Inside the noisy Workshop No. 5 of the Red Star Steel Plant, Leon Ford studied the woman standing in front of him—a woman whose presence immediately stood out from the rough factory environment. Her posture was calm, her expression composed, and the badge of Tsinghua University was pinned neatly onto the collar of her floral dress.
Her features were elegant, but her aura was even sharper—intellectual, precise, and disciplined.
Leon narrowed his eyes slightly.
This was Professor Rowan Wells.
A physics professor.
A returning scholar.
And, in the original Three-Body timeline, the mentor of Evelyn Winter.
A brilliant scientist… one who, tragically, met a humiliating end during the political storm of that era.
Leon's gaze deepened.
Before he could speak, Rowan Wells introduced herself politely yet proudly:
"Master Ford, I graduated from Cambridge University and returned to work at Tsinghua University. My fields are astronomy and bioinformatics."
Her voice carried refinement, as if she were someone used to lecture halls, research rooms, and international conferences—not noisy workshops filled with iron, grease, and shouting workers.
Standing beside her, Lewis Grant tugged Leon gently aside and whispered apologetically:
"Master Ford… Professor Rowan's political situation isn't good. But she is a true scientist—she knows English better than anyone in the factory. I hope you can work with her. The superiors want the radio telescope drawings translated as soon as possible."
Leon didn't say anything at first.
He didn't need to.
Because the moment Lewis came close, pheromone bubbles appeared around his body:
Anxious.
Task-driven.
The "task" pheromone was so thick that it covered most of his bubble. Leon instantly understood—Lewis was desperate to complete the translation assignment entrusted to Workshop No. 7, and he had begged superiors to allow Rowan Wells, despite her political risk, to join the workshop.
Everything was clear.
Leon gave a small nod and walked toward Rowan.
"Hello, Professor Wells," he said calmly, extending his right hand.
Rowan stared for half a second. A handshake?
In this era, workers seldom initiated handshakes with intellectuals. The gesture caught her off guard.
After a moment, she accepted his hand.
Buzz.
The instant their skin touched, a massive flow of pheromone data exploded into Leon's brain.
A panel of biological information flashed across his perception:
---
Organism Name: Rowan Wells (status: unmarked)
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 28
Mate Count: 0
Physical Condition: Good (mild malnutrition; one day after menstrual cycle)
Mental State: Rational, focused, restless
Next emotional fluctuation period: In 13 days
Special Information: Contains large quantities of unidentified pheromones still under analysis
---
The flood of information hit Leon so fast he almost staggered.
For a moment, the world blurred—then stabilized.
Around Rowan, dozens of pheromone bubbles burst outward like translucent orbs:
Rationality.
Alertness.
Unease.
Concentration.
Leon's mind translated all of it instantly.
This was the second method of pheromone reading—the advanced reading through direct physical contact. Unlike ambient pheromone perception, this method extracted deep biological and psychological details.
This was his first time performing a contact read on a human.
He hadn't expected it to reveal menstrual cycles, mating history, and deep emotional state.
He exhaled quietly.
"The pheromone knowledge from the ant civilization is terrifying."
He released her hand naturally, and to everyone around them, it looked like nothing more than a polite greeting—barely a second long.
But to Leon, that single second had given him more information than an entire interview.
Some workers nearby exchanged confused glances. Even Lewis Grant's pheromone bubble now held discomfort—clearly unsure why Leon and the professor seemed unusually formal.
Leon ignored them all.
He turned to Lewis and tapped his shoulder lightly.
"Old Grant, stop standing there in a trance. Bring the drawings."
Lewis immediately brightened. "Right! I've been waiting for your word!"
He hurriedly took a thick drawing sheet from inside his shirt and spread it carefully across the steel workbench.
"Master Ford, Professor Wells… I'll leave it to you two."
Lewis bowed politely and jogged out of the workshop.
Once he left, Leon finally looked properly at Professor Rowan Wells.
Up close, she was strikingly beautiful—not in a glamorous way, but in a refined, academic manner. Her dark hair was tied into two simple ponytails, and the floral dress she wore brought a gentle softness to her otherwise sharp, intelligent aura.
More importantly, Leon sensed an unusual pheromone pattern around her—
a subtle attraction pheromone emitted naturally by mature women.
He noticed male workers sneaking glances at her, though they quickly pretended to work when she turned her head.
"This woman will attract attention wherever she goes," Leon thought.
He cleared his mind and spoke first.
"Professor Wells, may I ask you a question?"
Rowan blinked. "Master Ford… what would you like to ask?"
Leon locked eyes with her.
"Are you uneasy?"
Rowan froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"How did you—?"
She stared at him, eyes widening with genuine shock.
Indeed—she felt extremely out of place.
The crude language of workers, the oily smell, the heavy tension in the factory… It made her skin crawl. Her education, her refined upbringing, her academic world—they all clashed harshly with this environment.
But how could Leon see through her?
It felt as though he could see right through her heart.
Leon gave a soft, mysterious smile.
"Professor Wells… do you believe me if I say I have a pair of eyes that can see through people's hearts?"
Rowan swallowed.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She didn't believe him—yet some instinct told her he wasn't lying. He didn't feel like an ordinary factory worker. He didn't even feel like someone from this world.
He felt… different. Clear-minded. Unusual. As if he stood above the noise and storms of the era.
Leon finally softened his tone.
"Alright, no more jokes."
His voice became calm, steady, and strangely reassuring.
"Professor Wells, in this place, you don't need to be overly formal. You don't need to fear every word you speak. As long as you love this country… as long as you contribute to it… you are a good comrade."
Those words struck Rowan like a warm breeze.
Her eyes trembled.
No one—not coworkers, not leaders, not even colleagues—had spoken to her like this.
Not after her political issues.
Not after people began distancing themselves.
For the first time in a long time…
She felt respected.
"Master Ford…" Her voice softened slightly, losing its earlier stiffness. "Thank you."
She didn't know why, but standing beside Leon made her feel as though she wasn't alone.
As though the world still had people who could understand her.
People who wouldn't judge her composition, her background, or her mistakes.
Someone who saw her as a person, not a label.
She took a quiet breath and rolled up her sleeves.
"Let's begin the translation, Master Ford."
Leon nodded.
Their cooperation was just beginning.