The Department of Mathematics building was L-shaped, with red bricks and a white roof. In front of the building was a stretch of green grass, with fences on both sides that were just high enough to cover the first floor of the building.
Bian Cheng’s office was on the fourth floor of the east wing. The teaching building had a long history and was only four stories high. There was no elevator, so young professors were assigned to the higher floors.
The student with whom he had an appointment was already waiting at the door, head bowed as he fiddled with his phone. Upon hearing footsteps, he put away his phone and nodded, “Professor.”
The student was named Shen Liuchuan, the most admired student of this year in Bian Cheng’s class.
Bian Cheng opened the office door and let him in. The innermost part of the office had a light brown desk, a large whiteboard on the left wall, and a cabinet on the right filled with books and drafts. Shen Liuchuan sat down in the chair in front of the desk.
“I reviewed the outline you submitted,” Bian Cheng said. “You want to use the Berkovich non-classical analysis method to prove a variant of the Frobenius structure conjecture. Why not use the Kontsevich-Soibelman algorithm?”
“The K-S algorithm is hard to understand from a geometric perspective,” Shen Liuchuan said. “Describing the Frobenius structure and mirror symmetry algebra from a geometric point of view provides a more intuitive construction and also avoids the complex calculations required for constructing scattering diagrams.”
Bian Cheng looked at the printed draft of the graduation thesis topics on the desk, deep in thought.
“Professor, do you think this idea is not good?”
Bian Cheng pondered for a moment and then smiled. “No,” he put down the draft. “I rarely see undergraduates dare to choose such a complex topic.”
Shen Liuchuan breathed a sigh of relief and smiled:. “I got the inspiration when I heard a senior talk about affine logarithms at a group meeting.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Bian Cheng said. “If the results are good, maybe it can be published in the Journal of Algebraic Geometry.”
“I didn’t dare to hope for that,” Shen Liuchuan said. “It’s a pity I didn’t finish it earlier; otherwise, I could have had one more first-author paper for my applications.”
Bian Cheng remembered that Shen Liuchuan contacted him yesterday about a recommendation letter. “How many schools have you applied to now?”
“I applied to most of the Ivy League schools,” Shen Liuchuan said. “Also a few in the UK and Germany—casting a wide net.”
“Kollar is my advisor at Princeton, and his research direction aligns well with yours,” Bian Cheng said. “If you are interested, I can contact him.”
Shen Liuchuan’s expression was somewhat awkward, which was unusual. Kollar was a world-class master in the field of algebraic geometry. He was presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—it was one thing to be indifferent, but why was he showing signs of hesitation?
“I’m applying for CS,” Shen Liuchuan said.
Bian Cheng was silent for a moment and then said, “I see.”
“I’m minoring in computer science,” Shen Liuchuan added.
One third of the students in T University’s Department of Mathematics minor in computer science and finance, if not half. “A senior who got accepted before said that they value mathematics highly there, and your recommendation letter would be a big plus,” Shen Liuchuan said. “So I wanted to ask if you could help.”
Ninety-nine percent of the recommendation letters from Chinese professors were written by the students themselves, but Bian Cheng didn’t follow this practice. He maintained the habit from his time at Princeton: recommendation letters had to be handwritten. However, he took writing recommendation letters very seriously, ensuring they were substantive, detailed, sincere, and highly personalized. He would meticulously highlight every positive trait of the applicant. He had a high international reputation, and students who were confident in their hard skills, bold—often risk-takers—would seek him out for recommendation letters.
“You have a lot of talent in mathematics,” Bian Cheng said. “Are you really not considering further study? No matter which study you want to join, I will do my best to help you.”
Shen Liuchuan scratched his head. “I still want to switch my major. Pure mathematics doesn’t have much of a future in China…” He paused and said, “I didn’t mean it that way…”
“I understand,” Bian Cheng said. “When the recommendation letter arrives, just let me know.”
“Okay,” Shen Liuchuan hesitated for a moment and then added, “I still really like mathematics.”
“I know,” Bian Cheng said.
In recent years, the promising students he had favored invariably moved into business management, computer science, or interdisciplinary studies. Among the young people who were once on the IMO national team, he was the only one still engaged in pure mathematics research.
Shen Liuchuan thanked him, stood up to leave, and suddenly remembered something. “Professor.”
“What is it?”
“That cup,” he pointed to the porcelain cup on the desk, “it should be a Topologist’s, right?”
Bian Cheng turned the cup half a circle so that the side with the inscription faced him. “I know.”
Shen Liuchuan bid farewell again and walked to the door, where he happened to run into Associate Professor Wang, who taught group theory1this is a field of study btw next door. He greeted Wang, who seemed to remember the student and chatted with him for a few moments.
After the student left, Professor Wang stood at the door and knocked on the door panel. He and Bian Cheng were part of the same group of overseas talent brought in, and they had a relatively close relationship. Among the entire Department of Mathematics, he was the only one who regularly dropped by Bian Cheng’s office.
Bian Cheng looked up from his computer.
“Another one left?” Professor Wang asked.
Bian Cheng nodded.
“Is our department a transfer station? Specializing in sending talent to other fields?” Professor Wang lamented. “Whoever gave these kids the idea that studying mathematics is just a stepping stone to switch fields—now they all rush in and then rush out.”
“The overall environment is too poor; it’s hard to blame them for that,” Bian Cheng said.
Professor Wang shook his head. “You’re much nicer to your students than to the department head.”
That was certainly true. Pure mathematics research wasn’t valued by the department, and anyone who stayed was treated like a rare gem.
“Last time during the associate professor defense, Dean Chen had already given advance notice, but you insisted on casting a dissenting vote, blocking his students. It made things quite awkward.”
“The other assistant researcher’s level is better,” Bian Cheng said. “His direction only produced mediocre papers.”
“Last time Professor Liu applied for the Natural Science Foundation, the pre-defense in the department was a mess. You said the steps were tedious and lengthy, the arguments had no aesthetic appeal, and the logic was as tangled as a topological knot.”
“What he wrote was long and boring.”
“I’m so looking forward to your full professor’s defense,” Professor Wang said, rubbing his hands together as he imagined the scene. “I want to see how you will be judged by three judges.”
In the university, there were teaching and research tracks. Associate researchers and associate professors were considered secondary senior positions, while researchers and full professors were primary senior positions. Each promotion required a vote from all faculty members in the mathematics department. To get promoted, the vote had to be unanimous—everyone.
Bian Cheng said, “A bunch of autumn cicada molts who have not produced any results in the past few years, who leech off students to boost their impact factors and have almost forgotten the Riemann-Roch theorem, have the nerve to judge me?”
Professor Wang was left speechless: “Very well, you should say that during your defense.”
Bian Cheng ignored his excitement for the spectacle and turned his attention back to the computer screen. Faculty positions were like a turnip to its hole,2lit. every turnip to its hole (idiom); fig. each person has his own position and with the current senior professors far from retirement, even if they did retire, it would be a long time before it was his turn. This scenario was likely still many years away.
Professor Wang remembered the student who had just walked out of the Bian Cheng’s office and greeted him, and suddenly remembered something: “The student just now was Shen Liuchuan ba?”
“Yes,” Bian Cheng said. “He was awarded a special prize by our department last year.”
“You can tell at first glance that he is a difficult student. He often asks me tricky questions in group theory,” Wang said. “Did you know that he gave you a one in last year’s teaching evaluation?”
Bian Cheng’s hand froze.
At the end of each semester, students would rate and comment on their courses. The highest score is seven, and the lowest is one. If a course receives too low a score, the academic affairs office will issue a reprimand and arrange a meeting with the teacher. Bian Cheng followed the school’s regulations strictly when grading, with ten percent of students receiving an A grade. It wasn’t considered harsh or lenient. He took teaching very seriously, preparing course materials, problems, and references with great care, as teaching was a crucial part of cultivating future mathematics talent.
Although students liked easy courses, they could easily feel whether the teacher was dedicated and serious. Because the course was difficult, not many people signed up for his class but no one had ever given him a one.
It seemed that his favorite students did not appreciate his teaching style.
“Isn’t the teaching evaluation anonymous?” Bian Cheng asked.
Professor Wang gave a meaningful smile. “As long as you know the right person, you can always find out.”
Bian Cheng refrained from commenting on such behavior. If it was not anonymous, the whole process would be pointless.
“He even asked you to write him a recommendation letter?” Professor Wang marveled. “He really has guts.”
Bian Cheng pondered for a moment and shrugged. “It’s true that he has a talent for mathematics.”
Professor Wang sighed and left.
After handling some emails, Bian Cheng pulled up an article written by a student a few days ago about high-rank invariant subvarieties. He was in the middle of editing it when his phone suddenly vibrated. He glanced at it and saw a familiar number.
He sighed, a sigh that seemed to accumulate the total length of all the defenses he’d dealt with over the past few years. His fingers tapped on the desk a few times before he answered the call. “Dad.”
There was a pause on the other end before the voice asked, “Are you busy?”
“Not too bad,” Bian Cheng replied. “Is there something you need?”
“On Saturday, I have a college reunion not far from T University. This year happens to be the 35th anniversary, so it’s a milestone. Many old classmates are bringing their kids along, and Xiao Song will probably come too. Do you have time? If you’re free, you should come by ba.”
“Let me see,” Bian Cheng said, pulling up his schedule. “I’m a bit busy this weekend.”
“Okay, you decide,” the voice said. “If you really can’t make it, then never mind.”
The words were so sincere that it was impossible to refuse. In recent years, their father-son relationship had subtly evolved into a pattern of: Thank you; I’m sorry; It’s okay.
“I’ll try to come.”
There was a silence on the other end. The few seconds of pause seemed to stretch indefinitely, amplifying the sound of the wind and his own heartbeat. “Alright,” the voice finally said, then, after a moment of silence, he asked again, “Is that kid still living with you?”
“Of course.”
“If…”
“Don’t worry,” Bian Cheng said. “I won’t bring him to the party.”
T/N: I kind of pity Bian Cheng lmao but if I had him as my professor, I’d probably rate him 1 or 2 also lol Anyway, saying this is an engineering major who switched to comp science, changing to CS will definitely change your life, in a better way!
Apparently according to baidu, douban, and other sites, this is a quote from Midsummer’s Night Dream, but I couldn’t find it in the original version. I even read the whole Midsummer’s Night Dream, and even the Chinese version but nada. The line I found is ‘失去，不一定再拥有，转身拥抱，不一定最软弱。’ which means ‘What is lost is not necessarily regained; turning around to embrace does not necessarily mean you’re weak’ There’ll be another chapter after this using the other half of this sentence
