The ticking of each second echoed the sound of money burning away.
Qin Chang’s gift was nice, but its timing was somewhat ironic.
In the industry, there’s a saying: every project has its problems, and achieving 100% risk-free status is impossible.
During times of crisis, these issues tend to surface twofold. Now, Ding Zhitong found herself entangled in a web of problematic deals.
Some clients faced internal power struggles. With remote work and online communication, suspicion grew, even exemplifying the email paradox. Once conflicts erupted, they turned vicious, often using Ding’s team as pawns in their game – a thankless position.
Other buyers, seeing gloomy market prospects, indefinitely suspended projects. Yet, relationships had to be maintained. They’d assign minor tasks, which Ding’s team had to complete without additional compensation.
Some clients simply gave up, paying termination fees to exit. This left Ding’s team with meager earnings for their efforts, barely breaking even after final calculations.
For ongoing contract negotiations, previously agreed-upon rates and terms were now under reconsideration. Clients, facing financial pressures, sought to reduce commissions and fees, squeezing budgets so tight that Ding lacked sufficient staff for analysis and due diligence. But how could she sign off on work that wasn’t thoroughly vetted?
Even the “Star Compass” proved useless in this situation.
Comparing her situation to Gan Yang’s, Ding Zhitong realized her position wasn’t so bad after all.
During that period, both worked from home and engaged in back-to-back online meetings from dawn to dusk. Ding occupied the bedroom, while Gan took the living room.
Sometimes, they’d join the same project meeting, carefully angling their cameras and closing doors tightly. With identical wall and curtain colors in both rooms, they had to ensure no one realized they were in the same apartment.
More often, though, they attended separate meetings. Gan’s were typically larger and noisier; Ding often overheard voices from the living room.
Initially, discussions centered on resuming work.
LT’s factories were scattered across various locations, involving numerous suppliers and logistics. Each area faced different epidemic situations and policies, resulting in varied reopening times, all requiring multi-level approvals.
In Southeast Asia, confirmed cases in Myanmar were rising. Vietnam maintained better control but had suspended flights to and from China. Over 300 Chinese managers who had returned home for the New Year couldn’t go back. The skeleton crew at the factories – less than a tenth of normal staffing – couldn’t ensure regular operations and quality control.
Even if a factory’s location met reopening conditions, there was no guarantee most employees could return on time.
Even with full staff and completed quarantine periods, securing adequate protective equipment posed a new challenge.
Even if masks were procured, as long as upstream and downstream businesses remained closed, supply chains and transportation stayed disrupted. Production lines might start, but without raw materials and packaging, finished products couldn’t be shipped out.
Consequently, production capacity remained severely limited.
Moreover, even if full resumption of work occurred shortly, they’d face higher raw material prices, doubled transportation costs, extended processing times at freight forwarders and ports, insufficient shipping capacity, and possible quarantine requirements for goods in some destination countries, delaying revenue confirmation. This could lead to inventory backlog, delayed orders, and potential breach of contract penalties.
In short, the problems were overwhelming.
The Operations Department reported: “It looks like we’ve resumed work, but we’re just maintaining equipment and cleaning up.”
Human Resources lamented: “Even in this situation, the province insists on minimal layoffs. How are we supposed to manage?”
Finance was blunter: “This quarter’s financial report will be devastating.”
Ding Zhitong, having worked on LT’s cost analysis model, knew that for asset-heavy enterprises like theirs, shutdown costs were exorbitant. Every tick of the clock burned money, creating immense pressure.
Yet Gan Yang simply said, “Let’s break this down. We’ll comply with all epidemic prevention requirements and try to avoid layoffs. With these as our premises, let’s negotiate with the provincial government for special loans and possible deferment of social security and housing fund payments. We also need official epidemic situation reports. I’d like the Legal Department to review our contracts, identifying potential breach risks in affected countries and the necessary documentation if we need to invoke force majeure clauses…”
He maintained his usual tone and pace when addressing others – polite yet slightly detached, calm, and steady.
Regarding the ongoing acquisition plan, someone suggested, “We should suspend or cancel it altogether. Who knows how long this situation will last? With no foot traffic in physical stores and falling stock prices, buying now could lead to immediate failure.”
On this issue alone, Gan Yang remained silent. Ding only heard the soft clicks of a keyboard and pen from the living room.
When she went to get water, she saw him wearing a dress shirt on top but gym shorts below, his legs bare as if immune to the cold. Only after the meeting ended and the video was off did he stand to change into long pants before heading to the kitchen to cook.
Intrigued, Ding asked, “Why didn’t you change before the meeting?”
Gan Yang grinned, replying, “Isn’t this the dress code for video conferences?”
So he deliberately wore shorts for the meeting? Ding suddenly felt she had worried for nothing.
They cooked together, mainly Gan Yang, with Ding hugging his waist from behind. Gan occasionally turned to kiss her, his smile betraying no hint of worry.
Looking at him, Ding wanted to say: Even if you decide not to go through with the acquisition, it’s okay. We’re all here to make money, it’s just business, and there’s no right or wrong. Don’t feel conflicted because the service agreement is with me.
But that conversation wasn’t meant for her ears; she only overheard it because they lived together. Since Gan Yang didn’t bring it up, she felt it inappropriate to mention it.
In the afternoon, during another meeting, seeing the well-dressed figures on screen, she suddenly wondered how many of them were also barefoot in slippers below the camera’s view.
She lowered her head, suppressing a smile.
Despite this surreal year, with unprecedented events unfolding one after another, within their 80-square-meter apartment, they still cooked together, ran on the treadmill on her balcony, and slept peacefully at night. Their days were compact, tranquil, and beautiful.
During that time, Gan Yang often woke before her, perhaps due to insomnia. But after his run and morning routine, he’d return to bed, holding her for a while before officially starting the day.
Sometimes, hearing him answer a phone call, she felt something might suddenly happen, ending this peaceful interlude.
One evening, seeing him intently studying his phone with a serious expression, she had that premonition again and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Gan Yang showed her his screen, revealing he was researching condoms – their supply at home was indeed running low.
Ding Zhitong sighed, saying, “Don’t bother looking, just buy the strawberry ones.”
Gan Yang crawled over, leaning on her shoulder to ask, “You bought strawberries last time too. Do you like strawberries that much?”
Ding Zhitong replied matter-of-factly, “Only the strawberry ones are 56mm, the others are 52mm.”
Gan Yang fell back on the bed, laughing foolishly.
Ding Zhitong glanced at him sideways, thinking how silly he looked, so different from the composed figure in meetings. But she realized she must be silly too because she loved him so much.
Gan Yang pulled her down to lie beside him, facing each other.
He looked at her and said, “This is so nice.”
Ding Zhitong recalled an online joke: “Everyone’s saying this now. Two people working from home together is great at first. But once you’ve cooked all the dishes you know in the kitchen and tried everything in bed, that’s when the arguments start.”
Gan Yang scoffed, saying, “That’s because they don’t know enough…”
Ding Zhitong conceded defeat, unsure whether he meant kitchen recipes or bedroom activities.