This touched Ding Zhitong, suddenly realized that this was precisely the sense of ceremony she had always wanted.
To be precise, it wasn’t a conversation. Gan Yang would talk at length, and then ask a question, while Ding Zhitong could only manage a grunt in response.
For instance, he pointed out his regular running routes, the farm where he learned horseback riding, the small bridge where he went fishing, and the weight room he frequented for a semester when he first started rowing, lacking upper body strength.
Ding Zhitong, panting, shook her head to indicate she hadn’t been to any of those places.
Gan Yang then asked, “So what do you usually do?”
Still breathless, Ding Zhitong replied, “Study.”
There was much more she wanted to say, but it wasn’t until they turned back, returned to his place, and stretched that she caught her breath and elaborated.
Her daily routine consisted of attending classes, completing assignments, revising papers, and focusing on career development and job hunting.
As Gan Yang helped her stretch her legs, he probed, “Anything else besides that?”
Ding Zhitong added, “Oh right, and certifications. I took CFA Level 1 in Shanghai during my senior year, Level 2 last year, passed the AICPA in September, and I’ll be taking the final CFA level next June.”
Gan Yang laughed, clarifying, “I meant what do you do for fun? Like clubs or something?”
Ding Zhitong thought for a moment and finally came up with one: “Toastmasters. I go when I have time.”
“Toast… masters?” Gan Yang was unfamiliar with the term.
“It’s like an international English corner,” Ding Zhitong explained.
Fearing her non-native English might betray her in interviews, she had been attending the school’s Big Red TMC to improve her public speaking skills and confidence. Feng Sheng often joined her. Song Mingmei’s spoken English was far superior, with a posh British accent she claimed to have perfected through dating British exchange students in college—far more effective than Toastmasters, according to her.
“Oh…” Gan Yang wasn’t interested.
Ding Zhitong marveled once again at how they attended the same school, both majoring in finance, yet seemed to inhabit completely different worlds. While American undergrads and graduate students were inherently different, other undergrads didn’t seem as carefree as him. The more ambitious ones started networking for jobs from their sophomore year, with many competing against graduating seniors for internships.
“What made you choose finance?” she couldn’t help but ask Gan Yang, as he didn’t exude the typical gold-rush mentality. She thought he might have been better suited for something like sports education. Sometimes, she worried for him, thinking, “You’re about to graduate without any internships or job prospects. Is your father planning to buy you into a VC or PE firm that’s fundraising, making you a limited partner who only invests without managing?”
Gan Yang gave a surprisingly simple answer: “My mom wanted me to. She said her friends’ kids all studied finance, so she wanted me to do the same, to help with financing in Hong Kong later. I actually wanted to study something else, but she was paying, and I was young, so she called the shots.”
The word “mama’s boy” flashed through Ding Zhitong’s mind.
She couldn’t even straighten her knees in a seated forward bend, let alone touch her toes. As he pressed on her, causing her to grimace, she still managed to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Gan Yang noticed, pulling her up and pressing her onto the mat, demanding an answer.
Looking up at him, she pursed her lips and shook her head before finally saying, “I was just wondering how old you are.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how suggestive they sounded.
Their previous runs had been near the school, with stretching done outdoors using suitable railings or stone blocks. At most, she’d stand on one foot to stretch her quadriceps while he supported her, or they’d hold hands during squats.
But this was different. They were in an empty room he used as a gym. She lay on the mat, with him supporting himself with one hand beside her, their faces close enough to feel each other’s breath.
Ding Zhitong didn’t know if he had any ulterior motives, but she certainly did, constantly reminding herself: “As long as your thoughts don’t stray, this is just stretching and chatting. You asked about his age! His age!”
Fortunately, Gan Yang answered seriously: “I spent a year studying language when I first came abroad. I was born in ’86.”
“Oh, I’m ’85, a year older than you,” Ding Zhitong replied, feeling slightly disappointed as she moved to sit up.
Gan Yang gently held her shoulders, maintaining their intimate position. “My birthday’s in March, yours is in May. It’s not a full year, just a few months.”
Ding Zhitong was puzzled. “How do you know that?”
Gan Yang smiled at her, a bit embarrassed. “I’ve seen your student ID.”
“When did you see it?” she asked, her heart racing.
“A while ago,” he confessed. “Once in the library, I was in line behind you. You didn’t notice me.”
“You peeked?” she probed, imagining the scene—him behind her, lips pursed, eyes squinting, craning his neck. The thought of someone his size trying to be “sneaky” made her smile tenderly.
He simply nodded in response.
What happened next is somewhat disputed. Gan Yang always claimed she made the first move that day. But Ding Zhitong clearly remembered only reaching out to touch his head before he leaned in to kiss her.
This kiss was different from the previous night’s—deeper, more passionate, more intimate. Their lips conveyed increasingly direct desire, one hand caressing her hair while the other fondled her breast. Their bodies pressed together; though he didn’t put his full weight on her, she still felt breathless. The tight running pants concealed little, and she wasn’t entirely inexperienced. She could sense the changes in his body, but the thought of what was about to happen still made her nervous. Of course, there was also a hint of anticipation.
But he suddenly paused, pulling back slightly to ask, “Would you want…”
“Want what?” Ding Zhitong was a bit confused, thinking to herself, “Please don’t tell me this is your first time and you don’t know what comes next.”
Gan Yang just looked at her, stammering, “If you’d prefer our first time to be more… ceremonial, we could wait…”
“What do you mean by ceremonial?” Ding Zhitong didn’t understand.
“Well, don’t they say girls value the ceremony of it all? Like, we could go somewhere you’ve always wanted to visit, have a nice meal, then find a hotel you like…” he awkwardly explained.
Ding Zhitong couldn’t help but laugh. “Your idea of ceremony is so cliché…”
“Then what kind of ceremony would you like?” he asked, still looking at her earnestly.
Ding Zhitong had thought he was just being polite, but she now realized he genuinely didn’t want to rush things.
She recalled her senior year when her ex-boyfriend had been desperate to get a room, but she had found an internship that required her to start immediately, so she asked to postpone for a week. Her ex had given her the cold shoulder for days over this. Ding Zhitong had been furious, wondering if all men were like this. She hadn’t cared either way, but his reaction made her stubbornly refuse altogether. Though they eventually reconciled, it marked the beginning of their long-distance breakup.
Gan Yang was different. He was willing to wait, even at this point, for a moment that would make her comfortable too.
This touched her, and she suddenly realized that this was precisely the kind of ceremony she had always wanted.
And so, it was indeed she who made the first move.
She embraced him, kissed him on the lips, and whispered, “I think this is perfect.”
“Really?” he asked softly.
“Really,” she nodded.
He said no more, brushing the hair from her face before kissing her again. His hands slid down, slipping under her clothes. The moment their skin touched, it was like a spark igniting a fire, causing both of them to sigh softly.
However, they still ended up stopping.
“What’s wrong?” Ding Zhitong asked.
“Well… I don’t have any… At the supermarket earlier, I thought about buying some just in case… but then I worried it might seem too presumptuous…” he stammered.
Ding Zhitong understood and couldn’t help but laugh. She was genuinely surprised that a young man who had spent seven years in America, through high school and college—statistically the most sexually active period for Americans—would be so unprepared.
Embarrassed by her laughter, Gan Yang hugged her tightly to stop her from laughing. They lay hand in hand on the floor for a while before he chastely got up to cook, telling Ding Zhitong to make herself at home.
Ding Zhitong guessed that it must be quite uncomfortable for a man to stop at this point, so she didn’t tease him further. Feeling awkward about snooping around his house, she stayed in the dining area where he could see her.
By then, night had fallen. The lights came on in the house, and the sounds and aromas of cooking filled the air—it felt very much like a home. Having been accustomed to dormitory life, Ding Zhitong suddenly felt like crying. She turned to face the snow-covered yard outside the window, waiting until the “master chef” called her for dinner.
The dinner consisted of only three dishes, but it looked sumptuous. He had pan-seared a T-bone steak, prepared roasted vegetables, and made what she initially thought was a dubious creation but ended up devouring several pieces of—a trout and broccoli cake.
As they ate, they watched “28 Days Later” on cable TV, discovering another shared interest. One of Ding Zhitong’s stress-relief methods was watching B movies, and surprisingly, so was Gan Yang’s! He was well-versed in films like “Dawn of the Dead,” “Braindead,” “Shaun of the Dead,” and “Resident Evil.” He had no qualms about eating his steak while zombies devoured people on screen.
They polished off all three dishes, their stomachs full as they collapsed on the couch.
Ding Zhitong complained, “That five-kilometer run was all for nothing.”
Gan Yang suddenly changed the subject: “There’s something I need to apologize for.”
“What is it?” Ding Zhitong was startled.
“It wasn’t right of me to give you that nickname,” he began seriously, then slowly smiled. “You… look… better than I had imagined.”
She gradually understood his meaning, her face reddening.
“…But for someone of your weight to be shaped like this,” he continued, his hands forming the shape of G-cup breasts, “means your muscle and bone density are far below standard. While increasing your exercise, you must pay attention to nutrition. Eat more red meat, and don’t obsess over the numbers on the scale. Come over here to eat more often, got it?”
Ding Zhitong was exasperated and reached out to pinch him. Unexpectedly, he planted his feet on the couch, leaned back, supported himself with his hands on the ground, and flipped over the back of the couch. Ding Zhitong had never seen such a move before, and the phrase “acrobatic monkey” crossed her mind again. Something compelled her to chase him over the couch, only to be caught and pinned to the carpet, unable to break free.
The movie ended before nine. Ding Zhitong checked the time and said she needed to leave. Gan Yang tried to persuade her to stay a bit longer, but she insisted on going, not wanting to face Song Mingmei’s interrogation.
Gan Yang asked, “Do you girls talk about these things?”
“Don’t you guys discuss your dates when you get back?” she countered.
He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t.”
Ding Zhitong looked at him, finding him adorable once again.