After Manstein went back to Germany, Yang Ping thought this whole thing would slow down.
After all, moving house is a big project; moving a Laboratory across countries is even bigger. Equipnt approvals, animal transport, staff visas... any one of those could drag on for three to five months. Yang Ping braced himself for a long battle, and even gave himself a conservative ntal estimate: at the very earliest, half a year.
On the fourth day, an email from Manstein arrived.
"Professor, the equipnt list has been finalized. There are 47 units/sets of core equipnt in total, of which 23 are to go by sea, 15 will be carried on board (including the refrigerated centrifuge and the PCR machine; I have already confird with Lufthansa that they can occupy seats), and the remaining 9 will be sold in Germany. As for the animals, M7 and 5 other monkeys from the experintal group will be moving with ; the German animal welfare committee has approved this, and the procedures on the China side are being processed. Visa materials for the staff have been submitted; visas are expected to be issued in 2–3 weeks.
Yang Ping stared at this email, silent for a long ti.
Carry a refrigerated centrifuge on board, occupying seats, and already confird with Lufthansa.
He turned to Tang Shun and said, "Help check whether Germans don’t need to sleep."
Tang Shun searched for three minutes, then answered very seriously, "Professor Yang, the search engine says the average sleep ti for Germans is 6.8 hours, which is 0.3 hours less than Chinese."
"?"
"!"
Three weeks later, in the early morning, Manstein arrived in Nandu with his team.
Yang Ping had thought it would just be Manstein, with at most two or three core mbers. Instead, walking out from the arrivals gate were eight people in total—seven Germans and one Swiss. Each person was pushing at least two suitcases, and three of them weren’t even suitcases but wheeled instrunt cases, covered in labels like "Precision Instrunt," "Shock Sensitive," and "This Side Up."
"Professor!" Manstein walked in front, wearing a dark grey softshell jacket, looking much more energized than three weeks ago. "We’re here!"
Behind him, an Assistant was pushing a huge instrunt case and waved at Yang Ping. Further back were six faces Yang Ping had only seen in Video conferences: the technician Clara, a young woman with a ponytail and round glasses; the postdoc Hans, bald, built like a Fitness Trainer, but supposedly an extrely introverted, socially anxious type; the animal caretaker Fritz, with greying hair and a stern expression, holding a cat—no, not a cat, a monkey in a specially designed airline carrier.
"Is this M7?" Yang Ping pointed at the carrier.
Fritz nodded, opened the vent window of the carrier a crack, and a pair of brown eyes inside blinked, looking at Yang Ping.
"It’s airsick!" Fritz said in heavily accented English. "Ten hours of flying, it vomited twice, but it is very strong."
Yang Ping squatted down, leaning toward the vent window. "It’s okay, you’re here now. It’s warr here than in Germany; you’ll like it."
M7 peered out through the vent, trying to take in as much of the surroundings as possible.
"Let’s go," Yang Ping stood up, "we’ll go to the Institute first. The dorms are already arranged, in a Community right next to the Institute, five minutes’ walk. We’ll put the instrunts in the Laboratory first, and open the crates and install them tomorrow."
The Laboratory was set up in the forr Animal Experint Departnt of Sanbo Hospital.
"Professor," Manstein said, "we can start today."
Yang Ping gave him a look.
"Not today."
"Why?"
"You go get settled first. Tonight I’ll treat you all to dinner, have a good rest tonight, and we’ll start work tomorrow."
Manstein opened his mouth, glanced back at his team. Eight people, ten hours of flying, a centrifuge carried on board, a airsick monkey, and everyone waiting on his decision.
He said, "Okay, we rest today. But Professor..."
"But what?"
"Nothing. I’ll tell you when I’ve thought it through."
The welco dinner that evening was at a Cantonese restaurant.
Yang Ping had chosen it on purpose: no mapo tofu, no boiled fish in chili oil, none of the red, suspicious dishes that might make the Germans turn bright red on the spot. White-cut chicken, stead sea bass, garlic broccoli, boiled shrimp, roast goose, char siu... a whole table of mild, friendly dishes that absolutely would not trigger any alarms.
Manstein ate very happily. Before the al officially started, he carefully raised his phone and took pictures of every single dish.
"Professor," Manstein said, "I’d like to drink a toast to you."
He raised his teacup.
Everyone else followed suit and raised their teacups.
The cups of tea clinked lightly together under the warm yellow lights of the Cantonese restaurant, making a clear, crisp sound.
The next morning at seven, when Yang Ping arrived at the Institute, he found that the lights in the west-side Laboratory were already on, so he walked over to have a look.
He pushed the door open and saw a scene that made him wonder if he was still dreaming.
Manstein, wearing a White Gown, was unpacking an instrunt case. Clara was debugging a computer; data analysis software was already open on the screen. Hans was moving boxes of reagents, stacking them in the fridge box by box. Fritz was in the animal room, squatting in front of M7’s cage, speaking softly to it in German. Soone else was assembling a refrigerated centrifuge.
It was only seven thirty.
"What ti did you get here?" Yang Ping asked from the doorway.
Manstein looked up. "Six o’clock."
"Six?" Yang Ping checked his watch. "The place only opens at six, right?"
"We waited until six, at the front gate."
Yang Ping didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say, "You just got here, you need to get over the jet lag." He wanted to say, "Don’t push yourselves so hard, your health matters more." He wanted to say, "Today is Saturday." But looking at the fire in Manstein’s eyes, he said nothing at all.
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