continue his tirade, the other end finally spoke.
“Come downstairs.”
Jian Wu, who had been preparing to unleash his anger, was stunned: “Downstairs?”
“I’m downstairs at your building, let’s talk face to face,” Song Shuci said.
Jian Wu, his head under the quilt, subconsciously looked at his phone, puzzled: “Now? Aren’t you in America?”
Song Shuci’s voice, filtered through the phone, sounded much gentler: “Something came up, so I came back.”
Jian Wu froze, threw off the quilt, sat up, and, as if in disbelief, looked at the clock in his bedroom to confirm the time.
After a while, he hung up the phone, quickly grabbed a jacket from his wardrobe, took the white box, and walked out. The elevator, as if anticipating his mood, happened to stop on his floor.
The red numbers on the elevator descended. As soon as Jian Wu stepped out of the building, he saw Song Shuci, dressed in a grayish-brown suit.
Almost the moment he appeared, Song Shuci, who had been pacing with his head down, also stopped, turned, and looked up at him.
His eyes were dark, and as he looked up, the light reflected in them.
Jian Wu’s breath hitched.
The white light of the streetlamp shone on Song Shuci’s face. A cool night breeze blew, giving him a sense of déjà vu.
Song Shuci, who had bought him a pile of toys to coax him into doing his homework when they were in elementary school; Song Shuci, who had taken a ten-hour train ride to see him during his freshman year of university when he had no classes; and Song Shuci, who, the day after proposing, stood downstairs at their rented apartment and said, “We haven’t had dinner together in a while, let’s eat together.”
—It was as if he was back in countless moments from the past.
After a brief moment of distraction.
Jian Wu curled his fingers, stood at the entrance of the building, a few steps above him, and forced himself to calm down, putting on an accusatory expression.
He quickly walked down the steps and slapped the box against Song Shuci’s chest: “If you don’t know how to give gifts, then don’t. What do you mean by sending me this?”
But perhaps the night obscured his emotions, and the accusation in his voice wasn’t as strong.
Song Shuci froze, as if not quite understanding. He was carrying a bag in his left hand. He took the box with his free right hand, looked at Jian Wu questioningly, and opened the box with one hand in front of him.
Upon seeing the contents, Song Shuci’s eyelashes fluttered.
Clearly, he also recognized it.
But his eyes didn’t hold the guilt of being exposed, but a strange complexity.
The warmth that hadn’t yet fully surfaced in his eyes gradually faded. Song Shuci looked down at the box, his voice emotionless.
“You think I sent this?”
“Who else?” Jian Wu’s tone was certain.
He hadn’t had such an intimate relationship with anyone else.
Song Shuci looked up at him from the box, lost in thought.
Perhaps feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Jian Wu subconsciously looked away. Song Shuci put down the bag in his left hand and grabbed his wrist through his jacket.
“What are you doing!?” Jian Wu glared at him.
Song Shuci didn’t speak, just placed the oval-shaped object in his palm, closed his hand into a fist, and wrapped his own hand around Jian Wu’s fist, forcing him to tightly grip the toy.
Then he took the remote control from the box, looked at their clasped hands, and pressed the button with practiced ease.
Intense vibrations instantly spread through Jian Wu’s palm, making his heart skip a beat. Song Shuci’s voice rang out almost simultaneously, right beside his ear:
“Level one, long vibration.”
“Level two, short vibration.”
“Level three, long, short, long, short.”
Song Shuci recited the frequencies like Morse code, each press of the button accompanied by a description, until the fourth press, when he looked at Jian Wu.
“Level four… your favorite, one long, two short.”
Jian Wu’s expression changed.
He recognized Song Shuci was describing the vibration frequencies and levels of the previous toy, but clearly, the vibration frequency in his palm didn’t match from level three onwards.
Noticing his expression, Song Shuci pressed the button again.
If it were the one they bought eight years ago, it would have turned off by now.
But the one in Jian Wu’s hand didn’t.
He could feel the vibration not only continuing but also intensifying. The high-frequency vibration made his heart tremble, and even the warmth of Song Shuci’s palm became less distinct.
Jian Wu looked at Song Shuci with a mixture of surprise and confusion. The latter looked down at his face, not pressing the next level, just holding his struggling hand, silent for a long time.
Their hands, clasped together in the darkness, became increasingly blurred, even their shadows under the streetlight were trembling.
