Song Mingwei understood his meaning but laughed inwardly, thinking, “You don’t deserve it.”
Benjamin Franklin once said, “In this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.”
Later, someone added, “But neither death nor taxes have reached the Bahamas.”
In late August 2008, Song Mingwei was in the Bahamas.
She had first accompanied the special projects team’s partner to Miami for a private equity summit.
The conference was high-profile, gathering industry bigwigs. The wealthy value privacy and prevent sensitive information leaks that could disrupt markets. Thus, each attendee underwent strict vetting. Even minor participants like her had to submit personal information and consent to background checks.
Song Mingwei knew she was there because of Bian Jieming’s influence.
Mr. Bian was discussing a project with her boss – one of the two reverse mergers he had completed last year. The client, “Yineng Environmental Protection,” was a northeastern Chinese company specializing in wastewater treatment and flue gas desulfurization and denitrification, covering development, manufacturing, and engineering installation. Yineng was a local star enterprise with a promising industry outlook and several leading patents. Facing funding bottlenecks for expansion and being unable to list on the A-shares market soon, they sought U.S. financing.
Bian’s “All-American Finance” served as Yineng’s financial advisor, successfully executing the first step – through a reverse merger, they acquired a U.S. shell company, enabling Yineng to trade on the OTCBB (similar to China’s New Third Board) and complete a $25 million private placement. The next step was to transfer to NASDAQ. Listing on the main board had much higher requirements than OTCBB, necessitating big-firm audits and investment bank underwriting.
In good times, this might not have been so easy, but now the timing was perfect.
Bian’s successful operation made Yineng’s reverse merger model exemplary in China. Suddenly, U.S. shell acquisitions became trendy, with countless small and medium enterprises seeking “All-American Finance” for advice. Anyone could see that this would be a huge business in the foreseeable future, and with the U.S. market in recession, everyone was counting on this to make money.
The four-day summit saw Bian Jieming in his element, effortlessly navigating. Observing, Song Mingwei couldn’t help but find men quite attractive in such moments.
After the conference, coinciding with the weekend, Mr. Bian took her on a yacht for a short vacation in the Bahamas.
The area, just 200 kilometers from Miami, is known as Americans’ backyard. It was Song Mingwei’s first visit; she’d only seen photos of Nassau, the Atlantis Hotel, and pink sand beaches. Bian Jieming, however, was familiar with the place, mentioning he had an offshore company registered there.
He showed her around, sailing past these landmarks, distantly viewing the hotel buildings sprawled along the beach and the many sun-baked bodies. He explained that the pink sand beach’s color came from the remains of marine organisms mixed with the sand.
He taught her water skiing, saying it was his favorite sport because it forced him to clear his mind off work pressures and focus solely on adjusting speed and balance to avoid falling into the water.
Despite his words, Mr. Bian was quite skilled, demonstrating good technique and flexibility. Once again, Song Mingwei found men quite attractive in such moments.
But when it was her turn on the board, she couldn’t clear her mind.
Yineng’s $25 million private placement typically earned a 7% commission, which small financial firms like “All-American Finance” might not even receive in full. This meant transactions of a similar scale couldn’t support Mr. Bian’s current lifestyle. Perhaps due to her grandfather being an old financier and her mother an auditor, Song Mingwei had an inherited sensitivity to such factors.
After the two-day getaway, they flew back to New York from Nassau.
Arriving at the Manhattan apartment, she discovered Bian Jieming’s toiletry bag in her suitcase.
Mr. Bian didn’t explain, just smiled, kissed her, took the bag back, and put it in the bathroom. Song Mingwei found it strange, as her luggage was fuller with more clothes and skincare products than his. She couldn’t remember when he had put his toiletry bag in her suitcase.
Excusing herself to the bathroom, she closed the door, found the bag, and opened it. Inside was a Truefitt & Hill razor, Taylor of Old Bond Street aftershave, and a small pill box containing orange capsules labeled Adderall.
She recognized the drug name from pre-employment drug tests. It was a Schedule II controlled substance, equivalent to morphine and cocaine, listed by the DEA. Standing there, just steps away from the floor-to-ceiling window facing the Empire State Building, sunlight on her skin, she recalled her suitcase with this toiletry bag passing through Nassau’s Lynden Pindling Airport and entering the U.S. at New York’s LaGuardia Airport. She felt a chill down her spine.
She took the pill box out and tossed it on the bed. Bian Jieming glanced at it, dismissing it with a smile: “It’s prescription medication, nothing to worry about.”
Why was it in my suitcase? Song Mingwei wanted to ask. Moreover, she couldn’t imagine which doctor would prescribe amphetamine extended-release for ADHD to this 37-year-old man.
“Didn’t you try it in college?” Bian Jieming genuinely didn’t seem concerned.
Song Mingwei shook her head. She suddenly recalled telling Ding Zhitong, “Don’t think these things are far from you; be careful.” She even thought of Harbor Island’s pink sand beach, its color coming from marine organisms mixed with the sand.
If, just if, her luck hadn’t been so good this time, she might have become one of those remains now, appearing from afar not as something horrific, but as a romantic pink hue.
At that moment, Song Mingwei admired her composure, feeling a little surprised. She had seen the risk in this investment early on.
She calmly made an excuse to leave his apartment, then calmly called to break up, accepting the consequences of her gamble.
She just hadn’t expected him to disagree.
At first, she found it amusing, saying, “Mr. Bian, would you ever lack women? Why must it be me?”
Bian Jieming paused, maintaining his appreciative tone: “But baby, you’re different from them.”
This was the effect Song Mingwei had deliberately sought, but hearing it from him now horrified her. Even this, he had seen through. She had wanted to appear unique in his eyes, but in reality, she was just like all those young girls.
She knew she wasn’t the only one. The first time she went to his office, seeing his secretary’s glance, she already knew.
She even recalled a detail from graduation day when she introduced Bian Jieming to Ding Zhitong.
Ding Zhitong called him “Mr. Bian,” and he smiled at her, without any airs, saying, “You can call me Ben.”
Her first meeting with Bian Jieming had been the same scenario, the same conversation. She didn’t know how many female interns he had used this line on to start a conversation. But she was certain they were neither the first nor the last.
The next day at work, she received an email from an anonymous address to her work email.
The body was blank, but there was an attachment – a slightly blurry photo, clearly a video screenshot. The people in it were recognizable: it was her, naked, straddling a man, the angle cleverly avoiding the man’s face. The background was the cabin of the yacht in Nassau.
Song Mingwei finally understood her situation. She had considered that her job was arranged by Mr. Bian and that after their separation, she might struggle at G Bank, but she hadn’t imagined Bian Jieming would go to such extremes. She couldn’t understand why he had to be so ruthless.
That night, she lay awake, eyes wide open, shivering. She had plenty of friends but faced with this situation, she didn’t know who she could turn to.
Most people online late at night were in China, with Ding Zhitong being the exception.
“I think I’ll have to resign and return to China…” Song Mingwei messaged her, not expecting to reveal everything.
She was even more surprised when Ding Zhitong rushed over from Queens in the middle of the night and scolded her: “Why are you afraid of him?! If he dares to release it, use it as evidence to sue him!”
“It’s useless. The video doesn’t show his face, and there was no coercion. Everyone knows we were dating, and we’re not in a superior-subordinate relationship,” Song Mingwei said, sitting at the foot of the bed, head buried in her knees. She felt she had considered all possibilities. Her job came easily through Bian and could go just as easily.
But Ding Zhitong crouched in front of her, holding her hand: “Think about why he’s doing this. Isn’t he just trying to make you resign and leave? He’s afraid of you! Don’t show any fear at all!”
Song Mingwei finally looked up at Ding Zhitong, initially finding it absurd. She just wanted to break up, wasn’t clinging on, and even knowing about his Adderall use wasn’t a big deal on the streets. But gradually, she realized Ding Zhitong was right. Bian Jieming was doing this because she knew too much; he just wanted to scare her away.
A day later, Song Mingwei arranged to meet Bian Jieming at the coffee shop where they had their first date.
Young as she was, the puffiness from sleepless nights and tears had subsided. Her makeup was perfect, her smile as charming as ever.
Mr. Bian probably thought she was coming to reconcile, and seemed surprised to see her like this.
She offered to buy him coffee, saying, “Ben, you were right about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Bian Jieming asked with a smile.
She replied, “I am indeed different from them.”
Bian Jieming narrowed his eyes.
Her heart was racing, but she spoke calmly: “I know what you’re doing.”
His expression changed briefly, but he quickly smiled again.
“What am I doing?” he asked as if hearing a child’s joke.
Song Mingwei paused for half a second, recalling Ding Zhitong’s words — don’t be afraid of him, don’t show even a hint of fear.
She wasn’t afraid anymore. Looking at Bian Jieming, she continued:
Transitioning from OTCBB to NASDAQ had higher thresholds: $5 million net assets, $750,000 annual after-tax profit or $50 million market value, minimum $4 share price, over 400 shareholders with 100+ shares, and at least 3 market makers.
But all these could be “managed” — using reverse splits to raise share prices, acquisitions to boost short-term performance, and finding hedge funds as temporary shareholders to create performance miracles. And how many insider trading opportunities were there in all this? A perfect wealth code.
She knew there was something fishy, but had no evidence and was bluffing. Bian Jieming paused, silent.
“I know what you’re doing,” she repeated softly, suppressing all emotions — anger, fear, all gone, leaving only a knowing smile.
“Do you think I’m disgracing Chinese people?” Mr. Bian smiled.
Song Mingwei knew he had taken the bait.
Bian Jieming continued: “The capital market is all about magic tricks, why care about face? I help those companies listed in the U.S., they make money, and I make money. Speaking of shamelessness, Americans are worse. Auditors, underwriters, aren’t they all true Americans? If the SEC wants to investigate fraud, they should first look into American accountants and brokers…”
Song Mingwei listened, finding it ironic. In “Fortress Besieged,” Clayton University’s fake diploma costs $500, and Fang Hongjian bargained for $100, actually paying $40. Qian Zhongshu called it “the only victory in China’s free diplomacy or treaty negotiations.” Bian Jieming seemed to be creating the greatest victory for Chinese people in the international capital market game.
“I don’t care what you have on me,” she interrupted, “Do whatever you want. Send it to my colleagues, classmates, and parents, I don’t care at all. Even if you don’t, they all know I’m a woman, that’s how I look, and I sleep with people. You don’t think they all think I’m a virgin, do you?”
Finishing, she genuinely smiled, implying her hand was stronger than his.
Bian Jieming smiled too, looking at her: “I wasn’t wrong. You are truly different. I can’t let you go.”
“I think we should part on good terms,” Song Mingwei met his gaze, her racing heart finally slowing.
“I misjudged this time,” Mr. Bian nodded, adding, “Mingwei, I should have only made you my work assistant. It’s because of the emotional entanglement that we’ve come to this. If we were just making money together, everything would still be fine.”
Song Mingwei understood his meaning but laughed inwardly, thinking, “You don’t deserve it.”
Work assistant? Making money together? If any of those risky operations and insider trades went wrong, she would inevitably become the scapegoat, just like when she carried his illegal drugs through customs.
For her, one betrayal was enough.
This parting seemed amicable, with Bian Jieming’s last words sounding conciliatory, but was it over? No one knew. Mr. Bian was her boss’s friend, buddies with old white men on Wall Street, drinking wine, smoking cigars, playing golf, known as a China expert. It would be too easy for him to ruin her career or blacklist her here.
At work, she remained cautious, even deliberately enrolling in several online training sessions on sexual harassment and hostile work environments. Her boss could see these training records, hoping it might deter anyone thinking of moving against her.
Three days, a week, two weeks passed without trouble.
One day, she saw Bian Jieming again at a café near the company, with a girl in her early twenties — surprisingly, it was Guan Wenyuan. Song Mingwei found it amusing; he didn’t waste any time.
“Ming Mei!” Guan Wenyuan greeted her first.
Song Mingwei nodded, her smile entirely genuine.
Bian Jieming looked slightly awkward. Song Mingwei gave him an “I don’t know you and don’t want to” look, greeted Guan Wenyuan, then turned and left, thinking: What did you think I’d do? You think too highly of yourself, old man.
That night, she received a call from Deng Baiting, telling her to check the “Mo Qi” website — their page views had just broken 10 million.
They hadn’t been in touch for a while. His voice sounded excited yet unfamiliar, and she suddenly felt out of practice, unsure how to continue.
“What’s wrong?” Deng Baiting asked from the other end. Despite the distance, he seemed to sense something from just a few seconds of silence.
“Nothing,” Song Mingwei replied, “Just a bit tired.”
He fell silent for a moment, then said: “If anything happens, you must tell me, okay?”
“Tell you, and what could you do?” she asked.
Deng Baiting answered: “I’ll come and take you back.”
“You’d come?” Song Mingwei asked.
Old Deng said: “Wait for me.”
On this end of the phone, Song Mingwei smiled, suddenly feeling tearful.