Gan Yang smiled as he read the email, feeling a sense of being evenly matched.
They left The Captain before 11 PM, as Ding Zhitong claimed she had an early-to-bed, early-to-rise habit like an elderly person.
M Bank’s Shanghai office was located in the financial district across the river, near Wilson’s hotel, in the opposite direction from Xintiandi. He offered to see her home, but she politely declined, joking, “As a local, I should be the one seeing you off.” Besides, Li Jiaxin was still with them. Wilson conceded with a shrug, not insisting further.
In the end, the three of them called two cars outside the bar, said their goodbyes cheerfully, and went their separate ways – east and west.
As the car drove through the night city, the lights outside the window streamed into ribbons of light. Slightly tipsy, Ding Zhitong chatted with Li Jiaxin and the driver on the way back to the Langham.
Once in her room, she went through her nightly routine – washing up, changing into pajamas, getting into bed, and turning off the lights. It wasn’t until she fell asleep that the emotions she had suppressed all day quietly erupted.
In her dream, she was back on the terrace of The Captain, reliving the last few seconds of that phone call.
The sound of the wind over the river and the surrounding chatter faded away, leaving only Gan Yang’s breathing. It was the way he had taught her – inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, each breath deep and complete. Now she could hear it clearly, even the slightest tremor reaching her ears and vibrating her eardrums.
She remained silent, just as she had then, but tears began to flow unceasingly, wetting her cheeks and ruining her makeup, as if no one else was there.
Suddenly, she wanted to ask him the same question: How have you been? How much money did you owe? How did you pay it back?
Sorry, even at a time like this, she still thought about money.
Perhaps she did ask these questions in her dream, and he answered her, but upon waking the next morning, she had forgotten it all. The only trace left was her puffy eyes, and she couldn’t be sure if it was from drinking or from crying.
She woke up early as usual, watching the news while brushing her teeth and washing her face.
The 70th anniversary of diplomatic relations between China and North Korea, with congratulatory messages exchanged,
A gala performance, “How beautiful is this land”,
Hong Kong sectors supporting the establishment of the “Prohibition on Face Covering Regulation”,
Houston Rockets GM Daryl Morey’s Hong Kong-related tweet,
Followed by domestic news: transportation departments gearing up for the return journey peak, a new cold front approaching, the number of captive giant pandas exceeding 300 for the first time…
After washing up, she opened her laptop to find several pages of new emails in her inbox. She went through them one by one, categorizing them, replying to urgent ones, and then reading attached documents, making annotations and suggestions.
As expected, there was a meeting invitation from Gan Yang. Li Jiaxin had seen it late last night and sent a follow-up email asking for her thoughts.
Ding Zhitong’s mouse hovered over the reply button for a moment, but she ultimately didn’t click it, instead dragging the email into her “to be processed” folder.
Since her promotion to VP a few years ago, she rarely worked late nights or pulled all-nighters anymore. Instead, her days were filled with business trips and back-to-back meetings.
Normally, replying to emails was her first task upon reaching the office, to be completed no later than 2 PM. The people in her group, especially analysts and interns, were waiting for her feedback to start their day’s work. When they received her replies determined when they could go home at night, or if they could go home at all.
Like most investment banks in the industry, M Bank had added two rules to their employee handbook in recent years: work no more than 17 hours a day, and ensure at least one day off per week. The words Qin Chang had once said to her were now on paper, but they sounded somewhat bleak. Whether these rules could be followed was still Schrödinger’s question, depending on whether the boss observed you or not.
People say technological progress has freed us from most tedious chores, but the reality is that working hours have become longer.
Ding Zhitong had once read an article describing Wall Street in the 1970s when stockbrokers had relatively low incomes and weren’t very busy. After leaving work each day, they even had time to moonlight as ticket sellers at train stations to supplement their household income.
The “slowness of the past” described in poetry probably referred to that era, when people spoke one sentence at a time, loved only one person in a lifetime, business could be done slowly, and shoes could be sold one pair at a time.
Thinking of that poem reminded Ding Zhitong of the scene back then when a twenty-something Gan Yang told an equally young her that he wanted to make shoes with Wang Yi in the future, using that ancient method of understanding each runner’s feet and habits. At that time, she thought he was so naive. But now, he has made a lot of money and become a practical capitalist. Perhaps those old dreams were long gone.
Then she found it strange again. Weren’t investors supposed to make money and run? They plan their exit strategy when investing, and M Bank’s approach was a rare good opportunity. Why was he so adamantly against “Training Box” seeking the next round of funding?
As she was thinking this, her phone vibrated. It was Li Jiaxin calling, eager to know her thoughts: “Did you see LT CEO Gan’s email? We have a flight back to Hong Kong tonight. Should we schedule the meeting for this afternoon?”
But Ding Zhitong replied, “Not today. Let’s tentatively set it for next Friday, and I’ll see if I’m available then.” Despite her earlier melancholy, she had already decided what to do.
“Huh?” Li Jiaxin was surprised.
“Didn’t you see the news?” Ding Zhitong asked.
“What news?” Li Jiaxin didn’t understand.
“The NBA story,” Ding Zhitong said flatly, then hung up, leaving him to figure it out.
A moment later, her phone vibrated again. As expected, a message from Li Jiaxin:
The live-streaming platform and sports community that LT Capital invested in rely on the NBA for nearly half of its annual revenue.
With this incident, state media has already called for a boycott, which will inevitably affect the project’s valuation and expected investment returns.
As the situation continues to develop, their attitude towards “Training Box” is likely to change.
If they’re eager to cash out, we’ll have the upper hand! Boss, you’re brilliant!!
Ding Zhitong calmly watched the silently scrolling text on her phone screen, unperturbed. Of course, everything in the world comes down to money.
She always remembered something Qin Chang had once said. Although outsiders thought investment banks were full of elites, Qin Chang never viewed the industry as particularly noble. A few years ago, when she was buying a house in Shanghai, he compared it to real estate agents, saying, “You pay a 1% commission to an agent and feel it’s not worth it, right? Well, we charge 7%…”
Like real estate agents, they all wore suits and served either sellers or buyers. Getting a good price for their clients was their reason for existing.
After his morning run, Gan Yang saw a notification of over 2,000 unread messages in a workgroup chat.
He opened it to find that an NBA team manager in the U.S., feeling a sense of global responsibility, had posted a tweet yesterday: “Fight for freedom, Stand with Hong Kong!” Chinese state media immediately responded, and in just one day, boycott messages were everywhere.
The live-streaming platform and sports community that LT Capital had invested in relied on NBA events for 40% of their business. The management on both sides was stunned. They had an emergency meeting late into the night yesterday, wrote lengthy analysis reports, and assured investors: that NBA broadcasts have been around since the 1980s, with over 30 years of history and a solid fan base. Given the number and passion of domestic fans, a complete boycott wouldn’t be easy to implement. This storm would blow over in a few months.
Gan Yang didn’t reply, but he didn’t agree. Sports competitions were never just games, and the NBA’s presence wasn’t purely for entertainment. Its fading out was just a matter of time.
During breakfast, Li Jiaxin’s reply came, informing him that the meeting was tentatively scheduled for next Friday, with the specific time pending Director Ding’s confirmation.
Originally eager to meet, everything had flipped overnight.
She had thought of the same things he had. Gan Yang smiled as he read the email, feeling a sense of being evenly matched.
At 9 AM, Wilson boarded his flight back to Singapore. Before takeoff, he called Ding Zhitong again to let her know he was on the plane.
Ding Zhitong made polite conversation, saying, “Let’s do CrossFit together next time we have a chance.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed and replied, “I just confirmed that I’ll be in Hong Kong for business next month.”
Ding Zhitong could only say, “That’s great, I’ll take you to where I train then.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt something was off. Going from “when we have a chance” to a specific date was indeed different. Suddenly feeling flustered, she said goodbye, hung up, and tossed her phone into the locker, out of sight, out of mind.
By then, she was at the Waldorf Astoria on the Bund, having made plans with Song Mingmei for a spa day. The two were changing into bathrobes in the dressing room.
Seeing her state, Song Mingmei asked quietly, “Who was that?”
Ding Zhitong took the opportunity to tell her about Wilson, seeking advice. Song Mingmei had dated foreign boyfriends before, more than one, all seemingly casual with no real outcomes. Ding Zhitong intended to get reassurance that Wilson was probably the same – just casually flirting, soon to be forgotten.
But Song Mingmei’s reaction was different from what she expected. Taking on a professional attitude as if analyzing a project, she said, “Let’s analyze the pros and cons.”
Ding Zhitong: “…”
“Let’s start with the pros,” Song Mingmei began without waiting for a response. “American, in his thirties, probably never married, right?”
“I don’t know, just know he’s single now,” Ding Zhitong answered vaguely.
“If a Chinese man this age isn’t married, he’s either a player, has poor conditions, or an odd personality. But for an American, it’s quite normal. This is just the age when they start thinking about settling down and getting married…”
As Ding Zhitong listened, she thought of Gan Yang. Was he married? If not, which category did he fall into?
“…Allow me to use a more colloquial term – you’ve caught the right timing,” Song Mingmei continued her analysis. “Plus, you have similar educational backgrounds and professional experiences…”
“It’s way too early for all that. Why think so far ahead?” Ding Zhitong interrupted, not wanting to hear more.
But Song Mingmei said seriously, “Don’t take this lightly. If you two get together, it could benefit both of your future career developments. So I think he might be looking for a serious relationship.”
What?! Career development? Even in her wildest thoughts, Ding Zhitong wouldn’t have considered this. “What benefits?” she asked Song Mingmei, already smiling, not taking it seriously at all.
“Don’t forget which department he’s in,” Song Mingmei reminded her. “Charitable business management. They’ve been getting more and more key clients in mainland China these past few years. M Bank might consider setting up an MD position in the China region. If someone speaks Chinese and has a Chinese wife, they’d be the perfect candidate to knock out all other contenders.”
Ding Zhitong was stunned. After a while, she said, “Isn’t that a bit too pragmatic? Now that you’ve said this, I feel like I can’t face him anymore.”
“Don’t be like that,” Song Mingmei persuaded. “It’s not just beneficial for him, it could be good for your future too.”
“What, be his Chinese housewife?” Ding Zhitong smirked.
Ignoring her lack of seriousness, Song Mingmei explained, “Think about the background of your current China CEO. Female, studied in the U.S. in the 90s, Ivy League graduate, married to an American husband, right? The top executives here tend to prefer candidates with this profile. You have a bright future ahead, Ding Zhitong!”
This analysis left her dumbfounded. Although Song Mingmei was a stay-at-home rich wife, her grasp of office politics was still superior to Ding Zhitong’s.
“Okay, that’s the pros. What about the cons?” Ding Zhitong was now listening as if it were a lecture.
But Song Mingmei became casual again, answering, “Cons? Just the usual cultural differences.”
“Like what?” Ding Zhitong pressed, realizing that her friend was trying to encourage her to date.
Sure enough, after thinking for a moment, Song Mingmei laughed and said, “Well, for example, if you have kids in the future, can you spank them or not?”