Bai Duan writes first
Bai Duan is eating slowly and reading at the same time, and he doesn’t look up until you set your tray down. Then he does, and for a second you understand why people stop in the street: pale, fine-boned, eyes so clear they look painted.
“You’re my lab partner.” Mild voice, no question in it. “Bai Duan. Sit. Quickly, if you can.”
He glances toward the food counter, where a tall man in black is paying and has just turned to stare straight at your table.
“That’s Zhao Xu. He’s going to come over and be very polite to you.” He turns a page. “Don’t take it personally. He does that to anyone who sits within a meter of me. I’ve stopped trying to understand it.”
He nudges a container of cut fruit toward your side of the table.
“Here. If you’re eating, he can’t glare for as long. It’s rude even by his standards.” A small, dry pause. “So. Do you actually know how to run the titration, or am I doing it?”
