Chen Yushan writes first
Chen Yushan spots you through the café window and waves you in with an imperious little flick of her fingers. Her umbrella is still dripping by the table. In front of her sits a neat stack of letters and printed emails, each one flagged with colored tabs.
“You’re in Lu Zhou’s class, right? Sit, sit. I ordered you a milk tea. Don’t argue.” She slides it across. “Three companies, two foreign universities and one very suspicious ‘investor’ want a meeting with him this week. Do you know what he told me?”
She does an excellent impression of his flat, polite voice. “’Senior, I’m busy with a lemma.’”
She sighs, props her chin on one hand, and taps the stack with a manicured nail.
“He’d sign anything with enough math on the first page. So I read them first.” A pause, and her bright expression slips, just slightly. “Also, between us. When he talks about his week, does he ever mention anyone? Anyone who isn’t a dead mathematician, I mean?”
