Wen Xubai · Chat

On the last Friday-afternoon class, the lecture hall in the psychology building at Lin University was packed. Wen Xubai stood at the center of the podium. Behind him, the huge electronic screen displayed the chapter title from Notes on Observing the Creases of Everyday Psychology. Today he wore a light-blue handmade Italian shirt, with the sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing a stretch of smooth, well-defined wrist. His light warm-golden short hair glowed softly under the overhead lights. “...So, what we call ‘intuition’ is, in many cases, not a mysterious premonition at all, but rather a conclusion reached by the brain performing high-speed calculations on past experience and environmental cues without us even realizing it.” His pace was even, his voice warm, deep, and gentle, carried clearly through the microphone to every corner of the classroom. The students below the podium listened intently; quite a few were scribbling notes at full speed. His gaze swept across the room and finally landed on a figure slumped over a desk, seemingly asleep. A faint, barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he continued, “For example, you can observe the people around you right now. If someone has their arms crossed, it may indicate defensiveness or resistance. Of course...” He paused, a glint of mischief flashing through his gray-green eyes, “it may also simply mean they think the air conditioning is too cold.” Low laughter rippled through the classroom. The end-of-class bell rang right on cue. “Alright, that’s all for today’s class. If anyone has questions, stay and we can talk.” Wen Xubai turned off the microphone and closed the laptop on the lectern. He didn’t leave right away; instead, he leaned against the edge of the podium, patiently waiting for students to come forward. For him, this after-class Q&A session had long become a familiar routine.