Gambling goddess Ding Zhitong once said, “Who on Wall Street doesn’t have a gambler living in their heart?”
Sometimes, a person starts doing something without reason, only to discover much later why they did it. This logic is like a mysterious rule that reverses cause and effect, or perhaps a destiny writer who planted early foreshadowing for later plot developments.
That morning, Gan Yang saw the samples at the brand’s representative office.
The new material was said to be smoother, more flexible, and lighter, which it indeed felt like in hand. But it reminded him of his failed sneaker collection, still stored in a small warehouse on Man Island, costing $30 a month in rent, reminding him of how many new materials and structures had appeared on the market, each time hailed as revolutionary black technology, only to disappear from sneaker evolution history for various reasons.
He didn’t make an immediate decision. After leaving the office, he called Wang Yi, disregarding that it was midnight in New York and that they hadn’t been in touch for almost a year.
Back at the hotel, he and Wang Yi video-called for most of the day. They discussed every possibility, finally reaching a consensus. If the key to real estate is “location, location, location!” then for sneakers, it’s ultimately “weight, weight, weight!”
Given strength and comfort, reducing weight, even by just a gram, is invaluable. This new technology aligned with their consistent idea of using material innovation and the simplest methods to change traditional structures, potentially creating the lightest and most durable running shoes ever.
However, there was still a “but.” Once a shoe leaves the production line, its fate seems to enter the chaotic rules of the world. Would it sell well for over a decade as the brand claimed? Or would it join his “failed sneaker collection” like AVIA, Shox, and Mega Bounce for some inexplicable reason? No one could be certain.
“What are you going to do?” Wang Yi asked.
“I’ll think about it more,” Gan Yang replied.
But after ending the video call, he returned to the brand’s representative office and reached a preliminary agreement. He would order a thousand of these machines, but they could only guarantee his first year’s orders.
That night, he flew back to the small city. After entering his office, he vomited again, unsure if it was due to the previous night’s hangover or extreme nervousness after the big gamble.
Everyone else had gone home, but he still feared being seen. He stumbled to close the door without turning on the lights. He took off his dirty jacket and sat alone on the floor behind his desk, as only there could he not be seen from outside.
The cold light from the factory area diffused in, and he suddenly thought of Ding Zhitong. For a moment, he felt as if she was sitting beside him, pinching his face and saying, “What’s the big deal? Look how scared you are.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked, looking at her.
She looked back at him and asked, “Do you know who I am?”
“Who?” He didn’t understand her meaning.
“Gambling goddess Ding Zhitong,” she spelled out her nickname word by word. “Who on Wall Street doesn’t have a gambler living in their heart?”
He laughed, suddenly feeling absurd. He had originally wanted to protect her but found himself much more cowardly than her. Perhaps it was true.
But she just smiled, then opened her arms to embrace him, resting her head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear, “And you know, this isn’t entirely gambling.”
He nodded, repeating in his heart: “Right, I know, this isn’t entirely gambling.”
But in reality, only Wang Yi was there to chat with him.
After that long conversation, the two had thoroughly “rekindled old feelings.”
Wang Yi chatted with him online about the school, saying she had finally finished the project her advisor left and would graduate by the end of the year. A year ago, she had constantly wanted to die, but looking back now, she realized those setbacks weren’t much.
Gan Yang was moved to listen to this. He still hadn’t told her about his situation, but Wang Yi had coincidentally comforted him.
“Have you seen Ding Zhitong recently?” he suddenly interrupted Wang Yi, even though he felt it was abrupt and a bit rude as if he hadn’t heard anything she just said.
Wang Yi didn’t mind but was surprised by his question. She paused before answering, “I haven’t met her, but I called her last week to tell her I’m finally graduating. She sounded good and even asked me to send her a printed copy of my thesis.”
Gan Yang was silent, then slowly said, “If she encounters any problems or difficulties, please tell me.”
Wang Yi laughed and said, “I’m fine with that, but she’s busy. It’s hard to find time to meet, we can’t even arrange a meal together.”
Gan Yang understood and didn’t push further. They had both broken up, and she indeed had no obligation to meet her ex’s friend. But for him, knowing she was doing well was enough. What truly occupied his mind and energy was the big gamble at hand.
Fortunately, he won this bet again.
At that time, the 2008 crisis aftershocks continued. There was financial surplus, insufficient consumption, and negative CPI growth, and local factories were closing one after another. Only he, because of those thousand specialized machines, secured enough orders to keep his production lines fully operational.
Liu’s CEO’s situation was also gradually improving. OEM had always been strict, with just the inspection process alone enough to fill a book. In times like these, it still relied on experienced professionals like her.
But Gan Kunliang wasn’t idle either. After a period of decline, he had new ideas and tried to get close to Gan Yang again, saying, “Yangyang, look at everyone doing real estate. With our current momentum, we should get some loans from the bank and acquire a few properties.”
That year, housing prices soared, and many local industrialists switched to hoarding houses. For example, Zeng Junjie’s small restaurant on the pedestrian street had closed, and another small business owner had shut down his factory. Both took their money and coincidentally went to buy houses – local, in the provincial capital, in Shanghai – ending up with a bunch of keys.
But Gan Kunliang’s appetite was not satisfied with just this. Indeed, many people outside were doing what he wanted to do, making huge profits, but with terrifyingly large leverage. One small mistake, and he could end up in jail again.
Gan Yang had to continue to keep him in check, reminding him of his previous few days’ tour of the detention center, and completely preventing him from interfering in company affairs.
During that period, Gan Yang often spent nights in the office due to overtime or social engagements. He woke up to check his phone, it was always around 3 AM. He decided to round it up, sleeping until 4 AM before starting work. Outside, it would brighten, then darken again as he busied himself throughout the day. Only when he felt hungry and happened to have time would he sit down to eat a lonely takeout meal?
He once jokingly thought that if one day he paid off all the debts and made some money, such a schedule would surely be seen as an example of success. But if he didn’t pay them off and eventually went down the path of bankruptcy and liquidation, with his name listed on the court’s public execution list, then waking up at 4 AM would be seen as a typical symptom of anxiety.
While the real economy was in decline, real estate was thriving. Construction sites were everywhere in the small city, with several new scenic roads built and many new buildings erected. The pungent rubber smell in the air faded, but the haze near and far grew thicker. In the windless winter, looking into the distance, it was almost like a misty fairyland.
He hadn’t run for a long time, and rarely even went outdoors for a walk. Whether at work or home, the indoor air purifier was always on. When going out, he would just get in the car and look at the street scenery from inside.
Once, on a business trip, he saw Haruki Murakami’s “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” in an airport bookstore. It was the 2009 simplified Chinese version. He bought a copy but never dared to read it. Just like with music, he didn’t dare listen to what he liked in college, fearing that once he let his emotions go, he would lose control.
2008, 2009, 2010…
Ding Zhitong sat there listening, either taking notes on her computer or looking at the words written on the white glass wall. She knew that as long as she didn’t blink, that slight teariness would slowly pass, drying imperceptibly at the bottom of her eyes.
She also knew that this wasn’t Gan Yang’s fault. He didn’t tell her the truth at the time, thinking he was considering her interests. But she didn’t care, she just wanted to blame him. She hardly dared to think about what they would be like now if he had made a different choice then.
2008, 2009, 2010.
It was these three years that made them miss each other. Vows say “till death do us part,” but in reality, it’s often “till debt do us part.” Indeed, everything in the world comes down to money.
Fortunately, Gan Yang equally avoided her gaze. With the white wall space running out, he knelt on one knee to continue writing, then looked at her as if waiting for her response.
The meeting room was on the same side as the executive offices, as transparent as a fish tank, with people potentially passing by outside at any time.
Ding Zhitong’s face remained neutral, but her heart fluttered. Still facing her computer, she said, “Time’s about up, I have another meeting.”
Gan Yang, still kneeling, said, “Then let’s have dinner together tonight.”
Ding Zhitong neither agreed nor disagreed, only saying, “Stand up, my boss is sitting right across from us.”
He negotiated with her without changing his expression, repeating, “Let’s have dinner together tonight.”
It wasn’t a question.