The Academic Conference
Adrian, the new junior in our lab, demanded I hand over the prize money, declaring, Results obtained using lab resources mean the prize money belongs to the lab.
What was colder was that my girlfriend of two years, Evelyn, nodded in agreement. "Those are the rules."
Adrian smirked triumphantly.
To further undermine me, he had me removed from the core project and reassigned as an equipment maintenance technician.
It wasn't until the presentation for a national-level project that Evelyn, in front of everyone, pushed me towards the stage. "Go on, just like every other year."
I threw up my hands. "Dr. Lin, I'm just the equipment tech now. According to the rules, I can't do presentations."
1
I had just returned from a major academic conference, clutching the "Outstanding Young Scholar Paper Award" certificate and an envelope containing five thousand dollars in prize money.
"Damn, Leo, you killed it again!"
"Let's see it! The academic prodigy of our lab strikes again!"
A few of my lab mates gathered around, the atmosphere warm and celebratory.
I smiled, showing them the certificate. "Just got lucky. The review committee said my model had some decent innovation."
In the midst of the cheerful noise, a dissonant voice cut in.
"Leo."
Adrian, a junior who had only been in the lab for a few months, strode over, his face wearing a seriousness that didn't match his age. Without any pleasantries, he snatched the certificate and the envelope from my hands.
I froze. The chatter around us died instantly.
A business-like smile touched Adrian's lips. "Leo, according to Chapter Three, Section Seven of the lab's management regulations, all academic achievements derived from the use of lab equipment, data, or a professor's research resources, including all resulting honors and financial gains, are to be managed and distributed by the lab."
It took me a second to process his words. "Adrian, you might be mistaken," I explained. "The core algorithm in this paper was something I developed myself during my PhD. It didn't use any of the current project's proprietary resources, and the data is from a public dataset."
This paper was the culmination of my entire doctoral career. The foundational idea for its core algorithm had taken root in my mind during my first year, refined through countless failures and iterations. The data I used was publicly available. Aside from having the lab's name on it, the work was almost entirely my own intellectual property.
"Did you or did you not attend the conference under the lab's name?" he retorted aggressively.
I nodded. "I did."
"And were your flight and accommodation reimbursed from the research group's funds?"
I frowned. "Yes, that's standard academic support."
"Exactly," Adrian said, slapping the certificate and envelope down on his desk. "The opportunity to attend the conference was given to you by the group. You, yourself, are the lab's most important 'resource.' Therefore, this prize money must be turned over to the lab for collective management."
His gangster logic was so absurd I almost laughed.
He was just a new master's student. He wouldn't dare act like this without someone backing him up.
I called Evelyn.
She was my senior in the lab, my girlfriend, and the one who actually managed the lab's day-to-day operations under our professor.
Her voice on the phone had a familiar, hesitant quality. "Leo, Adrian is just following the rules. We do have an unwritten rule about this, mainly to stop people from focusing on making money on the side. Look, I worked hard to get you the opportunity to go on this trip. When it comes to the results, we have to keep our personal and professional lives separate."
"'Separate'?" A chill crept into my heart. "Evelyn, does your idea of 'professional' mean taking my personal earnings and handing them over to you and Adrian to 'distribute'?"
"Oh, don't think of it like that, that's not what I meant..." She tried to explain, but it was useless.
I hung up. I didn't want to hear any more.
Everyone was staring at me. Some with pity, some with curiosity, and some with undisguised schadenfreude.
I walked over to Adrian's desk and said calmly, "You're right. We should keep things professional."
Then, I turned and went back to my workstation.
One week later, the lab received a notice for an urgent proposal submission for a national-level key research and development program. This was the most important event of the year, determining our funding and reputation for the next three years.
Just like they had for the past five years, everyone in the lab automatically looked at me. After all, the core of every winning proposal they were so proud of had been written by me.
I was in the middle of packing my personal belongings into cardboard boxes.
Evelyn walked over, her tone taking my cooperation for granted. "Leo, stop sulking. The national project announcement is here. Put your things aside and take the lead on writing the proposal. We need the framework by tomorrow."
I looked up and gave her a professional smile. "I'm sorry, Dr. Lin. I've already submitted my application to the university to finalize my graduation procedures. As for the project proposal, I'm afraid you'll all have to handle it yourselves."
She froze on the spot.
2
Evelyn didn't take my refusal seriously. She thought I was just throwing a tantrum. She told me to cool down, sent a few half-hearted, placating messages, and when I didn't respond, she assumed the matter was closed and I would go back to being her compliant workhorse.
Let her think what she wanted. She would find out soon enough.
The conflict didn't just blow over with my concession. Some people seemed to mistake my silence for weakness.
That afternoon, during a break, I stepped out of the lab for a moment. When I returned, I walked into a farce.
Adrian was fiddling with my brand-new tablet, which I'd bought specifically for academic drawing and efficient literature review.
He was showing it off to a few other graduate students, his voice exaggerated. "Wow, is this the top-of-the-line model? Over a grand? Leo must be loaded. I wonder if this was also bought with the 'earnings' from his conference trip?"
A ripple of suppressed snickers went through the group. I saw familiar faces, their expressions gleefully stirring the pot. I even recognized one of them as the guy who had begged me to help revise the introduction to his paper just last week.
I didn't walk towards Adrian. Instead, I scanned the whispering crowd.
"Catherine," I said, calling out one of the senior students. "You went to a conference in Chicago last month. You came back with a new limited-edition mechanical keyboard. You said you snagged it at a local specialty shop, right?"
Catherine's face stiffened.
"Jenna," I turned to another. "That expensive simulation software license on your laptop... didn't you get that in Hong Kong last time you went to a conference, using the meal allowance you saved up? You were bragging to all of us about it."
Jenna's face turned beet red.
"And you, Mark," my gaze finally landed on a male student. "You said the best thing you got out of the Beijing conference wasn't the content, but running into the professor you admire and getting a letter of recommendation. Does that letter count as a 'personal gain' obtained using the research group's resources?"
The room fell silent.
Finally, I looked at Adrian, smiling. "According to your logic, shouldn't all these 'gains' also be reported to the lab for you to distribute?"
Adrian's face went from red to white. He was speechless. In his flustered anger, his hand slipped, and the expensive tablet went crashing to the floor.
CRACK! The screen shattered into an ugly spiderweb.
Adrian snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned. "Oh my god! Leo, why didn't you catch it?"
I stared at him coldly. "There's a security camera right there. Will you be paying in cash or by transfer?"
Adrian's eyes welled up. Before he could say anything, Evelyn rushed out from the inner office. Seeing the shattered tablet and the tense atmosphere, she immediately turned on me. "It's just a tablet! Do you really have to be so petty with a junior? It's not a big deal. Apologize to him, and we'll forget about it."
"Apologize?" I almost laughed out loud. "Apologize for what? For him dropping my tablet?"
"You!" Evelyn was at a loss for words. She lowered her voice. "Don't make a scene in the lab!"
I didn't say anything. I bent down and picked up the broken device. The power button still worked. The screen lit up, the wallpaper a photo of Evelyn and me, smiling brightly.
I held it up to her. "Do you remember this?" I asked softly. "You gave this to me last year when I won the university's 'Rising Scholar Award.' You said it was a recognition of my hard work."
Evelyn's expression became incredibly complicated.
I didn't give her time to react. I turned and decisively tossed the broken tablet, once a symbol of our shared memories, into the electronics recycling bin.
"But none of that matters anymore," I said, looking back at her. "Evelyn, we're done."
I blocked her number and all her messages that day.
The next day, I saw a post from Adrian on an academic social media platform.
The title read: "A Positive Force in Academia: Lab Newcomer Bravely Confronts Senior Who Hoards Academic Resources."
In the post, I was painted as a greedy, selfish senior who exploited his juniors and treated the lab's resources as his personal property. He, of course, was the brave hero who stood up to tyranny and defended the collective's interests.
What hurt the most were the familiar profile pictures that had "liked" the post. These were the same people who had once come to me, manuscript in hand, respectfully asking for my guidance.
Now, they repaid my years of late-night, unpaid help with a single "like."
3
I began to strictly enforce the principle of "keeping things professional," only this time, I was the one defining the boundaries.
Ten o'clock at night. The lab was still brightly lit. For graduate students, this was just the beginning of their workday.
But I packed my bag, ready to leave.
"Leo! Wait up!"
A few lab mates surrounded me, holding laptops and printed drafts, their faces plastered with their usual ingratiating smiles.
"Leo, you're the best at experimental design. Can you take a look at my protocol and see if there are any logical flaws?"
"Leo, my introduction is so dry. Can you help me polish it? The submission deadline is the day after tomorrow!"
In the past, I would have found it hard to refuse.
But now, I just looked up at them, not reaching for their papers.
"Sorry," I said with a smile. "Your research areas aren't exactly my core expertise. Writing and revising your papers are your own responsibilities. I'm afraid I can't help."
Their smiles froze.
Just then, Adrian walked out of the inner office, arms crossed, a sneer on his face. "Everyone's working overtime for the big project, and some people are already rushing off? If you're so unwilling to contribute to the team, you can apply to leave the group. No one's stopping you."
I glanced at him and pointed to the clock on the wall.
"The lab's official working hours are from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. Adrian, since you're so insistent that 'achievements derived from lab resources belong to the lab,' then any intellectual labor I perform outside of working hours should naturally belong to me."
I paused, my gaze sweeping over my anxious colleagues.
"In the past, when I stayed here after 10 p.m. to help you revise papers and discuss protocols, that was my personal time, which I gave voluntarily. As of today, that volunteering has ended."
"But... but my paper is due the day after tomorrow!" one of the junior women exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her skin.
I gave her a helpless smile. "I suggest you work 'overtime' yourself tonight and revise it properly. After all, it's your paper."
Then, amidst their stunned, angry, and panicked gazes, I turned and walked out of the lab.
4
The atmosphere in the lab grew increasingly strange.
I stuck to a strict 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. schedule. During the day, I worked on my own graduation thesis data. At 10 p.m., I left on the dot.
No matter who asked for help, I politely declined, citing "outside my responsibilities" and "after working hours."
They soon felt the consequences.
A long-term corporate partner wanted to sign a lucrative research project. I had been handling the technical proposal, and we were in the final stages of signing the contract.
That afternoon, the company representatives arrived as scheduled, but Adrian couldn't find the final version of the technical details. He was running around like a headless chicken. Finally, he cornered me as I was leaving the conference room.
"Leo, quick, the clients are waiting inside. Go in and explain the technical details to them again," he hissed, his tone demanding.
I looked at him, then walked straight into the conference room.
To the surprise of the company representatives and Adrian, I bowed slightly to the clients.
"Gentlemen, I sincerely apologize," I said earnestly. "I just reviewed our previous communication records and found that several discussions about the core technical proposal took place after 10 p.m. via my personal email. According to our lab's principle of 'personal ownership of work done outside of working hours,' these communications were not compliant with our procedures."
The clients' faces darkened.
I continued, "To avoid any potential intellectual property disputes in the future, I personally suggest we postpone the signing of this contract. The lab should reassign a project lead and schedule a formal, compliant technical review meeting during official working hours, with proper minutes taken. This will provide better protection for both our parties."
Adrian was trembling with rage. "Leo, you!"
The lead representative was clearly a man who valued process and risk management. He listened to me and then said to Adrian, his voice displeased, "This young man has a point. Our partnership must be built on a foundation of compliance. Mr. Chen, it seems your lab's internal management is somewhat chaotic. Please contact us again when you have your house in order."
With that, he and his team left without a backward glance.
A project worth nearly a million dollars was gone, just like that.
Adrian's eyes were red. He practically shrieked at me, "Leo! Do you have any idea how important this project was to the lab? You're doing this for revenge!"
I stopped and looked at him calmly. "Important? But I recall you saying that someone like me, who is 'only good for taking petty advantages' and 'can't separate personal from professional,' would only mess up a core project. My actions just now were strictly in accordance with the lab's management requirements, to prevent potential risks. I was helping you, and the lab, Adrian."
"You... you just wait!" he snarled, then ran off to tattle to Evelyn.
Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, Evelyn stormed over to my workstation. It was already piled high with miscellaneous items she had allowed to accumulate there. She slammed a thick stack of research papers onto my desk with a loud bang.
"Leo, what the hell are you trying to do?" she hissed. "Are you not happy until you've turned this whole lab upside down? Do you have to humiliate everyone?"
I calmly tidied the papers she had scattered. "I'm just following the rules," I said flatly.
"To hell with the rules!" she finally exploded. "It was my idea to have Adrian co-manage the projects! By targeting him, you're undermining me! Do you have any respect for me at all?"
I looked up, meeting her angry, distorted face, and smiled.
"Evelyn, you finally told the truth. So it wasn't about the lab. It was about you."
5
My uncooperative attitude finally provoked a more drastic response.
At the regular Monday group meeting, our professor was away on business, and Evelyn was presiding.
For the final item on the agenda, Adrian walked to the front, holding a printed "Disciplinary Action" notice.
He cleared his throat. "After a review by the lab's management team, the following actions will be taken against Leo for his recent series of violations of lab management discipline.
"First, the five-thousand-dollar prize money Leo won at the academic conference will be confiscated in full and added to the lab's team-building fund.
"Second, an additional five thousand dollars will be deducted from his next research assistant stipend as compensation for the project losses caused by his improper conduct.
"Third, Leo is required to make a public, in-depth self-criticism at this meeting for his failure to separate personal and professional matters and his insubordination."
A wave of murmurs went through the room. Confiscating prize money and stipends, and a public shaming... in academia, this was a deeply humiliating punishment.
Evelyn sat at the head of the table, her face impassive, as if waiting for me to beg for forgiveness.
Under everyone's gaze, I slowly walked to the front.
I picked up the microphone, my voice calm. "I am here to make a profound self-criticism."
The room fell silent. Even Evelyn and Adrian looked surprised.
"First, I have deeply reflected on my behavior over the past five years. I have indeed severely blurred the lines between personal and professional, using a vast amount of my precious personal time to revise papers, design experiments, and process data for almost every member of this lab, free of charge. This is a serious violation of the sacred principle that 'work produced during working hours belongs to the lab, and work produced outside of working hours belongs to the individual.' I am ashamed of my past selfless dedication."
A stir went through the audience. Some faces showed embarrassment and unease.
"Second, I failed to focus on my own research area, frequently overstepping my authority to help others with research problems that were not my responsibility. This not only drained my personal energy but also fostered a culture of academic laziness among some of my colleagues, leading to chaos in the lab's management. I apologize to the management team for my past 'helpfulness'."
My voice was steady and clear, each word landing like a hammer blow.
"Therefore, I solemnly promise: from this day forward, I will strictly abide by the lab's rules and regulations. First, I will strictly adhere to the 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. working hours and will not handle any matters related to the research group outside of these hours. Second, I will strictly perform the duties of the position newly assigned to me by the management team"
I paused and picked up the position change notice from the table, signed by Evelyn and delivered by Adrian.
"that is, the duties of 'Lab Equipment Maintenance and Administrator.' I promise that from now on, I will only be responsible for the daily maintenance of the servers and the checking in and out of equipment. I will no longer participate in any research project discussions, grant proposal writing, or paper advising that falls outside this scope."
The moment I finished, the room exploded.
"What? What about my grant proposal? The core innovation part still needs Leo's input!"
"My simulation result figures for next week's presentation are a mess, and no one has reviewed them yet!"
"Equipment administrator? Are you kidding me?"
Evelyn's face had turned a furious shade of purple. She slammed her hand on the table and shot to her feet. "Leo! Is this a self-criticism or a threat?!"
I put down the microphone and gave her a slight smile. "Dr. Lin, I am simply following the lab's regulations and Adrian's management requirements. I fully support the management team's decision."
That afternoon, my workstation was cleared out and moved to a tiny corner next to the server room.
I had officially been demoted from the lab's "academic star" to its "equipment administrator."
As I walked past the main lab area, I could hear the hushed, excited chatter from within.
"Serves him right. He should have known his place."
"Let's see him act high and mighty now! This is going to be good. The academic star is now a machine janitor!"
"But... who's going to help us with our papers now?"
6
The final day of the countdown arrived.
It was the day of the university's most important annual event: the presentation for the "National-Level Key Research and Development Program." Our lab, as last year's winner, was determined to secure it again.
Everyone was dressed in their best suits, sitting in the auditorium. Evelyn, as the project lead, sat in the front row, with Adrian, her "capable assistant," right beside her, his face beaming with pride.
As the "equipment administrator," I was seated in a corner in the very last row.
The presentation went smoothly at first. Evelyn handled the introduction and background, and it sounded plausible enough. But everyone knew the main event was still to come.
Finally, the presentation reached its most critical stage: the explanation of the core technical proposal and the Q&A with the expert panel.
The moderator announced, "Next, we invite the representative from the 'Intelligent Sensing and Computing Lab' to present the core technical proposal of the project."
Instantly, every eye in the room, including those of the esteemed professors and academicians on the review panel, flew over the front rows and landed on me, in my corner seat.
For the past few years, I had always been the one to present this section. My presentations were known for being clear, rigorous, and incredibly persuasive.
Evelyn turned around, mouthing the words to me: "Go on, Leo. Just like every other year."
After everything that had happened, she still expected me to be her workhorse.
I didn't move. I just glanced at my phone.
The time on the screen was clear: 10:00 p.m.
My workday was over.
I stood up, but not to walk to the stage.
"Mr. Moderator, esteemed experts, professors, everyone," I began.
They all thought I was about to start my presentation.
"Before the presentation begins, I need to clarify a situation," I continued calmly. "My name is Leo, and my research assistant employment contract with the 'Intelligent Sensing and Computing Lab' has, as of this moment, officially expired."
"According to the terms of the contract, all my work responsibilities have been fulfilled. Therefore, as of this minute, I am no longer a member of this lab, nor do I have the authority to represent the lab in any form of presentation or defense."
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