In the face of time, people are fragile, changing quickly and thoroughly.
Gan Yang turned to see Ding Zhitong, stood up, and took her suitcase, saying, “Let’s go. The car is waiting outside.”
The gesture seemed natural, leaving Ding Zhitong no choice but to let go and act as if everything was normal.
Li Jiaxin, watching from the side, might have found it strange. On their business trips, they never did this. They might ask a male colleague to carry a box of materials, but never their luggage.
The three of them went out together and got into a GL8 at the airport entrance. Li Jiaxin, talkative as always, chatted throughout the journey. Ding Zhitong could tell that Gan Yang was subtly steering the conversation, asking about their work in Hong Kong and what their business trips were like, seemingly very interested.
Li Jiaxin played along, telling authentic stories about overtime work and travel. He didn’t forget to praise his boss: “We’ve all been through it. Take Tammy, for example. There are legends about her in M Bank – like adjusting models on her laptop while sitting in a cable car up a snowy mountain, or crouching in the gift shop at the summit.”
“That does sound tough,” Gan Yang agreed, his eyes on Ding Zhitong.
Ding Zhitong, gazing out the window, joked, “That’s why I’ve wisened up. When I go on vacation now, I only visit places without internet.” Inwardly, she thought about how people had changed, yet the contradictions remained. She was still living the life he once disapproved of.
They reached the small city around 9 PM and went directly to check in at the hotel. Gan Yang bid them goodbye in the lobby, promising to pick them up in the morning to meet Dr. Chen.
As Ding Zhitong and Li Jiaxin entered the elevator, she caught a glimpse of Gan Yang’s retreating figure before the doors closed. He seemed to have a certain assurance, as if he were the host inviting her, rather than her trying to deceive him. Was it because he didn’t mind, or did he have other plans? Ding Zhitong didn’t know and didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
The elevator ascended to the executive floor. After entering her room, Ding Zhitong observed the typical hotel setup: bed, desk, TV. The floor-to-ceiling window overlooked a well-lit scenic road, flanked by the city hall, grand theater, park, and stadium – staples of newly developed small cities.
She put down her things, changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants for sleepwear, and sat cross-legged on the sofa, opening her laptop.
In earlier years, accessing the virtual desktop through Citrix was a gamble during business trips. Now, though much improved, checking the Wi-Fi connection had become a habit for her – another obsolete skill. At times like these, Ding Zhitong would recall Qin Chang’s words about how they worked on TMT projects, raising funds for tech companies and profiting from it, while those same companies were slowly chipping away at their jobs.
Just then, her phone vibrated. She looked at the screen, not sure why she thought “of course” when she saw the name.
She answered, hearing, “Come downstairs.”
“Why?” she asked.
He explained, “There are some things I need to tell you before we meet Dr. Chen tomorrow.”
“What things?” she pressed.
He insisted, “Quite a lot. Come down.”
“Let’s talk about it when we meet tomorrow,” Ding Zhitong said, feeling a sense of déjà vu. They could maintain a normal working relationship in public, but once alone, without formalities or greetings, they seemed to teeter on the edge of breaking character.
Sure enough – another “of course” – he replied, “Your junior colleague will be there tomorrow. Are you okay with that?”
Ding Zhitong laughed softly, hung up, put on a sweatshirt, and went downstairs.
In the lobby, she walked out to find the GL8 parked under the hotel’s portico. The headlights flashed at her, and a window rolled down. She approached to see Gan Yang in the driver’s seat, having dismissed the chauffeur. He leaned over to open the door, gesturing for her to get in. As she sat down, he started the engine and drove onto the scenic road she had seen earlier.
The road was wide and empty, allowing for quick travel.
Ding Zhitong asked, “Where are we going?”
Gan Yang didn’t answer directly, just glanced at her and said, “This place is small. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Ding Zhitong remained silent, noticing they were heading towards the outskirts. She thought that if it were anyone else besides her, she might have called 110 by now. But Gan Yang was different.
They drove to the new district, stopping on a small road.
Gan Yang pointed ahead, asking, “Do you see that?”
“What about it?” Ding Zhitong asked, seeing only a road flanked by factory gates illuminated by cold light, with distant figures moving about.
Gan Yang said, “Back then, I would pace this road every day, asking myself over and over: should I tell you or not, should I tell you or not…”
Ding Zhitong finished for him: “And you decided not to tell me.”
“Yes,” Gan Yang chuckled softly, with a hint of self-mockery. “All because of something my mother said.”
Ding Zhitong found it ironic. What was this? Shifting blame to others? Come on, it’s the 21st century – a capable person not doing something can only be because they chose not to. But she remained silent, waiting for him to continue, to disillusion her, to become her pearl and jade soup.
After a moment, Gan Yang continued, “CEO Liu said she’d rather I didn’t come back, knowing nothing. Because then, I could still have my own life. At that time, I thought, Ding Zhitong should have her own life too.”
Hearing herself referred to in the third person was strange, but it was precisely these words that struck Ding Zhitong’s heart. Fortunately, the cabin light flickered briefly before going dark again. Hidden in the darkness, she seemed to wait a long time before speaking, trying to control her voice: “I understand. Thank you for telling me. And what you told me in Hong Kong last time, I’ve thought about it carefully. I understand why you did it, and I admire you for it. If you had told me then, I might not have broken up with you immediately, but I probably couldn’t have handled it in the long run…”
“Ding Zhitong, why are you thanking me?” Gan Yang suddenly interrupted, his voice slightly hoarse.
This question reminded her of the past when she went to New York for Superday and didn’t take his ride back to school but still thanked him for his kindness.
“I want to thank you. Even though it’s all in the past, it’s good to clear things up,” she concluded quickly, without emotion.
Gan Yang remained silent, just looking at her.
The street light filtered through the windshield. Ding Zhitong saw his eyes, slightly blurred in the dim light, and calmly asked, “Can we talk about Dr. Chen now?”
He continued to look at her, then nodded.
In the face of time, people are indeed fragile, changing quickly and thoroughly.
The Gan Yang of 2010 couldn’t believe that in just two years, he had squandered nearly a decade’s worth of foundation. He rapidly lost weight, with stomach pain feeling like an iron rod piercing his body. On the rare occasion, he went to the gym and stepped on a body fat scale, he found his body fat percentage had reached the 10% he had always wanted, but his BMI had also dropped to 17.7. T-shirts in his old size now hung loosely on him and standing in front of the mirror, he could see the blue veins on the inside of his arms.
Once, he ran into Zeng Junjie outside. The chubby man exclaimed in surprise, pinching his arm: “How did you turn back into your middle school self?!”
Eventually, it was CEO Liu who forced him to get a check-up, just as he had once taken her to the hospital.
The doctor, having heard his symptoms, was unsurprised. He said that with Gan Yang’s irregular eating habits, heavy drinking, and enormous stress, stomach problems were all too common.
“What could it be?” he asked, somewhat relieved that CEO Liu hadn’t entered the examination room.
The doctor simply said, “Let’s do an endoscopy first.”
Though an appointment was made, he didn’t go.
That day, an IPO-stage investor—essentially his creditor—sought him out.
Naturally assuming they were there to collect, he prepared quarterly reports and a host of explanations. However, after listening, the visitor politely said, “Dr. Chen would like to meet with you.”
“Dr. Chen?” he paused.
Seeing his reaction, Long Mei later explained, thinking he’d forgotten. Dr. Chen was the elderly man who once called him a “young lad,” said “Life is vast,” and asked why he was so determined to repay debts.
But of course, he remembered. At that moment, he thought, “It’s finally happening.”
Over two years, he had transformed a nearly bankrupt company. The best equipment, technology, labor relations, and resolved shareholder disputes. No more relatives meddling or pointing canes in his face.
Crucially, he’d weathered the toughest post-crisis period. Even if bankruptcy occurred now, there wouldn’t be a scene of repeated discounts with no bidders at auction. The opportunity for rock-bottom purchases had passed, and he knew this was why Dr. Chen wanted to meet.
That day, he drove dozens of kilometers on mountain roads for the audience. The honorary Dr. Chen, also an honorary villager, had a road built up the mountain to his allotted homestead where he’d constructed a villa.
They sat brewed tea, and began talking. He learned that Dr. Chen wasn’t there to collect debts but to buy all his shares.
“Why would I sell?” he smiled. The situation had improved; the future looked promising.
“You have a good eye. The best technology and equipment. Tough enough to sort out family shareholdings. Unlike your mother—she could endure hardship and had business acumen, but couldn’t handle relatives,” Dr. Chen praised in his local accent, then pivoted, “But have you considered the risks? Brands might not keep orders in China. Labor costs are rising, and policies changing. These low-end industries will move to Southeast Asia sooner or later. If this accelerates, what will you do with such a large investment?”
Gan Yang listened. These were risks he’d considered but had to take. Still smiling, he asked, “Then why do you want to buy?”
Dr. Chen kindly replied, “Think how long it’ll take you to break even. Now think about me. It’s a different scale.”
Indeed, Gan Yang knew this was true.
Persevering to this point was already a victory. Dr. Chen’s offer was good—enough to cover all debts, with a surplus for a comfortable life for him and CEO Liu. He could buy properties like Zeng Junjie and the young boss, jangling a bunch of keys. The timing was opportune; he recalled the pending medical check. It was time to change his lifestyle.
“I’ll think it over,” he finally told Dr. Chen. A habit from the past two years—never deciding hastily. He left the villa, driving alone through kilometers of mountain roads.
From that moment, a thought took root in his mind.
Compared to everything he’d faced in the past two years, this decision seemed so simple and brief. He only needed to agree, to sell all shares to Dr. Chen. The company, factory, and the entire industry would no longer be his concern.
But what about the days after?
He knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t help wondering: Where was she now? How was she doing?
That night, he dreamed of returning to Ithaca.
It was dark, snow falling gently, covering the ground, trees, and rooftops. It glowed bluish in the night, warm patches cast by streetlights.
He saw himself standing below the West Campus dorm, hands cupped around his mouth, calling out, “Ding Zhitong! Ding Zhitong!”
Windows lit up, curtains parting as people looked out. He feared campus security might come if he continued.
Finally, the fourth-floor window opened. She leaned out, asking, “What are you doing?”
“Come down for a bit,” he waved.
“Why?” she crossed her arms, not moving.
“I have something to ask you,” he replied, looking up. His vision blurred, perhaps from snowflakes in his eyes.
She calmly responded, “It’s late. Just say it here.”
He hesitated. How to ask? Do you still like me? Can I pursue you again? Can we return to the past?
She spoke first: “How did your family’s IPO fail?”
Stunned, he eventually retorted, “Ding Zhitong, after so long, that’s what you care about? Have you no heart?”
She laughed, “I told you I’m a gold digger.”
Wiping his face, he quipped back, “Looking like that, you want to be a gold digger?”
Indignant, she froze, breath steaming, then slammed the window shut.
“Ding Zhitong! Ding Zhitong!” he called again, relentless.
The ground floor door opened. She rushed out, tackling him into the snow.
The snow felt soft as a down mattress. She pressed against him, hands over his mouth. Through her thin sweatshirt, he felt her weight, her warm fingers, her ragged breath on his face.
“I just want to ask one thing…” he mumbled under her hands.
“What?” she looked at him.
Meeting her gaze, he whispered, “Do you still want me?”
The words breathed into her palm, seemed to seep into her skin rather than be heard.
She finally released her hands, as if to stand. He held her, preventing her from leaving. One hand stroked her hair, then cupped the back of her head, drawing her closer. Noses touching, he found her lips, tilting his head for a deeper kiss. The warmth and moisture contrasted sharply with the cold, dry surroundings, imprinting deeply in his mind. It felt like entering a secluded realm, silent except for their breathing.
Even in the dream, he knew he was piecing together memories from different times. Yet it was the best sleep he’d had in a long time. When he woke, dawn had broken.