Gan Yang inwardly grumbled, feeling more at ease with that person still locked up inside.
“Son—” The call always began this way. Director Liu enjoyed addressing him like this, usually followed by asking what he was up to and how he’d been lately.
This time, however, Gan Yang interrupted her. “Director Liu, I’m thinking of buying a house in Shanghai.”
There was a brief pause on the other end before she asked with a chuckle, “You’ve always refused before. What’s changed your mind?”
Gan Yang laughed along and replied directly, “Why don’t you send someone to take a look? The property’s called Oriental Manhattan.”
“You’ve already picked a place?” Director Liu sounded surprised.
Gan Yang explained, “It’s close to her home.”
“Your girlfriend’s?” Director Liu inquired. “Are you planning to live in Shanghai?”
“Yes,” Gan Yang confirmed. “I’ve mentioned before, that she’s from Shanghai.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Director Liu asked, her voice still carrying a hint of amusement, “Thinking of getting married?”
Instead of answering, Gan Yang countered, “Would you like to meet her?”
A soft laugh came through the line. “Of course, I would. It’s just that I’m quite busy lately…”
Gan Yang promptly suggested, “Then I’ll bring her back home.”
“That works,” Director Liu replied after some thought. “Let me know in advance when you’re coming back. I’ll need to prepare properly.”
Gan Yang then backtracked, saying vaguely, “We’ll see. We’ve both just started working, so it might be more appropriate to wait a few months before taking a vacation.”
“You’re right,” Director Liu agreed immediately. “It’s too hot to come back in summer. You’re better off staying in America. Let’s revisit this when it cools down in autumn.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What’s your girlfriend’s name? You haven’t told me yet.” This was the first time Director Liu had asked.
“Ding Zhitong,” Gan Yang answered. What had started as a probing phone call had somehow become real to him?
If not for the Gan Kunliang incident, Director Liu would likely have attended his graduation ceremony in America and surely would have met Ding Zhitong by now. For a moment, he could vividly imagine the three of them dining together. An early summer evening in Ithaca, the soft yellow light of a small-town restaurant, Director Liu looking at Ding Zhitong, Ding Zhitong feeling slightly awkward, and him nervously observing their interaction. Yet everyone would be smiling. The scene felt so detailed, so real as if it had happened.
After hanging up, Gan Yang immediately bought a return ticket online, scheduling his trip back in two weeks.
It wasn’t until their video call that night that he informed Ding Zhitong of his plans.
By then, she had been assigned to Qin Chang’s project, traveling to the West Coast for due diligence on an internet company. She moved between several cities, conducting client and supplier interviews during the day and working overtime in her hotel room at night. With nearly half of 2008 gone, the market had become even more depressed. M Bank, which previously had a rule against deals with commissions under 100 million, was now taking on much smaller projects.
“I need to go back for a while,” he told her bluntly, unsure how to explain the current situation. If he were to explain, it would be a long and complicated story.
“Go back where?” Ding Zhitong didn’t understand, furrowing her brow as she looked at the screen, still typing.
“Back home, to China,” Gan Yang clarified. Video calls had this drawback—it was hard to catch the other person’s eye.
“Back to China? When are you leaving?” Ding Zhitong finally stopped typing.
“Tomorrow night’s flight,” Gan Yang replied.
“Did something happen at home?” Ding Zhitong paused, surprised. She wouldn’t be back until the weekend at the earliest, meaning they wouldn’t see each other before he left. But it was only a difference of two days—she didn’t understand his urgency.
“No,” Gan Yang shook his head with a smile. “It’s just that my mom misses me, and there’s a relative’s wedding coming up. She can’t get away right now, so she insists I go back. She threatened to disown me if I don’t.”
Ding Zhitong gave him a forced smile, obviously not taking his last comment seriously, but she couldn’t object to a mother-son reunion. Still practical as ever, she immediately asked, “What about your work?”
Gan Yang realized he hadn’t considered this. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “I’ll talk to the company. I should be able to get time off.”
The suddenness of it all made Ding Zhitong feel uneasy. She had more questions: “But your F1 visa is about to expire, and you haven’t received your OPT yet. I’ve heard it’s best not to leave the country within two months of visa expiration. You might not be able to re-enter…”
“Don’t worry,” Gan Yang brushed it off. “Every year, graduating international students go on trips, and they all make it back, don’t they?”
“They usually travel to South America, don’t they? Driving back with American classmates across the Mexican border. How can you compare that to your situation?” Ding Zhitong pointed out.
Gan Yang said nothing but smiled at her. The slight delay in the video made that brief second of silence feel like a slow-motion close-up in a movie.
“I’m just overthinking. Don’t mind me…” Ding Zhitong felt she was being a bother, but she couldn’t help worrying about these things.
“It’s okay,” Gan Yang shook his head, giving her a lopsided grin. “I know you’re going to miss me.”
Ding Zhitong scoffed, averting her eyes from the screen.
Gan Yang continued, “It can’t always be me waiting for you. It’s your turn to wait for me this time…”
“Fine, I’ll wait for you—” she said, feigning indifference.
Gan Yang deliberately stayed silent, just looking at her.
After a while, she couldn’t help but ask, “So when will you be back?”
“Just two weeks,” he replied, having waited for this question. He loved the way she looked when she said it as if she was already looking forward to his return.
That wasn’t too long. Ding Zhitong nodded, returning to her original posture and rhythm, furrowing her brow at the screen as she typed. Only she knew that the sentences she was writing were disjointed, and most would likely be deleted.
The next evening, Gan Yang boarded a flight to Shanghai at JFK Airport.
The international flight would first arrive in Shanghai, then he’d transfer and rent a car. The entire journey would take over twenty hours, and with the time difference, it felt like several days had passed.
As they entered the small city, the out-of-town driver was unfamiliar with the roads. Gan Yang, having not returned for several years, was also disoriented. He paid the fare and hailed a local taxi instead.
The taxi drove him along newly constructed scenic roads, flanked by recently developed buildings—shopping malls, office blocks, hotels, and residential areas. At first glance, it seemed to have acquired an urban flavor, but most buildings stood empty, their glass facades plastered with rental advertisements, some already gathering dust.
During work hours, he went directly to the company headquarters. After parking at the office building, he called Director Liu.
On the phone, Director Liu’s surprise lasted only a few seconds before she laughed, saying, “I’ll come down to give you the house keys.”
Even this reaction felt off to him.
However, seeing her in person, she appeared as familiar as ever. Director Liu had married young and was only 43. She still wore her shoulder-length straight hair, dressed in a loose white T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers, looking youthful. She greeted him as she always had, hugging him and touching his face and hair, asking, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back so suddenly? You must be tired from the journey. Look at your red eyes…”
Gan Yang was suddenly moved. Although he now towered over his mother, her gestures transported him back to childhood, momentarily making him forget his purpose. It wasn’t until Director Liu handed him the keys, urging him to go home for a shower and nap, that he remembered to ask, “… Is Mr. Gan here too?”
Director Liu didn’t look at him, unsurprised, as if she had already guessed why he had returned so abruptly. After a pause, she nodded, saying, “Go home and rest first. We’ll have dinner together as a family tonight.”
Gan Yang nodded. Having come this far, he could wait a few more hours.
The “home” Director Liu referred to was a new house they had moved into last year, near the office building. It was in the city’s best complex at the time, a spacious top-floor duplex. She had shown it to him over video call after the renovation. Although he hadn’t been back for a long time, they had reserved a room for him. It looked like a typical boy’s room from a design magazine—blue striped wallpaper, American oak furniture, bookshelves, a desk, and a series of cartoon vintage car decorations on the wall. He had found it amusing then, guessing that Director Liu hadn’t had time to handle these details and had left it all to the designer. Told it was the “son’s room,” they had likely imagined a pre-teen boy and decorated it accordingly.
After placing his luggage in his room, he looked around the house, especially the master bedroom. The walk-in closet contained only Director Liu’s belongings, which somewhat reassured him, though he remained uncertain about his parents’ current situation.
Exhausted, he showered and slept, waking up after nightfall. He got ready and called Director Liu, who drove over to pick him up. They headed towards the old town.
As they passed through the original town center, he noticed changes. The old department store had closed, the cinema was decrepit and showing dated films, and many plots were under demolition, hidden behind blue construction barriers. Yet the streets were busy, with night markets livelier than the new district. His elementary school remained, its entrance looking smaller than he remembered, while his middle school had been renamed. As they got out of the car, he detected a stronger chemical odor in the air than before.
Director Liu took him to the city’s oldest four-star hotel. Before going abroad, he often ate at its food street, mainly because it was close to school and convenient for meeting friends or sneaking out during evening study sessions to grab some lamb skewers. Director Liu had always insisted that the chef here made authentic hometown dishes that her son loved.
In a small town like this, familiar faces were everywhere. As soon as they entered the hotel, they encountered a series of “prodigal son returns” scenarios.
It always began with an exaggerated exclamation: “Oh my! Yongjuan, is this…?”
Director Liu would smile and reply: “My son.”
The person would then look him up and down, skeptical: “Is this Yangyang?! I wouldn’t have recognized him on the street!”
Director Liu would explain with a hint of pride: “He just graduated from university and returned from America.”
The person would then remark: “Now you can retire and enjoy life.”
But Director Liu would respond: “Not at all. He’s just visiting me. He studied finance and has a job in New York. He wouldn’t be interested in our small-town business. He’ll be returning to America in a few days.”
The person would then look at him and say: “Good boy, so successful. Handsome too. Do you have a girlfriend?”
Gan Yang: …
After the person left, Director Liu would chuckle softly, saying, “Don’t be annoyed. This is less than usual. In recent years, many people have moved to the neighboring city because of the air quality here.”
“Why haven’t you moved?” Gan Yang asked.
Director Liu patted his head again, saying, “People usually move for their children’s sake. My child isn’t here, so why should I bother? Living far away would be inconvenient for work.”
Gan Yang found it amusing, suddenly realizing he might have misjudged the designer. Regardless of his age, in Director Liu’s eyes, he would always be the junior high graduate who left years ago. But then he thought, perhaps Director Liu wasn’t wrong. Although he had studied abroad alone, he had always relied on his family’s support to live comfortably. His so-called independence was merely an illusion.
After several such encounters, they finally reached the private room in the Chinese restaurant. Inside, sitting on the sofa, was none other than Gan Kunliang.
Seeing him enter, Gan Kunliang stood up, smiling, and said, “Yangyang, come here, and let’s compare. Are you half a head taller than me now?”
Gan Yang stood frozen at the doorway, momentarily stunned. This was something he had said as a child when he was in elementary school, barely reaching his father’s chest, boldly declaring that he would one day be a head taller than his father. His mother had laughed then, saying, “Don’t wish for that! It would be too tall. Growing to your father’s height is just fine.”
It was Director Liu who spoke up, telling Gan Kunliang, “Sit down, be careful not to hurt yourself.”
Only then did Gan Yang notice his father’s left hand was constantly shaking, and he walked with difficulty.
As the three sat down to eat, Director Liu didn’t hide anything, explaining the circumstances of Gan Kunliang’s release from prison.
Even before his imprisonment, Gan Kunliang had diabetes. Last year, he had a minor stroke in prison and was sent to the prison hospital for treatment. They discovered subarachnoid hemorrhage, which fell within the Justice Department’s criteria for serious illnesses, allowing him to apply for medical parole. Considering he was an economic offender with little time left on his sentence, their lawyer had assured them that someone in Mr. Gan’s condition likely wouldn’t have to return to serve the remainder of his sentence.
Gan Yang knew his father was a risk-taker. In earlier years, most businessmen who rapidly expanded their enterprises had this aggressive style, always on the verge of getting themselves into trouble. When he heard from Zeng Junjie about his father’s release, one of his concerns was that there might be some illegal aspects to the process, such as forgery or bribery, which could implicate his mother. Hearing this explanation now, everything seemed reasonable and legal, somewhat alleviating his worries.
However, the Gan Kunliang before him now had a healthy complexion, could take care of himself, and could even use chopsticks to eat. Only his shaky hands and unsteady gait showed the lingering effects of the stroke. Gan Yang couldn’t help but think cynically: Why doesn’t the court come to reassess whether he’s recovered enough to return to prison? He felt more at ease with this man still locked up inside.