“Congratulations and prosperity.”
Looking back, Ding Zhitong and Feng Sheng’s relationship seemed to have begun around that time.
Without explicit pursuit or response, they suddenly developed an unspoken understanding, no longer avoiding being alone together. He visited her almost daily, sharing meals, keeping her company during overtime, discussing his job search, and listening to her work stories.
During that period, M Bank was also in turmoil.
After two market crashes in September and October, the stock price plummeted below $20. The market outlook was bleak, with no signs of improvement. Moreover, they had to repay the TARP (Troubled Asset Relief Program) loan from the Treasury Department.
As for the merger and transformation, negotiations continued. However, the merger with C Bank had fallen through, and the Chinese team had withdrawn. Whether due to this or simply finding IBD too demanding, Guan Wenyuan had also resigned, not even completing the two-month pre-employment training. In these times, only true VIPs could afford such nonchalance.
The remaining employees speculated about which department would face cuts next. From technology to operations, from analysts to managing directors, everyone was at risk of receiving the dreaded large envelope. A dark joke circulated that the busiest departments in investment banks were HR and Administration – HR preparing layoff lists, while Administration worked overtime to modify access permissions. Ding Zhitong worried every day on her way to work that her access card might suddenly be deactivated at the lobby turnstile.
As for bonuses, they were out of the question. Layoffs and pay cuts hung over everyone’s heads like twin swords; no one was safe.
In fact, like the “mid-year bonus” distributed early, signs had been present all along. The higher-ups had anticipated what was coming. Looking back from mid-2007 until now, they had quietly laid off 10% of employees, mainly in mortgage and fixed-income departments closely tied to subprime loans. Perhaps they hadn’t expected such a large-scale situation, but they had always been aware of the decay hidden beneath the prosperity.
Under these circumstances, Feng Sheng’s job search naturally proved difficult, with even unpaid internships fiercely competitive. He checked job websites daily, monitored how many times his resume was viewed, and applied to every remotely relevant position.
After 100 emails and 100 phone calls, he secured only one or two interviews.
He visited a fund company for an analyst position, only to find an empty office without even a receptionist. A secretary eventually told him the department head was on a business trip, then later admitted the position had been frozen. A few days later, he saw the fund’s name in the news – it had closed down.
Later, he interviewed for a data analyst role at an internet startup. The CEO, a chatterbox, talked for an hour and a half and seemed to like him. Feng Sheng thought he had succeeded, but after days of silence, he called back to find the CEO had resigned. The VC firm handling their Series B funding had taken over and was preparing to sell the company.
Some opportunities were unsuitable, like an insurance industry analyst role prioritizing actuarial backgrounds. But he passed the initial screening and decided to try anyway. Upon arrival, he spent hours writing essays, building valuation models in Excel, analyzing financial data, and taking technical tests.
Ding Zhitong felt indignant on his behalf, saying, “They must be short-staffed and using you for free labor.”
Feng Sheng laughed, replying, “The person next to me was a Stanford graduate student. Free labor probably wouldn’t fall to me.”
Some situations were even worse. A loan company’s risk assessment position turned out to involve loans with nearly 40% interest rates, bordering on illegal. Another interviewer asked many personal questions, each laden with stereotypes. Feng Sheng said that in the past, he would have walked out and reported racial discrimination, but now he endured until the end.
Unable to help, Ding Zhitong could only watch him don his suit and tie, leave full of hope, and return in silence. Sometimes he drove hours to another city for a coffee chat that was 99% certain to lead nowhere.
Additionally, Feng Sheng applied to several MBA programs for Fall 2009 entry, but schools were still collecting materials, with no responses yet.
The sixty-day unemployment grace period flew by. When together, Feng Sheng seemed to deliberately avoid discussing the deadline, but Ding Zhitong knew he had started looking at return tickets to China and overheard him on a VoIP call with his family.
His mother said, “If you come back like this, you’ll be a laughingstock…”
Feng Sheng remained silent for a long time before asking, “Then what do you want me to do?”
The other end fell quiet too.
After hanging up, he pretended nothing had happened, still sharing mediocre Chinese takeout with her and keeping her company during overtime. Ding Zhitong also feigned ignorance, but couldn’t forget the conversation. She thought to herself that “they” probably referred to the relatives in the old villa on Fengyang Road.
She understood the logic. With the job market so dire in America, and situations in Hong Kong and Shanghai similarly grim, if Feng Sheng returned now, he’d either have to change careers and settle for less or be unemployed. He might end up like his 47-year-old single uncle, living in that house.
Finally, she was the one who spoke up.
On an ordinary night in a small Flushing Chinese restaurant, she remembered having a slightly burnt beef and egg over rice in front of her, while Feng Sheng had a combo meal.
Without appetite, she put down her chopsticks and said to him, “Why don’t… we get married?”
Feng Sheng’s situation couldn’t wait, and as luck would have it, her H1B had just taken effect.
The first person to hear this news was Song Mingmei.
That night was cold and rainy, but Song Mingmei still came from Manhattan to see her, just like when she had rushed to Greenwich Village in the middle of the night to scold someone.
Sitting face to face on the bed, Song Mingmei was uncharacteristically serious. She looked at Ding Zhitong and asked, “Have you thought this through?”
But Ding Zhitong answered indirectly, “Do you remember what you once told me? That a person’s soul has many facets, and each facet has a different soulmate.”
At that time, she truly believed this. Things she couldn’t discuss with Gan Yang were effortless with Feng Sheng. The practical part of her soul was more compatible with Feng Sheng.
Song Mingmei looked at her, seeming to want to say something.
“How have you been lately?” Ding Zhitong deliberately changed the subject.
“How could I be?” Song Mingmei retorted. “Management predicted the market trend wrong. Now we’re answering countless client emails daily, some even sending us legal notices. My boss doesn’t dare calculate how much money we’ve lost. The entire New York office probably won’t last long.”
“That serious?” Ding Zhitong followed up with concern.
Song Mingmei laughed bitterly, “My boss’s boss has already been fired. If it’s going by rank, I probably have a few days left. Can you believe people are queuing up to receive their termination envelopes?”
“So what are you planning to do?” Ding Zhitong squeezed her shoulder.
“What can I do?” Song Mingmei looked at her and said, “Why don’t you consider marrying me instead?”
Ding Zhitong chuckled, realizing this was Song Mingmei’s aim all along.
“Have you thought it through?” Sure enough, Song Mingmei asked that question again. “If you truly want to get married, I’m happy for you. But if there are other reasons, I think doing this isn’t fair to yourself or Feng Sheng.”
Ding Zhitong listened, paused for a long while, then nodded, “I’ve thought it through. I want to marry Feng Sheng.”
“Why? Tell me your reasons,” Song Mingmei pressed for details.
Ding Zhitong had reasons: “I’ve wanted my own family for a long time, and so has Feng Sheng. Also, when I was sick last time, if not for him, I might have died in my room without anyone knowing. I never want to experience that again.”
“If you married me, I could take you to the hospital too,” Song Mingmei countered.
Ding Zhitong laughed, unsure if Song Mingmei was being difficult or serious. She reminded her, “Same-sex marriage isn’t legal in New York yet, and you still have Mr. Deng.”
“When he said he’d come back for me, I was touched,” Song Mingmei also smiled, “but when I saw him in person…”
“What happened?” Ding Zhitong asked.
“He still reminds me of Tintin from The Adventures of Tintin…” Song Mingmei sighed, falling back onto the bed.
“Isn’t that cute though?” Ding Zhitong stroked her beautiful hair.
After a long silence, Song Mingmei turned to face her and said, “Maybe you’re right. Sometimes people want too much. That absolute, certain love doesn’t exist. As Seneca said, most people never encounter true love in their lifetime. In the end, they just find someone to feed each other out of fear of dying alone.”
Ding Zhitong remained silent, thinking to herself: Perhaps it is like that. Who dares to say they’re part of that lucky minority?
“Alright,” Song Mingmei suddenly brightened up, “You’re getting married, I’ll be your bridesmaid. You haven’t asked anyone else, have you?”
“No, I hardly know anyone here,” Ding Zhitong suddenly felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
She had forgotten to mention a detail earlier. Right after she proposed marriage, Feng Sheng’s response touched her deeply, further confirming her choice.
He paused for a while before saying, “Tongtong, I promise you, we’ll have a good life together.”
She loved this certainty about the future so much. She couldn’t remember anyone making her feel this way since becoming an adult. She wanted to tell Song Mingmei about this as further evidence. But at the same time, she suddenly realized it was the first time Feng Sheng had called her that, and the nickname reminded her of someone else.
That night, Song Mingmei stayed over, sharing Ding Zhitong’s single bed.
After turning off the lights, Song Mingmei continued lamenting, “We finally found jobs on Wall Street, and I didn’t even get one bonus. Why are we so unlucky?” Then, reconsidering, she added, “You already got yours. It’s just me who’s so unlucky!”
Ding Zhitong chuckled softly from the other side, saying, “Our economics professor always said, this is capitalism.”
She was comforting Song Mingmei, but also herself, thinking that at least the problems outside were more severe than her mess.
Before falling asleep, Song Mingmei murmured, “I’ll be back…”
It sounded like a defeated villain in a cartoon, but Ding Zhitong could guess what decision she had made and softly replied, “I know you can do it.”
The next day, Ding Zhitong consulted a lawyer and discovered that getting married was quite simple. They only needed two people, two passports, and they could obtain a marriage certificate at City Hall. After signing, they would be legally married.
Afterward, she and Feng Sheng shared the news with their parents.
Feng Sheng’s parents naturally approved, even seeming relieved.
Ding Yanming found it sudden and was speechless on the phone for a while. Yan Aihua repeatedly asked Ding Zhitong if she was pregnant.
Despite the suddenness, Old Ding and Yan Aihua continued with their own lives. Ding Yanming still went traveling with his girlfriend, and Yan Aihua had to lead a tour group, saying she could only come on the registration day.
Ding Zhitong once again recalled Feng Sheng’s words and his expression, reassuring herself that she truly wanted to marry him. Only he could give her that sense of certainty, from the most comprehensive math and logic problem sets to a promising future. After that, they could leave behind their past unpleasantness and build their family step by step.
Before the big day, Song Mingmei accompanied her to buy a white dress for $195, discounted by 30%, while Feng Sheng bought a ring.
According to Song Mingmei’s professional estimate, he had probably spent more than half of his savings on it. Ding Zhitong felt it was a bit uneconomical, given their current financial situation. There were many other expenses to consider. Feng Sheng might not find a job soon, and if he decided to pursue an MBA, they’d need to save up for substantial tuition fees. As she pondered this, she felt a bit disheartened, realizing she was still calculating money at such a time.
Feng Sheng gave her the ring, proposing again, and holding her hand, said, “Once we get through this period, we’ll have a proper wedding ceremony.”
Ding Zhitong nodded but didn’t take it seriously. She realized she didn’t have much expectation for a wedding ceremony.
2009 seemed to arrive suddenly. Due to fewer orders, many factories in the new district had already started their extended Spring Festival holidays, leaving workshops and dormitories eerily empty. Under the wan sunlight, the northwest wind blew trash and plastic sheds around, making the place look like a ghost town.
“Losing money enough to jump off a building” used to be just an exaggeration, but now there were actual stories of someone’s third aunt’s niece-in-law’s cousin jumping off a building due to losses. Some showed less life-threatening symptoms, constantly making phone calls asking just one question: “Are there any orders?” Even when facing creditors, they’d still ask, “Where are the orders? Where are the orders?” It was hard to tell if they were truly insane or just pretending.
Gan Yang considered himself more experienced than those people, having already entered the “too much debt to worry” phase. At most, he’d joke that his net worth was negative 200 million, making even beggars on the street richer than him.
When his office assistant overheard this, thinking he was hinting at owing her salary, she spent half a day explaining her family situation to him, making him vow never to joke like that again.
At least Zeng Junjie comforted him, saying, “Someone once said something similar. His name was Donald Trump.”
“Really?” Gan Yang was skeptical.
“Of course it’s true,” the chubby man insisted, “His daughter said so in a documentary.”
“Is that a good omen?” Gan Yang suddenly became superstitious.
Zeng Junjie mocked him in return, saying, “I advise you not to compare yourself with beggars. They at least own two houses in their hometown.”
Gan Yang nearly choked with frustration.
Thinking back to his days in America felt like ancient history now – college, rowing, marathons. He no longer wanted to dwell on those memories, rarely checking social media or chatting with old friends. He used to be able to talk to Wang Yi, but after saying “It’s none of your business” during that phone call, Wang Yi truly stopped caring. She silently transferred the money from selling the car, without even leaving a message.
Just before the Spring Festival, he went to an auction house for a bankruptcy sale. It was a well-known local enterprise, with all assets packaged together, starting at 80% of the value. No one raised their paddle. The price dropped to 64%, then to 51.2%…
Finally, it sold at 50% of the original value. The buyer was Dr. Chen. It seemed only Dr. Chen had the money to buy at the bottom of the market now.
Afterward, he had a long meeting with lawyers to discuss Gan Kunliang’s situation. Gan Sr. had united with several shareholders to force him out, demanding control of the company. Once again, they brought people to break open the safe and take the company seal, intending to file for bankruptcy, claiming it was to cut losses in time. The lawyer explained that this seemingly absurd approach was a common tactic in family business control disputes.
After the conference call ended, night had fallen. Gan Yang suddenly missed his past life intensely. As if indulging himself, he browsed through Facebook and Mochi one by one. Everyone else’s lives were continuing – studying, working, traveling. Only Ding Zhitong, who never liked these platforms much, had nothing but a profile picture and name.
But in the “Mochi” inbox, there was a private message from Song Mingmei.
Gan Yang opened it to read: “Today I accompanied Ding Zhitong to buy a white dress. She’s getting married to Feng Sheng. She doesn’t know I sent this, and I don’t know why I’m telling you. That’s all, take care of yourself.”
The message was sent in late November, about two months ago.
Gan Yang felt numb all over. After a while, he reacted, calling her with shaking hands. Her number hadn’t changed.
“Ding Zhitong, are you sick or something?” he blurted out as soon as she answered.
She remained silent on the other end, only her breathing audible.
Struggling to control himself, he continued, “If you’ve fallen for someone else, I wish you happiness. But what you’re doing now… do you know how much it hurts me?”
She remained silent for a long time before asking, “Are you finished? Is it my turn to speak?”
He tacitly agreed, waiting.
She then asked, word by word, “Why do you think I don’t truly like him? Is it because he’s not as rich as you?”
Gan Yang was speechless, feeling utterly exhausted. He wanted to throw his phone away but remembered he’d have to buy a new one and restrained himself.
“I won’t call you again. Wishing you prosperity!” This was his last sentence to her in 2009. He then hung up and deleted her number.