Chapter 40
Song Shuci felt the rope behind him tighten and loosen, loosen and tighten, and asked curiously, “What, are you having trouble tying a knot?”
Jian Wu tugged on the rope, playfully choking him, “So many questions.”
He washed his hands in the sink, prepared the marinade in a bowl, grabbed the cleaned fish from Song Shuci’s plate, mixed them together, and, while rubbing and mixing to remove the fishy smell as much as possible, instructed Song Shuci: “Chop more ginger, garlic, and chili.”
“Okay.” Song Shuci stood beside him, chopping vegetables. The knife landed on the sturdy cutting board with rhythmic thuds.
This was the first time they cooked together.
Song Shuci never let him into the kitchen before, one reason being he was afraid he would hurt himself, the other being he wanted him to focus on studying.
—Very typical Chinese parent thinking.
The hot oil in the wok sizzled. As soon as the seasoned fish went in, the aroma filled the air.
Jian Wu expertly stir-fried them for a while, and seeing they were golden brown, picked one up with his chopsticks, blew on it, tasted it, and nodded approvingly: “Mm, smells good. Go serve the rice, I’m almost done here.”
They sat down at the coffee table with their food, and Song Shuci expertly handed the remote control to Jian Wu.
After a few days of living together, he had discovered that Jian Wu always watched TV while eating.
When they were young, Jian Wu’s parents never allowed him to watch TV while eating, and the apartment they rented when they lived together in City A didn’t have a TV. He only now learned about this hobby of Jian Wu’s.
Jian Wu turned on the TV, put on a video, and the comedians on the show made him laugh heartily. Song Shuci, seeing him so happy, also laughed along.
Unexpectedly, Jian Wu, mid-laughter, suddenly turned to look at him: “Are you full?”
Jian Wu admitted, his opening was a bit abrupt, but he felt that between him and Song Shuci, there really wasn’t a need for so much preamble.
As expected, Song Shuci also understood and replied: “Just say what you want to say.”
Jian Wu was pleased with his understanding and said: “The anatomy department has the most classes in the entire college… did you know that?”
Song Shuci looked at him thoughtfully, “I know.”
Jian Wu searched his memory for fragments of his conversation with Old Hu, trying to summarize the main points: “The school has research requirements for every department. The anatomy department teachers don’t have time for research, but they don’t want their performance evaluations to look bad. In the past, the department director shielded them and fought for their interests with the school. Now that the director is gone, they’re all worried, afraid you’ll force them to do research.”
He took a bite of the fish and looked at the TV, “And they think you won’t teach anatomy classes,” he added, “In two senses of the word ‘won’t’.”
Not capable of teaching, and not willing to learn how to teach.
Song Shuci looked down at the golden fried fish on the table, thought for a while, and suddenly chuckled, “I know who you went fishing with.”
“Don’t thank me because of this,” Jian Wu warned in advance, “I just wanted to go fishing.”
Song Shuci smiled, put down his chopsticks, and turned to look at Jian Wu, “The fish is delicious, thank you.”
Jian Wu’s gaze remained fixed on the TV. He ate a few more bites of rice, hummed a tune, and then said casually: “Mm, I think so too.”
Song Shuci leaned back and looked at Jian Wu’s profile from a slightly rear angle: “Jian Xiaowu, I realized you’re really different from before.”
“I’ve always been like this,” Jian Wu’s fingers, holding the chopsticks, paused. He turned to look at Song Shuci and said in a subtle tone, “You just thought you knew me.”
This was the second time they had discussed the issue of understanding each other. Unexpectedly, this time, Song Shuci didn’t argue, just kept looking at him with a smile.
His gaze was tender and complex.
It reminded him of the time he finally finished that jigsaw puzzle.
Song Shuci had been inspecting the apartment, asking him where he wanted to hang it, but he just put the completed puzzle, along with the frame, into the storage cabinet on the balcony.
Song Shuci, seeing the many completed puzzles inside, was clearly surprised.
He told Song Shuci that he gave some of the completed puzzles to his students as rewards, some were taken apart and donated as educational toys, and the remaining ones were his favorites, which he would take apart and reassemble whenever he wanted.
Song Shuci seemed confused, so he asked him a question: “What do you think is more important, the process or the result?”
Song, the involution king, naturally answered “the result,” but Jian Wu said: “I think it’s the process.”
Song Shuci had looked at him like this back then.
Song Shuci’s eyes were very expressive.
If the emotion Jian Wu saw most often in those eyes was indulgence and love, then at this moment, what he saw was more of Song Shuci’s unexpected appreciation.
Not the relief of seeing a carefully nurtured bud finally bloom, but a completely equal, or even slightly admiring, appreciation, like someone who had struggled to climb a barren mountain, looking up and seeing a wild rose that had taken root there earlier.
This gaze was unsettling, making Jian Wu’s mind wander.
He chose to look away, breaking the eye contact, and changed the subject: “So what are you going to do?”
Song Shuci then slowly looked away.
“There’s always a way,” he said, “When I was studying, I got 100 on systemic anatomy and 98 on regional anatomy, teaching a lecture shouldn’t be a problem. As for lab classes, I’ll just familiarize myself with them after a few sessions. As long as I’m willing to put in the time, it’s not a big deal.”
“The research aspect is a bit trickier. I did come here to achieve something, but… isn’t the director supposed to handle the pressure? I won’t force them to do anything. If they’re willing, I’ll provide opportunities, if not, I won’t force them. If Dean Ling has any objections, I’ll talk to him. He just recruited me, he won’t immediately turn against me, right?”
“You already have a plan?” Jian Wu looked up at the ceiling, “I thought you would be scared away.”
“I can’t run away,” Song Shuci chuckled, “But I do need to think about what to do specifically.” He teased, “I’ll have to ask Teacher Jian to put in a good word for me with Teacher Hu.”
“I did want to put in a good word for you last night…” Jian Wu pursed his lips and didn’t continue.
Song Shuci immediately understood what he was thinking: “But you actually don’t have much faith in me? You think I’ll force them to do research for my own benefit?”
Jian Wu didn’t say anything.
“Jian Wu,” Song Shuci suddenly put down his chopsticks and leaned back, “Do you know why I switched to oncology for my postdoc?”
Jian Wu held his bowl and didn’t look back at him.
He remembered the last time Song Shuci talked to him about his dreams was on a rainy evening.
He was in junior high that year, Song Shuci in his first year of high school.
He was standing in the hospital corridor when he saw Song Shuci, dressed in his school uniform, rush towards him, drenched from the rain because he hadn’t had time to grab an umbrella.
He held Song Shuci’s hand and said: “My dad can’t be cured.”
Song Shuci, while saying “Impossible” with certainty, pulled him along to find the doctor. He bombarded the doctor with questions: “Can’t he have surgery? Aren’t there targeted drugs? What about chemotherapy and radiotherapy? I heard there’s gamma knife therapy?”
The doctor in charge of his father’s case was very gentle, not blaming the two middle school students for their abruptness and recklessness, but explained Jian Wu’s father’s situation in detail. But after all that, he could only shake his head and tell the two teenagers: “Multiple brain metastases, there’s nothing we can do.”
Song Shuci’s childhood dream had always been to become a doctor. Jian Wu had been forced to play the patient for him countless times in their pretend play games.
Because no one wanted to play the patient, but everyone wanted to play the doctor and give injections, Song Shuci, who always volunteered to be the patient, was the envy of all the children. And Song Shuci was very possessive, not letting anyone else play the patient with Jian Wu. Even if Jian Wu himself agreed, he would stop them, making many children envious and jealous, going home crying and begging their parents for a younger sibling.
But after that day, Song Shuci said to him: “Jian Wu, I don’t want to be a doctor anymore.”
He said: “I don’t want to one day shake my head in front of you and tell you ‘There’s nothing I can do’.”
Doctors could only treat illnesses according to guidelines, they weren’t omnipotent.
So from that day on, Song Shuci’s dream became doing research and conquering cancer.
He got into a top medical school for this dream, majored in basic medical sciences, which focused on research, and volunteered in a top gastric cancer research group since his freshman year, hoping to gain favor when choosing his PhD advisor.
But often, life didn’t go as planned.
To be fair, Song Shuci was indeed a bit unlucky.
Their eight-year program’s advisor selection process was separate from the regular master’s and doctoral programs. Each professor only had one spot, but this professor had a few associate advisors, so there were actually two or three spots in total. Coincidentally, that year, many people applied to his group, including children of high-ranking officials and professors.
A Medical University never lacked talented and hardworking students, but connections and relationships were always a scarce resource.
The first lesson Song Shuci learned as an adult was: Top grades weren’t enough in the face of connections.
So, after promising him a spot, this professor dropped him right before the system closed.
Choosing an advisor was a two-way process. Song Shuci hadn’t expected the professor to go back on his word. He had rejected offers from many other professors before that. By the time he was dropped, those professors he had rejected naturally wouldn’t choose him anymore.
He could only choose Lu Lizhu, whose research area was in neuroscience, among the remaining professors, someone who was decent and guaranteed he could graduate on time.
This change of direction lasted for many years, so long that Jian Wu almost forgot Song Shuci’s initial dream was to research cancer.
