Chapter_20

To say they didn’t miss each other would be a lie.

Thus began their long-distance relationship.

Years later, when Ding Zhitong worked on a live-streaming platform project and saw the online study rooms, she was reminded of those days.

Her situation with Gan Yang had been similar—after classes, they’d open a video call. She’d review her studies on one end while Gan Yang did his homework on the other. They agreed to take a ten-minute break every hour to stretch, chat, and then resume studying for another hour.

To claim they didn’t miss each other would be false.

Having experienced togetherness and then separation, it felt like an acute case of skin hunger. They slept on voice calls and exchanged sweet nothings via text messages.

Yet when Gan Yang suggested coming earlier, Ding Zhitong remained firm. She convinced him and herself that time, though seemingly long when counted day by day, was fleeting in retrospect.

She knew such talk could dampen the mood if overused and hoped he wouldn’t find her boring. At least, not too soon.

During that period, she conceded to Gan Yang on only one matter: registering together for that year’s New York Marathon.

The New York Marathon is held on the first Sunday of November each year. Online registration opens in January, closes for lottery in mid-February, and results are announced at the end of the month.

Although they had registered, it only involved filling out personal information and paying a processing fee of about twenty dollars. According to official data, the average acceptance rate was around 20% and decreasing yearly. The 10K race Ding Zhitong wanted to enter, being an entry-level event, had the most applicants.

Gan Yang had registered for the full marathon, which had far fewer applicants. Consequently, his chances of being accepted were much higher than hers. Ding Zhitong, known for her bad luck, had never won anything bigger than a five-dollar lottery prize. She didn’t dare hope for exceptional luck this time, expecting that like last year, he would participate while she cheered from the sidelines.

In the past, Ding Zhitong would have preferred this arrangement, thinking running was too tiring and a 10K race would be unbearable. But now, for reasons unknown to her, she eagerly awaited the results announcement day like a lottery draw. The thought of not being accepted even caused her some disappointment.

By late January, as the fourth week of training was ending, Ding Zhitong received a call from a VP in M Bank’s product group. Due to several overlapping projects, they were short-staffed and hoped she could start work early, making up for the missed training sessions in the next cycle.

Though phrased as a “hope,” it was essentially a notification, not a choice.

Ding Zhitong readily agreed and later informed Song Mingmei. Song felt it wasn’t a good deal, arguing that training was more comfortable for the same salary. Moreover, the promise of making up missed classes seemed unlikely given IBD’s intense work schedule of business trips and overtime.

But Ding Zhitong welcomed the opportunity, thinking of the bonus potential for the following year’s start—one more project meant a larger share.

She arranged with HR to start work the following week. She didn’t tell Gan Yang, fearing he’d rush from Ithaca to help her move to the Upper West Side, as the Lunar New Year week was approaching anyway.

That Friday, Gan Yang mentioned he had a study group meeting, so they’d skip their video call for the day.

Coincidentally, Song Mingmei suggested dinner and wanted to invite Feng Sheng. Ding Zhitong, eager to mend the friendship of their job-hunting group, agreed to meet that evening for Sichuan cuisine in Chinatown’s Mott Street.

Feng Sheng, who had joined L Bank’s sales and trading department, was already assisting traders on the trading floor. He arrived late after the 4 PM market close, having to compile trading records and create net value charts.

Despite initial nervousness, Ding Zhitong found Feng Sheng quite natural. With Song Mingmei’s talent for creating a good atmosphere, the three ordered a table full of dishes, opened a bottle of wine, and chatted about their recent experiences, creating a harmonious mood.

Ding Zhitong shared that her assignment and test scores had been good, but she struggled with social events like cocktail parties and team-building activities, unsure of what to discuss. The sense of confusion from her interview days seemed to return. Despite everyone being recent graduates in their twenties, some individuals appeared seasoned in both political and business circles, effortlessly controlling the room. She wondered how they managed it.

Speaking of such individuals, one was right before them. Song Mingmei was Ding Zhitong’s opposite—often distracted during lectures but sought after for group projects, her phone quickly filling with numerous contacts. She asked Ding Zhitong, “Why don’t you use my trick?”

Ding Zhitong knew exactly what she meant. Song Mingmei never used an English name, not at Cornell and not at G Bank. She insisted colleagues and bosses call her Ming Mei. When Westerners mispronounced it, she’d correct them meticulously, word by word, until it became second nature.

It was indeed an effective social technique. When there was little to discuss upon first meeting, one could diverge from Chinese characters to more abstract topics like economics, culture, and international affairs, or lighter subjects like romance and seasons. However, the effectiveness of this technique varied from person to person, depending on one’s appearance, demeanor, and the difficulty of pronouncing the name itself.

For instance, when Ding Zhitong tried introducing herself as Zhi Tong during her initial training, her American colleagues repeated it as “Ji Tong,” making her feel like a KFC family bucket.

This story made all three laugh, seemingly returning to their old dynamic. But Ding Zhitong missed Feng Sheng’s next words, distracted by her vibrating phone. She checked to see “Ah Gan” displayed on the screen.

Answering, she heard an excited voice say, “Come down quickly and open the door for me.”

“You’re in New York?!” Ding Zhitong realized suddenly. Her serviced apartment building had a doorman and elevator control, preventing outsiders from going up.

Seeing Ding Zhitong’s flushed face, Song Mingmei guessed, “Is it Gan Yang?”

Ding Zhitong nodded, unsure what to do. The dishes had just arrived, and she was torn between staying and leaving.

Fortunately, Feng Sheng spoke up, “Why not invite him over? We can eat together.”

Song Mingmei agreed, “Yes, we have space, and we all know each other.”

Ding Zhitong then gave Gan Yang the restaurant’s address over the phone. After hanging up, she couldn’t sit still and decided to meet him at the entrance.

The walk from her apartment was less than a kilometer. She waited briefly at the restaurant door before spotting a familiar figure at the street corner—broad-shouldered, long-legged, dressed in dark colors. He smiled at her from afar, his handsome face illuminated by Chinatown’s varied lights, standing out in the passing crowd.

Though they saw each other daily on video calls, Ding Zhitong felt her eyes moisten. Aware of her failing expression management, she hunched her shoulders and cupped her cheeks, pretending to be cold. Gan Yang, however, didn’t hesitate. He strode over, embraced her tightly, and kissed her lips.

Conscious of the crowded surroundings, Ding Zhitong broke free. As her feet touched the ground, she discreetly rubbed her eyes and asked, “Why are you here?”

Gan Yang teased, whispering in her ear, “I’ll tell you later.”

Ding Zhitong scoffed but smiled.

They entered the restaurant together. As Gan Yang removed his coat, Ding Zhitong realized he was wearing a suit underneath. Though his tie was loosened and a shirt button was undone, the sight still impressed her. She thought to herself, “You did this on purpose, dressing just like you did for the first-round interview…”

Fortunately, everyone at the table was in work attire, so his outfit didn’t seem out of place. To Ding Zhitong’s relief, everyone behaved wonderfully—there was no awkwardness or lull in conversation. The two men even shook hands cordially before sitting down to eat.

Three of the four at the table were newly employed professionals. They exchanged business cards over dinner, playfully critiquing each other’s.

Looking at Feng Sheng’s card, Song Mingmei exclaimed, “Oh, you’re in the South American group?”

“Yes,” Feng Sheng nodded. “The returns aren’t great, but at least there’s no time difference, so the work hours are pretty normal.”

But Song Mingmei had something else in mind. She patted his shoulder and said, “I remember L Bank’s South American group produced an extraordinary leader! Also a Chinese international student, he was the street’s top-earning star trader for years. When he was about to leave, the CEO offered a multi-million salary to keep him, but he didn’t even consider it. That’s a promising path, Feng Sheng!”

“It’s nothing like that…” Feng Sheng laughed, shaking his head. “I’m just an assistant now. Every morning, I help the trader start-up, following their instructions on which accounts to use, fund ratios, and contract targets. After the market opens, I monitor a dozen or more market windows, watching for bugs like erratic order placements or extreme market conditions that exceed the warning line for losses. Then I quickly alert the trader. I’m not involved in strategy development and definitely can’t touch trades.”

Hearing his self-deprecation, Ding Zhitong felt compelled to encourage him, “You shouldn’t think that way. Even the big shots must have started as trading assistants.”

Feng Sheng looked at her and replied seriously, “Yes, I know. That’s why I often work overtime voluntarily. When I have time, I study performance backtesting reports to see which strategies are most profitable, and I’m learning to write code. Of course, the main thing is buying coffee and lunch for the trader, just waiting for the day they can’t come in because of food poisoning, and I get to step up.”

Ding Zhitong laughed at this but then noticed Gan Yang holding her hand under the table. Happy about this, she interlaced her fingers with his.

After discussing work, the conversation shifted to their personal lives.

Song Mingmei still lived in Greenwich Village. Feng Sheng asked, “Does Chairman Bian know you’re sharing an apartment?”

Song Mingmei nodded, “Of course he does.”

“When the Maybach pulls up outside, doesn’t Chairman Bian have any thoughts about it?” Feng Sheng joked.

Song Mingmei seemed unconcerned, confidently replying, “He probably sees his younger self in the situation.”

Ding Zhitong recalled Bian Jieming at the graduation ceremony, watching Song Mingmei’s speech with his head held high, wearing an expression of both admiration and pride. Song Mingmei had always aimed high.

Feng Sheng then shared about his living situation. He rented a studio apartment in Flushing, Queens, about 430 square feet, for $1,400 a month, utilities included, close to the subway station.

Every evening on his way home from work, he would buy takeout from a Hong Kong-style café downstairs to eat at home. In a short time, he had tried all the set meals there. The restaurant owner might not have been Chinese or had been in America too long and forgotten how Chinese food should taste, as the dishes were quite strange. The most ridiculous was a tomato beef rice dish—rice soaked in ketchup with half a peeled tomato placed upside down in the middle. The first time he opened the container, he was startled by the blood-red sight, devoid of any other color, resembling a crime scene.

Song Mingmei was puzzled and asked, “There are so many Chinese restaurants in Flushing. If this one’s not good, why do you keep going?”

Feng Sheng replied, “I’m just sitting alone at my desk, eating in front of the computer and then continuing to code afterward. Does it matter what I eat?”

Listening to this, Ding Zhitong felt it mirrored her internship experience perfectly, deeply empathizing with him.

While they chatted animatedly, Gan Yang remained mostly quiet. Worried he might be bored and eager to leave, Ding Zhitong turned to look at him, squeezing his hand. Gan Yang smiled back at her, putting her at ease.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter
Related Chapters

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here