Chapter 12 — Ten Years of Love, His Proposal Was Just a Bet

His answers are usually very brief, sometimes just a sentence, sometimes a few keywords, sometimes a reference link is attached. Days passed like that. The communication between me and Tham Bac Thanh always maintains an extremely wonderful distance - not too close nor too far, not too cold nor too rushed. He took me to meet people in the industry, took me to conferences, suggested books for me, and occasionally answered emails to answer my questions in detail. But he never proactively contacted me, nor did he ever ask how I was studying or whether I was living well. Every day reading books, taking notes, writing emails, participating in activities, my life is so full that I barely have time to remember the past. Sometimes on late, quiet nights, that wound still vaguely aches, but it is no longer as sharp as the first day. The change happened in the fifth month since I arrived in Melbourne. That night, Tham Bac Thanh suddenly called me. “Mr. Tham?” I picked up the phone, a bit surprised. “Pho Chi Ha.” His voice sounded unusual, deeper than usual, and his speaking speed also slowed down. “Are you free?” “Yes, what's wrong?” The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds, then he said: "I'm in Nam Ngan. I drank too much alcohol and it's not convenient to drive. Can you come pick me up?" I was stunned. In my perception, he is an extremely disciplined person, with strong self-control to the point of being almost cold-blooded. How could such a person let himself get drunk? But I didn't ask much, took the car keys and drove away immediately. Arriving at Nam Ngan (Southbank), Tham Bac Thanh was sitting on a bench along the river. The night wind was very cold, he was only wearing a thin shirt, the sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, the collar hanging loosely. I've never seen him like this before. “Mr. Tham.” I walked over and stood in front of him. He raised his head to look at me. Under the streetlight, those long, narrow eyes shone with an emotion I had never seen before. Empty and obscure. “Why do you drink so much?” I squatted down, intending to take the glass of wine from his hand. He dodged my hand, his voice slurring: "Today is the anniversary of my father's death." My movements stopped. “Every year on this day,” He looked at me, his eyes slightly tired, “I come here to sit for a while.” “He passed away in this part of the river.” I followed his gaze and looked out at the river. Melbourne at night, the water surface of the Yarra River sparkles and is as quiet as a mirror. It is impossible to see any trace of sadness, nor to see the weight of the life that once sank here. I sat down next to him. Don't say a word. I don't know what to say. I understand the pain of losing a close relative better than anyone. Any words of comfort would be insipid, any words would be superfluous. We just sat like that, silently facing the river. That night, I didn't ask him anything else. By the seventh month, Tham Bac Thanh assigned me an "assignment" - Independently complete a market analysis report on drug research and development, with the topic "Competitive landscape of ADC drugs in the Asia-Pacific market". The last field my father researched before he passed away. When I saw this topic, my whole body stiffened. I don't know if Tham Bac Thanh did it on purpose or if it was just a coincidence. But based on his usual working style, this man never does meaningless things. I didn't ask much, accepted the task, started collecting documents, synthesizing data, and analyzing the competitive landscape. A month later, I sent him a report. Three days later, he responded via email. “Next week there is a project evaluation meeting, you come with me, you will be the one to report.” I stared at that line, my heart skipped a few beats. The project review meeting took place in a conference room at the University of Melbourne. Attending were senior directors and technical heads of the biomedicine and pharmaceutical segment of Tham Thi Group. Tham Bac Thanh sat in the chair position, his facial expression was as usual, showing no emotion. I stood in front of the projector screen, took a deep breath, and opened the first page of the report. At first I was very nervous, my voice was still a bit shaky. But after talking and talking, I suddenly realized - I have indeed researched this field thoroughly. My voice gradually stabilized. When the report ended, the meeting room fell silent for a few seconds. Then, a gray-haired technical director nodded and said: "Girl, great job." I unconsciously looked towards Tham Bac Thanh. He was looking down at the printed report in front of him, showing no emotion. But after the meeting ended, he walked past me, his voice very low: "If your father was still alive, he would be proud of you." I stood still, my eyes stinging, but I held back the tears from falling. By the fifteenth month, I obtained my pharmaceutical industry analyst certificate in Australia. That day, Tham Bac Thanh invited me out for a meal. A very modest Japanese restaurant, located in a small alley in Melbourne, the facade is so tiny that it is almost missed. “The owner of this restaurant is originally a fisherman in Hokkaido,” he said as he ordered, “The fish here is transported directly on the same day, and the food is much better than the Michelin restaurants in the center.” I looked at him fluently ordering food and chatting in Japanese with the shop owner, feeling a bit panicked. This man, like a book, every page he opens contains new content. After eating, he took me back to the apartment. The car stopped in the lobby, he didn't turn off the engine immediately, but took out an envelope from the luggage compartment and gave it to me. “What is it?” I took it and opened it.