Genius Club

Lin Xian shook his head, uncertainty clouding his expression. “I’m not sure, Professor Xu. At the banquet, you mentioned that your principles prevent you from endorsing a flawed product. But I feel there’s more to it than just that.”

Professor Xu fell silent, removing his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. “When my daughter was four, she had a terrible accident on a slide and became a high-level paraplegic, essentially leaving her in a vegetative state. Experts worldwide told us there was no hope for her recovery.”

He paused, locking eyes with Lin Xian. “That’s why I started researching the hibernation chamber. It sounded far-fetched, even absurd, but someone had to try.”

“If I don’t continue with the hibernation chamber, it might take decades, even centuries, before someone else picks it up. But my daughter doesn’t have that time. She’s been bedridden for ten years. How much longer can she wait?”

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “Before I developed that unsuccessful prototype, no one was interested in hibernation research or even visited my daughter at the hospital.”

“Now, they visit every day. Cosmetic companies are pouring money into my research. But do they really care about the science? No… they’re just after the profits from the chemicals.”

“Professor Xu, maybe that isn’t entirely bad,” Lin Xian interjected, finding an unexpected connection with Xu Yun. “Selling that chemical could provide the funding you need for more research, better equipment, and advanced labs. Wouldn’t that ultimately benefit your work?”

Xu Yun shook his head resolutely. “You underestimate the complexity.”

“I know my limits. A groundbreaking project like the hibernation chamber, capable of revolutionizing the world, can’t be achieved by one person, one lab, or even one country alone.”

“I never expected to succeed with the hibernation chamber by myself. That would be delusional. My aim is to spark interest, to show that solving the hibernation problem is achievable.”

“If I can resolve even one component, like the chamber’s filling fluid, it could attract more scientists and institutions to the field. That’s when the hibernation chamber might become a reality within a few decades.”

“And my role is to ignite that spark.”

Leaning down, Xu Yun tenderly adjusted his daughter’s blanket, tucking her in carefully. “But what would happen if I marketed that flawed product?”

Lin Xian shook his head, his lack of deep scientific knowledge evident.

“Years ago, several students helped me with this research,” Xu Yun continued, his tone laced with regret.

“They were bright, promising minds. While we didn’t make major breakthroughs, their presence made the solitary journey of hibernation research more bearable.”

“But then, profitable by-products appeared during our experiments. Initially, I didn’t think much of it, but as companies became involved, the lab’s focus started to fragment.”

“Each student had their ideas, and soon, they shifted their research toward immediately profitable projects, like drug patents or cosmetic enhancements. They were offered lucrative jobs by cosmetic and pharmaceutical companies.”

“Predictably, they all left. Not one stayed.”

Xu Yun’s smile was wry. “They have their own ambitions. I can’t blame them for being practical. Everyone is seeking a better life. The draw of profit in research, though distasteful to me, is a reality. More and more young researchers choose lucrative paths.”

Lin Xian began to understand the depth of Professor Xu’s disillusionment. Though an outsider to academia, he recognized the widespread corruption within it. Dedicated scientists like Xu Yun, who tirelessly pursue unexplored areas despite continuous setbacks, are rare and admirable.

“I get it, Professor Xu,” Lin Xian said earnestly. “You’re worried that selling the chemical will only further corrupt the academic environment. Already, few young scholars want to engage in long-term, unprofitable research like the hibernation chamber.”

“If they see quick profits in cosmetics or pharmaceuticals, they might opt for those fields over speculative projects like hibernation research, which offers no immediate rewards or guarantees.”

Professor Xu nodded, grateful for Lin Xian’s understanding. “Exactly—our problem is the lack of dedicated talent.”

“As I’ve said, developing the hibernation chamber isn’t just one person’s or one country’s job. It needs a global effort. If the brightest minds are lured to profit-driven projects, who will tackle daunting challenges like hibernation?”

“Right now, no one wants to invest in hibernation research. It doesn’t provide instant satisfaction, visible results, or immediate hope.”

Lin Xian saw the vast scope of Professor Xu’s vision. Yet, he felt that Xu Yun’s resolute stance might not be enough to shift the profit-focused academic culture.

“Maybe I’m wrong, Professor,” Lin Xian cautiously suggested, “but your integrity alone might not be enough to redirect focus from profit to pioneering science.”

“Why not sell the chemical? Show that there can be profits in advancing hibernation technology. Maybe that will bring young researchers back to this field.”

But Xu Yun remained steadfast. He patted Lin Xian’s shoulder, his voice heavy with meaning. “You might think I’m stubborn or outdated, but I must protect my daughter. I can’t risk the scenario you propose.”

“If researchers start with a profit motive, how long will they stay committed without seeing results, possibly for years or decades?”

“The hibernation project won’t yield quick breakthroughs. I’ve worked alone for ten years without theoretical progress. I understand the hardships of this path better than anyone…”

“Unless I’m completely defeated, I won’t sell the chemical. If young researchers join the hibernation study, I hope their motives are pure.”

“Lin Xian, I need to save my daughter. That’s my priority. We need to attract more dedicated, altruistic talents to this research. Only then might we find a solution soon. My integrity may not change much, but I refuse to let corruption start with me.”

“One day, you’ll be a father, and you’ll understand. Please tell President Zhao to stop bothering me. I believe she’ll understand.”

“I hope… this is our last conversation.”

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