The news of Julian Liang being suspended from all academic positions spread across the entire university and the domestic academic community like a sudden, sweeping tsunami.
However, an old fox who had operated and entrenched himself at the absolute apex of power structures and academic resources for decades would never sit idly by and await his doom. Just three days after the board hearing concluded, Silas Shen received internal word from a familiar professor within the department.
Julian Liang had mobilized every ounce of his network and hidden cards within the Academic Committee, submitting a forty-page petition overnight.
Chillingly, not a single word in this document attempted to directly refute the allegations made by the Omega victims. Instead, it targeted Silas's high-profile blocker patch research with surgical, malicious precision.
"Severe procedural flaws exist in the ethical review stage of this study."
"The signature dates on several participants' informed consent forms do not align with the official issuance date of the ethical approval number."
"Unexplainable anomalies exist in the raw experimental data—suspected selective reporting of favorable outcomes."
Academic ethics; procedural justice.
Every single accusation resembled an arrow dipped in lethal poison, striking un-erringly at a researcher's most fatal vulnerability. In the rigorous world of science, once branded with the stigma of "ethical fabrication" or "selective reporting," even the most monumental research could be thoroughly invalidated in an instant.
As evening approached, the independent office within the Life Sciences department was quiet enough that a falling needle could be heard.
Silas sat alone by the window, the sleeves of his white lab coat loosely rolled to his elbows, exposing pale, slender forearms. The setting sun carried vast stretches of orange-red twilight, spilling through the window frame to plate his profile in a near-translucent golden edge, resembling a still oil painting.
Yet, the expression on his face was terrifyingly calm.
Lowering his eyelashes, Silas methodically flipped through the forty-page petition page by page. Many sections had already been coldly circled in red ink. His fingertips gripping the edges of the paper turned faintly white from the force—a physiological reaction that only surfaced when his immense fury was deathly suppressed beneath his reason.
Using pheromones as a weapon ten years ago, and using rules as a weapon ten years later. Julian Liang truly remained as nauseating as ever.
Clack.
The tightly shut frosted glass door was pushed open briskly at this exact moment.
Silas did not look up, nor did his rigid spine relax even a fraction. Yet in the next second, the fir tree scent he had strictly restrained around his person still quietly softened at a single corner upon colliding with a rich, burning, and utterly comforting aroma of blazing oranges.
"Professor."
Hunter Huo strode over to him with his long legs. The pure cotton sweatshirt the youth wore still carried the warm scent of the sun from outside. He didn't immediately act spoiled and sticky like he usually did; instead, he leaned down directly and turned his phone screen steadily toward Silas.
A successfully sent email rested quietly on the screen, the sender column clearly reading: [Huo Group Supreme Legal Department].
The subject line consisted of a single row of cold, heavily oppressive characters: [Application for Independent Third-Party Review of Professor Silas Shen's Research Ethical Review Has Been Accepted].
"My brother saw the news yesterday and had the legal department prepare this overnight."
Hunter casually tossed his phone onto the office desk, then exceptionally naturally crouched down right beside Silas's chair. Tilting his head up, those puppy eyes that were usually brimming with pride and wildness now looked flatly at Silas, his gaze holding a heavy weight of seriousness and tenderness.
"Doesn't Julian Liang want to exploit procedural loopholes and use his cronyism within the Academic Committee to crush you? Then we'll show him what real procedural justice looks like."
The youth's voice was low, filled with a signature arrogance and certainty. He extended a hand, lightly tapping the air just above Silas's tense knuckles like a reassuring stamp of approval. "Huo's top-tier legal team has handled over a hundred international academic arbitration cases. As long as the data is clean, they have never lost a single case in their hands."
Silas looked at the youth before him, his gaze slowly shifting from the line of text on the phone screen—which represented capital and absolute backing—into Hunter's eyes, which practically screamed, "I am protecting you."
A prolonged silence expanded between the two, the twilight stretching their shadows against the wall into an exceptionally affectionate silhouette.
After a long while, Silas finally moved his slightly stiff fingertips, his voice a fraction low and raspy: "Hunter, there's no need to involve your brother in this kind of trouble. This is my own battlefield..."
"There is a need."
Hunter cut him off almost unhesitatingly.
Crouching on the floor, the youth suddenly extended both hands, somewhat overbearingly yet exceptionally carefully enveloping Silas's palm, which had turned icy-cold from anger. The warm palms continuously transferred a scalding temperature. Hunter stared deathly at him, a sliver of un-concealable ruthlessness and aching pain laced within his tone:
"Silas Shen, remember this. When he bullied and slandered you ten years ago, my fever hadn't broken yet, and I wasn't by your side to stop you from enduring all that alone. But now, if he dares to touch a single hair on your head right under my nose—"
Hunter bared his teeth slightly, his sharp canine tooth flashing with a hint of wild aggression under the setting sun: "I will not let anyone harm you in any way. Not even with those self-righteous, utterly filthy 'rules' they use as weapons."
The scalding orange aroma pressed over overwhelmingly—not as dominance, but as an unreserved, god-like devotion.
Silas hooked his lips up in a self-deprecating manner. The final shred of coldness that had risen in the deepest recesses of his heart from being targeted by procedural rules was forcefully scorched into a massive deficit by this golden retriever's overbearing posture.
He lowered his head, his long eyelashes concealing the thorough ripple of amusement in his eyes. Dropping his gaze back onto the malicious allegations circled in red ink on the documents, he broke free from Hunter's hands and picked up the black signing pen from the desk.
Shuck, shuck, shuck.
The crisp tip of the pen frictioned against the paper, producing a highly pleasing sound. In the glaring blank space on the final page of the petition, Silas wrote down a line of unyielding annotations, word for word:
[All raw data is completely preserved. Any form of independent review is welcome. — Silas Shen]
Writing the final character, Silas tossed the pen beautifully onto the desk. Turning his head to look at the large golden retriever who was still crouching on the floor, staring up at him expectantly, his cool phoenix eyes arched slightly:
"Let's go."
Hunter blanked slightly, then stood up with a slight chuckle, rubbing his legs which had gone somewhat numb from crouching. "Where to, Professor?"
Silas neatly buttoned his white lab coat and pushed the gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. The lenses flashed with a scientist's absolute self-confidence and pride under the twilight. Taking the lead with his long legs, he strode toward the main door, his cool voice echoing through the vacant office:
"The Ethics Committee. Since Julian Liang wants procedural justice so badly, we'll fulfill his wish and give him the most thorough procedural justice possible."