Chapter 17
For the next two weeks, Meng Zixian and two partners of Jidian Capital traveled back and forth between the American West and Washington, D.C. During this time, he returned to Pennsylvania to meet Jack and Bessie McCormick, his adoptive parents.
Meng Zixian stayed at home for one night. When he left, Bessie walked him to the car. In her hand, she was holding a necklace as thick as spider silk, and the pendant was a thumb-long cross. She looked at his empty neck and asked, "Where is your necklace?" Meng Zixian said he lost it. A trace of sadness flashed across Bessie's gray-green eyes, "God bless you." She wanted to give him the cross inlaid with tiny white diamonds in her hand. Meng Zixian said no. These words seemed to draw an invisible boundary between the two of them. Bessie took a step back and looked at him in surprise. When he stepped into the car, she said again, "God bless you, son."
After returning to New York, Meng Zixuan packed up his apartment and air-shipped four boxes to Chen Huan. He texted her the order number. Chen Huan quickly replied, "Thank you," with a clasped-hands expression. He knew Chen Huan wasn't angry anymore, or else she would have been fussy about the shipping cost, and she would have paid him back. If he didn't reply, she would have checked the postage online and transferred the money to him down to the last cent.
But Shen Huan didn't, the message page stopped here.
Two days later, Sylvia sent him a message saying that she had just arrived in Brooklyn and got the key to his house. Sylvia had graduated with a Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins University three years ago and was hired as an assistant professor at a public university in Maryland.
She had a clear career plan and had told Meng Zixian two months earlier that she planned to move to New York to teach. There was an associate professor position in the psychology department there, and her future in Maryland was bleak. Her definition of "bleak future" was broad, and clearly, not being able to get promoted to associate professor at the age of 31 also included it.
Sylvia said her schedule was tight and she hadn't found a place to live in New York yet. They agreed that she would stay at his apartment temporarily and pay him rent every month. Meng Zixian offered to help her move, and she said she could handle it, so he left the key at the front desk.
On Friday evening, Meng Zixuan went to the Green Pigeon Tavern near N University to pick her up. Sylvia had just finished her seminar and was chatting with a few graduate students in the bar. She sat in the corner, facing the door. She caught a glimpse of him coming in from the corner of her eye, and a polite smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, and her attention returned to the graduate students. When she spoke, the students looked at her intently, and her words always caused everyone at the table to nod frequently. There was an orange light above Sylvia's head, like a bright spotlight on the stage shining on her face.
Meng Zixian met Sylvia in college, when she was studying at Yale. Her mixed Caucasian and East Asian ancestry gave her facial features a distinct yet soft quality. She had brown eyes, soft double eyelids, and a nose with the slender, East Asian slenderness of a woman.
For many years, they were merely acquaintances, though their work circles overlapped somewhat. She wasn't an actress or celebrity, but there are such dazzling individuals in every field. She was a major contender in debate competitions in college, published a book during her doctoral studies, traveled extensively for book signings, opened her own clinic, was invited by prosecutors to testify in court as an expert witness on criminal psychology, and provided free medical treatment for veterans. She wasn't known for her flamboyant nature, and it's hard to say whether she participated in these events for fame or profit, but her status outside of academia brought her tangible benefits in securing research funding.
Sylvia waved Meng Zixian over to the table in the corner, extended her right hand to rest on his left arm, and smiled as she introduced him to the graduate student as her good friend. Clearly, no one would truly consider Meng Zixian her friend. There was nothing intimate between the two of them, but Professor Sylvia Booker wouldn't let a friend pick her up at the bar on Friday night, nor would she lean over to a friend and kiss him affectionately on the corner of his mouth. The graduate student with black curly hair and gold-rimmed glasses stood up, giving up the seat on the leather sofa to Sylvia's left, and pulled a wooden stool to the side.
Meng Zixian sat down. A girl with chestnut hair in a ponytail asked him what he wanted to drink. They said the gin special with basil and blackcurrant was excellent. Meng Zixian replied that it was fine. They continued their previous conversation, discussing the theology and psychology of Greek mythology. Meng Zixian thought it was a good topic—admittedly meaningless and a waste of taxpayers' money—but he didn't have to participate in it, which made him feel comfortable.
But Sylvia seemed to be afraid that he would be left alone, so she came up to him and asked when he was going to Eastern Europe and whether it was related to the Ministry of Defense's deployment.
Obviously, there was no connection. She had asked two weeks ago, and Meng Zixuan had denied it. She asked again today in front of everyone. He didn't know what she was thinking, but it made him raise his eyebrows slightly.
For the ivory tower graduate students with thick glasses, this was probably a more lively discussion. The conversation quickly focused on Meng Zixian. Someone asked if it was true that West Point had a ninety-degree angle rule.
Ponytail seemed to be the only person at the table who hadn't heard of this. She asked if it was a school rule there. A bearded man said there was an unwritten rule that if there were only one man and one woman in a room, the door must be kept open at a 90-degree angle. This was an iron rule for freshmen. While romance wasn't explicitly forbidden, West Point believed that recruits should focus their precious time on academics and military training.
"That sounds like fascism," Ponytail said in surprise. Someone corrected her that this was a misuse of the word "fascism."
The man with the rimmed glasses smiled and proudly pointed out that the ninety-degree angle rule must be hearsay, because Professor Booker had just said that she had been interested in Miles since college. Did she break the rule? This made everyone at the table laugh knowingly.
Meng Zixian didn't smile. If he had been willing to tolerate others prying into his life in exchange for a little comfort to his vanity, he would have become a monkey in a circus long ago.
Sylvia sensed his displeasure and stood up, saying she had plans tonight and would see them next week. This interrupted the leisurely sipping and banter of the art students. The students, slumped on wooden chairs or leather sofas, holding their beers, sat up straight and said goodbye. Meng Zixian put his coat on Sylvia, and the two of them left the Green Pigeon Bar.
The restaurant was booked by Sylvia. There were waiters in black suits, thick tablecloths bleached white, and a rose in a glass vase in the middle of the table, with a candle burning beside it.
The waiter came up with water and a menu. Meng Zixuan coughed twice, and Sylvia said, "I didn't even have time to ask you, have you seen a doctor?"
Meng Zixuan replied that he had been there, then lowered his head to look at the menu.
In the first two days after Li Tinglai was pulled back from the sea, Meng Zixian trained as usual. Later, his cough worsened and he had a low-grade fever. The doctor prescribed medicine and asked him to suspend training.
Sylvia asked for details, Meng Zixuan put down the menu, took a sip of water, and briefly told her.
"Did you stop then?" Sylvia asked.
"What?"
"Training," she repeated. "The doctor told you to stop training. Did you stop?"
Meng Zixuan said "hmm" casually. He felt that this was his own business and had nothing to do with her, not to mention that she was just asking out of politeness.
In the candlelight, Sylvia glanced at him again, her sharp eyes scrutinizing him. But she quickly changed the subject: "How did your friend become? Was he discharged from the hospital?"
"What friend?" Meng Zixian asked. He was a little distracted tonight. After two weeks, he gradually realized that he couldn't handle the work of both Jidian and Xuantao at the same time. The time difference between Hanmei and Hanmei meant that he received urgent emails twenty hours a day. The due diligence for the Pan-Atlantic Savings Bank had begun, which meant that he would soon have to take into account the time zone of Eastern Europe.
Of course, these tasks are not the most important. He would rather spend more time on rehabilitation training, otherwise this body that is out of breath after running two miles will soon drive him crazy.
But none of this concerned Sylvia. Meng Zixian took another sip of water. His glass was empty. The waiter came over to refill it and asked if they had anything in mind. Sylvia ordered a Caesar salad and a chicken breast sandwich. Meng Zixian came to his senses and said that the same as hers would be fine. This brought a smile to her face. She seemed quite happy to make some suggestions for him.
The waiter asked what kind of drinks he wanted. This time, Meng Zixian spoke first and said no. Sylvia looked a little disappointed, but she soon smiled again. She said, "You're still taking medication for bronchial spasms, so it's better not to touch alcohol." Meng Zixian didn't deny it.
Before the waiter left, Meng Zixian added three more eggs, hard-boiled, fully cooked. Sylvia leaned forward slightly at the table, and with a sly smile, she commented: "You really love eggs." Meng Zixian didn't laugh and continued the previous topic: "You asked me before, what friends?"
She said the friend you rescued in the sea.
"Oh." He understood. It was Li Ting. "Looks like he's still in the hospital."
"It sounds serious." She frowned. "Is it because of the cerebral thrombosis?"
Meng Zixuan replied that it might be because of intracranial hydrops after the operation. Anyway, half a month had passed and he had not been able to talk to Li Ting on the phone.
Sylvia nodded solemnly, thought for a moment, and then said, "This must have been a difficult time for your ex-wife." This made Meng Zixuan narrow his eyes slightly. He didn't like people calling Chen Huan "ex-wife." But he didn't understand why, so he wouldn't indulge his emotions.
"Probably." Meng Zixuan's tone was flat.
Sylvia seemed to notice the change in atmosphere and quickly changed the subject.
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