It was indeed a joyful winter, though Ding Zhitong knew it wasn’t solely due to the season.
As she turned to go upstairs, she found Song Mingmei standing at the open door, an enigmatic smile on her face. “Well, well,” Song Mingmei remarked, “look at you…”
Ding Zhitong froze, feeling caught red-handed. However, she maintained her composure as she entered the room, offering neither explanation nor admission.
It wasn’t that she intended to conceal anything; she simply didn’t know how to articulate the situation. Was this the beginning of a relationship with Gan Yang? She was about to leave, while he wouldn’t graduate until next year. They hadn’t discussed plans, and he was younger than her—by one year? Or two? She realized she didn’t even know his exact age.
Strictly speaking, they had only impulsively agreed to a date after a night of drinking. They’d shared a few meals, gone running together a handful of times, and kissed in the stairwell. That was all.
Nevertheless, she had enjoyed that kiss and was eager to explore further.
The following afternoon, Gan Yang arrived at the dormitory as promised to pick her up.
Ding Zhitong wore her usual sweatshirt and pants, topped with a light-down jacket. Her hair was casually tied back, her face bare of makeup. She switched to running shoes, shouldered her backpack, and prepared to leave.
Song Mingmei, having guessed who was waiting downstairs, looked at her with surprise. “So when this guy asks a girl to go running, he means running?”
Ding Zhitong nodded, amused. “That’s right, actual running.”
As she reached the ground floor, she spotted Gan Yang waiting outside through the glass doors. He was lightly dressed in running gear without any winter clothing. His athletic build was evident even through his clothes, yet he didn’t appear underdressed. His tight-fitting pants accentuated his long legs, and he wore only a long-sleeved jacket on top, all in black. Combined with his face, he stood out as youthful and vibrant against the gloomy backdrop. He was precisely the type she would admire from afar while devouring a Subway sandwich.
But now, this “type” was right before her. As she pushed open the door, he approached, took her hand, and planted a kiss on her lips. The gesture felt natural, though she was still getting used to it. Her heart raced as she wondered how they had reached this point so quickly.
Since they had agreed he would cook dinner, they first drove to the town’s supermarket to buy ingredients.
Before going abroad, Ding Zhitong had received crash-course cooking lessons from Ding Yanming. She could prepare a few simple dishes: fried eggs, tomato and egg stir-fry, tomato egg drop soup, and egg fried rice. Though limited in variety, old Ding believed this was sufficient for his scholarly daughter, who was destined for financial success. Since then, Ding Zhitong has survived on these dishes, along with cafeteria food, food truck offerings, and convenience meals. Observing Gan Yang’s purchases—trout, T-bone steak, butter, nutmeg, and various fresh vegetables—she realized he had far surpassed her culinary repertoire. She doubted whether he could cook all this, but since she wasn’t footing the bill, she decided to wait and see.
Upon arriving at his place, she was further surprised. It was a two-story detached house about two kilometers from the university, complete with a large garden. She couldn’t estimate the exact size, but it was undoubtedly spacious.
However, what truly astonished her wasn’t the house’s size—she had heard about that before—but the garage and the glass greenhouse in the garden.
The garage housed not only the 1966 Mustang but also a cream-colored Pontiac GTO, another classic car undergoing restoration.
As for the greenhouse, she had assumed it contained just flowers and plants. But when Gan Yang led her inside and pointed to the left, he said, “These are my tomatoes.” Then, gesturing to the right, he added, “Those are my green vegetables, and over there are my sprouted soybeans…”
Ding Zhitong laughed, thinking this resembled the idyllic life of a retired old man. “What other peculiar hobbies do you have? Might as well tell me all at once.”
“How is gardening a peculiar hobby?” Gan Yang immediately retorted. “Growing vegetables is inherent to Chinese culture. Wherever there are Chinese people, there will be vegetable gardens.”
Ding Zhitong shrugged. “Well, I manage to kill even cacti. I guess I’m at risk of having my Chinese citizenship revoked.”
Gan Yang chuckled, taking her comment as mere rhetoric. Without inquiring further about her cactus-killing abilities, he carried the grocery bags to the kitchen and began preparing the ingredients. His technique was practiced, and his knife skills were impressive. Ding Zhitong now realized he genuinely knew how to cook. Unable to assist, she wandered around the living room.
Sure enough, she spotted the infamous cabinet that occupied an entire wall, filled with sneakers. She surveyed it from top to bottom, noticing many vintage pairs, some in multiple colorways. It was evident that considerable effort had gone into this collection. To be frank, she didn’t find them particularly attractive—some were downright ugly—and she struggled to understand the appeal of collecting them.
“This row is all 1979 AVIA,” Gan Yang explained, having finished in the kitchen and joining her. He pointed to the shoes she was examining. “They were among the top five sports shoe brands in the U.S. at the time. They even had NBA star endorsements—Clyde Drexler and John Stockton, the assist king.”
Ding Zhitong was a bit lost, having never heard of these names. She simply asked, “What happened then?”
Gan Yang delivered the punchline: “In 1991, AVIA sued NIKE Air for allegedly copying their Cantilever cushioning and rebound arch sole. They spent a fortune on the lawsuit but lost. Subsequently, due to financial strain, they were acquired and re-acquired by several large companies. The brand flopped, and now they’re relegated to supermarket merchandise.”
Ding Zhitong was more interested in the details of these acquisitions, but Gan Yang had already moved on.
“These are the 1995 Reebok DMX,” he continued. “At that time, major brands were engaged in an ‘arms race.’ Nike launched Zoom, so Reebok countered with DMX. They were comfortable to wear, but they’d leak air within a month, leaving the soles as hard as handmade shoes. They were criticized so much that they were pulled from the market.”
“And this row here, the 2000 Nike Shox,” he said, putting on a pair to show her. “Aren’t they incredibly ugly?”
Ding Zhitong nodded. They were indeed ugly; she had noticed earlier and was relieved it wasn’t just her lack of appreciation.
“They added four spring columns to the sole with a TPU plate on top to distribute force evenly. It sounds impressive, but the feel was terrible. The shock absorption and rebound were poor, and the soles were as thick as elevator shoes. But Nike’s aggressive marketing paid off. They made all their sponsored athletes wear them, and they became popular. According to Nike’s plan at the time, this design was supposed to last for decades. Can you imagine if everyone on the street was wearing these today?”
Unable to imagine such a scenario, Ding Zhitong shook her head obligingly and asked, “So what happened next?” She was anticipating another punchline.
Gan Yang didn’t disappoint: “Karma struck. Their endorser, Vince Carter, injured his knee during a game while wearing a $150 pair of Shox BB4. From that point on, people began questioning whether the immature Shox technology was the main cause of Carter’s knee problems. Sales of the entire series plummeted, and it vanished into the annals of history.”
Ding Zhitong suppressed a laugh, thinking that despite their ugliness and discomfort, it hadn’t stopped him from collecting so many pairs.
He continued his explanations, and she listened attentively. Finally, she sought confirmation: “So this entire wall of shelves is filled with failed shoes?”
“Exactly,” Gan Yang nodded. “Where else would you find so many brand-new vintage shoes? The good ones are all worn out.”
Ding Zhitong had to admit it was a logical explanation.
After viewing the shoes, with time to spare before cooking, they went out for their daily five-kilometer run. The neighborhood was lined with well-maintained gardens, tree branches covered in white frost, and neatly cleared snow on the ground.
While warming up and stretching her legs, Ding Zhitong still had the breath to ask, “Have you always lived alone in this house?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if she had overstepped, as if prying into his past. Although… she felt they weren’t quite at that level of intimacy yet.
Gan Yang, however, didn’t seem to mind. He nodded, “Yes, sometimes I invite friends over.”
Ah she had heard about that.
“Living alone in such a big place—just how wealthy is your family?” Ding Zhitong marveled. Although rent in Ithaca was cheap, most international students tried to economize on all expenses.
Gan Yang maintained his nonchalant attitude, smiling as he said, “I don’t know, we’re doing alright, I guess.”
“Just comfortable”—a typical rich person’s response, Ding Zhitong thought to herself. She pressed on, “Are you an only child?”
Gan Yang nodded.
“Does your family have any publicly listed companies?” she ventured further.
To her surprise, he answered, “I think they’re in the process of going public.”
“Only in the process?” Ding Zhitong feigned disappointment.
Gan Yang playfully chided her, “Ding Zhitong, you’re so materialistic!”
“Indeed,” Ding Zhitong became a bit more serious, offering advice, “You’re too honest. You answer everything I ask. Shouldn’t someone from your background conceal their identity and test people? Aren’t you worried about gold diggers?”
“Not at all,” Gan Yang shook his head confidently. “People are usually after me for my looks.”
Ding Zhitong laughed, reminding him once more, “Don’t forget, I’m a money-grubber.”
He looked at her and said, “Then I’ll try harder to make you fall for me instead of my money.”
Ding Zhitong thought to herself, “What a cheesy line,” but her face flushed, feeling as if she’d been struck by electricity.
Later, she read an article stating that winter was the best season for outdoor running.
Due to the low temperatures, running in winter was more effective than in spring, summer, or autumn for improving cardiopulmonary function, muscle strength, and oxygen uptake. It even stimulated the production of more endorphins, inducing feelings of happiness.
When she came across this article, she was reminded of the winter of 2007. It was indeed a joyful winter, though she knew it wasn’t solely due to the season.
In late November in Ithaca, the weather was cold, with temperatures hovering around freezing on sunny days. The trees lining the streets had shed their leaves, their branches now coated with a thin layer of snow like powdered sugar. In the distance, Lake Cayuga appeared grey, its surface a vast expanse of bleakness. The previous year, at the same time, she hadn’t dared to stop and observe these depressing landscapes, fearing she might impulsively jump off somewhere.
But on this evening, everything had changed dramatically. She had finally received her job offer and could temporarily set aside her worries. Without a care in the world, she simply followed Gan Yang from his place, running along the lakeshore to the waterfall.
For him, her pace was leisurely. He chatted with her the entire way, proving to be quite the chatterbox. At times, he would bound ahead with high knee lifts, leaping forward a stretch before bouncing back to her. This often conjured up a comical image in Ding Zhitong’s mind—that of a hyperactive monkey.