Saying “I support you” is far too simple, but in reality, neither of them could do it.
In May, as school activities wound down, Gan Yang began working at a sports equipment company on 18th Street.
It was indeed a small company, but with a long history, manufacturing athletic shoes and sportswear since 1908. Still family-owned, the elderly owner, nearing 70, claimed to prioritize expertise over expansion. He often criticized large corporations for their lack of integrity, accusing them of bribing athletes by stuffing money in running shoes.
Gan Yang returned with peculiar stories for Ding Zhitong. He described how sports shoes were once sold: regional sales representatives, often retired athletes, would visit school coaches to learn each child’s shoe size and preferences. Some enthusiasts would even mail in paper tracings of their feet for personalized recommendations. This bespoke service reminded Gan Yang of Ollivander’s wand shop in Diagon Alley, fascinating him.
Zhitong, however, wanted to point out that while some prefer small, boutique businesses, most such enterprises fail, especially in today’s market.
Like the poem “Slow in the Past,” where people spoke deliberately and loved only once in a lifetime, business could once be conducted slowly, shoes sold one pair at a time. But now, if you don’t move entire shelves of inventory for a single style, you’re doomed before you know it.
She suspected Gan Yang had missed some crucial information. For this eccentric company to have survived since 1908, the owner must have other revenue streams – perhaps rental properties in Manhattan or an oil field out west. Selling sports shoes might just be a hobby, likely to end when the old man retired.
Once again, Zhitong’s prediction proved accurate. About two years later, the brand Gan Yang worked for was acquired by one of the large corporations the old owner had once criticized. It became a sub-brand, its product line was reduced to squash, rowing, and golf equipment, catering to a niche market, and even criticized for being “too white.” But that’s a story for another time.
Back in May, the XP Energy project reached its critical phase: pricing and share allocation. Zhitong entered the war room.
The war room was a large conference room where all project participants gathered. Lawyers, accountants, and financial advisors coordinated their work under the lead underwriter’s team. As a first-year analyst, Zhitong was at the bottom of this hierarchy. Beside her was a JV (Junior Varsity), exemplifying the FILO principle: First In, Last Out, seemingly tireless despite the grueling work. Although Zhitong had learned from Qin Chang to leave when appropriate and not compete with the JV, the workload and deadlines were undeniable. Concepts like regular hours or weekly work limits became meaningless.
While Zhitong didn’t count, Gan Yang couldn’t help but calculate for her.
Though he had promised to support her money-making endeavors, when her weekly hours exceeded 100, he felt it was excessive. He broached the subject again: “Your annual salary looks good, but with such long hours, how much higher is it really than a McDonald’s hourly worker?”
Zhitong initially disagreed: “My annual salary plus bonus is about $130,000. Divided by 52 weeks and 100 hours per week, that’s $25 per hour. The 2007 New York state minimum wage was $7.25 per hour, so I’m earning about 3.5 times a McDonald’s worker.”
She calculated on the spot, thinking Gan Yang’s perfect SAT math score couldn’t compare to the Chinese college entrance exam. But the result, 3.5 times, surprised her too. McDonald’s workers didn’t need prestigious degrees or student debt. Perhaps she should have just worked at McDonald’s.
Gan Yang wasn’t deterred: “Don’t forget to account for taxes.”
Hourly workers had much lower tax rates, meaning she earned even less than 3.5 times their wage.
Zhitong was taken aback, inwardly cursing: “Damn, living is expensive!”
“You’re right,” she joked sarcastically, “I’m just cheap labor doing simple, repetitive work. Where else can I find such a job? I’d switch immediately for more money, or even less – I could work part-time.”
Gan Yang, both amused and annoyed, said: “How much do you make a month? I’ll pay you instead, okay?”
His words made Zhitong freeze. She looked up at him, recalling their previous conversation. Cheap labor, dirty work – in his eyes, her job seemed no different from the OEM work he despised.
Realizing his mistake, Gan Yang held her tight and apologized: “I’m sorry, Tongtong. I didn’t mean it like that…”
Zhitong understood his good intentions. She ruffled his hair to show forgiveness, though he didn’t need it. She simply didn’t know how to handle him.
But the words hung in the air, like when he picked her up late at night or insisted she eat breakfast before leaving. His care became a burden, forcing her to juggle both ends, utterly exhausting her.
She was truly trying her best, utilizing every spare moment, memorizing shortcuts, leveraging all resources, and diligently studying models. But that “one day for herself” remained elusive. She even suspected Qin Chang had deceived her; perhaps even he couldn’t follow his advice, explaining his dejected appearance.
Saying “I support you” was far too simple, but in reality, she couldn’t convince herself to believe in his vision, and he found her daily work meaningless.
Only their intimate connection remained unchanged, wordless yet profound. Years later, she still remembers that feeling. Not because they were young with tireless, beautiful bodies, nor for the indescribable ecstasies, but because for the first time in her life, someone shared such intense joy with her and said, “I love you.” And she could answer without hesitation: “I love you too.” Zhitong still didn’t know what would happen when they truly lived together, but at least those words were certain.
A day later, Gan Yang had to return to Ithaca for school matters.
Zhitong saw him off downstairs, watching his car drive away with her usual reluctance to part. But when she returned to her apartment, finding herself alone, she opened her laptop, realizing she could work as late as she wanted. The slight sense of relief terrified her. Why did she feel this way?
Five hours later, Gan Yang arrived in Ithaca. Night had fallen. He entered the house, turned on the lights, and considered video calling Zhitong but feared annoying her. He settled for a phone call to report his safe arrival.
The house felt empty, many items already packed for the move to Manhattan. The kitchen remained, needing restoration after installing a Chinese-style range hood. Standing amidst the boxes, he sighed, wondering why he was going through all this trouble.
That same night, Zhitong worked late and received a link from Song Mingmei.
Opening it, she found “Moji” again, but with a completely different layout and structure. It now included Mingmei’s “Virtual Cohabitation” game, clearly a major overhaul.
Mingmei explained: Old Deng hasn’t contacted me in a while. He just sent this, saying he’s done everything according to my suggestions. He wants my opinion.
Zhitong asked: So what do you think?
Mingmei replied: I’m not sure…
At first, Zhitong thought only of “Moji,” but then realized it was about Deng Boting. Mingmei’s uncertainty was troubling. She had assumed Benjamin was Mingmei’s sole investment focus, but it seemed the Shanghai suitor number one had re-entered the arena.
After a while, Mingmei added: Do you think it’s too much to ask for some shares after providing so much professional advice? That’s my plan for now. We’ll see about the future later.
Zhitong laughed. This response was more like the Mingmei she knew.
As the new week began in the Midtown Manhattan office, Zhitong faced another extreme challenge.
With the project nearing completion, not just the JV but everyone in the team worked around the clock. Meals were taken in the war room. People brought toiletries and change of clothes, hanging suits and shirts on the door. A service collected, dry-cleaned, and returned them, allowing at least three days without going home.
Zhitong was no exception. One night, working until midnight, she realized she hadn’t had water all day but had downed four Venti Starbucks coffees. The default order was extra espresso shots. While uncertain of the exact number of shots, even Zhitong, accustomed to caffeine-fueled all-nighters during her studies, felt her heart racing uncomfortably after four such drinks.
The next morning, with dry eyes, she went to the restroom to remove her contact lenses and wash her face. Emerging, she encountered the JV by the disabled toilet. Noticing the red mark on his forehead, she understood – he had been sleeping there. For a moment, she felt a sense of camaraderie and greeted him with a smile.
The JV merely stared blankly before walking away expressionless.
Zhitong was baffled. “I wouldn’t report you,” she thought. “Everyone needs sleep. Why pretend?”
When the work was finally done, dawn was breaking. Zhitong returned to her apartment, stripped off her clothes, and crawled into bed, sleeping until her phone rang.
At first, she thought it was her alarm, wondering groggily why it sounded like Deborah’s ringtone. It took a while to realize it was indeed Deborah calling. Fully awake now, she emerged from the covers, hair disheveled. She hadn’t drawn the curtains, and the daylight stung her eyes. She fumbled for her phone and answered.
Without greeting, Deborah asked: “Where’s the JV?”
“The JV? Isn’t he in the war room? Or the office?” Zhitong asked confusedly. Those were the only places she could think of. How would she know where the JV was?
Fortunately, Deborah had no time for her confusion and explained the situation: A model condition needed changing for a 9:30 meeting with institutional investors, but the JV was nowhere to be found and not answering his phone.
“I’ll find him right away,” Zhitong replied without hesitation. After hanging up, her eyes adjusted to the light. She glanced at the digital clock: 8:30.
The legendary human computer scenario had arrived – a VP’s conference call with clients, the analyst responsible for all valuation models called to participate, updating spreadsheets based on real-time discussions, and reporting new data to the VP for the meeting to continue.
In theory, it was just changing inputs for different outputs. In practice, it was immensely stressful. Each real project’s model was enormous, having undergone countless revisions. Missing any condition or being unfamiliar with any part could unbalance the model or produce unreasonable numbers, all while the VP and clients waited online.
Typically, analysts with two or three years of experience handle such tasks. As a newcomer, Zhitong wasn’t expected or thought capable of this level of work.
But today? Perhaps.
Her mind, surprisingly clear upon waking, knew two things must be done simultaneously – find the JV, but also prepare to step in herself. The model was huge; remote access might take too long or crash. She needed to get to the office now.