Chapter 10 — Ten Years of Love, His Proposal Was Just a Bet

“I want to start again in the pharmaceutical industry, completing what my father left unfinished.”

Tham Hac Dinh nodded. He did not ask "Why", did not say "This is very difficult", nor said "You are a girl, it is not easy to do this". He only said one word. Then he picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number.

“Bac Thanh, come here for a moment.”

Less than two minutes later, the door opened. The person who entered was a man. He wore a thin dark gray sweater, the sleeves rolled up haphazardly, revealing toned, defined wrists. But the first thing that caught my attention wasn't his outfit. It's that face. It was such a beautiful Asian face that people couldn't help but look back a few more times. The lines of the five senses are sharp but not angular, like the most generous brush strokes in a watercolor painting. Long, narrow eyes, dark pupils, radiate a carefree attention when looking at others - clearly just a glance, but it makes people feel like they are being seen right through their souls. His white skin carried a bit of coldness, further accentuating the lazy aloofness emanating from his bones. His whole body exudes handsomeness, but it cannot hide his toughness. Even that beauty enhances the thorny bravery hidden deep inside. He looked at Tham Hac Dinh, then turned to look at me. His eyes lingered on my face for less than half a second, then immediately moved away.

"Grandfather." His voice was low, carrying a lazy and indifferent tone, "What do you need me for?"

Tham Hac Dinh pointed at me: "This is Pho Chi Ha, Pho Dien's daughter." That man's eyes once again fell on me.

“Pho Dien.” He repeated this name.

“Do you remember?” Tham Hac Dinh asked.

“Remember.” He replied, “The time you spoke in Hong Kong.”

Tham Hac Dinh nodded and turned to me: "Chi Ha, this is my grandson, Tham Bac Thanh. I want to do medicine, you can ask him to take me to get acquainted with the academic world here." Hearing that, Tham Bac Thanh slightly tilted his head and glanced at me.

"Okay." he said.

After speaking, he immediately left. The moment the door closed, Tham Hac Dinh sighed, his tone carrying reluctance but familiarity.

“This boy has such a personality, don't take it to heart.”

I shook my head and said okay. Three days later, I received an email. Sender: Tham Bac Thanh. The title has only one word: Arrival. The content was an invitation to the Melbourne Biopharmaceutical Summit — an internal discussion session. The guest list includes all senior leaders in charge of R&D of pharmaceutical companies and leading scholars in the Asia-Pacific region. At the end of the letter was a note in handwritten font. It seemed like he conveniently typed in:

"Nine o'clock, don't be late. Dress politely, but don't wear black, your face doesn't look pretty in that color."

I stared at that line for a long time. This person, isn't his observation ability a bit excessive? On the day of the conference, I showed up on time at the conference hall. Tham Bac Thanh was inside. He was chatting quietly with a gray-haired professor. They use English, speak very quickly, and the content revolves around the technical bottlenecks of a new antibody conjugate drug. I listened for a while, I was reluctant to keep up with about seven or eight parts - fortunately, thanks to the English that my father forced me to read from a young age, it created a solid foundation. Noticing me, he slightly raised his chin, signaling me to come forward.

“This is Professor Murdoch, former head of the Faculty of Pharmacy at the University of Melbourne.” He introduced himself very briefly, then turned to the professor, "Pho Chi Ha, Pho Dien's daughter."

Professor Murdoch's eyes lit up: "Pho Dien? In Hong Kong, right?" I nodded, a warmth rising in my heart. Unexpectedly, someone still remembers my father's name, thousands of miles away in Melbourne. Throughout that morning, Tham Bac Thanh led me through one conference room after another. He hardly talked to me, only when I couldn't keep up with the rhythm, he would suddenly slow down, or use his eyes to signal me to pay attention to someone speaking. I was like a shadow following him, observing how he communicated with people. He never wastes time with empty greetings. Shaking hands, introducing oneself, giving opinions, exchanging information — it all happened as smoothly as flowing water, without a single word being wasted. At lunch break, he finally opened his mouth to talk to me.

“How do you feel?”

“The amount of information is so great.” I told the truth, "There are specialized terms I've never heard of."

He glanced at me: "At what age did your father start teaching you specialized knowledge?" I paused a bit, not expecting him to ask this question: "Probably about... twelve or thirteen years old or something."

“Then your background isn't bad.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and quickly wrote a few book titles in the blank space on my invitation. “Read these books first, then come find me after reading them.”

I bent down to look at those titles. All are original English monographs, some of which I have never even seen in domestic libraries.

"Thank you." I said.

He nodded, turned around and left. Just like that, there are no superfluous instructions, no lengthy moral lectures, not even the sentence "you should study properly". But for some reason, I feel that this fair and decisive way of interacting makes me feel very comfortable. There is no need to guess the other person's thoughts, no need to carefully probe. It's simply — whatever you need, I'll give it to you; How much you absorb is your business. In the following days, I began to devour the books that Tham Bac Thanh introduced. During the day, I go to training classes, and at night I study books until dawn. I sat in front of my desk in my apartment, under a desk lamp, with a cup of coffee next to me, flipping through page after page of dry, difficult specialized documents. If I really don't understand, I will take notes and send an email to ask Tham Bac Thanh.