Chapter 11 Library 3 Professor
You are unaware of the specific course schedules and staff arrangements at Deguo University. However, you have a strong feeling that the sudden appearance of a highly respected elderly woman who seems to know you and is aware of your academic progress is not a mere coincidence.
Here, you can't be too sensitive.
Whether she is a "lecturer," "teaching assistant," or "professor," just treat her as a "professor."
With the rule "professors will not be in the library" firmly in mind, you rack your brains trying to find a way to circumvent it.
The description of this rule is ambiguous, and it's clearly not an instant-kill rule. If a comparison must be made, it's closer to warning rules like those related to sausage color and beer.
So, where does the danger lie? Will this library undergo a bizarre transformation, like a supermarket?
A bead of sweat appeared on your forehead, and you scratched your neck anxiously, silently observing your surroundings.
Locals occasionally pass by, and the rustling of pages turning and the glint of pens on draft paper are all normal.
Could the source of the danger be this old lady?
The old lady was actually talking to you the whole time, but you couldn't understand a word she said. Coupled with your poor acting, your distraction was blatantly obvious.
But she was very patient and gentle, just smiling kindly, and only after you looked away did she speak again, at a slower pace, using simple words to continue trying to talk to you.
Based on her tone, you awkwardly laugh and offer a shake of your head in surprise and confusion at key points in her speech. Various expressions flash across your face, and several times, your rich body language almost makes you want to punch her in the face.
You've been so "rude" and have gone to great lengths to show that you're a foolish outsider, so I'd better stop bothering you. But the old lady just maintains the standard old-fashioned scholar demeanor that matches her appearance, and persistently tries to encourage you to overcome all obstacles to communicate with her and understand what she means.
"Dig for Vinebit." You were at your wit's end and had no choice but to ask her to wait a moment.
After putting the books you found in the small basket, you walk towards the front desk.
You can't handle this old lady, but maybe the staff at the front desk can.
If the old lady is a professor, then her presence here is irregular, and the receptionist can probably remove her. If she is not, then you can deactivate the security alert for her, take out your phone, and slowly resolve any communication issues with her to figure out what she really wants.
You have a good plan and are very proactive, but the old lady has followed you step by step.
Like an elder who doesn't understand why the child is acting this way but still tolerantly lets you go your way, they slowly follow you to the front desk from a distance.
Before you can speak, the lady at the front desk stands up and walks towards you with open arms.
—Then he walked around you and hugged the old lady behind you.
The two exchanged pleasantries for a long time, completely ignoring you. You breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed you could leave now.
Borrowing books has nothing to do with those weird rules; the process of borrowing and returning books is clearly posted on the other side of the wall.
Similar to the situation in China, you just need to take your student card and books and swipe them at the borrowing machine.
In this way, you've accomplished everything you needed to do at the library and avoided the old lady's harassment.
But you've only turned your body a maximum of 10 degrees, and the old lady's hand has already grabbed your arm.
The elderly man looked very thin, but his grip was incredibly strong. Through his winter clothes, you felt as if you were being clamped by iron pincers.
The old man simply ended the small talk and pulled you upstairs.
The lady at the front desk simply waved respectfully and watched her go.
Once she had completely led you away from the 0th floor, the receptionist returned to her seat, made a classic eyebrow raise, shoulder shrug, and sigh combo, muttering "Professor," and then gave a wink to her colleague who was leaning over with a water glass.
And you don't know these things yet.
You're just a little confused. So, what's the situation now?
The elderly woman's interaction with the receptionist was so natural, which probably indicates that the receptionist wasn't a "professor" and didn't require such precautions. But being forcibly pulled aside like that would definitely make you feel uncomfortable.
She dragged you to the computer room, skillfully turned on the main control panel, spoke to you softly, but without allowing you to question her, she pressed you in front of the computer, turned it on, plugged in a USB drive, and opened some software you had never seen before.
ah?
You take out your phone, wanting to start a conversation with her through a translator. You even rack your brains to come up with a long sentence: "Las oh sidas ben nucen."
Let's use this.
Facing your longing eyes, she abruptly tossed your phone aside, curling her lip and frowning in disgust. She held up a finger and shook it: "Hey—ah."
Just like every elderly person who can't stand seeing young people using mobile phones, you should even put your phone further away.
You desperately reach out your palm to your phone.
“Darth. Mahen.” She straightened your head, one hand almost wrapped around your shoulder, supporting you on the back of the chair, while the other hand tapped the screen, urging you to start doing this.
As if thinking you couldn't even understand this, she gestured and slowly repeated it.
This isn't a language issue. Understanding what she means isn't difficult; you can figure it out just by looking at this series of actions. But how do you know how to do these things?
This kind of software, which opens up to a graphing application with all sorts of different data flying around, is something you've never encountered in your actual profession.
You don't even know where to put the mouse.
Seeing how slow and hesitant you were, the old man wasn't annoyed; he just moved closer and closer to you.
From the edge of the computer screen, you can see an elegant and composed smile that seems to be welded onto her face. However, her eyes are narrowing and curving more and more, combined with her upturned and spreading lips, she is now practically wearing a smiling emoji.
Sit up straight immediately. Whatever you're doing, just randomly click a few buttons and pretend you're very busy.
The old lady seemed satisfied, patted your shoulder, sat down next to you in a chair, turned on her computer, and started working.
It seems that maintaining a certain distance is truly ingrained in the genes of Chinese people. Thinking about those customers in supermarkets who keep an arm's length distance no matter how many people are in front of them, it suddenly seems a little funny.
Clear your throat, and you return to the scene before you. No one is watching you from behind, and although you still don't know where to start, you can at least follow the old lady's rhythm and make similar clicking sounds on a keyboard or mouse to fool her for a while.
You glance at her out of the corner of your eye and see that she has put on her reading glasses and is seriously dealing with something that looks the same as what's on your computer.
Trying to reach for your phone again, you feel like you're back in high school, sneaking a peek at your phone during evening self-study while constantly on guard against your teacher peeking out from the back door.
After you got the phone, the old lady just glanced at you and pointed at you. Only after you let go of the phone did she nod with satisfaction and approval before continuing with her business.
You shook your head, somewhat amused.
I felt a little uneasy.
Your female roommate is one, and this old lady is another. They are the only two locals you have a lot of opportunities to interact with, but they both show great "humanity".
It's not a good thing that your fear of the locals has become blurred, but it's hard to deny that you've experienced immense loneliness in just a few days. You need interaction, you need to be treated like a "normal person" while also being able to treat those around you normally.
You need a sense of belonging, whether the other person is a mysterious local or an outsider like Sister Y who makes you feel uneasy. You have never felt as eager as you do in real life to have a place in a community, even if it's just to be lost in the crowd.
Thinking about this, you suddenly feel wronged.
That damn class seems pretty good, at least you have a decent salary to support yourself and your family. And your parents are very willing to help you, it's just that you don't want to be a burden on them, which is why you're so considerate and voluntarily give up many opportunities.
Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. And your hand, which had been mimicking the old lady by gripping the mouse, was now moving faster, each click receiving positive feedback from the charting program.
How long you were lost in thought is how long you operated the computer like that.
Once you come to your senses, you'll be able to use the software with ease.
What's so difficult about this software? It's just data analysis of chemical purity. First, remove the noise, then let it analyze the data itself. Finally, you can overlay multiple data points to generate the final chart and wait for printing.
This kind of mechanically repetitive work is much easier than the real-world struggle of building connections and achieving performance targets.
If I had known this would happen, I should have studied science and engineering back then, so I wouldn't have to spend every day mingling with different people and trying to outsmart them like before.
You really enjoy this job.
You enjoy working with data.
Maybe the salary will be quite good.
I've heard that the welfare benefits in this country are very good—although that's a reality, isn't this place just a replica of reality?
Perhaps there's a flower kingdom here, and your family and friends are all there?
I wish I could stay.
You could actually keep it.
Stay.
…
"Buzz—buzz—!"
Your phone, which you had flipped face down on the table, suddenly vibrated, startling you and jolting you out of your dazed state.
What were you doing just now?
When does the computer screen go black?
Is that me in front of the computer?
You look down and see that you are wearing a white lab coat. Even though you don't need glasses, there are eyes that seem to have appeared out of nowhere, pressing heavily on the bridge of your nose.
What the hell is this?!
You hurriedly take off your glasses, but when you turn your head, you see the previously kind old lady turning her head 90 degrees and staring at you with a sinister look.
Her eyes looked at her as if she were looking at the filthiest, most stinking thing.
Damn it, I've been infected.
You wish you could slap yourself, but it's no use now.
What should we do? What should we do!
A note from the author:
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I just woke up with a fever and forgot to set a timer for posting. Luckily, it wasn't midnight in China. Sorry, I really don't have the energy to revise or fix this chapter. I'll try to find the typos tomorrow when I feel better.
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