The morning light spilled weakly through the thin curtains of the Liang family apartment, carrying with it the faint sound of Beijing's traffic below. A bus rumbled past, brakes squealing as it stopped at the corner, while a street vendor shouted about hot youtiao, his voice echoing off concrete walls.
"Ge!" Mei's voice rang down the hallway, sharp and accusing. "If you don't get out here in thirty seconds, I'm eating your pancake again!"
Liang Wei rubbed his eyes, pushed up his glasses, and muttered to himself, "Every great scientist suffers persecution in his own home…"
"Twenty seconds!"
He sighed, stuffed a few papers into his satchel, and shuffled out into the kitchen.
The table was already set: bowls of millet congee steaming faintly, a plate of scallion pancakes glistening with oil, pickled vegetables in small saucers.
Mei sat cross-legged on her chair, messy bun tilted to one side, scrolling her phone with one hand while stabbing a pancake with her chopsticks in the other. She looked up as Wei entered. "Wow. Look who finally rolled out of bed."
"Rolled is accurate," Wei muttered, sliding into his seat.
"You look like a zombie," she added, taking a bite. "Honestly, if physics doesn't work out, you'd do great in a horror film."
"Still more handsome than you," Wei replied, reaching for the pancakes.
Mei gasped. "Mom! He's stealing mine!"
Their mother, Lifen, bustled in with another plate. "Stop fighting over food. There's plenty." Petite and graceful despite the silver streaking her hair, she gave Wei a look that pierced deeper than her words. "You've been up late again, haven't you?"
Wei offered a sheepish smile. "Inspiration doesn't follow a curfew."
"At this rate, you'll inspire yourself into an early grave," she scolded, though her tone softened as she poured him tea.
Their father, Guo, lowered his newspaper just enough to see over it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of voice that made every sentence sound like a proverb, he added, "If you two debated less and worked more, you'd both have Nobel Prizes by now."
"Correction," Wei said, raising a finger. "I'd have the Nobel. Mei would carry my briefcase."
Mei narrowed her eyes. "I'd rather drop your briefcase down a well."
Lifen sighed and set a pancake directly on Wei's plate. "Eat before I hit you both with the frying pan."
Guo chuckled behind his paper. "That would solve the noise problem."
Later that morning, Wei pedaled across Tsinghua University's campus, scarf wrapped tightly against the crisp autumn wind. The ginkgo trees were blazing yellow, their leaves fluttering down onto paths crowded with students balancing books, phones, and cups of steaming coffee.
He reached the physics building and found Zhang Hao slouched at his desk, hoodie zipped up to his chin, sneakers kicked onto a chair.
"Morning, Professor Liang," Zhang drawled without looking up from his laptop.
"It's 9:30," Wei said, dropping his satchel.
"Exactly. For you, that's early."
Wei smirked. "Should I bow in thanks for your observation?"
"Yes, please."
Wei grabbed a piece of chalk and began writing on the board. Equations spilled across the surface in neat, sharp lines. Soon Zhang was on his feet, arguing, gesturing wildly.
"You can't just assume symmetry here—"
"Yes I can, if I account for the decay constant—"
"You're insane."
"That's what genius looks like."
The door opened, and Chen Rong leaned in. Copper-dyed hair, neat blazer, warm smile. "Are you two fighting again?"
"Discussing," Wei corrected.
"Yelling," Zhang said at the same time.
Chen rolled her eyes. "Lunch. Now. Before you both forget what food is."
The noodle shop near campus was warm and noisy, bowls clinking as waitresses shouted orders. They squeezed into a corner table.
"Honestly, Wei," Chen said, stirring her noodles. "You should take better care of yourself. You look like you haven't slept in days."
Wei shrugged, sipping broth. "Sleep is overrated."
"Tell that to your eyebags," Zhang muttered.
Chen smirked. "At this rate, they'll need their own ID cards."
Wei smiled faintly. It was the kind of banter that anchored him, ordinary and familiar.
After lunch, he gave a lecture to a small group of undergrads. Their eager faces reminded him of himself years ago, hungry for answers. When a student timidly asked a question about quantum states, Wei's eyes lit up. For the next twenty minutes, chalk raced across the board as he explained, voice quick and animated.
When the class ended, one student lingered. "Professor Liang… do you ever regret choosing physics?"
Wei blinked. "Regret?" He adjusted his glasses. "Physics is how I breathe. You don't regret breathing."
The student looked puzzled but nodded. Wei smiled softly.
By late afternoon, the sky was streaked with orange and violet. Wei packed his things, said goodbye to Zhang and Chen, and stepped into the chill evening air.
The streets were crowded. Vendors shouted about roasted chestnuts and candied hawthorns. Cyclists weaved through traffic. Car horns blared in the distance. Wei adjusted his scarf, clutching his satchel tighter.
He was halfway across the street when it happened.
The screech of tires. The blinding flash of headlights. Time slowed — his papers slipped from his satchel, scattering across the asphalt like pale birds taking flight.
The impact was brutal, a shattering thud that sent him sprawling.
The world spun. Concrete against his cheek. Distant shouts. A car door slamming.
Wei tried to breathe, but each attempt was shallow, ragged. His glasses were gone. The cold seeped into his body as the sky above blurred into hazy light.
I still had time, he thought dimly. Dinner with his family. Another lecture. Another laugh with Mei. I thought I had tomorrow.
His lips moved, but no sound came.
Darkness closed in, sudden and final.