They could eat together, run together, and sleep in each other’s arms. Eat, run, love – perfect.
At 9 PM that night, Gan Yang arrived in Upper West Side, Manhattan, just over three hours after Ding Zhitong had called him. The journey from Ithaca to New York usually took Ding Zhitong about four hours one way. Gan Yang had driven exceptionally fast.
Song Mingmei, being tactful, stood up to leave. Gan Yang thanked her, but she didn’t stand on ceremony. Instead, she made a request: change the name and profile picture of “Forrest Gump” on “Mo Qi” to their real names and photos. She also asked them to truthfully fill in their educational history from middle school onward, as well as their current employers. This applied to both Gan Yang and Ding Zhitong.
Ding Zhitong found this amusing and joked, “You’re so invested in Deng’s business now? Did you make an additional investment?”
Song Mingmei smiled and replied, “I’m a shareholder now, so of course I have to be invested.”
Ding Zhitong recalled their previous conversation, realizing the shares they had discussed had indeed been transferred.
After Song Mingmei left, Ding Zhitong went to the bedroom to change. When she emerged in her nightgown, she found Gan Yang tidying up in the kitchen, as usual, throwing away wilted produce and expired milk.
During his absence, she had only come home to shower and sleep for three or four hours at most before leaving again, fully armed for work. The apartment had been cold and unused, the refrigerator seemingly untouched.
Feeling inexplicably guilty, Ding Zhitong walked over and hugged him from behind, resting her face on his back. Gan Yang turned to look at her, set down what he was holding, and embraced her. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, while she wore only a long, shirt-style nightgown. Their bodies pressed close, surrounded by each other’s scent, warmth, and heartbeats. The tangible closeness was enough to make her forget the chills she’d felt all day under high pressure.
Their shadows reflected in the window glass. Ding Zhitong loved this position, closing her eyes, not wanting to speak or move.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Gan Yang broke the silence.
Ding Zhitong chuckled inwardly. His seven years in America had rubbed off on him. Honestly, it was a good approach – being able to openly discuss any thoughts. Unfortunately, she still didn’t know how to respond. The small goal she had easily shared with Feng Sheng, and the reasons behind it, were now difficult to express to Gan Yang.
The room fell silent, making the pause seem even longer. Finally, Gan Yang asked, “Have you thought about what I mentioned last time?”
Ding Zhitong knew he was referring to his suggestion that she change jobs. She joked, “You mean when you said I was doing simple, repetitive work as cheap labor?”
Gan Yang had prepared for this conversation on his way over. He stepped back to look at her and said, “You’ve always told me you’re a money-grubber, but I still want to ask: what’s more important, money or people?”
“Money,” Ding Zhitong answered without hesitation, though not entirely seriously.
Gan Yang was speechless. He cupped her face in his hands and rephrased his question: “I know you don’t take your health seriously, so let me ask you this: what’s more important, money or me?”
Was this an ultimatum? Ding Zhitong fell silent. At first, she wanted to laugh, thinking how full of himself he was to compare himself to money. But another voice in her head said: Of course, you’re more important, but I can’t afford to lose this job right now.
At that moment, she understood Marx’s statement from “Das Kapital” more profoundly than ever before – the economic base determines the superstructure. Even if she told him about her small goal and the story behind it, he would likely offer the same solution: How much money do you need? Can I give it to you?
Finally, she said nothing, just looked at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned in to kiss him.
“Ding Zhitong, don’t try this with me…” Gan Yang dodged seriously, suspecting she was trying to avoid communication by seducing him.
But Ding Zhitong remained silent, focused solely on kissing him. She gazed at his lips, ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed him tenderly, exchanging breaths and exploring with her tongue. She poured everything she wanted to say into that long, passionate kiss.
For instance: Even though we disagree on this, I still really like you.
And: Can you wait for me? Give me a little more time, don’t give up on me.
She wasn’t sure if he would understand, but she knew that one second he was saying “Don’t try this with me,” and the next he had picked her up, unsure where to go. The kitchen island? The couch? The bathroom? Or the bed? He looked to her for guidance, but she just buried her face in his shoulder, laughing, legs wrapped tightly around him to avoid falling.
After a brief separation, their bodies joined again, breath intermingling with kisses. As they gradually calmed down, Ding Zhitong lay on the pillow, unwilling to move. Gan Yang, however, pressed against her again and asked, “Tongtong, can you tell me what your plans are for the future?”
“What plans?” Ding Zhitong didn’t quite understand what he meant. When it came to plans, her mind went to the interview experiences she’d read about – five-year plans, ten-year plans. She could easily recite those platitudes, but when it came to real plans, beyond the two years as an analyst and three years as a manager, she hadn’t thought much further. After all, talking about ideals seemed somewhat laughable these days.
“I mean, what are you earning money for?” Gan Yang elaborated. “Money is just a means, not an end. You’re working so hard, there must be a reason, right?”
There it was. Ding Zhitong paused before answering, “Actually, I’m earning money to buy an apartment in Dongman.” This was her ready-made reason, her second priority goal after her most urgent one. Not as pressing, but still a goal of hers.
“Upper East Side?” he misunderstood.
Ding Zhitong laughed and slowly explained. The “Dongman” she mentioned was actually in Shanghai, short for “Dongfang Manhattan” (Eastern Manhattan).
As a child, she lived with her parents in the suburbs. Although technically part of the city, it looked more like a small town, with only one main street unimaginatively named “First Street.” The photo studio, post office, and department store were all on that street, along with two bus lines that only ran within the town, connecting residential areas, factories, hospitals, and schools.
Later, when her mother left them to go abroad, her father transferred her household registration to her grandmother’s house in the city center. He claimed it was out of concern for her, not wanting her to live with him in the countryside. But the main reason was to secure an extra person for potential relocation compensation. Since Yan Aihua had canceled her registration to leave, Ding Zhitong would take her place. They couldn’t afford to lose out. Like all the petty bourgeoisie of that era, money was the logic behind all their actions. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. The relocation office’s sign hung at the entrance of the alley for five or six years, household registrations were frozen, but there was still no movement.
During those years, Ding Zhitong shared a small room with her grandmother. Looking out the red-painted wooden window frame, she could see the construction site of that apartment complex. She watched it grow floor by floor from the foundation up, naturally becoming the first luxury residence in her young mind.
After starting university, she rarely went back, neither to her grandmother’s room awaiting relocation nor to her father’s old apartment in the suburbs. But sometimes she would pass by the entrance of Dongman, always imagining herself living there – not with her parents, grandmother, or great-grandmother, but alone, without having to open her eyes every morning to a house full of people and clutter.
After finishing this explanation, she felt she had said too much. Such a mundane dream, and it sounded a bit selfish.
But she was indeed that mundane and selfish. She wasn’t sure if Gan Yang truly wanted to understand her, and if he did, whether he would still like her. At that moment, she decided to lay it all out, just as she had told him before – as long as everything was clear, even if they broke up, there would be no regrets.
She turned to face him and finally said, “Gan Yang, I’m just this realistic and messed up. Like when you first asked me to move in here with you, I kept wondering how much the monthly rent for this place was. One moment I’d think, ‘No, better not tell me, I won’t be able to sleep at night if I know.’ Then a while later, I’d think, ‘No, you should tell me, otherwise I’ll keep guessing and that’s even worse…'”
Gan Yang burst out laughing, “Ding Zhitong, are you crazy?”
But Ding Zhitong looked at him seriously and said, “I know you could help me pay the rent, give me money, but I don’t want our relationship to become like that. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I understand,” Gan Yang nodded, finally stopping his laughter and looking at her.
Ding Zhitong continued, “I still want to complete this two-year analyst program. After that, whether I continue in this field or change jobs, I haven’t decided yet. During these two years, I’ll try my best to eat well, sleep well, and take good care of myself. I might not have enough time for you, but I still hope we can be together. What do you think?”
“You still hope we can be together?” Gan Yang singled out this sentence and repeated it.
Ding Zhitong nodded.
“Is it because you want my money or me?” he asked again, a hint of a smile in his eyes.
It was a simple either-or question, but Ding Zhitong didn’t confine herself to the given options. Looking at him, she said, “It’s because you’re special. You’re different from anyone else I’ve met. I like you so, so much. Even if I don’t understand all the things you want to do now, I still believe that one day you’ll achieve them.”
After saying this, she couldn’t see Gan Yang’s reaction because he suddenly tightened his arms around her, pulling her close against him.
For a while, they just held each other silently, until Ding Zhitong heard a barely audible sniffling sound.
She chuckled softly and said, “Hey, are you crying?”
Gan Yang cleared his throat and denied it: “No, I’m not.”
Ding Zhitong didn’t believe him. She struggled to see his face and asked, “Why are you crying?”
Gan Yang held her still, defending himself: “I’m not crying, I just feel a little…”
“A little what?” she insisted he says it.
“Just…” he stuttered, “just a bit moved. No one has ever said anything like that to me before…”
The next morning at dawn, Ding Zhitong woke up early, perhaps disturbed by a nightmare she couldn’t remember, or perhaps because the recent string of late nights had accustomed her to short, interrupted sleep.
They hadn’t drawn the curtains before bed, allowing her to watch the sky gradually brighten outside the window, the near and far scenery slowly shedding the quiet, pale blue hue of early morning light.
Gan Yang was still asleep behind her, one arm draped over her waist, his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps it was that moment of seeming isolation from the world, the fleeting sense of leisure and security, that suddenly made her feel all her previous concerns were merely unnecessary worries.
Just like last night’s promise, there weren’t any significant obstacles between them. It was just a matter of one year and eighty thousand dollars. Time would pass quickly, and the money would be saved. When that time came, if he wanted to return to China to make shoes, she would go with him. They could choose a place together; he could do what he wanted, and she would find another job. It certainly wouldn’t pay as much, but she also wouldn’t have to work over a hundred hours a week like now. They could eat together, run together, and sleep in each other’s arms. Eat, run, love – perfect.
With these thoughts, she drifted back to sleep contentedly, until the entire city awoke once more.