At eleven o'clock at night, the lights in the materials science lab were still on.
Gu Xiuyuan took off his glasses and rubbed his aching eyes. Data scrolled across the screen; the final set of graphs had just finished processing. Habitually, he raised a hand to push up the bridge of his glasses, his fingers touching only bare skin before he realized they were already off. This gesture was merely years of muscle memory.
"It's done."
His voice was soft, as if afraid to disturb something. On the screen, a perfect crystal structure diagram rotated slowly – quantum dot material, particle size distribution error less than 0.1 nanometers, purity 99.99%. This was the result he had traded countless sleepless nights for, the achievement of five years' work.
Gu Xiuyuan leaned back in his chair, staring at the diagram, a slow smile spreading across his face. Five years. From the start of his doctorate to now, from theoretical derivation to experimental verification, every step had felt like walking a tightrope over a cliff. Countless failed experiments, countless anomalous data points, he had gritted his teeth and persevered through them all. Now, this tightrope had finally reached its end.
He reached his hand towards his left wrist – where a watch, a gift from his father upon his undergraduate graduation, once sat. He had stopped wearing it later, fearing lab chemicals would corrode it. But the gesture remained, an unconscious habit whenever he was nervous or relaxed. He remembered his father's words when he gave him the watch: "For someone in research, time is the most important thing. You must know clearly when to start and when to end." Now, it seemed, his time had been stolen from him.
Outside the window lay the early winter campus, streetlights dim and yellow. Occasionally, a student returning late hurried past. The lab's heating was on full blast, but Gu Xiuyuan still felt a chill – perhaps it was just exhaustion. He stood up, poured himself a glass of water, his gaze never leaving the diagram. Five years, over eighteen hundred days and nights, finally culminating in a result.
His phone suddenly vibrated.
The name flashing on the screen made him pause – Zhang Jianguo, his doctoral supervisor, the man he had trusted most these past five years.
"Xiao Lin, come to my office for a moment." The voice on the other end was as gentle as always. "There are a few things about your paper I need to discuss with you."
"Okay, I'll be right there."
Gu Xiuyuan put on his jacket and took one last look at the structure on the screen. He didn't know that this would be the last time he'd see the fruit of his five years of labor.
---
Zhang Jianguo's office was on the top floor of the administration building. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the brightly lit campus at night. The early winter wind howled outside, a thin layer of condensation forming on the glass. When Gu Xiuyuan knocked and entered, his supervisor was standing by the window, teacup in hand, his back appearing relaxed.
"Teacher."
"Ah, Xiao Lin is here." Zhang Jianguo turned around, smiling, and gestured towards the sofa. "Sit."
Gu Xiuyuan sat down, waiting for his supervisor to speak. He knew the weight of that paper – a *Nature* subsidiary journal level, potentially even the main journal. If all went well, his doctorate and future faculty position would be secured.
Zhang Jianguo took a sip of tea, slowly placing the cup down.
"Xiao Lin, there's something I'd like to discuss with you." His tone remained gentle. "I've looked at the data for your paper. It's very impressive."
Gu Xiuyuan nodded, a faint sense of unease stirring within him. His supervisor's tone was too calm, not like someone about to offer congratulations.
"However," Zhang Jianguo continued, looking at him, his smile unwavering, "some aspects of your research direction align very closely with the ideas for a project I conceived five years ago. So, I was thinking, perhaps the first author on this paper should be me. After all, I set this direction, and I provided the core ideas."
Gu Xiuyuan was stunned.
"Teacher, what are you saying?"
"What I mean is," Zhang Jianguo said slowly, "you completed this project under my guidance, and its core ideas originated from my earlier concepts. Listing me as first author, with you as second author, would be beneficial for everyone."
Gu Xiuyuan felt something explode in his head.
"But... I did all the experiments myself! The data analysis, structural elucidation, writing the paper – I did every single part of it!" His voice rose involuntarily. "You only provided the initial direction during the proposal phase. In all the years since, you've rarely even visited the lab..."
"Xiao Lin," Zhang Jianguo interrupted, his smile fading slightly. "Who applied for the equipment you used in the lab? Who secured the funding? Who established the framework for this project? Without me, you couldn't have done any experiments at all."
Gu Xiuyuan opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Besides," Zhang Jianguo stood up, walked to his desk, and pulled out a stack of papers from a drawer. "Take a look at this."
It was several pages of handwritten notes, dated five years prior. They indeed contained some rough ideas about quantum dot material research. The handwriting was scrawled, the concepts crude, but the general direction did align with Gu Xiuyuan's project.
"These are the drafts of my ideas from back then." Zhang Jianguo placed the notes in front of Gu Xiuyuan. "If you disagree, I can submit these materials to the Academic Committee. Then, it won't just be a matter of first authorship, but of... academic misconduct."
The last four words struck Gu Xiuyuan's heart like four hammers.
"I didn't plagiarize!" He stood up abruptly. "These ideas of yours are nothing like my research! Your draft is just a few rough directions, without any specific synthesis pathways. How could that constitute plagiarism?!"
"Is that so?" Zhang Jianguo sat back down, picked up his teacup, his tone returning to its gentle cadence. "Well, we can let the committee decide. But Xiao Lin, think carefully. In this field, when a student fights their supervisor, the student always loses."
Gu Xiuyuan stood there, trembling all over.
He remembered the nights spent in the lab until dawn for the sake of experiments. He remembered the weekends spent repeatedly verifying a single data point. He remembered the five years of giving up all holidays, all social life, all semblance of a normal existence. Countless late nights, he was alone in the lab, watching over instruments, eating dry bread when hungry, napping on the desk when tired. He had poured all his heart and soul into this project, nurturing it like his own child.
And all of this, in this man's eyes, was merely a "result" that could be taken at will.
"I'll give you three days to think it over." Zhang Jianguo put down his cup, looking out the window. "Three days from now, if you agree, the paper will be submitted as usual, you'll graduate smoothly, and I'll write you an excellent recommendation letter. If you disagree..."
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
---
Walking out of that office, Gu Xiuyuan felt completely numb. The corridor lights were bright, but his vision was a blur. The elevator doors opened and closed; he forgot to press a button. Finally, a cleaning lady patted his shoulder: "Young man, we're at the ground floor."
He stumbled out of the administration building and stood in the early winter wind. The wind cut across his face like a knife, but he felt nothing.
His phone rang again. This time it was the college administration.
"Gu Xiuyuan, please come to the Academic Committee office at 9 AM tomorrow. We need you to verify some materials."
The call ended.
Gu Xiuyuan stood under the streetlight, watching his own shadow stretch long and thin. He suddenly remembered starting his doctorate five years ago, his father seeing him off at the train station, patting his shoulder and saying, "Study hard, son. Be someone who amounts to something."
He thought "amounting to something" meant producing good results, publishing good papers, becoming a good scientist.
He didn't know that in this field, "amounting to something" had another interpretation.