The snow outside the Revachol windows seemed as if it would never stop. The daylight hours were also pitifully short; one only saw the sun for six or seven hours a day, at most.
Dusk was approaching. Nadia, bent over her desk, was grading papers. Hearing a noise, she put down her red pen. The old wooden floorboards creaked slightly under her steps. Reflected in the peephole of the door was the young face of Pavel Volkov; snowflakes had settled on the shoulders of his elegant cashmere coat, like a pinch of salt.
"Professor Morozova, good evening!" he said with a smile, revealing eight perfectly aligned teeth. The gift basket he held in his hand gleamed under the light of the hallway ceiling fixture. "I heard you were slightly unwell this month, even to the point of having a substitute teach your classes. I couldn't help but worry, so I came especially to visit you."
Nadia's gaze calmly swept over him, then settled on the gift basket he was holding, almost half as wide as his body. The basket was filled to the brim; most visible was a flat, round tin box, adorned with a hot-stamped gold print depicting black sturgeon caviar. Beside it, a bottle of imported cognac with a slender neck, as well as some chocolates and exotic fruits in refined packaging.
She tilted her head slightly, her voice betraying little emotion: "So it's Pavel. Too many pleasantries. It was just a seasonal flu; I'm almost completely recovered. It's cold outside, do come in and sit down."
Pavel entered after removing his shoes; the wet snow under his soles left a few damp spots on the rug. He nonchalantly placed the gift basket on the low sideboard near the door, the weight making the furniture's wood creak slightly.
He slowly let his gaze wander around, taking in the shelves laden with notes, journals, and an old slide projector, finally stopping, as if inadvertently, on the ajar bedroom door at the end of the hallway. In the crack, he glimpsed a person lying sideways on the bed, half-covered by a blanket, messy black hair spilling onto the pillow near their temple.
His step faltered slightly.
Nadia had noticed. Without showing anything, she stepped forward confidently, obscuring just enough of the view. Her voice was calm: "An old friend from the provinces, staying here for a few days. Unfortunately, she has also caught a cold and is napping at the moment."
Pavel tilted his head, averted his gaze, and said in a tone imbued with measured solicitude: "Oh… I see. Then, she indeed needs to rest more. Professor, you are not yet fully recovered and you also have to take care of a friend; it must be very trying for you."
He lowered his voice, as if not to disturb the person in the room: "I hope your friend recovers quickly too. After all, winter in Revachol… is not very kind to foreigners unfamiliar with the city's temperament."
"Don't mind the mess," Nadia said with a slight laugh, her tone gentle but perfectly controlled. "These days, I was just sorting through old things. As soon as winter arrives, one tends to become lazy. But rest assured, I'll be back at the university in a few days; I won't delay the progress of your design project."
She turned and led him to the small round table covered with an embroidered cloth in the center of the living room: "Come, sit here. What would you like to drink? Red tea or black coffee?"
"Red tea will be fine, thank you, Professor."
As Pavel headed towards the living room, Nadia's gaze fell again on the gift basket. She approached slowly, undid the satin ribbon, glanced at the contents, her expression impassive.
"Pavel," she called out in an even tone.
Pavel stopped near the sofa and turned to her.
"I appreciate your gesture. But these things are too precious; I cannot accept them." She took out the caviar box and the cognac bottle, setting them delicately aside. "However, this box of biscuits and this jar of honey are very useful, perfect to accompany tea."
She arranged the biscuits and honey on the table, then gently pushed the basket containing the rest of the expensive items back towards him: "These, you should take them back. Or else… offer them to your father. He has many receptions; it might be more useful to him."
Pavel's smile froze for an instant, then he put on a detached air: "Professor, you are too formal. It's just a small token… My father often says that one should learn a great deal from you." But he took back, as she wished, the now much lighter basket and placed it at his feet.
His gaze occasionally brushed the bedroom door, an indefinable smile playing on his lips: "Professor, you always work with such selflessness. Speaking of which, my father often talks about you. He always says that an expert like you, with such remarkable contributions in the field of mechanical design, should have long been leading essential projects at the Ministry of Energy, rather than stooping to teach young upstarts like us at a university."
"Your father exaggerates," Nadia said, placing a cup of hot tea before him with a steady hand. The liquid rippled slightly in the fine porcelain cup.
"I am more at ease with data and plans. Those administrative hassles hardly suit me."
Pavel took the cup, sipped, and said in an affable tone: "Next month is the defense. My project on optimizing closed-cycle thermal conversion… if I could benefit from your enlightened advice, perhaps I could still improve some key parameters, to better align with the project our ministry is currently promoting…"
"The direction of your research has real value," Nadia said in an even tone, without haste or hurry. "But based on your last draft, between the pressure coefficient of the third high-pressure helium cycle and the heat conduction equation of the crank-connecting rod mechanism, no matter how many times I redo the calculations, there remains an error of about 0.7%. Do not underestimate this figure; in engineering, it can lead to abnormal energy consumption, or even structural fatigue."
The teaspoon struck the side of the porcelain cup, producing a crystalline "ding" that disturbed the old tortoiseshell cat dozing on top of the bookshelf. The cat flicked its tail with displeasure, lazily lifted an eyelid, glanced at the living room, then buried its head back between its soft paws, continuing its beautiful winter dream.
Nadia looked up at Pavel, her smile still as light, but tinged with a nuance that brooked no argument: "Pavel, you came especially to see me today, and I appreciate the gesture. But rather than wasting your time here, you would be better off going back to consult some recent publications in thermodynamics, or recalibrating your calculation model, in order to make the argumentative part of your thesis more solid. I am convinced that with your intelligence, you will certainly find the solution to this 0.7% error; that will be a true 'breakthrough'."
The smile on Pavel's face froze for an instant. He remained silent for a moment; that carefully maintained humility and warmth slowly retreated from his lips, like a receding tide.
"Professor, you really are… always so strict," he finally said. "Then, I shall not disturb you or your friend any longer. See you soon at the university."
As he was taking his leave, his sharp eyes swept one last time, as if inadvertently, over that closed bedroom door, his gaze deep, impenetrable. Then, he regained his polite smile and bowed slightly: "A swift recovery to you and your friend."
The heavy oak door closed with a "thud," completely isolating Pavel's figure and the snowstorm outside. Nadia did not immediately return to her desk. She stood in the middle of the living room, silently listening to Pavel's footsteps descending the stairs, until the sound completely disappeared into the depths of the hallway.
The wind and snow outside showed no sign of abating, instead growing more violent. Snowflakes driven by the wind struck hard against the double-glazed windows, producing a continuous rustling sound.
"No – !"
Jingwei sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a stifled cry. Her forehead was covered in cold sweat, her chest heaved violently, she was gasping loudly. Outside, no moonlight, only a few pallid glimmers from distant streetlights filtering through the curtain of snow, casting twisted, strange shadows on the bedroom furniture.
For a moment, she no longer knew where she was. That familiar, suffocating fear gripped her again.
The bedroom door opened softly. Professor Nadia, wrapped in a thick dressing gown, entered holding a cup of steaming milk. She didn't turn on the light, using only the faint brightness from the hallway to approach the bed and sit down.
"Another nightmare, Wei?" Nadia's voice, in the silence of the night, sounded extraordinarily gentle.
Jingwei nodded, taking the sweet-smelling cup of milk. The warmth of the cup against her fingers chased away some of the bone-chilling cold. She sipped slowly, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.
Nadia gently patted the back of her hand. "Do you want to talk about it? Talking sometimes helps."
Jingwei held the milk cup in her hands, remaining silent for a long time.
"Nadia," her voice was a little hoarse, "forgive me for bothering you again. I… I've caused you so much trouble. As soon as I feel a bit better, I'll leave as quickly as possible."
"Silly girl, what are you saying." Nadia's tone was tinged with a slight reproach, but mostly with compassion. "It's freezing cold right now; where on earth could you go? Stay here quietly, wait until the temperature rises a bit, until you've regained some strength, and then we'll see what to do, it's not too late." Nadia paused, her gaze falling on the photograph placed on Jingwei's bedside table.
She picked it up gently. In the photo, two young smiling faces. Jingwei, her smile radiant and shy, was snuggled against a slender young man wearing black-rimmed glasses – your fingers rested delicately behind her waist, your gaze was gentle, your lips sketching a slight, shy smile.
"Is this… your husband?" Nadia asked softly, carefully examining the young man in the photo, whose features exuded a strong intellectuality.
"Mmm." Jingwei nodded. Her gaze, as it fell on the person in the photo, instantly became infinitely gentle, her voice tinged with a discreet pride and deep tenderness. "His name is Nantang. At that time, we had just confirmed our relationship… Oh no, to be precise, it was the very day this photo was taken."
Nadia wanted to say a few words to compliment the young man's gentleness and elegance, but, with the words on her lips, she couldn't help but laugh: "Forgive me, Weiwei, but from what I know of you… honestly, I find it a bit hard to believe that you could fall in love with this kind of boy who looks so intellectual. I always thought a big, strong fellow, robust and cheerful like a little bear, would suit you better."
Hearing Nadia's joke, Jingwei couldn't help but smile in turn: "Actually, I was very surprised myself. At first, I just found him a bit goofy, but I gradually discovered that when he devoted himself to things he was passionate about, his application and seriousness were very attractive."
"You say you met him at the archaeology institute?"
"Yes."
"How did you end up working there? I thought you would find an enviable position in a design office or a factory."
Hearing this, Jingwei, holding her cup of lukewarm milk, turned her gaze towards the dark night outside the window. Her expression was somewhat absent, as if reminiscing.
"It's a long story, Nadia," she sighed softly, her voice tinged with a weariness and melancholy that did not match her age.
"Because at the time, right after I graduated, I had a very naive idea in mind." Jingwei's fingers unconsciously stroked the side of the cup. "I had always thought that every person should be able to achieve happiness. But what I saw, what I heard in Paichelan, was often not the case. Too many ordinary people struggled in misery; their kindness and hard work did not bring them the peace and dignity they deserved."
She paused, frowning slightly, as if wrestling with some perplexity: "Sometimes, I no longer know myself if happiness is an unrealistic, overly idealized wish, or if it's something that should be self-evident, a given."
Nadia listened in silence, without interrupting. She knew Jingwei needed to express these words buried deep in her heart.
"In Revachol, I studied sciences that can be measured with data and formulas," Jingwei continued, her voice tinged with a hint of bewilderment. "Formerly, I also believed that science was power, that science was progress, that science was… justice. That it was enough to master advanced scientific technologies to bring a radiant future to the world. It was with this conviction that I returned to Paichelan, wanting to use what I had learned to do something for those 'good people'."
Her voice darkened, imbued with disappointment: "But I slowly discovered that things were far from being as simple as I had imagined. Often, the most ingenious techniques, the most beautiful ideals, once transposed into the reality on the ground, became unrecognizable. Those so-called 'ideals,' if they don't have genuine human solicitude as a foundation, create instead immense voids and chains in people's minds, and even… even, they engender even more problems and tragedies. I saw too much destruction carried out in the name of 'progress,' too much plunder committed in the name of the 'collective.' I began to doubt whether my conviction that 'science can bring a radiant future' was merely a… willful illusion."
"So," Jingwei took a deep breath, as if she had finally found a way out, "I began to think that maybe… maybe in the past and in history, one could find some answers, find things more authentic, closer to the human heart. That's why I chose to go work at the archaeology institute. I wanted to see if, in those ruins and artifacts buried by time, there weren't hidden some wisdom and stories that we had forgotten, something that could soothe the emptiness of the soul."
"That's also why," her voice finally regained a hint of warmth, and her gaze left the window to rest on the photo in her hands, "I met Nantang. He… he wasn't like those engineers I had known before, obsessed with data and efficiency. He was very calm, very absorbed in those ancient writings and objects. He could get excited about an indistinct inscription on a centuries-old tile fragment, or spend sleepless nights trying to decipher a mutilated inscription."
Her lips curved involuntarily into a smile: "There were times, Nadia, when I truly believed that he, perhaps, was the 'answer' I had always been searching for. An answer that could fill the emptiness of the soul, that could allow one to find true meaning."
However, that smile quickly faded, transforming into a deep sadness: "But, how could I have imagined that in the end… he too would become the price to pay for those cold 'ideals'. Those 'ideals' that do not tolerate dissenting voices, that do not tolerate authentic emotions, ended up devouring him."
Nadia turned the photo over. On the back, a few lines in an elegant and slightly hasty script, written in pen ink: "人间亦自有银河."
Nadia didn't understand the Paichelan language and asked: "What's written there?"
"It's a verse from an ancient poet. It roughly means: The world of men also has its own Milky Way," Jingwei replied.
"Does that mean that… true beauty and the universe are actually all around us, in the life we create together?"
"Not really. In fact, it's an old love story. Two lovers separated by the Milky Way, who can only see each other once a year. Human couples also know many stories of forced separations."
"Oh my, incredible, incredible!" Nadia exclaimed upon hearing this, patting her chest in an exaggerated manner. "Decidedly, boys who know how to recite poems know what they're doing. That kind of talk, although very sad, even an old woman like me gets a fluttering heart and blushing cheeks from it!"
Nadia gently caressed the back of Jingwei's hand, where a few fine scars still remained, mementos of her escape, which had not completely disappeared: "It took me a long time in my life to understand… how wonderful nobility and ideals are. What is distant, in the heavens, always makes one want to set out, to pursue it for a lifetime. But as soon as man becomes a slave to what is 'correct,' he places himself on a stage for all to see. And what plays out on that stage is inevitably a tragedy. But, how dazzling nobility and ideals are…"
She stood up, walked to the window, and gently drew aside a corner of the heavy curtain. Outside, the snowstorm really seemed to have calmed down a bit. In the street below, no one. Only a jackdaw could be seen pecking at the carcass of a pigeon run over by a car.
"Sleep, my child, good night. The road is still long; good luck."