At the first group meeting after the term began, Huan’er met her foreign advisor David. Around the same age as Ding Heping, he had a round potbelly and a kind face. Having read many of his papers beforehand and viewing him through the filter of academic reverence, Huan’er’s expectations for the next eighteen months of study abroad were sky-high. However, the group meeting lasted only fifteen minutes total, during which everyone reported their progress and David gave guidance, only formally introducing Chen Huan’er’s arrival in the final two minutes.

“I won’t be around often, but you can email me anytime,” David introduced another person after the meeting. “When I’m not here, Mark will help as co-supervisor. His research direction aligns with yours, and you can discuss anything with him.”

The person called Mark was around thirty, and his double-speed talking during the meeting had left a deep impression on Huan’er.

“Thank you,” Huan’er smiled at both of them.

“Hope everything goes well for you here,” David patted her shoulder, also smiling, “First, you’ll need to adapt to the bad weather.”

It had been raining continuously for days, with London showing no signs of clearing up.

Mark called over a passing blonde woman, “Natasha, could you help the newcomer get familiar with things?”

“OK,” Natasha said “Hi” to Huan’er, then added, “Follow me.”

After walking a short distance, Huan’er suddenly remembered she needed to request leave tomorrow to visit the police station for her residence permit. She told Natasha “Just a moment” and quickly went back. Before getting close, she heard Mark complaining, “Why another girl? When they’re tired they just cry, always causing problems, can’t do anything right.”

Huan’er stopped in her tracks.

“You can’t be like this,” came David’s voice. “If they’re not performing well, you can bring it up, but you absolutely cannot make judgments before they even begin.”

“Fine, I get it.”

Huan’er, standing behind them, said nothing and turned away.

Natasha, waiting at their original spot, saw her serious expression when she returned and carefully asked, “What’s wrong?”

Huan’er shook her head, then asked, “Is David often absent?”

“Yeah, the boss is very busy,” Natasha spoke frankly. “Group meetings never go over fifteen minutes, and this is the only time we see him each week.”

“Then Mark…”

“Mark’s supervising you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s…” Natasha hesitated slightly, “Not exactly easy to get along with. But I work on nucleic acid delivery and rarely work with him, so I don’t know much. What’s your research direction?”

“Tumor-targeted drug delivery.”

“That is indeed Mark’s field.” Natasha nodded, speaking optimistically, “Anyway, just focus on your work, don’t worry about other things.”

Huan’er thanked her, but the Russian girl’s words gave her an uneasy feeling.

Things remained calm for two months until one day when Mark kept both Huan’er and an Indian student behind. They both worked on targeted drug delivery systems, so meeting together wasn’t unusual. However, during this conversation, Mark first asked about the Indian student’s research progress, and they chatted back and forth for two hours. Though Huan’er’s topic was similar but not identical, it would have been inappropriate to interrupt and impolite to leave, so she could only stand awkwardly to the side listening. After the Indian student left, Mark began reviewing her recent research progress. He already spoke quickly with a heavy northern accent, and after Huan’er said “pardon” twice to indicate she hadn’t heard clearly, Mark slammed his notebook shut with a “bang,” saying, “I think this is wasting both our time.”

The sound and movement were both forceful, startling Huan’er.

“Didn’t catch that either?” Mark’s face hardened, “I said you’re wasting my time.”

Huan’er first apologized, then said, “If you could speak more slowly, I just want to know my problems.”

“Your problems? Your biggest problem is that you don’t understand anything I say!”

“Mark,” Huan’er felt somewhat angry but still kept her composure to explain, “Please understand that English isn’t my native language, but I know my research better than anyone.”

Mark looked at her askance, and in his eyes, Huan’er read contempt.

She gripped her trouser seams tightly, feeling both wronged and defiant.

“I’ll email you,” Mark reopened his laptop screen, typing rapidly. “Chen, you need to take English courses again. I’ll write another email, and I hope you’ll take it seriously.”

He didn’t look at her again, and Huan’er said “Thank you” before leaving the office.

Half an hour later, Huan’er received two emails. The first contained guidance on her research, barely a hundred words; the second had two attachments—a compressed file of undergraduate midterm assignments that unzipped into twenty Word files, and a PowerPoint with only formatting but no content. Mark’s email detailed the tasks—the assignments needed individual grading with supervisor comments, and the PowerPoint was to be developed into a complete teaching slide deck about the procedures and key points of an inorganic chemistry experiment for second-year undergraduates.

As a visiting scholar, Huan’er’s task list didn’t include undergraduate teaching—in other words, Mark was trying to transfer his daily work to her.

In their conversation half an hour ago, he had already laid the groundwork for a dignified excuse—your English has shortcomings, this is a form of practice.

Natasha sent a message: “Chen if you have any lemons, bring them over!”

Only then did Huan’er remember it was the Russian girl’s birthday, and she had been invited to the party a week ago?

Huan’er closed her laptop, saw a bag of lemons in the fridge, grabbed them, and replied, “Okay, I’m coming.”

Natasha’s apartment wasn’t far from Huan’er’s place. When she arrived, four or five colleagues were already there, with atmospheric electronic music playing. The birthday girl took the lemons exclaiming “Perfect!” then pointed to a row of bottles on the counter, “Thank you all for the gifts.”

There was beer, champagne, and vodka—a week ago, everyone had pooled money for a British colleague to make the purchases, and he clearly understood Russian celebration customs.

Huan’er said “Happy Birthday,” then moved closer to Natasha, “Have you ever helped Mark grade undergraduate assignments?”

Natasha was outgoing and informal, and having stayed at the school longer, she understood office politics well. Huan’er found her easy to talk to.

The Russian girl frowned and asked, “He’s making you do it?”

Huan’er nodded.

“Mark’s at it again. He’s always like this, dumping work he doesn’t want to do onto others. But Chen, you have no obligation to help him.” Natasha lowered her voice, “However, be careful when refusing him, Mark can hold grudges.”

Huan’er remained silent.

“There are always some… less likable people.” Natasha pursed her lips, “Just be careful.”

Someone came over clamoring for drinks, and Natasha, as the host, naturally had to attend to everyone. Seeing this, Huan’er retreated to a corner of the balcony.

Her heart felt heavy, the kind of heaviness that comes with complete powerlessness.

She called Jing Qichi, not considering whether he was asleep given it was already past midnight in China and dialed directly.

The first call didn’t connect. As she was debating whether to try again, a colleague came over with a glass of champagne, and they began discussing an ongoing lab project. Just then, Jing Qichi called back. Huan’er pressed the answer button while saying “Excuse me, I need to take this call” to her colleague, then turned to the phone, “Qichi, were you sleeping?”

“No,” came the reply, “I’m out with Old Song.”

“Still not home this late?”

“Mm. We went out for food and drinks, and lost track of time.”

“Oh.” Huan’er gazed at London’s not-yet-completely-dark sky, inexplicably feeling worse.

Friends were still together, able to meet up for drinks until late after just a quick hello. While she felt like a tiny shell abandoned on the beach, looking out to see no help in sight, trying to cry for help but unable to make a sound—no, actually this phone call was her cry for help, but they couldn’t hear it.

Jing Qichi asked, “Why is it so noisy there?”

“A colleague’s birthday, we’re all at her apartment.”

He laughed and asked, “Having fun?”

“It’s alright.” Huan’er said listlessly, her heart heavy as she spoke, “Qichi, my co-supervisor Mark…”

Halfway through her sentence, she heard a voice—”Another two bottles of draft beer for this table?”

“Yes,” Jing Qichi answered, then asked, “Huan’er, what were you saying? I didn’t catch that.”

“I was saying my co-supervisor Mark this afternoon…”

She was interrupted again by voices—”Only room temperature left, want them opened now or later?”

“Open them now.” Jing Qichi finished, then turned back to the phone, “What? I still couldn’t hear you.”

Today of all days, it was all, absolutely all about not being heard clearly.

So this was how irritating it felt to not be heard and have to repeat yourself.

Anxious and upset, Huan’er’s temper flared as she shouted into the phone, “Jing Qichi, can you just listen to me finish!”

“It’s too noisy on your end,” Jing Qichi raised his voice, his tone not good, “Either find a quiet place to call, or we can end this and talk later. If you insist on now, I really can’t hear—”

Song Cong’s voice came through, “If you have something to say, say it properly, why are you yelling?”

“The music at her end…”

Huan’er hung up directly.

Jing Qichi didn’t call back.

At midnight in a Sichuan restaurant in Beijing, Song Cong, who had witnessed the entire unpleasant phone conversation, patted his friend’s shoulder, “Come on, call Huan’er back first.”

“Calling back would just disturb her,” Jing Qichi placed his phone face down on the table. “It’s her colleague’s birthday, she should be having a good time.”

“What’s this about?” Song Cong clinked glasses with him. “You’re not telling her about your situation precisely because you’re worried she’ll be troubled, right? You should be happy if she’s happy.”

Jing Qichi drank in silence.

Finishing his glass, he said quietly, “When Huan’er’s under pressure, she doesn’t eat properly. I’m already worried she’s not taking care of herself, and I don’t want to bring my negative emotions to her.”

Song Cong swirled his glass, “I understand.”

“But Old Song,” Jing Qichi sighed, “This situation… I have no good choices.”