General Manager Liu looked at him and said, “But you have your own life too.”
There were no video calls or phone conversations, only text messages.
A few days later, Ding Zhitong gradually noticed changes in Gan Yang’s behavior. She didn’t find it alarming, though. He still messaged her, asking what she’d eaten, if she’d finished work, and reminding her not to stay up late. Her lifestyle seemed to adapt well to this communication style. She didn’t need to reply instantly; when she had time, she’d type longer messages, and when busy, a simple emoji sufficed.
When her business trip dates were confirmed, they fortunately didn’t coincide with Gan Yang’s return. She could pick him up at the airport, spend a night together, and see him off the next day. Excited, she called Gan Yang to share the good news, expecting an enthusiastic “Great!” Instead, she was met with a brief silence.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Almost simultaneously, he softly called out, “Tongtong…”
She waited for him to continue.
He exhaled slowly before saying, “I have some unfinished business at home. I might need to… postpone my flight by two weeks.”
“What kind of business?” she asked, startled.
Gan Yang chuckled, his tone lightening as he explained, “It’s about my mom’s company. Nothing serious, but I need to be here in person. Since I’m back, she won’t let me go until everything’s sorted out. Don’t worry.”
Ding Zhitong sensed he didn’t want to elaborate. If his presence was required, it likely involved money or shares. As an outsider, she didn’t pry into financial matters. Instead, she teased, “Why would I worry? I’m just wondering about your visa situation.”
It was late June, and Gan Yang’s OPT application hadn’t been approved yet. If he didn’t return to the U.S. as planned, he’d be cutting it close to the final 60 days of his student visa, increasing his risk of being denied entry.
Gan Yang, aware of this, paused before replying, “I’ll apply for a new visa after finishing things here.”
Ding Zhitong wanted to ask which type of visa he planned to get, given that he had already graduated. Before she could, she heard him sigh softly, “Tongtong, I miss you so much…”
“I miss you too,” she responded. It was a common phrase between couples, but somehow it caught in her throat as if it took great courage to say.
Looking back, she felt she had sensed something then but deliberately ignored it, focusing instead on practical matters.
Time passed. June ended and July began. Ding Zhitong went on her business trip to the West Coast and returned to New York.
Gan Yang still hadn’t set a return date. Though never explicitly discussed, they both knew this likely meant the end of his job here. Any future visits would be limited to a few weeks at most.
He stopped video calling her, and even their phone conversations grew shorter. Yet he told her “I love you, I miss you” almost daily, more frequently than before.
Ding Zhitong didn’t know what to make of this. She didn’t dare ask, just waited.
Around this time, a rumor spread among colleagues that IBD would distribute a bonus in July.
Typically, M Bank issued bonuses in February of the following year, sometimes delayed until July. This time was different; the department’s open letter called it a mid-year bonus.
Everyone had witnessed the market’s performance over the past few months. Inevitably, people speculated. Ding Zhitong heard that the remaining months of 2008 might be worse, prompting higher-ups to distribute available funds now. As a first-year analyst, she was just a minor beneficiary of this decision.
A few days before the bonus payout, Ding Zhitong met Song Mingmei for lunch. They encountered Guan Wenyuan at the restaurant entrance.
Though Ding Zhitong and Guan Wenyuan were in the same department, they hadn’t worked on a project together. Guan Wenyuan tended to avoid fellow Chinese colleagues, so they merely exchanged nods. Song Mingmei, however, was quite familiar with her and waved her over to join them.
The three ended up sharing a table. During the meal, Guan Wenyuan expressed numerous complaints about the unfriendly working hours and how the job differed from her expectations, finding it too tedious.
Listening, Ding Zhitong exchanged glances with Song Mingmei, feeling contemplative.
Recently, the stock and bond markets had stabilized, providing a rare financing window for struggling investment banks. M Bank was seizing the opportunity, negotiating capital injections with several institutions, including C Bank. A project team from Beijing was temporarily stationed on the 38th floor, often seen chatting and smoking downstairs.
It was certain that Guan Wenyuan would receive a return offer. The question was whether she wanted it. An opportunity coveted by most students was merely an unimpressive option to her. Like her previous reneging on L Bank’s offer, this was how VIPs navigated the world.
After lunch, back at work, Song Mingmei called again.
Puzzled, Ding Zhitong asked what was wrong.
Song Mingmei hesitated uncharacteristically, saying, “I wanted to ask you…”
“What?” Ding Zhitong urged her to continue, though she sensed what was coming.
The rest of the question came as expected: “Has Gan Yang returned?”
“No,” Ding Zhitong replied curtly, still avoiding thoughts she wasn’t ready to face.
“Didn’t he tell you why?” Song Mingmei pressed.
“He mentioned something about family matters,” Ding Zhitong answered briefly, though that was all she knew.
“What do you think about it?” Song Mingmei probed.
“Think about what?” Ding Zhitong feigned ignorance.
“About staying here or going back with him?” Song Mingmei presented the choices.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ding Zhitong retorted.
The other end fell silent, seemingly understanding.
That night, Ding Zhitong worked late. Too tired to shower when she got home, she fell asleep on the couch. In her dream, Gan Yang sat beside her, gently removing her shoes and placing them on the carpet.
She woke with a start, realizing it was just a dream.
Renege. Breaking one’s word.
At that moment, gazing at the city’s nightscape through the window, she recalled this word.
Some people navigate the world differently from her. For them, breaking their word is a common occurrence.
For several days, Gan Yang, Long Mei, and Liu Yongjuan were holed up in the office, crunching numbers.
Stacks of black folders contained bound contracts, receipts, and various documents. Finance and legal department employees came and went, with one short meeting after another. Time flew; darkness fell in the blink of an eye, and midnight passed just as quickly.
Gan Yang could only listen, feeling as if his four years of study had been useless. At first, he couldn’t even distinguish between accounts receivable, accounts payable, and the debit and credit entries in the general ledger system.
The two middle-aged women still treated him like a child doing homework at the table, occasionally asking, “Are you hungry? Go eat something,” or “It’s late, you should go home and sleep.” Long Mei’s office was always stocked with snacks, and sometimes she’d pull out a pack of Oreos for him.
But he never left, examining whatever he was given and doing whatever he could.
General Manager Liu joked with him, “You nervous kid, don’t you trust me? Is that why you’re keeping watch here?”
“No, it’s not that…” Gan Yang denied, “I just want to see what’s going on. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”
“You have trouble sleeping?” General Manager Liu teased, “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.”
Despite her words, she allowed him to stay, even if his main contributions were ordering takeout and changing the water cooler bottle.
General Manager Liu hadn’t explicitly mentioned going public. But Gan Yang could see that she and Long Mei, mainly Long Mei, had convinced her not to use “technical processing” in the application materials.
Challenges remained, particularly concerning Gan Kunliang. Gan Yang had heard of the elder Gan’s eloquence. He was among China’s first post-reform fraudsters involved in cases exceeding ten million yuan. Though his crimes involved fraudulent fundraising, his capabilities were not to be underestimated.
After several days of calculations, two sets of figures emerged.
On one side was all available money: cash on hand, pending receivables, and accessible bank credit lines.
On the other side were necessary expenses: daily operating costs, raw materials, worker wages, and the urgently needed wastewater treatment equipment upgrade following the administrative fine.
After subtracting the share buyback, the deficit exceeded Gan Kunliang’s two billion yuan estimate.
Gan Yang’s head spun from the calculations.
General Manager Liu, noticing his distress, reassured him, “It might not be that much. Everything’s negotiable.”
But how to negotiate? Gan Yang was at a loss. Though he had initiated this process with his mother, he was now the first to doubt its feasibility.
Meanwhile, Gan Kunliang wasn’t idle. He frequently intervened, urging General Manager Liu at headquarters not to abandon the IPO plans at this crucial time.
The stock market had plummeted in the first half of the year, slowing new listings. However, with the Beijing Olympics approaching, the market has shown some recovery. The risk-loving Gan senior surely saw hope, believing that with a bit of luck, success was still possible.
Gan Yang waited outside the office, anxiously watching their conversation through the glass walls. He planned to counter his father’s arguments once the meeting ended. Everyone knew the recent bull market was merely a result of government stabilization efforts. Post-Olympics, the market would likely plummet again. Some even predicted that the Securities Regulatory Commission might halt new listings to save the market, as they had done many times before. If they don’t start addressing the issues now and continue falsifying application materials, they might lose any chance of recovery.
General Manager Liu remained unmoved, but the Gan family shareholders had already been swayed. Gan Kunliang first brought two brothers to forcibly seize the company seal. Later, he even brought their elderly father, who thrust his wooden cane in Liu’s face, questioning her conscience and loyalty to the Gan family.
At this point, Gan Yang discovered another purpose beyond changing water cooler bottles. He stood between his mother and grandfather, asking, “I’m a Gan. Am I worthy?”
The cane struck him but was finally lowered.
Thus, they proceeded with their planned timeline, meeting investors one by one. From the two largest private equity funds to local tycoons, they negotiated grace periods, repurchase methods, and repayment plans.
Simultaneously, Long Mei was constantly on the move, either collecting debts or borrowing money. Some cases might enter legal proceedings, with dozens of lawsuits pending.
Debt collection proved challenging. During these times, everyone maxed out their credit terms, some even requesting extensions.
Borrowing money was equally difficult. In recent years, local ladies had taken to buying platinum bags, but Director Long only purchased scarves, tea sets, woodcarvings, and even mahjong tiles from Hermès as gifts, maintaining good relationships with major local banks. However, when push came to shove, these connections proved insufficient. Money often only adorns the prosperous; it rarely rescues the desperate.
During this period, Gan Yang obtained his Chinese driver’s license, serving as a chauffeur for General Manager Liu and Long Mei.
He knew he had been preparing to stay in China long-term but hadn’t explained this to Ding Zhitong.
Every night as he lay down, he thought about telling her the next day, but each day ended without him speaking up.
He couldn’t understand why. Sometimes, while walking or driving, he’d ponder what to do after telling her. They would inevitably be apart for a while – a year, two years, or even longer – with an unpredictable outcome.
While considering these issues, he often found himself breathing as if running a marathon: inhaling through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, each breath deep and complete. It was as if this method could soothe his burdened mind, temporarily easing the weight he carried, feeling almost like a fraudster himself.
This pattern continued day after day until General Manager Liu was hospitalized.
The symptom was a headache.
At the hospital, Gan Yang learned it had persisted for a long time, but Liu hadn’t told anyone. This time, she couldn’t conceal it only because the pain had exceeded her ability to endure silently.
While accompanying his mother through examinations and awaiting the diagnosis, he suddenly felt that all their recent troubles were trivial. As long as fate didn’t play this cruel joke on him, nothing else mattered.
But General Manager Liu didn’t share this view. Even in the waiting area, she continued discussing plans with him.
For instance, given current trends, orders from Europe and America would likely decrease further. They had done less business with Japan in recent years but should revive those connections now.
Layoffs were inevitable, and idle factories and equipment should be sold. They would discontinue all low-profit general clothing production lines, focusing instead on higher-profit sportswear manufacturing, particularly shoes. He should have the legal team review contracts to see if they could transfer orders along with the sales, which might fetch better prices.
Moreover, production lines couldn’t stop. Regardless of others’ opinions, they needed to maintain a strong front, not only to reassure creditors but also to facilitate future financing.
Gan Yang joked, “What are you doing? It sounds like you’re leaving final instructions. I can’t remember all this; you can tell me slowly later.”
General Manager Liu smiled, patting his head, “I’m sure you can handle it, but I’d rather you didn’t know about all this.”
“Why?” Gan Yang didn’t understand. He already felt it was too much that she had kept him in the dark for so long.
Liu sighed softly, eventually answering, “Because you’re a good child. If you knew, you’d come back immediately and stay with me, just like now.”
“Of course, I’d come back,” Gan Yang stated, feeling it was obvious.
Liu looked at him, pausing before continuing, “But you have your own life too…”
Gan Yang listened silently. At that moment, he thought of Ding Zhitong again.
Finally, the diagnosis came back as a false alarm. The doctor found no organic cause for the headache, attributing it to psychological factors, such as long-term stress manifesting as physical symptoms. The recommendation was to avoid stressors and relax.
Leaving the hospital, Gan Yang drove his mother home. On that drive, he realized two things.
First, General Manager Liu needed proper rest, and he would have to take over the remaining tasks.
Second, Ding Zhitong had her own life too.
Although she often claimed to be money-driven, he knew her well. If he told her the full truth – that he now carried over 200 million yuan in debt – she would never leave him. This situation might make her even less likely to break up with him.
But their relationship differed from his with General Manager Liu.
Some burdens he could only place on himself, not on others.
Did he truly want to continue like this? Did he wish for her to share this pressure with him?
He couldn’t help feeling a hint of moral coercion in this thought.