Close Enough To Pluck the Stars” (GL) - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Only the floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a pale yellow halo over Shu Qingchen’s face. Liang Ke tilted her head and watched her; she was beautiful, certainly, but somehow she looked positively sinister right now.

“What’s wrong?” Liang Ke asked, feeling bewildered.

Shu Qingchen said, “The past does not represent the present. People change, after all. You had better reflect on the issues honestly.”

“Huh?”

“Sit down.”

Shu Qingchen typed on her laptop, found a specific page, placed it on the coffee table, and turned the screen toward Liang Ke.

“What is this for?” Liang Ke rubbed her hair impatiently. “It’s almost New Year’s! Forced overtime is inhumane; assistant researchers have human rights too, you know.”

Shu Qingchen headed for the kitchen without looking back, as if she didn’t want to stay a second longer. She let out a cold laugh as she walked: “What, dare to do it but don’t dare to face it?”

“I—what did I do?” Liang Ke squeezed her throw pillow in annoyance and leaned in, squinting at the screen.

It was an inquiry questionnaire, packed with over thirty questions. Liang Ke barely managed to finish the first three before picking up the laptop and jogging into the kitchen. “What is this? Does everyone have to fill this out, or is it just targeting me?”

“It targets the wrongdoer.”

Shu Qingchen poured herself a glass of water, trying to suppress her temper, keeping her back turned to Liang Ke.

The latter was not about to let it go. She insisted on spinning around to face Shu Qingchen, her little tiger teeth glistening as she refused to back down: “Who are you calling a wrongdoer?”

“Whoever did bad things is the one I’m talking about.”

“You… a dignified, world-renowned scholar, how can you be so politically naive?” Liang Ke preemptively accused her, counter-questioning: “Do you guys even have any evidence?”

“Even if we did, I wouldn’t tell you. Just fill out the form honestly. Tomorrow, follow me to the Research Institute for a face-to-face inquiry with the department leadership.” Shu Qingchen walked to the door, gesturing with her eyes for Liang Ke to move out of the way.

“I don’t have a leader. Old Hu is on vacation.”

“Professor Hu will be attending as well.”

“No humanity… dragging an old man out in the dead of winter.”

“You only have yourself to blame for that.”

Seeing that Shu Qingchen was clearly not joking, Liang Ke didn’t dare push her luck further and obediently stepped aside. Shu Qingchen brushed past her quickly, went back to her room, and shut the door.

Liang Ke craned her neck to watch for a moment, then suddenly straightened up, fuming and tempted to smash the laptop. On second thought, this was Shu Qingchen’s laptop—the files, papers, experimental data, and even classified documents inside were worth more than she could ever repay. If she broke the hard drive, she’d be in serious trouble.

She patted her chest to calm herself down, placed the laptop gently back on the coffee table, and returned to answering the questions. This time she noticed something serious: the page had a countdown timer. Each question had a fixed time limit; once expired, the option would lock, and the cursor would move down automatically.

“Ahhh! I already missed two questions! How devious!” Liang Ke wailed, concentrating with all her might.

Since childhood, she had been a pro at test-taking, finding the process of choosing ABCD familiar and even slightly addictive. However, as she read the questions and options, she couldn’t help but get angry.

The first few questions were roughly a personality test, but the later ones got specific about misconduct: whether she had threatened or insulted researchers of a lower rank, forced them to assist in labor, or deprived them of authorship or research results.

It was exactly like interrogating a criminal.

Indignantly, Liang Ke answered “No” to everything, letting out a “tch” of disdain after every click.

By the final question—Do you guarantee the above answers are true and valid?—she followed her momentum and accidentally clicked “No.” After finishing, she closed the laptop with a flourish, only to realize what she’d done a second later. She tried to reopen it, but found that Shu Qingchen had set a lock screen; she needed a password to get back in.

Infuriated, Liang Ke squeezed her own face with both fists, eyes wide and mouth pouting. Just then, Shu Qingchen stepped out of her room. Both of them froze the moment the door opened.

Liang Ke stared awkwardly at the big boss for a moment before lowering her fists and trotting over to present the laptop. Shu Qingchen glanced down, tapped in the password to unlock it, and Liang Ke exaggeratedly craned her neck to try and see. Shu Qingchen finally couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to give Liang Ke’s messy head a light tap.

“I’m being framed,” Liang Ke said through gritted teeth.

“I hope so,” Shu Qingchen replied, her expression returning to its usual calm.

“Then you have to stand up for justice for me tomorrow.”

“Justice lies in the heart of the people. You’d better have a clear conscience.”

“Of course I do! We have to find out who’s throwing mud at a fine young person like me.” Sensing the atmosphere had softened, Liang Ke spoke in a playfully wheedling tone: “If I become a victim of a grave injustice, who’s going to take care of you in the future?”

The phrasing was too ambiguous. After she said it, the atmosphere shifted subtly, becoming even stiffer than before.

Liang Ke hurriedly added, “I mean… just ask around the Institute, who has the best domestic skills? It’s me, Liang Ke, shining bright!”

Shu Qingchen gave her a look but didn’t say anything more.

Forget it. Better to have said nothing at all. I should book a flight back to Mars tonight.

Liang Ke slunk back to the sofa to fix the last question, then started fantasizing about selling all the important data and papers on Shu Qingchen’s laptop to competitors, getting rich, fleeing, and drinking juice under a parasol on some small island, and then… then Shu Qingchen would descend from a combat helicopter with a submachine gun, pulling the trigger with precision—but the barrel wouldn’t fire bullets; it would fire colorful fireworks that formed the shape of a kitten in mid-air, while the seawater bubbled with heart-shaped bubbles.

Liang Ke giggled at the floor lamp. Thinking back to how she had gripped the boss’s hand in her moment of desperation earlier—it didn’t feel like anything special. She was just flesh and blood like anyone else, though her hand was fairer and more delicate than most, and very cold.

She doesn’t even know to buy a hand warmer; I’ll have to be the one to do it.

She complained inwardly, unable to resist reaching out to touch the smooth, cold surface of the laptop, which seemed to carry a faint, lingering fragrance.

Liang Ke was suddenly curious. She thought about it—surely a quick sniff wouldn’t hurt? Then she thought it seemed a bit creepy. Finally, she thought, Who cares? She peeked stealthily at Shu Qingchen’s door to make sure she wouldn’t suddenly reappear, and saw that the lights in the master bedroom were already out. Checking the time, it was nearly midnight. Drowsiness washed over her, and she gradually lost consciousness.

When she woke up, the daylight was already bright. The master bedroom door was open, and there was no one else in the house. The laptop had been pulled from her hands by Shu Qingchen and replaced with a throw pillow. Because of her restless sleeping habits, a corner of the down duvet had trailed onto the rug.

“Wait a minute… we agreed I’d go to that inquiry today.” Wrapped in the duvet Shu Qingchen had covered her with in the middle of the night, Liang Ke muttered to herself. No wonder she had dreamed of accompanying Tang Sanzang and his disciples across the Flaming Mountains; Shu Qingchen had picked out the thickest, warmest duvet in the entire house for her.

“Can we check the temperature in here? Is this care, or are you trying to heat-stroke me?” Liang Ke was happy, but her mouth continued to grumble as she got up dizzily to pour some water. Next, she tried to call. The questionnaire had listed three ways to get in touch: a mobile number, a landline, and an email.

Of the two numbers, one was busy and the other went unanswered. In desperation, Liang Ke sent an email, then called her old friend to vent.

Zhao Pu picked up and started laughing immediately. Liang Ke asked, “What are you so happy about?”

“Good news doesn’t leave the house, but bad news travels a thousand miles,” Zhao Pu said excitedly. “According to the procedure, you should be ‘brought in for questioning’ today.”

“What questioning? It’s just a ‘fact-finding session’ at most.” Liang Ke reminded him to watch his wording, then asked, “I can’t reach the people in charge of this. What do I do?”

“Well, they might all be on holiday,” Zhao Pu said awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it; just treat it as an early vacation.”

Liang Ke thought that sounded okay, but looking at her schedule made her sad again: “The two reports Dr. Shu wanted haven’t been finished yet. Even though she doesn’t entirely believe in my innocence, she hasn’t given me time off.”

Zhao Pu remarked mockingly, “Don’t complain about being squeezed by a boss of that level; people would kill for that opportunity. Oh, my mom’s calling me to wash the dog, I have to go.”

“Hey! Hey! Didn’t you send your dog back to your hometown last week? Hey! Stop faking it! Shift!” Liang Ke barked into the phone, but a gentle middle-aged woman’s voice came from the other end. It was Zhao Pu’s mother. She took the phone from her son and said happily, “Is that Liang Ke? Zhao Pu’s grandparents came in from the countryside, and Dahuang is here too. Come over and play when you’re on holiday; I’ll cook something delicious for you all.”

Liang Ke swallowed all her curses, acting civil and well-behaved. She finally managed to hang up, only for the doorbell to start ringing incessantly.