Except for herself, probably no one remembered that she had once been shy and introverted.

During that time, Song Mingmei often recalled a small incident from years ago.

She was ten years old, in fourth grade. There was a girl in her class with similar grades, but slightly prettier, more popular in class, and more famous in school. Though they were competitors, they often played together and even imitated each other’s style. Of course, the other girl imitated her more. Song Mingmei’s family was well-off, and her very particular mother had high expectations for her, giving her only the best.

But it was also this particular mother who told her to stay away from that girl, not to be so foolish.

“Why?” Song Mingmei asked, not understanding how she was being foolish.

Her mother explained, “Because you’re in the same class, have similar grades, and you’re both girls.”

“What’s wrong with both being girls?” Song Mingmei inquired.

Her mother gave an example, “For instance, when selecting outstanding students, a class can have at most two candidates, one boy and one girl. Isn’t she competing with you for that one spot? You know how important this award is for entering junior high…”

This made Song Mingmei laugh, interrupting her mother, “Why must it be one boy and one girl? It’s not like we’re sacrificing children to a fish spirit.”

Her mother knew she was quick-witted and didn’t argue further, only saying, “You’ll see.”

Later, when the selection began that year, sure enough, their class nominated a “boy and girl pair” as candidates, with Song Mingmei as the “girl.” The boy chosen with her was far inferior in grades and abilities compared to her good friend.

While she was still feeling indignant for her friend, her friend stopped talking to her, feeling that Song Mingmei had stolen her opportunity, not based on merit, but because she was prettier, more articulate, sociable, and often performed on stage, making her more well-known in school. This angered Song Mingmei too – how were being pretty, articulate, sociable, and performing on stage not part of her abilities?

It wasn’t until a few years later, when she encountered a similar situation in junior high, that she suddenly realized it was the “boy and girl” selection custom that had stolen the opportunity, not her.

From then on, she always felt confined to competing cruelly within the female category. Now it was even worse, with the added “Asian” label. As a first-year analyst, she could already see the “bamboo ceiling” hanging low over her head.

Looking around, the only person who could explain this puzzle to her seemed to be Benjamin. She was more curious than ever about how Mr. Bian had reached his current position.

When Song Mingmei went to see him, Benjamin had just returned from a business trip to the West Coast. They had lunch together as usual. She told him about her recent work, the takeout and coffee she bought for the whole team, and Nathan’s rapid rise. She was seeking advice, but Benjamin just listened with a slight smile, offering no explanations.

After lunch, he invited her to see his newly purchased apartment. Song Mingmei thought this was just another display of the uncle’s wealth and felt somewhat disappointed, but she still wanted to see it. After all, it was a house on Park Avenue – worth broadening her horizons.

It was raining. At the building entrance, a doorman in a brass-buttoned uniform opened an exquisite umbrella to escort them from the car. As they entered the lobby, the elevator was conveniently waiting on the ground floor. Inside stood a lady who looked to be in her fifties, with the penthouse button lit up.

Once in the elevator, Song Mingmei didn’t know which floor they were going to, and Benjamin just stood still. As the doors closed, the lady noticed they weren’t pressing any buttons and glanced at them several times before finally saying to Song Mingmei, “Dear, there’s no observation deck up there.”

Song Mingmei was stunned for a moment before realizing the lady probably thought they had come in to escape the rain and wanted to see the view. That feeling Nathan had given her returned – the polite tone coupled with a condescending attitude.

Benjamin, however, had already started small talk, smiling at the lady and saying, “I guess we’re going to be neighbors.”

Now it was the lady’s turn to be stunned. After a moment, she muttered something. Song Mingmei couldn’t make out if it was “nice to meet you,” but judging by the lady’s expression, she wasn’t very pleased.

By then, the elevator had reached the top floor. Benjamin led her out, swiped open the door, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. As expected, he began showcasing his wealth. Without his introduction, Song Mingmei knew that to the right was Fifth Avenue, in the middle was Central Park, and the Empire State Building seemed within arm’s reach.

The scene before her was so familiar yet somehow strange. At first, she thought it was just because of the height, but something still felt off. She had been on high floors in G Bank’s office but never had this feeling. Then she realized it was the sound – she could see everything, almost touchable, yet not a hint of the city’s noise could be heard. The rain, traffic, and sirens – New York’s constant BGM seemed suddenly muted.

Benjamin showed her around the apartment. Song Mingmei discovered that the shower in the master bedroom was right next to the glass exterior wall. If she were to bathe here, tourists climbing the Empire State Building might be able to see her naked.

Then there was the Siberian polished marble bathtub next to it, costing $80,000. The monthly maintenance and property fees for the entire apartment were $8,000. Benjamin told her all this without hesitation.

If he had flaunted his wealth subtly, she wouldn’t have found it particularly special. Instead, his approach made her more curious: what exactly did this man want?

They sat on the living room sofa, watching the cityscape through the rain. Benjamin reminisced about his early days in Ohio, recounting strange questions he often encountered: “Are there only three professions in China – workers, farmers, and soldiers? Can only children of officials receive education? Are you one of those privileged children?”

Song Mingmei realized then that he had indeed listened to her earlier comments, but whether he could truly alleviate her doubts remained uncertain. She felt their situations weren’t quite the same.

Benjamin, however, seemed unfazed. Recalling those memories, he chuckled, “At first, I felt angry too. Later, I came to understand. I should empathize with them – after all, most had never even left their state.”

“So?” Mingmei pressed, still doubtful if he truly grasped her concern.

“If you position yourself as vulnerable, you’ll feel offended,” Benjamin explained. “But from a different perspective, their actions stem merely from ignorance.”

“I think Nathan’s case is different,” Mingmei calmly argued, her tone purely inquisitive.

“Indeed, it is,” Benjamin agreed. “Those who shout ‘ching chong chang’ at you might just be old vagrants on the street – best ignored. What you encountered at G Bank isn’t so much racism as microaggression. Trust me, I’ve seen far more of it…”

Mingmei nodded, acknowledging that Benjamin, having arrived over a decade earlier, likely faced a far more hostile environment.

“This place emphasizes political correctness,” Benjamin continued. “You won’t hear extremely offensive remarks in universities or companies, making formal complaints nearly impossible. If you think carefully, some people might even have good intentions. They assume you’re from a non-English speaking country, so distant, so poor…”

“And a woman,” Mingmei added.

“Yes, and a woman,” Benjamin echoed with a smile. “They think you’ve already achieved so much, and how kind and open-minded they are to engage with you.”

Mingmei nodded earnestly, recognizing the feeling.

Benjamin went on, “Be wary of these seemingly polite gestures. Even for mundane accomplishments, you’ll receive excessive praise because they don’t believe you’re capable of greater things. In their eyes, your ceiling is low. If you adopt their perspective, that ceiling becomes your reality.”

Listening intently, Mingmei realized her mistake. She had initially thought this was just another display of the older man’s capabilities, but he was discussing cultural confidence.

Intriguing.

“So what should I do?” she asked, already sensing his implication.

Instead of an immediate answer, Benjamin took her to an investors’ dinner at The Carlyle Hotel.

The Carlyle, a 1930s building standing 35 stories tall, was once considered magnificent. By modern standards, it’s no longer luxurious – its revolving entrance is narrow, ceilings low, with age evident throughout.

Yet, some say while Wall Street measures success by money, The Carlyle represents class. On Manhattan Island, only the Waldorf rivaled The Carlyle’s claim as “New York’s Bai House.” The Carlyle’s reputation was cemented when Kennedy was photographed there with Monroe.

“Why were you invited to The Carlyle?” Mingmei asked bluntly.

Benjamin answered without hesitation, “I represented a Chinese tycoon interested in acquiring hotels in America. I liaised with The Carlyle on his behalf.”

“Who is it?” she inquired.

“I can’t disclose that,” Benjamin smiled, shaking his head.

“What other hotels is he looking to buy?” she pressed.

“Can’t say that either,” he maintained.

“How do you manage this?” she finally asked directly.

“I don’t talk,” Benjamin smiled, miming a zipper across his lips.

“Aren’t you worried I might overhear something and inadvertently damage your reputation?” she challenged.

“You won’t,” Benjamin asserted confidently.

At the dinner, he introduced her to many people, including her G Bank special projects partner, who likely remembered her name and face for the first time. She observed Benjamin navigating conversations with slightly accented but confident English and good manners. Of course, she understood that people engaged with him primarily for the lucrative opportunities he represented, discussing China-related projects.

They left at midnight, predictably hungry from the light fare. Benjamin directed the driver to Xi’an Famous Foods on West 45th Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. They ordered $2.50 meat sandwiches, $4.50 cold noodles, and Qishan minced noodles. The spicy food contrasted humorously with the New York street view outside and their formal attire.

As they ate, Benjamin shared another story from his past. A fellow Chinese student, desperate to assimilate, avoided other Chinese students and sought only American friends. In the end, he had no friends at all.

“What’s the point?” Benjamin laughed. “Your face immediately identifies you as Chinese. Your brand and your core competitiveness will always be China. Like me, I never tried to assimilate. I came here to make money. People bustle about for a few coins; those who can prosper together become true friends.”

Mingmei agreed wholeheartedly. Benjamin was clever; his Maybach, Midtown company and luxurious apartment didn’t fall from the sky without reason.

“Some friends from that time stayed in academia, some opened restaurants, and others returned to China,” Benjamin continued. “They all think my current success came easily because of my personality. But it wasn’t like that at all. When I first arrived, I’d travel far for work, leaving excited and returning dejected…”

Of all their conversations, this statement touched Mingmei the most. Besides herself, probably no one remembered her once shy, introverted nature.

Upon noticing these traits in her childhood, she was sent to dance lessons. At every opportunity, she was taken out to observe adults greeting each other, conversing, ordering food, and conducting themselves at formal dinners.

“…I think you understand,” Benjamin said, looking at her.

Mingmei nodded silently.

“Are you cold?” he asked, draping his jacket over her shoulders.