Alex learns more from what isn't said. The Mr. Li's questions are precise, surgical. He never asks about Inferthermic, never asks about the project, never shows any interest in the thing that consumes ninety percent of Jian's waking hours. He asks about Alex's work ethic, his discipline, his ability to finish what he starts. He asks about loyalty, about family, about whether Alex understands what it means to owe someone something.
By the end of the meal, Alex understands why Jian is the way he is. The precision, the discipline, the emotional reserve - it's all learned behavior, survival skills drilled in by a father who treats life like a military campaign. Jians father is menacing without being cruel, serious without being humorless, a man worth respecting in a way that none of Alex's mother's boyfriends ever were.
Alex doesn't wish he had Jian's dad. But he admires him. The way you admire a mountain, or a storm, or any force of nature that doesn't care about your opinion but commands your attention anyway.
They part ways on the sidewalk outside. Mr. Li
shakes Alex's hand again, says "It was good to meet you," and means it in a way that makes Alex stand up straighter.
"That was..." Alex starts, then trails off.
"Boring," Jian finishes for him. "Yes. That is normal."
"He didn't ask about Inferthermic."