17: Chapter 17 Group Meeting

In the following days, Chen Youhua became a permanent fixture in the lab.

He followed Senior Student Wang Zhe's instructions for cell subculturing and medium preparation without fail, but beyond that, he firmly planted himself in every available gap of time.

After the dormitory lights went out, his small desk lamp was the only light source, and the sound of typing became Zhao Lei's lullaby.

"Youhua, ascending to immortality again?"

Zhao Lei was woken up in the middle of the night by the urge to pee; squinting as he passed Chen Youhua's desk, he frowned, blinded by the screen's glare.

"This level of grinding is even more ridiculous than the final sprint for the Gaokao."

"Yeah, just working on something."

Chen Youhua didn't even look up, his fingertips sliding quickly across the trackpad as complex arrows and boxes on the screen constantly shifted positions.

"Tsk, the world of top students is terrifying."

Zhao Lei shook his head and shuffled toward the bathroom in his slippers, the sound of them dragging against the floor exceptionally clear in the silence.

Occasionally, his phone screen lit up amidst the piles of literature, with Xiao Wen's profile picture popping up on WeChat.

"Youhua, a new milk tea shop opened at the West Gate, and their signature drink is amazing! Want to go check it out this weekend?"

"Busy."

"Oh... alright then. Don't stay up too late, and make sure to get some rest."

"Mhm."

Every conversation was like a severed kite string, falling abruptly.

Since their talk, Xiao Wen seemed to have accepted her role as a friend, but that small, unyielding spark always tried to ignite something else.

Chen Youhua didn't have the energy to extinguish it, nor could he be bothered to waste more words; maintaining the status quo didn't cost him much mental effort.

He wasn't being cold on purpose; it was just that the string in his mind was stretched too tight, filled with weightier matters.

Logic, evidence, expected results, and the heavy burden of costs.

Professor Zhang's "give it a try" had given him the green light, but the lab's resources weren't a bottomless pit.

Those specialized chips, expensive microscope time, extra culture consumables... every cent had to be scraped from the plates of other projects.

If he wanted to continue legitimately, he couldn't just rely on a single word from his supervisor to suppress everyone else.

He had to make everyone—

especially the senior students—feel that the money was well spent.

"Xiao Chen, those dark circles under your eyes could almost pass for smoky eye makeup."

Senior Student Li Wei, a third-year grad student, passed by carrying freshly prepared medium; she stopped when she caught a glimpse of the dense schedule and the mountain of printed literature on his screen.

Her gaze swept over the obscure terminology on the screen before falling back onto Chen Youhua's visibly sleep-deprived face.

"Teacher Zhang's project? Under a lot of pressure?"

"It's fine."

Chen Youhua rubbed his dry, swollen eyes and quickly closed an Excel spreadsheet filled with numbers.

"Preparing for next week's group meeting."

"Oh?"

Li Wei's eyebrows shot up, filled with a mix of scrutiny and curiosity.

"You're presenting? Not just doing odd jobs for us anymore?"

She set down the Petri dish in her hand, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the cold countertop.

"Yeah, a small direction I thought of myself," Chen Youhua answered briefly without looking up.

Li Wei hummed in response and didn't press further, but the inquisitive look in her eyes deepened, mixed with a hint of subtle amusement.

A first-year undergraduate wanting to start an independent project after being here for only a month?

This news was like a small pebble, sending ripples across the lab's surface.

Wang Zhe didn't say anything, but every time Chen Youhua went to collect consumables, the time he spent recording it was noticeably longer.

A few first-year grad students whispered privately, their looks toward Chen Youhua becoming more complex.

Time slipped away amidst the sounds of typing, pages turning, and the hum of the centrifuge.

The day before the group meeting, Chen Youhua placed a thick stack of printouts and a USB drive on Professor Zhang's desk.

The proposal was meticulously bound, with a striking title on the cover.

Professor Zhang stayed in his office alone for nearly an hour.

He flipped through the thesis proposal, which far exceeded the level of a first-year undergraduate, his fingers tracing the rigorous flowcharts and detailed budget tables; his brow smoothed out at times and knitted slightly at others.

Finally, he closed the proposal, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long, silent breath.

This kid... his mind was as meticulous as a veteran's, having blocked almost every loophole that could be attacked.

This document, if taken to the faculty's funding review committee, would be enough to be taken seriously.

He admired Chen Youhua's intellect and ruthlessness, but deep down, he wanted to see what would happen once his umbrella was folded.

How this sharp young man would use his own abilities to get what he wanted in this small social landscape of a laboratory.

A few minutes before the meeting started, Professor Zhang ran into Chen Youhua in the hallway, who was carrying his laptop; he simply patted his shoulder and said nonchalantly:

"I've looked over the materials; they're well-prepared. Later, present according to your own thinking—don't hold back."

There was no extra encouragement or suggestive support. Chen Youhua nodded, his gaze calm.

Protection? He didn't need it.

What he wanted was recognition earned through a real battle.

The group meeting took place in the small conference room next to the lab.

Seated around the long table were Professor Zhang, Wang Zhe, Li Wei, several Ph.D. students, and the two first-year grad students.

The air was filled with a faint scent of disinfectant mixed with coffee.

The atmosphere wasn't too tense, but the casual chatter quickly died down once Professor Zhang sat down.

It was Chen Youhua's turn.

He stood up, walked to the projection screen, and plugged in the USB drive.

The screen lit up, and a concise title appeared.

"A Preliminary Study on the Quantitative Effects of Physical Microenvironmental Gradients on the Dynamic Behavior of Cellular Microtubules."

"Seniors, Teacher Zhang,"

Chen Youhua began; his voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear and steady, without a hint of a newcomer's tremor.

"I'm reporting on a project concept I've devised myself, and I'd like to ask for everyone's feedback."

There were no polite pleasantries; he went straight to the core.

The PPT pages were clean and concise; he used a few intuitive diagrams and simple animations to demonstrate the core idea.

Observing how the internal skeleton of a cell "danced" on a specially designed micro-topography.

The key was the hook he threw out.

Could these topographies make the dance steps of the microtubules predictable?

The flowchart of the experimental steps was clearly presented.

How to obtain the chips, how to culture the cells, and how to stably film this "dance" under a microscope for an extended period.

In the most critical part, he pointed out the difficulties.

How to understand these dance steps?

Using software to track and quantify massive amounts of dynamic data.

"The main challenges lie in data acquisition and analysis."

Chen Youhua switched to a prominent "Challenges" page.

"First, stable long-term imaging requires the experience and support of Senior Student Wang Zhe and the rest of you, especially regarding equipment debugging and environmental control."

"Second, the automatic extraction and analysis of massive image data; I will focus on learning the algorithms for this part, but I also very much need to consult Senior Student Li Wei for her practical experience in image processing."

"Third, and most importantly, how to mine meaningful patterns from this data and even attempt to make predictions."

Then, he clicked to the next page.

The air in the conference room froze for a moment.

Even Wang Zhe, who had been twirling his pen, stopped.

An extremely detailed list of budget and resource requirements filled the screen.

Specialized chips (Unit price XX yuan, Quantity X)...

Confocal Microscope usage (XX hours/week, estimated total machine time XX hours)...

Special culture media, fluorescent dyes (Brand, specification, dosage)...

...

Every purpose, quantity, and estimated cost was clearly listed, with an unignorable total figure at the end.

The hum of the projector's fan became the only background sound at that moment.

Li Wei crossed her arms and leaned back slightly in her chair, her gaze sweeping back and forth between the screen and Chen Youhua's face.

Wang Zhe stared at the string of numbers, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the table.

The two first-year grad students exchanged a look, their expressions complex.

Professor Zhang sat upright, his face unreadable, but his sharp gaze behind his glasses fell on Chen Youhua, waiting to see how he would handle the hottest potato... the money.