The day Huan’er called was a Friday, and Jing Qichi was working overtime at the company. Beijing had just experienced a heavy rainstorm—half the sky still held lingering clouds while on the other side, the not-yet-set sun flamboyantly scattered its final heat. Light filtered through the venetian blinds into the office, leaving a patch of alternating brightness and shadow.
“I’m planning to pursue a PhD,” Huan’er said. “The notification has come through.”
Jing Qichi didn’t hear clearly at first because Qiu Yang and Jiang Sen were asking if he wanted to join them for Korean barbecue.
“I’ll still be a while,” he waved at them. “See you Monday.”
“Get some rest after you finish.”
He heard Jiang Sen’s voice, closer to him, and waved again in a shooing motion while asking, “What did you just say?”
He vaguely heard the words “PhD,” but he hadn’t connected them with Huan’er.
“I’m switching to a combined master’s and doctoral program, starting next semester,” Huan’er told him in clearer terms.
There wasn’t a sound from the other end of the phone—no speaking, no keyboard clicking, she couldn’t even hear his breathing.
Huan’er called out, “Qichi?”
After two or three seconds of silence, he answered, “I’m listening.”
In the farthest corner of the office against the wall, one person remained—a new algorithm intern from the search group, currently wearing headphones and staring at the screen in thought. Jing Qichi said “wait” and gripped the phone as he left his seat. When passing the intern’s row, he was suddenly called out to: “Engineer Jing, could you help me look at…”
Usually, he would have gone over immediately.
But now Jing Qichi only focused on walking to the break room, absently replying, “Leave it for now, or we’ll talk later.”
“Okay.” The newly arrived young man nodded, his gaze following as he added, “Then I’ll head out first.”
The response was the sound of the break room door closing.
Jing Qichi walked to the window, steadied his emotions, and said to the other end of the phone, “It’s already decided, right?”
“Yes. I won’t need to change advisors, and I’ll work out the research topic with him later. The process is quite simple.” Huan’er paused. “If all goes smoothly, it’ll be about four years…”
“Why are you only telling me now?” From the decision to application to confirmation, Jing Qichi wasn’t sure exactly how long it took, but he knew it certainly wasn’t something that could be done in just a few days.
During this time, Huan’er hadn’t mentioned a word.
“I actually wanted to tell you last time you came, but…” Huan’er couldn’t figure out how to express her feelings then, and after a moment’s pause told him, “Later I thought I’d wait for the notification before telling you. If the transfer didn’t work out, then never mind.”
“How could it not work out?” Jing Qichi muttered. Huan’er’s grades had always been top-tier, and being a current student, known to the advisor, familiar with the environment—all these factors would work in her favor to some degree. The School of Pharmaceutical Sciences was smaller than other schools with fewer applicants; as long as she wanted it and submitted the application, there was no reason Chen Huan’er wouldn’t be accepted.
This reason sounded like… an excuse.
“There’s always a possibility,” Huan’er said.
This was true—even with ninety-nine percent certainty, there was still that one percent. Huan’er heard the emotion in his voice and knew that telling him in the form of a notification probably wasn’t ideal. A sense of guilt immediately arose in her heart. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Jing Qichi bit his lower lip, then released it. “If you said you wanted to study, I would unconditionally support you—whether it’s four years or forty years makes no difference to me. But Huan’er…” He lowered his head. “Do you not even have this much confidence in me?”
Not telling him immediately—to Jing Qichi, this matter was far more important than the upcoming longer separation.
Long-distance relationships could be changed—maybe not right now, not immediately, but ultimately it was something that could be controlled by people, something that could be achieved if one side was determined enough. However, Huan’er’s concerns, those certain worries she kept in her heart without speaking them out—he didn’t know what to do about those.
“It’s not that.” Huan’er’s nose stung. “Qichi, it really isn’t.”
She just hadn’t found the right timing, just wanted to wait until everything was settled before telling him, just… she just couldn’t bring herself to admit that their long-distance situation would last even longer.
Long-distance was so hard—unable to keep you company during overtime, not knowing what the intern asking for help looked like, having no way to experience your emotions up close, treating every holiday as precious while hoping to visit or eagerly waiting for you to come. It was precisely because it was so, so difficult that she couldn’t say it out loud.
Jing Qichi opened the venetian blinds, and the evening sun’s glow seeped into the small space, the magnificent sunset spectacular.
“I’m prepared to bind my life with yours,” he said, looking at that sky. “For a very long time now, so long that I hadn’t even realized it would be for a lifetime.”
Huan’er’s tears suddenly welled up.
She couldn’t explain why—perhaps because of her own overthinking, perhaps regret for those times they missed each other, or perhaps thinking of him alone in the office on this overtime night.
She covered her mouth, afraid her sobs would transmit through the phone.
Jing Qichi asked, “Are you in the dorm?”
“Mm.”
“In the hallway?”
“Yes.”
“Go back inside.”
Now it was Huan’er asking, “How much longer will you be?”
“Just need to fix some code, won’t be long.”
“What are you having for dinner?”
“Takeout probably. Or whatever Qiu Yang brings back.”
“Is it still raining? I saw the weather forecast said Beijing had storms today.”
Jing Qichi lifted the break room’s venetian blinds. Outside was completely clear, but before he could speak, large raindrops began hitting the glass continuously, streams of water trailing down.
Plans never keep up with changes, just like no one can guess the next second’s weather.
“Still raining, but not heavily in the city.” He lowered the blinds and leaned against the wall. “Don’t worry, just focus on graduating early. I’ll wait for you.”
“Mm.” Huan’er rubbed her wet eyes. “Go back to work, don’t get too tired.”
Coming out of the break room, he ran into Gong Nailiang who was about to head home. The other exclaimed “Oh!” in surprise, “I thought someone had put Little Island here for testing, scared me!”
Little Island was an ecosystem AI the lab was developing, often placed in various scenarios for interaction testing.
Jing Qichi smiled, “Why are you heading back so late?”
“Just finished a meeting with European colleagues, the time difference is exhausting.” Gong Nailiang took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge. “Oh right, Little Jing, I got a response about that pharmaceutical company recruitment you asked me about. Their R&D department is expanding recruitment next year, 985 university master’s degrees meet the entry requirements. You should prepare your resume early…”
“Dr. Gong,” Jing Qichi interrupted, “No need for now, but thank you for your trouble.”
Gong Nailiang put his glasses back on, “How come? Wasn’t it for your girlfriend?”
It seemed nothing could escape the lab director’s eyes. That gaze held no aggression yet always contained wisdom that could see through worldly matters. Jing Qichi felt a bit afraid to meet his eyes.
“My girlfriend… won’t be coming here anytime soon.” He lowered his head. “She got into the combined master’s and doctoral program at her school.”
“I see.” Gong Nailiang nodded, his tone carrying the generosity of someone who had been through it all. “That’s good news. Your school is excellent, and every field needs talented people who can settle down and do research.”
“Sorry for troubling you.”
In Jing Qichi’s plans, Huan’er would naturally face employment issues after graduating next year. He hoped she would come to Beijing, so he wanted to help her as much as he could within his abilities—not paving a road of flowers, just trying to secure some opportunities in advance.
Of course, he didn’t need to tell her any of this.
“Research is a difficult path, and as family, you need to give your full support.” Gong Nailiang patted his shoulder, speaking earnestly. “People are often fragile to the point of breaking. When funding goes in and experiments fail time after time, everyone falls into a cycle of self-doubt—it’s terrifying. Looking back, if it weren’t for my wife’s meticulous care in life and constant encouragement at work, I don’t know if I could have persisted until today.”
“Mm.” Jing Qichi pressed his lips together, his mind in chaos, unable to say anything else.
“Not leaving yet?”
“Have some things unfinished.”
“Go home quickly after you’re done, enjoy your weekend.” Gong Nailiang walked with him toward the lab door, arm around his shoulder. “Jiang Sen is my direct junior from university. He’s strong-minded and has a tough personality, does things decisively—sometimes he inevitably transfers pressure onto you youngsters. Learn to self-adjust, give feedback when you encounter difficulties. He can definitely help you with this, don’t try to endure everything alone.”
“I understand.” Jing Qichi accompanied him all the way to the elevator, his words carrying some apology. “Dr. Gong, about my matter… I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it was just making a few calls.” Gong Nailiang smiled at him. “Having stable troops is my good fortune. Looking at you, it’s clear you’re committed to one person—I’m happy for you. Head back early.”
The elevator doors slowly closed.
Jing Qichi stood there for a while. The office floor was brightly lit, but he was alone.
Qiu Yang was probably still eating, so returning to his place would also mean being alone.
He suddenly missed Huan’er terribly—her pedaling her bicycle so fast that her hair became a windblown mess, her writing furiously under the warm yellow desk lamp with that always-determined look in her eyes as if she always knew exactly why she was doing something, her wearing a flowery dress and smiling as she crossed campus with sunlight falling on her fair face making her skin appear crystalline like a fragile membrane. He missed her—every scene, every time period, every way she looked.
But—Jing Qichi opened their chat window—he didn’t know what he should say to her at this moment.