Life Plan

Chapter 3, Old Friends, New Colleagues

Liu Chichi doesn't receive a salary. Her mother transfers 100 yuan to her every week, which covers her bus fare to and from her internship, the cost of groceries for the two of them, and all her personal expenses, even something as simple as buying a pack of sanitary napkins. Today is Friday, and she has 41.53 yuan left to spend the weekend.

Liu Chunhong hesitated for a moment, then quickly raised her head again, "But you didn't ask me for it. Besides, favors aren't necessarily maintained by money. You're just a blockhead, not flexible enough..."

From the moment Liu Chichi started her internship, social interactions became a recurring theme in her mother's vocabulary, but no one taught her how to conduct them properly. She had no money, she didn't know how to express herself well, and she searched online for "high emotional intelligence" tutorials, but she had never experienced those situations in real life.

The only thing she could do was to never owe anyone anything. In order to avoid owing anyone anything, she was willing to give more and didn't even know how to refuse someone's request to switch night shifts.

Liu Chunhong told her to "know how to be a person," but who can tell her, after being isolated for more than ten years, what it means to "know how to be a person"?

Liu Chichi felt very tired. She lay on the bed, opened QQ which she hadn't used for many years, and found Hao Jia in her elementary school teacher's QQ space.

Hao Jia is someone who loves to share her life, but recently the frequency of her sharing has decreased significantly. Her most recent post was just this afternoon. She was wearing a beautiful pink dress, the curtains were closed, and warm yellow light shone on her. She smiled at the camera, captioning it: "Getting whiter and whiter."

Her skirt was as large as a wedding dress, covering the entire chair, but Liu Chichi, who spent many years in the hospital, keenly noticed through a section of the armrest that was visible behind her that it was a wheelchair.

She recalled what she had heard that afternoon: SLE, systemic lupus erythematosus, is classified as an autoimmune disease and is an unsolved mystery in medicine—the exact cause is unknown, and possible triggers can only be inferred from a large number of clinical samples. The condition is complex and there is no specific cure.

Fully equipped with sun protection gear, a wheelchair, and anti-inflammatory drugs, Hao Jia is most likely in a moderate to severe stage. Will she participate in the clinical trial?

Looking at the resume on the computer with only one name, Liu Chichi opened the chat window with Shen Shuyi: Which company are you with? Are you sending your resume to their email address?

The other party replied quickly: I can refer you; send me your resume. Have you studied GCP?

【No.】

I'll send you an electronic copy. Try to read it thoroughly. Did you take any ethics courses in college?

[There are specialized courses, including pharmaceutical ethics.]

Is the book still there?

【exist. 】

[Remember to read this before the interview.]

Liu Chichi went to the library every day during her work hours and read GCP intensively in a short period of time, leaving a deep impression of those professional terms in her mind.

The interview went smoothly.

Shen Shuyi provided a reference for the job-related section, when the interviewer asked, "If you believe a patient is suitable for participating in a clinical trial, but the patient objects, how would you persuade them?"

"I don't offer advice." This was the interview question Shen Shuyi had predicted for her. She politely answered the interviewer, "The CRC's responsibility is to assist researchers in making non-clinical judgments. I don't offer advice before the researchers draw conclusions. Even if the researcher recommends the patient, after fully informing them, I respect the patient's own wishes."

Why?

Everyone has the right to choose their own life.

She could recite Shen Shuyi's answers perfectly, which easily earned her the interviewer's approving expression. That was Shen Shuyi; everyone she asked spoke highly of her, and apart from her strange hairstyle, she was considered perfect.

Unlike her. Liu Chichi pinched the web of her right hand hard with her left, trying to appear cheerful, confident, and at ease. But these were interview techniques she had learned online, not her own.

Liu Chichi has started working.

Before entering the hospital, Liu Chichi needed to report to the office. The reporting location was far from her home, requiring her to take a bus and then the subway. The bus route wasn't to the hospital.

Her mother's public image has always been that of a strong and independent single mother with a wide social circle. In order to avoid being discovered by her friends, Liu Chichi gets up at six o'clock, leaves home at six-thirty, takes a bus to the hospital, enters the hospital at seven o'clock sharp, and then walks out through a side door to take the subway to report for duty.

There were four people in the report that day, including her. The other three occasionally asked questions, but she silently followed behind the supervisor, signing agreements, downloading the relevant app, and attending training. The supervisor looked at her curiously and quietly turned to the HR person next to him, asking, "Was she like this during the interview too?"

HR understood what he meant; in this line of work, being bad at speaking is a weakness that can lead to immediate rejection.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it wasn't soft either. Liu Chichi tensed up instantly. She knew what she should say, but she didn't know what to say. Her mother had taught her to be obedient and sensible, so she was good at answering and doing as instructed, but never offered her own opinions. For a moment, she didn't know how to break the current situation.

Zhou Ya, who was also reporting at the same time, glanced at the group, grabbed Liu Chichi's hand, pulled her to her side, and then gave an apologetic smile: "It's all my fault for asking so many questions and not letting the young lady get a word in edgewise. I'm so sorry, if you don't understand something later, just ask, don't let me steal the spotlight again."

Liu Chichi immediately rolled down the steps in front of her. She looked at Zhou Ya gratefully and quickly switched to a flattering smile: "Thank you. You asked more questions than I thought of. I understand everything."

The supervisor, observing Liu Chichi's quick transformation into a docile persona, knew from his years of experience dealing with diverse individuals that this was the girl's true nature in the morning. But that didn't matter; as long as she maintained the proper professional demeanor during work hours, he didn't care what kind of person she was in real life.

She was one of only two people who didn't order takeout at lunchtime; her mother still gave her 100 yuan a week for living expenses. She had checked on the takeout app; the location was far, and the delivery fee was six yuan, meaning a simple meal would cost thirty yuan including delivery. There was a convenience store downstairs with five-yuan cup noodles, but she felt embarrassed to order.

Eating instant noodles outside is seen as exposing one's impoverished and poor situation, which goes against the "decency" taught by one's mother. She feels that this kind of decency education is too restrictive, but she stubbornly follows the rules of decency.

Compared to dignity and money, missing a meal is no big deal.

Besides her and Zhou Ya, the other two reporters were interns. Their student-like demeanor shone like gold. Liu Chichi suddenly understood why youth was called "vibrant." She saw herself in the reflection of the window—lifeless and dejected after being discharged from the hospital.

Liu Chichi found it hard to ignore them, but she couldn't fit in at all.

She couldn't understand their discussion of trending online topics, didn't recognize the celebrities they mentioned, knew nothing about the latest films and music, and was unaware of the newly opened board game room in the shopping district. These "extra" activities didn't belong to her.

After get off work, she would just lie numbly in bed, browsing fragmented information. She had even lost the ability to finish reading a 100,000-word physical book. The book she had read two chapters of before her internship, "Dawn Blossoms Plucked at Dusk," had become a tool for pressing down the lid of instant noodles.

She had no ideals, no hobbies; her only goal was to fulfill her mother's demands.

This era seems to have abandoned her, and she has abandoned this era as well. Playing the role of a well-behaved and obedient daughter in front of her mother has exhausted her strength, and when she needs to rest, all she really wants to do is rest.

She silently fiddled with the coffee machine she had never seen before.

It was actually just a water dispenser, with instant coffee sticks and sugar packets next to it. Liu Chichi made herself a cup. White steam rose from the disposable cup, and the inside was hot to the touch. She held the cup by the rim with both hands and sat down in the corner.

The aroma of coffee wafted through the air, and Liu Chichi stared blankly at Bai Yan, seriously wondering why the smoke wasn't brown. Physics and chemistry had been gone from her for a long time; even common sense was almost fading from her memory.

"May I sit here?" A sudden voice interrupted Liu Chichi's wandering thoughts, and Zhou Ya appeared in front of her.

Liu didn't react for a moment, and Zhou Ya stood there in a daze. After she came to her senses, she felt a little embarrassed, since this was a public area, "I sat down anywhere."

Zhou Ya wore a fitted shirt, her hair in a low bun, and had slight fine lines around her eyes, which made her smile very friendly. "Lunch is almost over, hasn't your takeout arrived yet?"

"I'm not hungry."

She didn't know what other places she might need money for in the future, so she had to spend her savings wisely.

Hunger isn't that unbearable. When she was most hungry, she would soak raw rice in hot water and tell herself it was porridge. At least now she can go home for dinner.

Zhou Ya scanned Liu Chichi's outfit again: a shapeless T-shirt and wide-leg pants, not even an old style on sale in a shopping mall, most likely cheap goods from an unknown online store.

The moment they met, she set her sights on Liu Chichi. The awkwardness of trying to hide her poverty and inferiority was too typical, and her silence could not hide the fact that it was revealed in every little movement.

For some, indifference is an expression of resistance, while for others it is a form of self-protection.

The former is difficult to approach, while the latter is simply easy to use. Lacking sufficient interpersonal skills due to excessive self-protection, yet possessing a high sense of morality, they are good people who can repay even the smallest kindness with great gratitude.

As a mother in her thirties who had been a full-time caregiver for her child for five years, Zhou Ya easily saw through Liu Chichi's pretense of hunger. The quickest way to get close to someone ashamed of poverty is to share its consequences with her.

"I saw a convenience store downstairs," ideally with an air of longing and anticipation, "I'm craving instant noodles with ham. I haven't had it in ages since my child was born. Want to go together?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

Zhou Ya knew how to manipulate this kind of person. She had just helped Liu Chichi that morning, and now all she had to do was show a hint of pleading, using her initiative to cover up the other person's poverty. It would be best if she could also gain some empathy by playing the victim. "Would you like to eat with me? I haven't been working in a long time, and I don't even have any friends."

That will give you the answer you want—"Okay then."

Zhou Ya took out her phone and said, "Let's add each other's contact information. My name is Zhou Ya."

"Uh... Liu Chichi."

Liu Chichi didn't expect there to be so many people in the convenience store. The shelf marked with rice ball sandwiches was empty, and there were so many people eating boxed lunches that they had to share a table.

After asking the shop assistant to prepare hot water, Zhou Ya didn't mind at all and led her to stand by the window next door.

This was a closed shop downstairs from the office building. The windowsill was at elbow height, making it an exceptionally suitable dining table. Liu Chichi nervously looked around, still worried that acquaintances might see her "unseemly" even ten kilometers from home.

I actually felt safer facing the messy interior of the shops with my back to the road.

The glass window reflected Zhou Ya, who was staring at her phone. Liu Chichi heard that it was a kindergarten teacher sending videos of the students. Zhou Ya repeatedly played one of the videos, her face full of kindness like that of a Bodhisattva.

Liu Chichi was a little dazed. Did her mother look at her like this when she was a child?