Negative Electrode Material Chapter 12

Falling Out

Chapter 12: Falling Out

Ever since Gao Huan had brazenly followed him to the cafeteria that one time, he seemed to have discovered a new source of amusement. From then on, whenever he sat in on Mr. Lin’s morning classes, he would inevitably stay for lunch as well. After other students and teachers spotted them together several times, someone finally couldn’t help but ask who he was. Lin Yi found it awkward to explain that he was a project investor, so he settled for a half-truth: “He’s an acquaintance of the principal.”

As they shared more meals, their conversations gradually shifted from the food and the weather to more personal topics.

Lin Yi learned that Gao Huan was twenty-five and had a younger sister studying drama in London. Gao Huan had spent his years from middle school through university in the UK. Although he visited bars and nightclubs, it was usually at the invitation of friends; he rarely went on his own initiative. Surprisingly, he was quite knowledgeable about art, able to discuss various movements and styles with ease.

Through their conversations, Gao Huan pieced together Lin Yi’s background. He came from a typical local middle-class family, and both his parents were now retired. His father had been an engineer at a large state-owned factory; after the company’s restructuring, he moved to a private enterprise, where he continued to immerse himself in technical research. His mother had been a teacher at National University. While she wasn’t overly strict, she had helped Lin Yi develop excellent study habits. Lin Yi had been a top student since childhood, frequently earning perfect scores in the sciences.

Gao Huan actually had many more personal questions he wanted to ask, such as whether Lin Yi had ever been in a relationship, if he lived alone, or what kind of person he was attracted to. But with the words on the tip of his tongue, he always felt they were too forward. Instead, he opted for more neutral inquiries: “What do you usually do in your spare time, besides work?”

Lin Yi adjusted his glasses and said with a smile, “If I told you that my life consists of nothing but work, would that make you feel more confident about your investment?” He was clearly trying to steer the conversation back toward their professional relationship.

“Li Qi mentioned the other day that the experimental cycle is taking too long, but there’s no way around it; that’s just the nature of research. If we force the process to move faster, things could go wrong in the end.” Lin Yi picked up his tray and prepared to stand. “I have to supervise a graduate student’s defense this afternoon, so I’ll head out first.”

Gao Huan seemed to be struggling to refocus himself. “Right, okay,” he replied, beginning to clear his own tray.

Lin Yi was about to head toward the tray return area when he took a step and then paused. He turned his head to look back at Gao Huan, who was still sitting there. His expression wasn’t aggressive, but it carried a hint of troubled earnestness.

“Little Mr. Gao, about you coming to my classes… do you actually understand any of it?”

He paused, his tone maintaining a sense of polite boundaries. “To be honest, I don’t think it’s necessary. This isn’t the kind of subject you can just pick up with zero background knowledge. Forcing yourself to sit in that classroom serves no purpose for you, and it doesn’t affect the project either. Don’t you agree?” He reached out and gave Gao Huan’s shoulder a light, brief pat.

Lin Yi walked away, leaving Gao Huan stunned in his seat. He wasn’t sure whether he should feel resentful for being shut out or secretly pleased by that brief touch on his shoulder.

Gao Huan stopped attending the classes. Mr. Lin was right; he hadn’t understood a single word while sitting there. He returned to his role as an investor and began to reorganize his priorities.

Li Qi had been confused by his previous behavior but was deeply impressed. A young master with a liberal arts background was actually attending advanced STEM lectures just to understand an investment project—what dedication! What was the antonym for “playboy” again?

However, internal pressure within the company was mounting by the day. The board of directors and external investors were pushing for the lab to release phase-specific results as soon as possible, ideally a “milestone” to reassure everyone. As the liaison, Li Qi could clearly feel the anxiety trickling down from the group’s top executives. They had invested so much; they couldn’t just keep hearing technical jargon—they needed progress they could show off. Unfortunately, Lin Yi remained firm. He was explicitly against announcing research results that were not yet mature.

That evening, Li Qi approached Gao Huan, having finally made up her mind. “Little Mr. Gao, we can’t keep going on like this. No matter how you explain the investors’ needs to Mr. Lin, he won’t budge. Perhaps we should try a different approach.”

Gao Huan looked up. “What kind of approach?”

“Good cop, bad cop,” Li Qi said in a low voice. “You’re the person in charge, so you should be the ‘bad cop’—be assertive and apply pressure. I’ll be the ‘good cop’ and play the mediator to leave some breathing room. After all, I still have to coordinate with him regularly. No matter how principled Mr. Lin is, he’s still human. People are emotional. If one person pushes hard and another offers a compromise, he’s more likely to waver and find a graceful way to back down when he’s frustrated.”

Although Gao Huan was reluctant to have a falling out with Lin Yi, as the head of the investment team, he had to prioritize the project’s progress and his accountability to the board. He nodded and agreed to play the “bad cop.”

The atmosphere during the next day’s online meeting was indeed strained.

Lin Yi presented the experimental data for the latest batch of silicon-based anode materials. His conclusion remained the same: while there was an improvement in performance, it was nowhere near the stage where it could be released to the public. Shortening the experimental timeframe for an early announcement would carry extremely high risks.

Gao Huan usually said very little during these routine meetings, but this time he spoke up immediately, his voice heavy and stern. “Mr. Lin, you need to understand that investment is not the same as academia. Without phase-specific results, the group and the external funds will begin to doubt if the project is making any progress at all. Your research can wait, and capital can wait, but there is a limit to that patience.”

Lin Yi paused for a moment before speaking with blunt honesty. “Investment is your area of expertise, but research is my job. You want me to understand the rhythm of the market, and I expect you to understand the laws of scientific research. When a layman insists on managing the expert, neither side ends up satisfied.”

Seeing the opening, Li Qi immediately stepped in as the “good cop,” her voice gentle. “Mr. Lin, Little Mr. Gao has been shielding this project from a lot of pressure from the board. It’s not that we don’t respect the research; we just need a phase-specific demonstration. You can personally oversee the data and the process—we would never dream of falsifying anything. Do you think you could provide a preliminary result within a controllable scope, just to alleviate some of the external concerns?”

Lin Yi sensed it immediately—they were putting on an act, one applying pressure and the other playing the mediator. In an instant, a surge of anger flared up from the depths of his heart.

“I’ll consider it,” he said. His tone was calm, yet it carried a trace of suppressed fury. Then, he abruptly left the meeting.

Once the meeting ended, Li Qi actually felt a sense of relief. She hadn’t expected Lin Yi to relent, even if it was just a vague “I’ll consider it.” In her eyes, this was already a massive breakthrough.

“Little Mr. Gao, it looks like our strategy worked. Mr. Lin might even give us a new timeline next time. How about a drink? We should have a small celebration.”

However, Gao Huan’s expression remained cold, and he didn’t respond immediately. Li Qi blinked, realizing something was off—the atmosphere wasn’t as lighthearted as she had imagined. Her mind raced; surely this young master hadn’t misunderstood something? Had she overstepped her bounds? She quickly laughed it off and made an excuse about having other things to attend to, leaving Gao Huan alone in the conference room.

The screen went black, and the room fell silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning. Gao Huan sat where he was, his hand resting on the table. His fingertip tapped against the wooden surface, over and over, without any discernible rhythm.

“A layman managing the expert.”

So that was how Mr. Lin saw him.

Meanwhile, in the Energy and Chemical Engineering Building at National University, Lin Yi was staring at the data curves on his screen.

“Layman…” Lin Yi murmured under his breath, a cold sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. Gao Huan’s stiff expression flashed through his mind; it hadn’t seemed entirely like arrogance, but rather a hint of stung bewilderment. Lin Yi tried to convince himself that it was just a glitch in the video call, but he knew that once those words were spoken, they couldn’t be taken back.

He took a deep breath and looked at the experimental data:

Sample A: Drying cycle 72h; interface intact, good stability.

Sample B: Drying cycle 48h; interface bonding relatively uniform, minimal deviation.

Sample C: Drying cycle 24h; significant data fluctuations, insufficient safety.

These notes served as a reminder that the laws of science would not yield for anyone. Yet, another voice echoed in the back of his mind: “If you keep delaying, the investors will decide you’re doing it on purpose.”

Lin Yi reached up to take off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The fluorescent lights above the lab bench hummed, sounding almost like they were mocking his hesitation. He knew that continuing to dig in his heels would only escalate the conflict—and if that happened, the project might be sold off, and the three years of hard work by the dozen people in his lab would be handed over to someone else.

“Fine,” he whispered to himself, as if pronouncing a sentence. “Since you want results, we’ll shorten the experimental cycle.”

With that, he put his glasses back on, opened his computer, and began to modify the experimental schedule. The cursor blinked on the screen for a long time before the “72h” drying cycle was finally changed to “48h.” The sound of the Enter key was exceptionally sharp in the empty laboratory. He knew that this single keystroke meant he would have to re-sign every single safety form.