In an office filled with books and docunts,
Professor Liang sat morosely in a large office chair, his face etched with deep wrinkles, a complex emotion lingering in his eyes, and the phone in his hand already ward by his grip.
Zhang Chunquan, he was the student to whom he had devoted the most energy!
Once, in this very office, they had argued heatedly over an experint’s data; together, in countless late nights, they had watched over instrunts, waiting for the result that might change everything; he taught him to design topics hand-in-hand, guided him to contemplate the boundaries of science, and even quietly used his allowance to support him in tis of financial difficulty. In his heart, Chunquan was not just a student, but more like a continuation of his academic life, a bearer of his unfulfilled ideals. He had been so sure that this exceptionally talented, hardworking young man would surpass him and beco a pillar of China’s future dical field.
On the day Zhang Chunquan went abroad, Professor Liang personally saw him off at the airport. Before parting, he held Zhang Chunquan’s hand: Study hard, take care of yourself, and co back when you’ve finished your studies.
But in the end, Zhang Chunquan chose that top lab across the ocean, and never returned.
At first, there were a few emails exchanged, respectful in tone yet increasingly distant, and eventually, all communication ceased. Professor Liang understood that there was a better platform and superior conditions there, but understanding did not an it didn’t hurt. That feeling was like seeing a carefully nurtured, cherished seedling uprooted and transplanted to foreign soil, while he could only watch, knowing even his words of persuasion felt powerless.
He couldn’t even rember the last ti they t, when Zhang Chunquan paid a visit, initially making Professor Liang quite excited. But through their conversation, it beca clear that Zhang Chunquan wanted Professor Liang’s help to connect with Yang Ping for potential cooperation. Professor Liang understood that he wasn’t coming to visit his ntor, but with another motive: he was tasked with sothing.
"See him out..." At that mont, Professor Liang felt as if ice water had been poured over his heart, and his smile froze instantly.
He didn’t know how much those words "see him out" hurt him, and ever since then, there was no further contact between the two.
... Try one more ti, make one last effort, for the Breaking Wall plan...
His fingers trembled as they slid across the warm screen, lighting it up. That international long-distance number, never saved in his contacts, was already etched into his heart. His thumb hovered over the green call button, almost feeling the touch of that virtual button.
If only he pressed it, if only he pressed it... perhaps he could hear that familiar yet unfamiliar voice.
What should he say? Command as a teacher? Or... just softly ask as an old man missing his disciple: "Chunquan, are you alright? If you’re tired, just co back..."
His heart wrenched painfully, mixed with an unresolved sense of loss, indescribable heartache, and a bit of fear of being rejected again that even he was reluctant to admit. He almost heard the polite yet distant response on the other end of the line, saw the deeper disappointnt that conversation might bring.
That finger, bearing endless thoughts and heavy expectations, remained suspended in the air for a long ti, and ultimately, it fell weakly. The screen’s light quietly went out from lack of activity.
In the end, he didn’t make the call.
So wounds, once scabbed, should not be easily reopened. So hopes, once shattered, should be buried deep in the heart.
He sighed silently and deeply, pushing the phone with its dark screen to the far corner of the desk, as if in doing so, he could also seal away that tumultuous emotion.
But the back, which had stood straight for a lifeti, now looked sowhat stooped under the lamplight.
...
The Whitehead Biological Laboratory at the Mama Institute of Technology enjoys a global reputation, with Professor Zhang Chunquan serving as one of its co-directors. At just thirty-eight years old, he was already recognized as a top scholar in the field, adorned with honors coveted by countless young scientists.
However, his inner self was far from as serene as the landscape outside the window.
The young Chen Xiao’s words echoed in his mind, lingering and refusing to dissipate.
Several Chinese scientific news articles spread out on the desk, with the front-page headlines all about the "Breaking Wall" plan. Those familiar place nas and stirring phrases were like invisible needles, piercing the deepest, most untouched corners of his heart.
"Chunquan, your talent is the best I’ve ever seen. Sending you to the United States was to hope you could learn about the cutting edge, return soday, and advance China’s biodical engineering!" The earnest look of his ntor as he patted his shoulder at the airport is still vivid in his mind.
His ntor treated him like his own, imparting knowledge without reservation.
But he had failed his promise.
The world-class resources of Whitehead Laboratory, its free and open academic atmosphere, and the astonishing achievents of the early years were like a sweet web that bound him tightly. One position after another, from postdoc to assistant professor, and now to a tenured professor, laboratory director. His plan to return ho changed from "soon" to "let’s wait," eventually becoming a dusty promise even he was reluctant to ntion. He knew that from Old Liang’s initial anticipation, to subsequent inquiries, and finally to silence, that heart had already been scarred by him.
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