Chapter 4

Jiang An and I had been classmates in high school. Our universities were in the same city, not far apart, and we had stayed loosely in touch.

When couples were breaking up and heading their separate ways after our final undergraduate year, we both received recommended admission to master’s programs at our own universities, without taking the entrance exam.

Our research areas overlapped a little, so we began talking more. During our first year of graduate school, we naturally became a couple.

He was usually quiet and serious. Because his family didn’t have much money, I never asked him for expensive presents. In three years together, the only gift I received was a thirty-yuan plush toy.

In our second year, his advisor took on some new students. Jiang An, who never liked gossip, mentioned a junior labmate. Her family was wealthy, he said, but she wasn’t good at research. Apparently, their advisor was a relative of hers.

Something felt wrong. Jiang An already struggled enough with his own research. Why had he found the time to pay so much attention to someone else?

One day, I went to his university to see him. He was coming out of the lab with a young woman. They weren’t standing particularly close, but something about the atmosphere between them felt distinctly off.

As soon as he saw me, he moved away from her.

“And this is…?” I looked at her, waiting for an introduction.

“She’s a junior member of our research group.”

Oh. A junior labmate.

She came forward to shake my hand, friendly and sweet-voiced.

“Hi! I’ve heard you’re Professor Wang’s student at the university next door. That’s so impressive. Not like me. I’m a little slow.”

Her words were self-effacing, but she looked straight into my eyes. I knew that look all too well.

I smiled, too.

“Being slow is fine. It’s being slow and lazy that you have to worry about.”

Her expression changed at once. I didn’t care.

Jiang An stepped in to smooth things over.

“You can’t rush research. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

I looked up at him without saying a word.

Perhaps he realized he had handled that badly. For our anniversary, he said he had booked a restaurant and wanted to take me to dinner.

We usually ate in the university cafeteria. I was surprised, but I dressed carefully and went to wait for him.

I waited all afternoon. He finally answered his phone when the restaurant was closing.

He said he had been busy with an experiment and forgotten. I took a deep breath and tried to talk it through. All I got were indifferent replies.

As graduation approached in our third year, my parents wanted to meet him.

For once, he lost his temper with me. He was going on to a PhD, he said. He had no house, no car, no foothold in this city. What was the point of meeting my parents?

I was baffled. I had never asked him to buy a house or a car.

We parted on bad terms. When he called again, I thought he was going to apologize. Instead, he opened with an order: a junior labmate had a question for me.

That familiar, smiling voice came over the phone, calling me her senior. Then she asked about something we had learned in our first undergraduate year.

If research meant climbing ever higher peaks, her question was about the most basic stone beneath our feet. In mathematical terms, it was the equivalent of asking me what one plus one was.

I could hear her deliberate provocation and his deliberate indulgence. I was disappointed, and I didn’t bother being polite.

“If you can’t answer a question this simple, I’d suggest giving up the detour into research.”

On the day Jiang An took his master’s graduation photos, I went to his university to break up with him.

His junior labmate saw me arrive and chose that moment to sidle up to him. That was when they took their first photo together.

Our breakup wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t a grand spectacle, either. I was busy starting a business. I had more important things to do.

As for her, I barely gave her a thought. When someone’s heart strays, I blame the person who strays, not the person they stray toward. Without this junior labmate, there would have been another.

I dealt with the person who was the problem.

I hadn’t expected to find this post today. Reading her carefully edited, embellished account, I could only marvel at what a few slippery words could do.

I had become the villain whose only purpose was to make them look good.

Calmly, I left a comment.

“A lie is still a lie. Tell it often enough, and you start believing it yourself.”