Three days ago, Qiu Yang shared bombshell news with Jing Qichi. It was a typical workday after overtime. On their way home, they ordered takeout, and within ten minutes of entering their apartment, the delivery driver arrived right on time. Qiu Yang ate his Three Delicacies Rice Bowl while scrolling through short videos on his phone; Jing ordered seafood noodles and spent most of his time watching a basketball game broadcast on TV—all in all, the day was no different from any other.
Jing Qichi finished eating first and, as usual, leaned back in his chair to ask, “Do you want to shower first, or should I?”
With only one bathroom in the apartment, and Qiu Yang taking no less than half an hour for his washing and skincare routine, this order typically determined when he would video call with Huan’er.
“Wait a moment,” Qiu Yang stopped him at this point, putting away his phone and stuffing the takeout boxes into a plastic bag. After turning down the TV volume, he asked, “If Sir Jiang starts his own business, will you join?”
The medical platform’s launch had only brought momentary relief. After entering the sales phase, various optimization demands came one after another. Jiang Sen remained the project’s main force, on one hand rejecting the product manager’s far-fetched ideas, while on the other urging the team to produce integration solutions. So when Qiu Yang brought up this topic, Jing Qichi even thought he was merely proposing a hypothetical.
“The boss’s idea is to become a company subcontractor. Huandao is a big tree with good shade—there are plenty of projects they can’t handle, and at this stage, they need reliable teams who know the ins and outs to share the burden.” Qiu Yang’s expression showed no hint of joking, “I plan to go with him.”
Jing Qichi wasn’t surprised by this. Once bunkmates and now under the same roof, Qiu Yang had always been the type driven by ambition to make a name for himself. He both admired and trusted Jiang Sen or rather, he wanted to become someone like him.
Someone like Jiang Sen—capable and shrewd, who could both take charge and let go.
Jing Qichi suddenly felt a bit sad. He had been handpicked by Jiang Sen to join Huandao, an unprecedented move unlikely to be repeated, and whether professionally or personally, in terms of interaction or friendship, he was above Qiu Yang. Yet clearly, Qiu Yang saying these words today meant Jiang Sen had confided his plans to him first.
And himself, for unknown reasons, wasn’t on the first list of trust.
He asked Qiu Yang, “Did the boss ask you to ask me?”
“That’s not important.” Qiu Yang neither denied nor confirmed, then after a pause said, “You’re registered under President Li, and Gong Bo values you greatly. Sir Jiang doesn’t want to pressure you.”
This was probably something they had discussed privately. Jing Qichi wasn’t foolish; he knew this was Jiang Sen’s way of looking out for him.
“So,” Qiu Yang asked, “what do you think?”
Jing Qichi remained silent for a long while before asking, “It’s still in Beijing, right?”
“Of course, all the resources are here.” Qiu Yang probed cautiously, “Huan’er?”
Just as Jing Qichi understood him, Qiu Yang knew him too well. The first concern was the location, and besides Huan’er, Qiu Yang couldn’t think of any other reason for his brother to ask this way.
Jing Qichi nodded honestly.
“Your Huan’er can come here after graduation too.” Having taken his stance, Qiu Yang tried to persuade him, “With so many pharmaceutical companies in Beijing, how could a PhD not find a suitable position?”
No, that wasn’t it.
Before going abroad, Huan’er had inadvertently revealed that Ding Heping thought highly of her, and if she wanted to stay at the university, he would certainly help as her advisor. Huan’er had said then that it would be nice if she could stay at the university.
Jing Qichi smiled at his friend without taking a position.
“You know Sir Jiang better than I do—put in the effort, get the rewards; he won’t shortchange his people.” Qiu Yang looked at him, “Qichi, I won’t hide it from you—some people have already decided to leave. Even if you stay and get a new team leader, life won’t be easy for the old subordinates.”
This was a heart-to-heart conversation, and every word Qiu Yang said made sense.
“Let me think about it,” Jing Qichi rubbed his temples, “I can’t give you—you all—an answer right now.”
Qiu Yang patted his shoulder, then added, “Gong Bo might have heard the rumors too.”
Jing Qichi looked up.
“Making things difficult for you,” Qiu Yang sighed, “Brother, I’m sorry.”
Just today, before having this meal with Song Cong, Gong Nailiang had indeed signaled to want to “chat.” Jing Qichi had avoided it, saying, “Sorry, Gong Bo, my friend’s having some trouble, I need to go now.”
“We’ll talk later,” Gong Nailiang had told him, with a gaze that made Jing Qichi uneasy.
A difficult choice.
Whether to speak or not was difficult; whether to go or stay was even more so.
Midnight in Beijing, most of the hustle and bustle had subsided.
The kitchen had closed, and the head chef and servers had opened a separate table for their staff meal, chatting and laughing merrily.
Song Cong tapped the table, analyzing rationally as always, “The pros and cons of leaving, the pros and cons of staying—you know these better than I do. If you can’t figure it out, make a list, let the data you’re best at speak.”
Jing Qichi replied, “It’s not that easy.”
“Then make the data conditions more complex, add an impact ratio, assign coefficients to each pro and con.” Song Cong rested his chin on one hand, “The more complex the calculation, the more precise the result.”
Jing Qichi fell into deep thought.
He understood Song Cong’s meaning. The pros and cons of staying or leaving couldn’t be judged uniformly—there were salary and benefits, position fit, promotion opportunities, and industry prospects; he needed to match each with a coefficient. The so-called impact ratio was nothing more than factors outside of work that he had to consider, such as the situation of his old subordinates, relationships with colleagues, and also…
“Why not try calculating it this way first,” Song Cong looked at him and said, “Maybe before the results come out, you’ll already have your answer.”
Jing Qichi silently nodded.
The next day, after sobering up, he messaged Huan’er but received no reply after an hour. He had indeed drunk quite a bit last night, falling asleep in the taxi on the way back, and couldn’t remember if he had said anything too harsh or revealed his troubles that might have upset her. Thinking this, Jing Qichi made an international call, but unexpectedly, Huan’er’s phone was turned off.
His heart jumped, and he asked Song Cong, who explained according to his understanding, “Nothing much happened. Isn’t it Huan’er’s colleague’s birthday? Probably stayed up late and is sleeping now.” Knowing his friend was troubled by work matters, he invited, “Come play some soccer, relax a bit.”
Jing Qichi finally felt slightly relieved, telling Song Cong, “I’ll take a shower and come over.” He left a message for Huan’er: “Call me back when you wake up, I’m going to play soccer at Old Song’s school.”
Huan’er had turned off her phone deliberately.
She had left the birthday celebration early last night, before midnight. The task Mark had assigned was suffocating her—it was time-consuming and exhausting, and though she disagreed with it in her heart, not doing it meant her vice advisor would hold her graduation hostage, so Chen Huan’er had no choice.
By the time she prepared for bed, dawn was breaking, with only one-third of the assignments on her desk graded. Having pulled an all-nighter, Huan’er’s head was fuzzy, and simultaneously her stomach began to ache dully. She turned off the desk lamp, and pulled the curtains, trying to create a nighttime atmosphere to rest for a while, but her unruly digestive system seemed to fight against her. Unable to bear it anymore, she ran to the bathroom and threw up everything into the toilet.
Only the sound of flushing water; London had not yet welcomed the new day’s bustle.
“This feels awful,” Huan’er muttered to herself, her nose stinging.
She thought of Mark’s unfriendly expression, her ambitious aspirations before going abroad, Ding Heping and her senior colleagues’ words of encouragement, and also Jing Qichi and Song Cong’s cheerful, loud conversations.
And now, in her apartment in a foreign land, she could only hear her breathing.
Supporting herself on the toilet, Huan’er dragged her slow steps back to bed.
She wanted to call Jing Qichi, but after picking up the phone, she chose to turn it off instead.
Without her, Jing Qichi seemed to be doing just fine.
Friends by his side, family close by, fulfilling work, happy life.
It felt like being forgotten, in a timezone reset to zero, in this strange city of endless drizzle.
Until then at night, Huan’er’s phone remained off.
Jing Qichi couldn’t find anyone to contact—he didn’t have the phone number of any of her lab colleagues. He even considered calling Qi Qi, but since they were in different cities, it would only cause unnecessary trouble, so he gave up the idea.
At this moment, Qiu Yang knocked on his door, “Barbecue tomorrow?”
“Barbecue?”
“Yeah. Sir Jiang found a place, we bought everything today,” Qiu Yang said, “Some other people from the company will be there too.”
Hearing there would be other company people, Jing Qichi suddenly flared up, “Qiu Yang, are you forcing me to take sides?”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Hearing his cold tone, Qiu Yang punched the door, “Jing Qichi, what kind of person do you take me for? Whether you go or not is your own fucking business, why are you jumping at shadows thinking the whole world is plotting against you?”
Qiu Yang turned and left, walked to the living room, then angrily came back, “Sir Jiang said everyone’s been working hard lately, so let’s get together and hang out. Fine, you think it’s about taking sides and no one cares about you, but don’t treat my goodwill like dirt!”
He slammed the door hard, followed by the same sound from the opposite room.
Jing Qichi had no outlet for his anger, pacing aimlessly in his room for two rounds before sitting back on the bed.
At such a sensitive time, for a team leader to invite everyone out to play—Jiang Sen, who could handle even the most difficult clients, when had he ever done anything futile?
If he went, he would automatically be included in the small group; but if he didn’t go, with Jiang Sen’s departure still uncertain, he would be pushed outside the safety line.
This chess move was brilliantly played.
The phone vibrated, and Jing Qichi answered with a series of questions, “What happened that you had to turn off your phone? If your phone died, couldn’t you borrow one to send me a message? Chen Huan’er, look how many messages I sent, I couldn’t get through on the phone and couldn’t contact anyone else, did you think about how worried I was?”
Huan’er pressed her temples, “Didn’t you go play soccer?”
Turning off her phone was a deliberate retreat—she had to grade papers and prepare course materials, everything was in chaos, and if she submitted late, there would be endless criticism from Mark. Huan’er could only deal with the pressure alone; abroad by herself, she had no help.
How nice it must be to be Jing Qichi, among all the incoming messages, what bothered Huan’er most was this first one—he even had time to play soccer, he had much time but was unwilling to hear about her situation.
His lukewarm tone made Jing Qichi’s heart sink. He gripped the phone, “Huan’er, I have my difficulties.”
“Yes, who doesn’t have it tough,” Huan’er rubbed her swollen eyes, looking at the dense English words before her, “I won’t turn off my phone again. But I’m quite busy during this period, can’t spare extra energy.”
“All right, I won’t disturb you.” Jing Qichi wanted to say more, but the next second he heard Huan’er’s response, “That’s all for now, hanging up.”
The call ended abruptly.