Chapter Text
It’s nearly lunchtime in the university’s physics department, and there are plenty of people around, staff and students walking purposefully with armfuls of papers or books, or standing around chatting. Even with the lunchbox dangling from his hand, Zhao Yunlan navigates the halls easily, people automatically pulling aside to let him through, but he keeps checking to make sure Xiao Chang isn’t blocked off or bumping into anyone.
He needn’t worry. She slips through gaps with the ease of long practice and runs a few steps to catch up. “I miss your stupid goggles.”
“They still smell of soup, thanks to you.” All of Wang Zheng’s diligent cleaning hasn’t been able to completely eradicate the smell, and anyway, in the last week, Lin Jing ran some tests on Xiao Chang and narrowed the requirements to produce two pairs of ordinary-looking glasses, much more stylish and discreet, that let the girl be seen. One pair is the property of the SID; the other is Xiao Chang’s, to be lent out as she sees fit. Zhao Yunlan adjusts the SID pair now. “Don’t you think these suit me better? I think I look distinguished.”
The girl makes a face and neatly sidesteps an elderly man with a walking cane and four thick textbooks under his arm, while Zhao Yunlan nearly collides with him and has to apologise and agree for the sake of simplicity that, yes, he was just talking to himself.
They turn into a quieter corridor, and Zhao Yunlan switches the lunchbox to his other hand and takes the opportunity to check in. “Is Auntie Bo treating you right? Does she give you meal breaks?”
“At 9.30 and 12.30, depending on how busy we are,” says Xiao Chang. “She lets me order off the menu.”
“Good. You let me know if you have any problems, okay?” Zhao Yunlan likes Auntie Bo, and he trusts her to an extent, but he wants to be sure. “What are you going to do with your first pay cheque?”
“Lao Zhao, I already know you told Guo-ge to talk to me!”
“So?”
She rolls her eyes. “So tomorrow he’s taking me to buy a new clay pot for Lingyao’s mother and coming with me to deliver it, all right?”
There are real nerves behind her attitude, so Zhao Yunlan just nods. “However it goes, Xiao Guo will take good care of you. He has a way with words.”
It had been Guo Changcheng’s idea to mend some bridges and try to soften Ma Lihui’s attitudes at the same time, and though PR has never been part of the SID’s brief before, Zhao Yunlan figured it couldn’t hurt. Maybe one day Zuo Lingyao will be able to tell her mother the truth and have her listen.
“We’re here,” Zhao Yunlan adds, and knocks on the slightly ajar office door in front of them. “Professor Wu?”
“Oh, you’re here? Sorry, I’m eating my lunch—I have a class after this.” The professor half-rises from her chair, until Zhao Yunlan waves her back down, and then she looks to either side of him, squinting. “Is she here?”
Zhao Yunlan raises his eyebrows at Xiao Chang. He’s not going to force visibility upon her, but she agreed to come, and she has that second pair of the glasses. Doesn’t she want to be seen?
But she just says, “I’m here.”
Professor Wu orients towards her voice and smiles. “Wonderful. Chang Yue, is that right? Would you like a duck roll while we talk? My husband over-catered again, and I can’t possibly eat them all.” She places a spare pair of chopsticks on the visitor side of her desk and looks at Zhao Yunlan. “Was there anything else, Chief Zhao?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He has a delivery to make. But he takes his time leaving the office, hears Professor Wu ask, kindly, “Chang Yue, have you given any thought to what subjects you might be interested in studying?”
Zhao Yunlan doesn’t hear Xiao Chang’s answer, but he already knows what she’ll say: art.
He heads back down the corridor, taking off the glasses as he goes, and checking his phone. It’s eight minutes to twelve, and he wants to have these dumplings waiting for Shen Wei when he gets back to his office after his eleven o’clock graduate tutorial. Zhao Yunlan used real parchment this time, and he’s already anticipating Shen Wei’s warm welcome—and the pleasure of watching him bite into them.
Whistling under his breath and holding the lunchbox steady at his side, he lengthens his stride.
END