Adrian asked whether Nia would provide a professional reference for a translation residency. His message acknowledged that she might decline and supplied the actual questions. Nia read them with surprise. They concerned collaboration, reliability, and response to criticism. There was no version of an honest answer that would make his application uncomplicated. She considered ignoring the message, then recognized how much of their history had been shaped by unanswered questions. She replied that she could not provide the reference he needed and would not offer a misleading one.
He accepted the refusal without argument. A week later, he asked permission to list the corrected edition among his publications, using the exact agreed credit. The question was unnecessary under their arrangement, but Nia understood why he asked. She confirmed the wording and reminded him where the public contributor note appeared. The exchange ended there. No private request to forgive him followed. She noticed how much easier limited contact became when a boundary did not have to defend itself against a second conversation about whether it was fair.
Jordan thought the reference request was astonishing. Patricia thought it might indicate that Adrian was trying to behave transparently. Nia thought both observations could coexist. Their discussion ended over dinner with a disagreement about whether the soup needed salt. The change of subject mattered. Adrian remained part of her professional history. He no longer deserved unlimited residence in every evening that followed a message bearing his name.
Later, a student asked Nia to write a reference for a scholarship. She had seen the student's work, revisions, and classroom conduct. She could describe them specifically. The letter took longer than a generic recommendation because she wanted every claim to refer to something she knew. She supplied examples, acknowledged the limits of their contact, and submitted it before the deadline. The student thanked her. Nia said she hoped the committee read the sample closely. A reference could open a door, but the work should still have a chance to speak in its own form.
After sending it, she returned to Wen's manuscript. A character had just asked another woman for a favor she had no right to expect. Nia smiled at the timing, then refused the temptation to turn the scene into her own argument. She checked the Mandarin again. The woman's motives were stranger and more interesting than Adrian's. She owed the character that difference.
Chapter 28
The Smaller Launch
Wen's novel arrived in print eighteen months after Nia accepted the sample. The launch took place in a bookshop with folding chairs and a temperamental heater. Wen joined by video from Chengdu. Twenty six people registered, and twenty appeared. Nia recognized students, two translators, a neighbor, and a woman who said she came because the premise sounded lonely. There were books to discuss, a connection to keep stable, and a stack of cups beside the kettle.
The bookseller introduced Wen first, then Nia with the correct translator credit. The brief biography mentioned other work without replaying the wager. Wen spoke about rooms people leave behind and the complicated pleasure of being trusted with them. Nia described the difficult repetition they preserved. A reader disliked it. Another loved it. Wen listened through the interpreter covering the conversation and laughed at how firmly both readers defended their responses. The disagreement belonged to the novel. Nia felt no urge to organize it into winners and losers before allowing the evening to proceed.
During questions, the woman who described the premise as lonely said she had kept a neighbor's keys for years after the neighbor died. She did not ask anyone to interpret that fact as a lesson. Wen thanked her for sharing it, then discussed the difference between an object remaining useful and becoming difficult to discard. Nia watched the audience grow quiet. The book had reached someone through a small detail, without needing publicity to explain why the encounter mattered. She remembered being asked whether translation was simply changing words. Tonight, the question seemed too small to hold what had crossed the room.
Afterward, the bookseller reported modest sales and asked whether Nia could return for a workshop. She discussed a fee and possible dates. Wen sent a message thanking everyone for handling a brief connection failure calmly. Nia replied that the frozen screen gave them an unexpected view of her cat. The author said the cat now expected royalties. Nia laughed while putting chairs away. A publication could contain ordinary embarrassment, practical labor, and good jokes without losing the importance people attached to it. Perhaps that was one way importance became livable.
At home, she placed the novel beside Lin's. She opened her unfinished driver scene and read it again. The next page no longer seemed quite so distant. She began writing before deciding whether anyone else would ever read it.
Chapter 29