Song Mingmei always believed that interactions between people must adhere to the economic principle of “Pareto optimization.”
The housewarming party ended relatively early. As Song Mingmei left the apartment, Mr. Bian’s car – the Maybach that Feng Sheng had mentioned – was already waiting outside. Its black body reflected the soft yellow streetlights, giving it the color of money.
The night was cold, with sporadic snowflakes still falling. In the darkness, only the expansive trees of Central Park were visible across the street. She put on a smile and walked towards the car. The door opened, revealing warm light and a gust of heat from inside, like the only shelter in this cold night, enough to lure all the little match girls in the world.
“Sorry for troubling you so late…” Song Mingmei maintained her usual demeanor, greeting the person inside with a smile. She unhurriedly folded her coat and sat in the passenger seat, tucking in her long legs before closing the door.
“It’s no trouble at all. I was in the neighborhood. It’s not safe for a young woman to be out alone at night,” Bian Jieming explained with a smile as he started the engine.
Until now, both of them had been standing on that subtle dividing line.
Just like tonight, when he had invited her to dinner, and she said she had already promised to attend a classmate’s gathering. He didn’t mind, dropping her off and now picking her up.
As they left, Bian Jieming pointed out the window and asked, “This is a nice place. Your friend lives here?”
“My former roommate. You met her at the graduation ceremony,” Song Mingmei nodded, waiting for his reaction.
Sure enough, Bian Jieming chuckled softly, glanced at her, and shook his head.
Song Mingmei understood his meaning: “You’re so stubborn.”
Before her graduation last December, when she was looking for a place in Manhattan, Mr. Bian had given her a key card, saying he had bought an apartment in Midtown that was sitting empty, and she could use it.
Song Mingmei had politely declined, saying she had already signed a contract and paid six months’ rent for a place in Greenwich Village.
Bian Jieming didn’t press the issue. Later, when he took her out for meals and picked her up, his Maybach would park by the curb, waiting for her to come down.
Song Mingmei lived in an old building, common in that neighborhood. Red brick walls covered in green vines gave it a romantic, bohemian feel. Perhaps a Beat Generation writer had once lived behind one of those windows, or a folk singer’s raspy voice had echoed in the stairwell.
That day, when she came out of the building, she saw Bian Jieming standing by the road, looking up at the surrounding architecture.
She asked him: “What are you looking at?”
Bian Jieming lowered his head and smiled, initially only saying: “Did you know Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment from Sex and the City is nearby on Perry Street?”
Song Mingmei shook her head, feigning an epiphany while inwardly teasing, “You have a girly side, old man.”
Once in the car, he revealed the real reason: the place reminded him of when he first came to America.
Back then, he too had shared an apartment, living in the middle hallway room where other tenants passed by his bed as they came and went. Though the conditions were poor, that experience was vivid in his memory. He even remembered a decoration left by the landlord hanging on the wall by his bed. He later learned it was the steering wheel of an old Thunderbird, a car he’d seen countless times in American movies cruising New York streets, giving him a sense of familiarity across time and space.
It was then that he decided he would go to New York someday.
Song Mingmei listened attentively, but thought to herself, “You’ve told this story in magazine interviews too.”
They had met in the summer of 2007. Song Mingmei had just started her summer internship at G Bank’s IBD, unfortunately coinciding with a tumultuous summer.
In June, news broke that two subprime-related hedge funds under Bear Stearns had suffered massive losses with frighteningly high leverage.
By August, more news came from France: three subprime-related hedge funds of BNP Paribas had announced a suspension of redemptions.
Panic began to spread on Wall Street, affecting G Bank as well.
With the market in turmoil and internal competition so fierce, she hadn’t dared hope for a return offer, merely wanting to add a line to her resume. But it was during that ten-week internship that she met Bian Jieming.
Their first meeting was when Mr. Bian came to visit, dining with her boss.
Without introduction, Song Mingmei encountered him at the office door and addressed him as “Mr. Bian.”
He smiled at her, without any airs, and said, “You can just call me Ben.”
She recognized his face from a magazine interview she had read. The author described his profession as “New York Financier,” just like Mr. Big from Sex and the City.
The article used flowery language, saying his business spanned China and the U.S., with rich successful operational experience, dedicated to bringing international capital to growing Chinese enterprises.
Song Mingmei certainly wouldn’t miss such a great networking opportunity. She immediately asked Mr. Bian for his business card and called him the next day. After introducing herself, she sought advice from her senior, asking if it would be convenient to chat.
Bian Jieming, of course, remembered her and gladly agreed. They arranged to meet for coffee.
That time, she paid for the coffee.
In return, Mr. Bian recounted his glorious history of coming to America in the ’90s. He said he had only fifty-seven dollars in his pocket when he got off the plane, first going to Ohio for university, then to New York for an MBA at Columbia. After graduation, he worked at large institutions for a while, accumulating connections and experience before starting his own finance company. He was now also a contributor to a financial magazine.
Song Mingmei prided herself on her intelligence, but after listening for a long time, she still couldn’t figure out how this man had gone from fifty-seven dollars to where he was today, rubbing shoulders with old white men on Wall Street, drinking wine, smoking cigars, playing golf, and being called a “China expert” – all in just over a decade.
After they parted that day, Mr. Bian quickly invited her out again. The second time was for lunch, his treat.
Song Mingmei certainly knew what this meant, but compared to being a rich man’s girlfriend, she was more interested in the wealthy man’s secret to success.
She was a very practical person. When she first arrived at Cornell, at a gathering of international students, she and Ding Zhitong hit it off for this very reason.
Other girls said: “I want to get married before I’m 30.”
She said: “I want to achieve financial freedom before I’m 30.”
Ding Zhitong clapped and said: “Bravo!”
So, for the second time, she readily agreed and went to meet him.
Bian Jieming took her to a very nice restaurant, but they still discussed only above-board matters.
Mr. Bian continued to tell her his story, adding more details than the last time.
He said he went abroad through overseas connections when he was only eighteen or nineteen, barely able to speak English. After language classes, he entered a small Baptist university in Ohio. By his senior year, he was valedictorian with a full scholarship, giving a speech at the graduation ceremony as one of the top students.
Moreover, when he was in his early twenties, about her age now, he participated in his first negotiation for a Sino-US joint venture. That was back in 1994.
At least this part of his experience, he recounted in great detail, truly like a patient senior.
Song Mingmei listened, knowing he was avoiding the key points. Of course, by street rules, some things couldn’t be mentioned. After the meal, she still hadn’t figured out how he had become so successful, but her curiosity was even more piqued, making her want to know the answer to that question even more.
After lunch, Mr. Bian took her on a tour of his company.
It was close to G Bank, in the best area of Midtown Manhattan, a Class AAA office building. Bian Jieming had rented an entire floor in the upper levels. Stepping out of the elevator, one could see the luxurious marble backdrop and shining golden sign, the company name straightforwardly called “All-American Finance.”
Song Mingmei expressed deep admiration and asked many questions, like the Q&A session at the end of a lecture.
However, when Mr. Bian suggested she come work for him, she still politely declined, saying she was already writing her internship report and wanted to complete the ten weeks at G Bank. This was her principle: don’t get too close.
Besides, All-American Finance? She inwardly mocked, America truly is free. In China, such a flashy name probably wouldn’t even pass business registration.
Bian Jieming didn’t insist, instead praising her for her proper attitude and sense of responsibility, and promised to put in a good word with her current boss.
Later, true to his word, before her internship ended, Song Mingmei received a return offer from HR, welcoming her to officially join in January of the following year. Thus, while Ding Zhitong and Feng Sheng were still worrying about jobs, she was already a member of Wall Street.
After the summer vacation, as the third semester began, she returned to Ithaca.
She thought that was the end of it. There were plenty of twenty-something female interns on Wall Street, and someone like Bian Jieming surely wouldn’t keep thinking about just her. After a few weeks without seeing each other, he would naturally forget.
She didn’t expect him to come to see her from hundreds of miles away, still taking her out to eat and chat, just like in Manhattan.
The tumultuous summer had passed. During that time, the Federal Reserve had lowered the discount rate to increase market liquidity. By autumn, the S&P 500, the most representative index of US stocks, had indeed surged to 1,565, creating a historical high. A week later, the Shanghai Composite Index also broke 6,000 points.
With global stock markets booming, Mr. Bian had also completed two projects. Now that the announcements had been made, he could talk to her about them in detail.
His company had acted as a financial advisor for two Chinese enterprises, designing their entire US listing transaction structure. First through a reverse merger, they entered the OTCBB (Over-The-Counter Bulletin Board), obtained financing from US private equity funds, and after expanding, planned for an IPO on the main board. The first step had been completed, and the PR was well done, playing up both the China concept and the environmental protection concept. After listing, the stock prices had soared.
They continued to meet occasionally like this, gradually covering all the restaurants around Cornell. Song Mingmei still maintained a necessary distance, but surprisingly, Bian Jieming didn’t seem in a hurry. Eventually, it was she who began to feel uncertain. She had always thought herself experienced in these matters, understanding every suitor’s little thoughts, knowing what they wanted and how to respond, with all words and actions within her expectations.
But Bian Jieming was on another level. Every time she faced this 35-year-old man, she had a feeling that things were sliding in a direction she couldn’t control. Song Mingmei didn’t like this feeling at all; it was like walking into a trap.
From that time on, they had been standing on this subtle dividing line – one step closer would make them lovers, and one step back would keep them as senior and junior. What Bian wanted was the former. But she leaned more towards the latter.
Song Mingmei always believed that interactions between people must adhere to the economic principle of “Pareto optimization” – whatever is done should benefit at least one party while not harming the other.
Bian Jieming had what she wanted: his experience, his resources.
In exchange, she also had to provide him with irreplaceable value.
And sex was not it.
It was for this reason that she always hoped to make him see his former self in her, rather than just another young female intern that came and went on Wall Street every year. Although, when he first met her, she was indeed just a twenty-something female intern.
Inviting him to attend her graduation ceremony, to see her speak on stage as a top student, was her first attempt.
Refusing his free apartment and sharing an old house in Greenwich Village was her second attempt.