Although he was a native Californian, he was especially fond of Chinese culture. The reason he had approached Edward Harris in the first place was because Edward Harris was Chinese. He had painstakingly picked a Chinese name for himself from "Memorial to Yueyang Tower," forbade his friends from calling him Luka, and encouraged everyone to call him "David Clark," which left some of his American friends struggling to pronounce it. Whenever he spoke with Edward Harris, he insisted on using Chinese, and even learned the Beijing accent from crosstalk performances, thinking it was especially cool.

"I won't. What are you doing?" David Clark didn't switch to English, and even deliberately added a not-yet-mature Beijing accent.

"Smoking."

David Clark acted as if he'd caught him red-handed, his tone rising, "Weren't you going to quit? You actually relapsed?"

Edward Harris gave a hum. "Today was a bit rough, I wanted a smoke."

David Clark let out a long sigh. "If you ask me, you might as well not quit. What's the harm in smoking? It's not like you'll die tomorrow. Besides, life is only so long. For someone like you who does nothing but work, you need some way to unwind, right?"

Edward Harris barely listened, quietly smoking, exhaling grayish-white smoke under an out-of-season patio umbrella.

"Workaholics are scary. I think the only way you relax is by going home and staring blankly at that cat plushie of yours..."

Edward Harris abruptly interrupted, standing up. "I'm heading back."

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?" David Clark was oblivious, not thinking much of it, and asked again, "By the way, I'm going to a party later. Want to come?"

"No, I'm going back to the hotel. I haven't finished my work." After saying this, Edward Harris stubbed out his cigarette, tossing it and his vague emotions into the trash.

"You should relax once in a while," the other sighed again.

Edward Harris returned the lighter, called a car, and said offhandedly, "You, as my partner, should work once in a while too."

David Clark replied in Chinese, but with a completely Western turn of phrase, "Alright then, have a great night!"

The words sounded ridiculous, and hearing them was just as ridiculous.

Edward Harris didn't expect to have any kind of pleasant evening, especially not tonight.

Back at the hotel, he opened his laptop for a meeting, but spent most of the time listening to others' reports. Edward Harris was very good at multitasking, so he reviewed the financial statements sent by the CFO while listening. The meeting lasted two and a half hours. Near the end, he opened his email to reply to messages, only then noticing an email from Carl, regarding the person he had asked him to look into earlier.

The email had many attachments, most of them academic papers. Edward Harris clicked to download them, then called Carl.

"If I'm not mistaken, he should be a clinical psychiatrist in New York, with his own practice. I've collected some of his published journal and conference papers. Dr. Cooper seems to focus on research into the treatment of bipolar disorder. Do we have a project that needs to collaborate with him?"

Carl misunderstood Edward Harris's intentions, but since Edward Harris didn't deny it, he continued, "Actually, there's a PhD in our lab who studied under the same mentor as Dr. Cooper—that's Elvis. If we need to collaborate, I think we can approach him through Elvis."

Edward Harris neither agreed nor disagreed, pausing before continuing, "What about the rest? Information unrelated to his profession."

"Unrelated to his profession..." Carl thought for a moment. "His private life?"

He hadn't quite figured out what Edward Harris wanted, and after thinking for a while, suddenly remembered a paper he'd just seen. "Oh right, Dr. Cooper published a paper on homosexual psychology during his undergraduate years, and in that article, he stated his own sexual orientation—he's gay."

That should be personal enough, right?

Carl waited quietly for a response, thinking Edward Harris would praise his thoroughness.

Unexpectedly, Edward Harris hung up directly.

For a moment, Carl had a thought: if there were a subject called Boss Psychology, he would definitely sign up for it.

Author's note:

Work is hard, Carl sighs

Chapter 4 N. Birthday Gift

Edward Harris stood up, paced a few steps in the hotel room, then returned to the table and finally picked up his phone to call Elvis, subtly inquiring about Henry Cooper.

This was a warm-hearted and cheerful researcher, who enthusiastically introduced his junior to him, piling on compliments like smart, friendly, and humorous, unwittingly adding fuel to the fire.

"Shaw, you’re not trying to poach him, are you? Let me give you a heads-up—my junior comes from a middle-class family, owns property in the Bay Area, New York, and Seattle, and isn’t short on money. Plus, he really enjoys being a clinician—he likes serving concrete cases, isn’t interested in theoretical research, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to recruit him."

Edward Harris smiled, as if he didn’t mind. "Do you have his contact information?"

Elvis quickly sent it over. "Did you get it? But he rarely answers calls from unknown numbers on his personal phone. You can try his clinic number."

Then he corrected himself, "Oh no, I just remembered he’s not at the clinic recently. Funny enough, he’s in Seattle these days too, seems like he’s attending an art exhibition..."