At the first group meeting after the semester began, Huan'er met her external supervisor, David. Around the same age as Ding Heping, with a round belly and a kindly appearance, David had already impressed Huan'er through his numerous papers she had read beforehand, further enhanced by the halo of being an academic heavyweight. Her expectations for the next eighteen months of life abroad were sky-high. However, the meeting lasted only fifteen minutes from start to finish, during which everyone gave their reports and David provided guidance. It wasn’t until the last two minutes that he formally introduced Chen Huan'er’s arrival.
"I won’t be around often, so email me anytime if you need anything," David told her after the meeting, introducing another person. "When I’m not here, Mark will serve as your co-supervisor. His research aligns with yours, so you can discuss anything with him."
The man called Mark was in his early thirties, and his double-speed speech during the meeting had left a strong impression on Huan'er.
"Thank you," Huan'er smiled at both of them.
"I hope everything goes well for you here," David patted her shoulder and smiled. "First, you’ll need to get used to the bad weather."
It had been raining for days, and London hadn’t seen sunshine in a while.
Just then, Mark called out to a passing blonde girl, "Natasha, could you show the newcomer around?"
"OK," Natasha greeted Huan'er with a "Hi," then added, "Follow me."
After walking some distance together, Huan'er suddenly remembered she needed to take leave the next day to visit the police station for her residence permit. She excused herself to Natasha with a "Wait a moment" and hurried back. Before she could reach them, she overheard Mark complaining, "Another girl? They just cry when they’re tired, cause endless trouble, and can’t do anything right."
Huan'er froze in her tracks.
"You can’t say things like that," David’s voice was firm. "If they’re not performing well, you can address it, but you must never make judgments before even giving them a chance."
"Fine, got it."
Huan'er, standing behind them, said nothing and turned away.
When she returned to Natasha, who was waiting, the Russian girl noticed her serious expression and asked cautiously, "What’s wrong?"
Huan'er shook her head and instead asked, "Is David often absent?"
"Yeah, the boss is really busy," Natasha answered candidly. "Group meetings never go over fifteen minutes, and that’s pretty much the only time we see him each week."
"What about Mark…?"
"Is Mark supervising you?"
"Yes."
"He’s… not the easiest to get along with," Natasha hesitated slightly. "But I work mostly on nucleic acid delivery projects, so I haven’t interacted with him much. What’s your research on?"
"Targeted tumor therapeutics."
"That’s definitely Mark’s field," Natasha nodded, offering an optimistic note. "Anyway, just focus on doing your part well, and don’t worry about the rest."
Huan'er thanked her, but the Russian girl’s words left her with an uneasy premonition.Two months passed uneventfully. On this day, Huan'er and another Indian male student were kept behind by Mark. Both were working on targeted drug delivery systems, so their meeting wasn’t unusual. However, during the conversation, Mark first asked the Indian student about his research progress, and the two went back and forth for a full two hours. Huan'er’s research direction was similar but not identical, making it inappropriate to interrupt, yet leaving would have been impolite. She could only stand awkwardly to the side, listening.
When the Indian student finally left, Mark began summarizing her recent research progress. He spoke quickly with a heavy northern accent. After Huan'er twice said “pardon” to indicate she hadn’t caught his words, Mark snapped his notebook shut with a loud thwack . “I think this is a waste of both our time.”
His voice and gesture were so abrupt that Huan'er flinched.
“Didn’t catch that either?” Mark scowled. “I said you’re wasting my time.”
Huan'er apologized first, then replied, “If you could speak slower, I just want to understand my issues.”
“Your issues? Your biggest issue is that you don’t understand anything I say!”
“Mark,” Huan'er couldn’t help but feel irritated, though she kept her composure. “Please understand that English isn’t my first language, but I know my research better than anyone.”
Mark gave her a sidelong glance, and in it, Huan'er detected unmistakable disdain.
She clenched her fists by her sides, torn between indignation and frustration.
“I’ll email you.” Mark flipped his notebook screen back up and began typing rapidly. “Chen, you need to improve your English. I’ll send another email—I expect you to take this seriously.”
Without looking at her again, Huan'er muttered a “thank you” and left the office.
Half an hour later, she received two emails. The first contained brief guidance on her research—less than a hundred words. The second had two attachments: a compressed file of undergraduate midterm assignments (twenty Word documents once extracted) and a blank PowerPoint template with only formatting, no content. Mark’s instructions were clear—she was to grade each assignment with feedback and create a full teaching presentation on the procedures and challenges of an inorganic chemistry lab for second-year undergraduates.
Huan'er was a visiting scholar. Supervising undergraduates wasn’t part of her responsibilities—meaning Mark was offloading his own routine tasks onto her.
During their earlier conversation, he had already laid the groundwork for this with a lofty justification: Your English is lacking. This will be good practice.
Natasha messaged her: “Chen, if you have any lemons, bring them over!”
Only then did Huan'er remember it was the Russian girl’s birthday—she’d been invited to the party a week ago.
Closing her laptop, Huan'er checked the fridge and found a bag of lemons. Grabbing them, she replied, “Got it. On my way.”
Natasha’s apartment wasn’t far. By the time Huan'er arrived, four or five colleagues were already there, the room buzzing with electronic music. The birthday girl took the lemons with an excited “Perfect!” before gesturing to a row of liquor bottles on the table. “Thanks for the gifts, everyone.”There was beer, champagne, and vodka—all purchased a week ago through pooled funds by a British guy in the group. It seemed he was well-versed in the Russian way of celebration.
Huan'er said, "Happy birthday," then leaned closer to Natasha. "Have you ever helped Mark with undergraduate assignments?"
Natasha was outgoing and carefree, and having stayed at the university for a long time, she was well-versed in navigating interpersonal dynamics. Huan'er got along with her fairly well.
The Russian girl frowned and asked, "He asked you to do it?"
Huan'er nodded.
"Mark is pulling this trick again. That's just how he is—always dumping tasks he doesn't like onto others. But Chen, you're not obligated to do his work." Natasha lowered her voice. "But be careful when you refuse him. Mark holds grudges."
Huan'er stayed silent.
"There are always... less likable people," Natasha shrugged. "Just be cautious."
Someone came over clamoring for drinks, and as the host, Natasha naturally had to attend to them. Seeing this, Huan'er slipped away to a corner of the balcony.
Her heart felt heavy—a helpless kind of heaviness.
She called Jing Qichi, not bothering to consider whether it was already past midnight back home or if he was asleep. The call went straight through.
The first attempt didn't connect. Just as she hesitated whether to try again, a colleague came over and handed her a glass of champagne. The two struck up a conversation about a project currently underway in the lab. Then Jing Qichi called back. Huan'er pressed the answer button while saying to her colleague, "Sorry, I need to take this call," then turned to the phone. "Qi Chi, are you asleep?"
"No," came the reply. "I'm out with Lao Song."
"You're still not back this late?"
"Yeah. We went out for dinner and had some drinks. Lost track of time."
"Oh." Huan'er gazed at the London sky, not yet fully dark, and inexplicably felt even worse.
Her friends were still together, able to meet up across the city at a moment's notice, drinking and making merry late into the night. But she was like a tiny shell left stranded on the beach—utterly alone, trying to call for help but unable to make a sound. No, actually, this phone call was her cry for help, but they hadn't heard it.
Jing Qichi asked, "Why is it so noisy there?"
"A colleague is celebrating her birthday. We're all at her apartment."
"Is it fun?" he asked with a laugh.
"It's okay," Huan'er replied listlessly, her mind weighed down. "Qi Chi, my co-supervisor Mark..."
Mid-sentence, she heard a voice—Two more bottles of draft for this table?
"Yeah," Jing Qichi answered, then asked, "Huan'er, what did you say just now? I didn't catch it."
"I said my co-supervisor Mark this afternoon..."
Again, she was interrupted—Only room-temperature ones left. Open now or later?
"Open them," Jing Qichi said before turning back to the phone. "What? I still didn't hear you."
What was going on today? Everything, absolutely everything, was this damn "didn't hear you."
So this was how annoying it felt to have to repeat yourself when no one listened.
Frustrated and upset, Huan'er suddenly flared up and yelled into the phone, "Jing Qichi, can you just let me finish?!"
"It's too noisy on your end," Jing Qichi raised his voice, his tone clearly irritated. "Either find a quiet place to call, or we'll talk later. Right now, I can't even hear—"Song Cong's voice came through, "Speak properly, no need to shout."
"Her side has music playing..."
Huan'er hung up directly.
Jing Qichi didn't call back.
At a Sichuan restaurant in midnight Beijing that had witnessed this unpleasant phone call from start to finish, Song Cong patted his friend's shoulder, "Alright, call Huan'er back first."
"Calling back would just disturb her," Jing Qichi placed the phone face down on the table. "It's a colleague's birthday, she's probably having fun."
"What's wrong?" Song Cong raised his glass for a toast. "Aren't you keeping your own troubles from Huan'er precisely because you don't want to upset her? You should be happy she's enjoying herself."
Jing Qichi drank in silence.
When his glass was empty, he replied quietly, "Huan'er stops eating properly when she's stressed. I'm already worried she isn't taking care of herself, and I don't want to bring my negative emotions to her either."
Song Cong swirled his glass. "I understand."
"But Lao Song," Jing Qichi sighed, "this matter of mine... there's no good choice either way."
OpenNovel