Chapter 5: Female College Professor’s Certification of Resignation
On the day before the Financial Law and Business Forum commenced, Guan Lan received the conference schedule. She had just stepped out of a court session, and as soon as she turned on her phone, messages and emails flooded in, buzzing incessantly. The email was sent by He Xianfeng, the dean of the law school, informing her that her lecture was scheduled for the third slot on the first evening, followed by dinner and a reception. The theme of this forum was the new landscape and vision for family offices—essentially, matters concerning marriage, divorce, trusts, and inheritance for the wealthy. Listed under the topic of her lecture—*Demarcation of Duties Between Corporate Advisory Lawyers and Family Lawyers*—was her name: Ms. Guan Lan, specializing in family law at A City University of Political Science and Law. The organizers likely felt that her title of “lecturer” wasn’t impressive enough and opted for the ambiguous “Ms.” instead. She called He Xianfeng back to confirm the details and said, “The lecture is fine, but I’d rather skip the reception afterward.” He chuckled and probed, “Got something in the evening? Taking care of the kids or handling another case?” The question put her in an awkward spot. There had already been murmurs within the faculty about her allegedly being bogged down by personal obligations—be it her elderly parents’ illnesses, school issues with her child, or frequent absences from meetings—on top of taking on outside legal work. While adjunct legal practice was technically permitted for academic staff in the law department, in reality, it was mostly professors and associate professors who did so. One factor was access to cases, and another was that low-ranking lecturers like herself were generally expected to keep a low profile. Fortunately, He Xianfeng had been her doctoral advisor and had always turned a blind eye, never causing her trouble. This time, he even prompted her himself: “Is it because of what happened last time?” Guan Lan let out a soft laugh, tacitly confirming it. On the other end, He Xianfeng paused before offering advice: “Some of those senior lawyers in the bar association do have… well, outdated habits. But you shouldn’t assume that working in academia means living in an ivory tower. Certain social protocols must still be learned. Otherwise, with so many young faculty members, why would anyone give you an extra glance or an extra opportunity?” Guan Lan remained silent, though inwardly she retorted, *Isn’t it because of my competence?* As though reading her mind, He Xianfeng continued in a gentle tone, “You’re my student—I’m well aware of your educational background and abilities. You’re among the best in the faculty. Given the current situation, if you’re not anxious, I am on your behalf. This symposium happens to align perfectly with your research focus. Seize this chance to shine, and it’ll be effortless to land a partnership with a law firm—far better than scrambling for small cases out there. Besides, the promotion evaluations are coming up again after the semester starts…”

On the eve of the Financial Law and Business Forum, Guan Lan received the conference schedule.

At that moment, she had just stepped out of the courtroom. As soon as she turned on her phone, messages and emails flooded in, making it buzz incessantly.

The letter was sent to her by Dean He Xianfeng of the law school, informing her that her lecture was scheduled for the third slot on the first evening, to be followed by dinner and a cocktail reception.

This forum’s theme focused on new frameworks and perspectives for family offices—in essence, matters concerning trusts, inheritances, and marital transitions for the wealthy. The itinerary listed her presentation topic: “Delimitation of Responsibilities Between Corporate Advisory Lawyers and Family Lawyers,” followed by her name—Ms. Guan Lan, specialist in Family Law at A City University of Political Science and Law. The organizers likely considered her title of “Lecturer” insufficiently impressive, opting instead for the ambiguously respectable “Ms.”

She returned the call to confirm the schedule with Dean He, saying, “The lecture is fine, but could I skip the evening cocktail party?”

He Xianfeng chuckled and countered, “Got plans that night? Parenting duties or outside casework?”

His words left Guan Lan at a loss for how to respond. There had already been some murmurs within the faculty about her frequent family obligations – sometimes an elderly parent falling ill, other times being summoned to her child’s school, always requesting leave during meetings while still maintaining outside work.

While it’s generally permitted for legal studies faculty to practice law part-time, in reality this privilege was almost exclusively exercised by professors and associate professors. Securing clients was one hurdle. More importantly, junior lecturers like her were expected to keep a low profile and bide their time.

Fortunately, He Xianfeng – her doctoral advisor – had always turned a blind eye and never made things difficult for her. This time too, he spoke up on her behalf: “Is this about that incident from before?”

Guan Lan responded with a quiet laugh, finding no need for further explanation.

On the phone, He Xianfeng paused before offering his advice: “Some of those senior lawyers in the Bar Association do have certain… how shall I put it… outdated habits. But you shouldn’t think working at the university means you’re in an ivory tower either. You still need to learn how to navigate social situations. Otherwise, with so many young faculty members around, why should anyone give you a second glance or an extra opportunity?”

Guan Lan still didn’t speak, silently retorting in her heart: *Isn’t it because of my abilities?*

As if reading her thoughts, He Xianfeng continued in a gentle tone: “You were my protégé—I know your academic background and capabilities better than anyone, and you’re among the top tier in our department. Honestly, I’m more anxious about your situation than you seem to be. This seminar’s theme aligns perfectly with your research focus. Seize this chance to shine, and partnering with a law firm afterward will be effortless. Isn’t that better than taking on scattered small cases independently? Besides, faculty evaluations are coming up next semester. You know your departmental performance hasn’t been flawless—you need an indisputable strong point that silences all critics.”

*What exactly is this “indisputable strong point”?* Guan Lan wanted to ask, but she merely took a deep breath and replied, “Understood, Dean He. I’ll take your advice.”

After hanging up the phone, she checked her messages again—most were from clients inquiring about their cases, which she replied to one by one.

Scrolling to the last few messages, she saw one from a student of hers.

The young student, named Zhang Jingran, was usually quite close to her. He messaged excitedly: “Professor Guan, great news! Remember how last year during your promotion evaluation, someone reported you for taking outside cases affecting your teaching? Well, this year you scored first in the department’s teaching evaluations—your ‘lie-flat certificate’ is secured!”

Guan Lan chuckled wryly. That red associate professorship certificate, colloquially known as the “female university teacher lie-flat certificate,” had apparently become common knowledge even among students now.

She replied on WeChat: Who told you that?

Zhang Jingran answered instantly: I saw it at the school office today.

Guan Lan mocked herself inwardly—even a junior-to-senior undergrad was better informed than her. She typed back: Don’t worry about me, how’s your internship at Zhicheng going?

Zhang Jingran: Swamped. Still have to prep for the bar exam and LSAT.

Guan Lan: So you’ve decided to study abroad? Are you applying to schools in the same location as your econ-department boyfriend?

Zhang Jingran sent a disdainful doge emoji, followed by a message: Who’s he anyway?

Guan Lan couldn’t help but smile slightly, once again mocking herself inwardly—today’s kids really were sharper than she’d ever been at their age.

She put down her phone and left the courthouse, driving to pick up her daughter Li Erya from her mother Chen Minli’s place. Evening had fallen again, the sky gradually darkening as the city lights began to glow. Her gray-green Skoda merged into the traffic flow, like a tiny grain of sand traversing the shimmering lights of half the city.

As the car turned into the neighborhood where her mother lived, the sky had already darkened. She found a spot to park but kept her hand resting on the door without pressing down to open it. She sat quietly in the darkness for a moment, reminded once more of Zhang Jingran’s parting words: *Who is he?*

In that moment, Guan Lan suddenly wondered—if she had possessed such clarity back then, where would she be standing now? What would she be doing at this very instant?

The forum was held in a scenic area adjacent to the university town in the southern suburbs.

Qi Song parked the car in the scenic area’s parking lot, separated by just one street from the familiar campus of the University of Political Science and Law where he had once studied.

Peering through the car window, he saw Jiang Yuan arriving too, stepping out of a Honda Odyssey while walking toward him with sarcasm in his voice: “Being single truly has its perks! Unlike me, only fit to drive a mom van. Can’t even shuttle my son to weekend classes without asking my wife for permission first. Even though this is an assignment from the firm, it feels like I’m sneaking out to have fun by myself.”

Qi Song chuckled, got out of the car, and walked with him toward the scenic dock.

Jiang Yuan kept rambling: “Actually, I’ve been thinking about changing cars lately—started eyeing a Porsche, then settled for Tesla, until I thought about the mortgage and the kids’ expenses. Ah, forget it, just slap on some new tires and make do for another year. You’re the smart one—unlike me, never earning enough while the household spending hits max capacity. ‘Start a family before establishing a career’? Pure outdated nonsense.”

Qi Song just smiled again, not engaging. He’d heard this tune plenty of times before.

Jiang Yuan was only a year older than him but had married early, wedding his high school sweetheart at twenty-seven. By now, he had accomplished the two-child mission—one boy and one girl, the older being six and the younger two and a half—with his wife as a full-time homemaker tending to the family.

Perhaps due to the stress, Jiang Yuan had shown early signs of a midlife crisis, always envying Qi Song’s carefree bachelor life—being able to buy whatever car he fancied, purchasing a home without worrying about the number of bedrooms or proximity to good schools. Unlike himself, who had just upgraded to a 400-square-meter villa with front and back gardens, five suites and eight bathrooms, and a mortgage of 128,000 yuan a month. Last year, he had paid sponsorship fees to enroll his eldest in YK Pao School, and this year, he was pulling strings left and right to get the younger one into Soong Ching Ling Kindergarten. Routine visits to the dentist or optometrist easily burned through another 100,000 yuan.

Anyone overhearing these complaints would likely scold him, unable to tell whether he was venting or humblebragging. Only Qi Song genuinely believed his suffering—struggling to fathom why anyone would willingly choose such an existence, surrounded by noise from dawn till dusk without a moment’s peace. It made him pat his chest in relief, thanking his lucky stars he’d never fallen into that tender trap.

By the time they reached the dock, the concierge from the resort hotel was already waiting, ushering them onto a small yacht. After settling into the cabin, the engine soon rumbled to life, and the boat set off, gliding deeper into the wetlands.

The conversation shifted from family to work, and only after exchanging a few words did Qi Song teasingly say, “Boss Jiang, when you strike it rich, remember to take me along?”

“With the market in such a wretched state this year, what riches are there to speak of?” Jiang Yuan launched into another round of lamenting his misfortunes. “Most of the top nine investment banks have already released their Q2 results. The performance of M&A and capital market departments is about the same as Q1, down more than 70% year-on-year. IPOs can practically be described as collapsing—they’re all relying on ST and commodity trades in the secondary market to make money. Law firms are feeding on scraps even further downstream. In the first half of the year, the people in my team barely clocked a dozen billable hours a month.”

Qi Song called him out, saying, “Stop crying poor. Your big client’s annual report is out, with legal fees topping thirty million.”

“What thirty million?” Jiang Yuan explained, as if laying his cards on the table. “The contract is one thing, but payment is another. How much do you think actually ends up in our hands? When it’s time to work, an entire team of lawyers burns the midnight oil. But when it’s time to pay? Suddenly they’re all about installment plans, and we even have to help process their expenses.”

“It’s fine,” Qi Song flattered him, saying, “If you can’t handle IPOs, you can do M&A. If M&A doesn’t work out, there’s always bankruptcy.”

“What’s left after everything’s bankrupt?” Jiang Yuan retorted.

Qi Song replied, “Only the number of clients decreases, but the total wealth remains unchanged. Lawyers charge based on the case value anyway—no loss there.”

“Qi Song, you’re something else,” Jiang Yuan admitted, turning the tease back on him. “When it comes to making money, you guys are unbeatable—steady income come rain or shine. No matter what happens, lawsuits never stop. In fact, the worse the market gets, the more lawsuits there are—might as well do something with all that free time.”

Qi Song smiled and said, “That sounds like a saying about disciplining children on rainy days…”

At that moment, he glanced outside the cabin and spotted someone still standing on the deck, leaning against the railing as the wind blew. Though the sun had already set, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon, he immediately recognized Guan Lan.

She had probably overheard their conversation, as she turned to look in their direction.

Qi Song smiled at her and nodded, to which she responded with a smile of her own.

Perhaps because he had heard so much about her, Qi Song felt an odd sensation, as if they’d known each other for ages.