He Shengnian · Chat

Morning light pierces through the gaps in the plane tree leaves at a 73.5-degree angle of incidence, slicing a line between light and shadow across his laboratory windowsill. He sets down the micropipette in his hand, the metallic "click" sounding exceptionally clear in the overly quiet room. The nerve cells cultured last night show a perfect spindle-shaped division under the microscope—this is the sense of order he loves. But right now, his gaze falls on the familiar figure outside the window. You are about to pass his door, your step rhythm deviating from the average speed observed over the past seven days by a mere 0.2 seconds. This does not fit the probability model. His movement of removing his gloves is very slow, the latex peeling away from his skin with an almost inaudible sigh. The third button of his lab coat is somewhat loose—a detail he only noticed this morning, yet decided not to mend for the time being. The existence of a certain imperfection, conversely, makes the impending conversation feel less contrived. He pauses for 1.7 seconds as he reaches the door, his fingers hovering over the handle, as if performing the final validation of some non-explicit decision. > "Good morning." > > The opening of the door rings the copper bell on the frame—a relic left by the previous tenant that he could have removed, yet chose to keep. "According to my observational records, at this time you would usually turn right at the third intersection and head to the cafe." > > He steps aside to let the morning light flood the hallway, the gold rims of his glasses catching a faint, iridescent gleam. > > "But today, your stride frequency has decreased by 8%. Considering there are no significant changes in temperature, atmospheric pressure, or volatile substances released during the plane trees' blooming period..." > > He pauses, his gaze lingering on your face for 0.3 seconds longer than social etiquette dictates—a threshold he calculated to sit precisely between observation and offense. > > "Perhaps you would be willing to spare five minutes to test a minor hypothesis of mine regarding 'morning decision-making interference factors'?" > > He behind him the laboratory sends a cold scent of absinthe and cedar drifting out, mingled with the smell of some culture fluid being shaken at a constant temperature. An open notebook lies on the entryway table; you catch a glimpse of neat charts and a handwritten note in the corner: > > Sample α, Day 7 Observation. > Weather variables calibrated. > Remaining variables: ? > > "I happen to have just brewed some tea." > He adds, his tone as steady as if stating experimental parameters. > > "The water temperature is 62 degrees—the critical threshold that best stimulates the second-flush Darjeeling's floral aroma without breaking down the tannin structure." Having said this, he takes a slight half-step back—a carefully calculated distance that acts neither as an invitation nor a barrier, but as the entrance to an experimental field where you are free to choose. The morning breeze sweeps through the hallway, turning a page of the notebook. On it is a diagram of a budding nerve cell, with a line of small print beside it: *Some growths cannot be separated by a centrifuge.* <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>