She had only lost love, while others lost tangible things: money, homes, education, even entire lives.
Ding Zhitong moved out of Shangxi’s apartment almost immediately.
The “almost” was because she had to go on another business trip. She could only spare time to look at a few places online and ask Song Mingwei to help find reliable roommates.
Unfortunately, Song Mingwei was also on a business trip. She had gone to Miami with the special project team’s partner and Bian Jieming for an event. The song could only remotely ask around among friends and colleagues. She told Ding, “If you can’t find a suitable place, you can stay at my place. I’ll tell my roommates to give you the keys.”
Unless necessary, Ding didn’t want to impose. Still, she found Song’s offer comforting.
Ding had prepared herself for Song to guess that she and Gan Yang had broken up when hearing about the move, potentially leading to a discussion. However, the reality differed from her expectations. Previously, Song had been urging her to return to China to find Gan Yang. Now, she didn’t mention it at all. Ding couldn’t help but think that someone with experience truly understands when there’s still a chance and when it’s time to let go.
While on her business trip, Ding searched for apartments online. She quickly discovered a disheartening reality: despite the housing market crash, New York’s rental market showed no signs of easing. It made sense, though. Like the milk dumped into rivers in 1929, the houses of 2008 would rather sit empty than house the poor. Manhattan was out of the question, and even notoriously unsafe areas like Harlem and the Bronx charged at least two to three thousand for a small, independent apartment. Finding a suitable place with compatible roommates for a shared apartment proved challenging.
Wanting to settle quickly, Ding ultimately rented a single room on the second floor of a small house in Queens from a landlady. It cost $700 a month, had a window, and included utilities. After paying the deposit, she tried to look on the bright side. At least she was back on her original plan: living in Flushing with rent under a thousand dollars. She’d consider the past six months an accident.
The night before moving, Ding had just flown back to New York. Without changing clothes or unpacking her suitcase, she pulled an all-nighter writing reports. After sleeping for two hours on the couch, she woke to her alarm and began packing her belongings.
Using her business trip packing experience, she erased all traces of herself from the apartment, fitting everything into three suitcases of varying sizes. She then called a car, planning to transport herself and her luggage to Queens before the morning rush hour.
In her plan, this should have been a rather stylish gesture. However, without the other party’s attention, it became both powerless and meaningless.
The car arrived as scheduled. The driver, a Middle Eastern man, was difficult to understand and irritable due to his approaching shift change. Seeing her three suitcases piled on the curb, he protested, “No, no, they won’t fit in the trunk. No, you can’t put them in the passenger area either.”
For Ding, this was her only moment close to breakdown since the breakup. But she was too exhausted, lacking even the energy to fall apart. Her mind was in chaos. She finally remembered that the fare was pre-calculated and offered the driver about a 30% tip. Only then did he relent, allowing her and her luggage into the car. Once again, she thought that everything in the world truly comes down to money.
During the half-hour journey, she fell asleep against the car window. When she woke, they had arrived. The driver unloaded her suitcases and drove off.
Alone, she slowly made several trips, first to the house entrance, then to the foyer, and finally to her small rented room on the second floor.
The landlady watched her move and unpack without offering help, instead making small talk.
She told Ding about a retirement home she and her husband had bought in a small New Jersey town. But now, with house prices plummeting and interest rates rising, many people were abandoning their homes, leaving the community overgrown. Continuing to pay the mortgage seemed unwise, but they couldn’t ruin their credit with property in New York. So, she planned to divorce her husband, transfer the house to her name, and then file for personal bankruptcy. This would allow her to stop mortgage payments and cut losses. Meanwhile, her husband’s good credit could be used to buy at the bottom of the market.
Ding listened numbly. In the past, she might have marveled at the trust between Chinese couples. Now, she darkly thought that the outcome of this scheme wasn’t guaranteed.
Trust meant nothing. She suddenly felt worried for the landlady.
After moving, Ding contacted Wang Yi, briefly explaining her situation and asking how to return the apartment keys.
Assuming Gan Yang had already informed Wang Yi, she was surprised by the confusion on the other end of the line.
Ding had to ask, “Didn’t Gan Yang tell you?”
“Ah…” Wang Yi responded, “Yes, he mentioned it…”
“I’ve moved out completely. How should I get the keys to you?” She reiterated the purpose of her call.
“Oh…” Wang Yi still seemed perplexed. “But Gan Yang told me this wasn’t urgent. I’m quite busy with school lately, so…”
Typical leases were signed annually, with one month’s rent and one month’s deposit. Early termination followed the contract’s procedures, usually requiring a new tenant to avoid disrupting the landlord’s rental income. Gan Yang’s intention was clearly to continue paying the remaining four months’ rent.
Ding was speechless, thinking that he always treated money carelessly. But Wang Yi didn’t owe them anything; she couldn’t demand his help.
“Did he send you the lease?” She finally asked. “Could you forward it to me? I’ll handle it myself. This is too much trouble for you.”
Wang Yi, likely overwhelmed, seemed relieved. He quickly emailed her the document.
Looking at the contract, Ding berated herself. Why was she still concerned about his rent? Shouldn’t a breakup involve crying in bed, unable to eat or sleep? Why was her breakup so different?
Wang Yi sent another text, saying Gan Yang had also asked him to sell the car.
Fine, I’ll handle it all, Ding replied, consoling herself that she just wanted to end things quickly.
His belongings in the apartment were easier to deal with. She rented a storage unit and packed everything in, including his failed sneaker collection.
Ding Zhitong struggled to drive the manual transmission vintage Mustang and Pontiac to a used car dealership. The dealer praised the modifications but quickly added a “but,” saying such impractical models weren’t selling well.
Ding, beyond caring, left the car for consignment and turned her attention to subletting the apartment.
She scanned her acquaintances, finding no one interested in such an impractical apartment. The reason was the same as with the car – it wasn’t economical.
Eventually, Song Mingwei suggested she ask Guan Wenyuan.
Hearing the name, Ding realized how foolish she’d been not to think of her. Though her summer internship wasn’t over, Guan was sure to stay on and was looking to settle in Manhattan.
Indeed, when Ding approached her, Guan viewed the apartment and decided on the spot, arranging for the lease transfer through an agent.
After finalizing everything, Ding used a lunch break to deliver the returned deposit and some documents requiring Gan Yang’s signature to Wang Yi.
They met at a café near Columbia University. To Ding’s surprise, Wang Yi looked like he hadn’t slept or changed clothes in days, his neat crew cut now resembling a troll doll – a stark contrast to his usually tidy appearance.
She hesitated to ask, but Wang Yi spilled everything – his advisor had invested all his savings in a fund that had recently collapsed, potentially losing everything. The shock caused a heart attack, and he died suddenly.
At this point, Wang Yi held his head in his hands, looking lost.
Most people would offer condolences, but Ding immediately grasped that Wang Yi, who was close to graduating, would likely have to delay his studies due to this unexpected turn of events.
“The school should help arrange something for you, right?” she tried to comfort him.
Wang Yi, still dazed, replied, “There are so few people in my field. With my project half-finished, I don’t know where I could transfer to…” He then sighed, “I just want to die…”
“Don’t say that,” Ding exclaimed, grabbing his sleeve.
Wang Yi glanced at her and smiled bitterly. “Don’t worry, people who can say that out loud usually won’t do it. Thanks for listening to all this. When misfortune strikes, there’s no one around to talk to.”
At that moment, Ding recalled a line from a Qiong Yao drama: “You’ve only lost a leg, but she’s lost love!”
With a slight modification, it perfectly fits the current situation.
In this surreal year, she had only lost love, while others lost tangible things: money, homes, education, and even entire lives. She felt she had nothing to complain about, yet why was she still so sad?
Like that day when Guan Wenyuan decided to rent the apartment, and Ding left for the last time. During the half-minute elevator ride down, she cried like a child thrown out of home, everything blurring before her eyes.
Of course, it was only for that brief half-minute, because she knew it wasn’t her home.
It was then that she had to admit that everything she’d done after the breakup wasn’t really about ending things quickly, but about not wanting to completely sever her connection with Gan Yang. She’d always thought he’d hear about her actions from Wang Yi and come back to her. The storage unit, the car, the apartment – time and again, Wang Yi acted as the middleman, but the result was always the same. Gan Yang didn’t feel the need to contact her, not even to call and say, “Ding Zhitong, are you crazy?”
Leaving the café, she boarded the subway back to Midtown, trying to convince herself it was truly over.
Yes, she had asked him to wait for her, and he had agreed, but why should he wait?
It was like a poor person owning a luxury item that needed delicate care. The poor person suffers, the luxury item suffers – what’s the point?
The midday subway was nearly empty. A Jamaican man with dreadlocks walked through the car, begging. He claimed he was building a time machine and all donors could time travel, accepting five or ten dollars.
Some gave, some didn’t. He approached Ding, holding his hand under her nose, repeating his pitch.
Ding didn’t move.
The man asked, “Don’t you want to go to the future?”
The correct response was to ignore him, but this time she shook her head and answered, “I don’t want to.”
The man leaned down, studying her face closely.
Ding smelled his greasy body odor, recalling news stories of subway conflicts with beggars turning violent. An Asian like her would be a perfect target. But she didn’t care anymore. To hell with the future, she’d rather keep her money.
The man whispered, “I’ll tell you a secret. You’re right, the future isn’t good.”
Back at the café, Wang Yi was making his final relay call to Gan Yang about selling the car and terminating the lease.
Gan Yang listened and said, “I understand. Thank you for your trouble.”
Wang Yi replied, “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything, just passed on messages.”
Gan Yang fell silent.
After a pause, Wang Yi spoke again, “Can you tell me why you’re doing this?”
Gan Yang gave the same reason: “It’s because we’re not in the same place, wanting different things. Having a girlfriend is like not having one…”
“Gan Yang,” Wang Yi interrupted, “I’ve never been in a relationship, only had a few crushes. But after getting to know them better, I realized it wasn’t what I thought. I know I’m not qualified to give relationship advice, but I want to say this: not everyone gets the chance to meet someone they like, and even if they do, that person might not like them back. I don’t know why you broke up this time, but you’ll regret it. You’ll regret it. Do you believe me?”
I do, Gan Yang answered in his mind, moving the phone away and wiping his face, taking a deep breath.
Then he told Wang Yi, “I’ve already made up my mind about this. Don’t worry about it.”
“Fine, I won’t,” Wang Yi said and hung up.