The dialogue was identical to before. She pretended not to remember, but in truth, she recalled every minute, every second.
“Let’s discuss the ‘Training Box’ instead,” Ding Zhitong said, steering the conversation back to the main topic, avoiding meaningless chatter.
“I’m afraid I can’t compromise,” Gan Yang replied directly, his voice and gaze still gentle but his stance unyielding.
“Is it just for the reasons you mentioned earlier?” Ding Zhitong pressed, not ready to give up.
Gan Yang nodded, explaining, “If we were to seek another round of funding now, we’d inevitably have to set a performance target of doubling or tripling our results within a year or two. That would throw off our entire rhythm. Besides, ‘Training Box’ is a utility app. We’ve even considered keeping it small and beautiful.”
“We?” Ding Zhitong asked with a smile. “You and Yuan Chao? Do you think he shares your view?”
Yuan Chao had been swayed by Li Jiaxin. After all, who starts a business without aiming to make money?
Gan Yang understood her implication and smiled back, “I talked to him later. Like you, he wants to make money, but he also wants to build something meaningful.”
“Then why can’t we cooperate?” Ding Zhitong countered.
“Because your backers don’t share that vision,” Gan Yang replied.
Ding Zhitong was momentarily at a loss for words. She represented a key client of M Bank, but their track record in this area wasn’t great. They were known for large-scale acquisitions or equity investments, with some successes but also many failures.
Without realizing it, their glasses were empty. She poured herself a little more and reached out to refill Gan Yang’s glass.
Gan Yang covered his glass with his hand, shaking his head, “I really can’t drink anymore. Let’s call it a night.”
Ding Zhitong didn’t know what else to discuss. Over the past few years, she had dined with countless CEOs and investors, but tonight felt different. She felt like she was back in the past, unsure of how to conduct herself.
She decided to give up. Tomorrow, she’d report to Qin Chang that the deal couldn’t be made. She glanced at the time and drained her glass.
“Alright, let’s wrap this up,” she said, signaling for the bill, feeling oddly disappointed, either because the deal fell through or for some other reason.
The waiter brought the check, and she reached for it. Gan Yang watched silently, not contesting her action. It was clear he viewed this as a business dinner where she, as the buyer, was treating the client.
After signing the receipt, Ding Zhitong told the waiter, “Please keep the remaining wine.” She explained to Gan Yang, “Our colleagues come here often.”
“Oh,” Gan Yang nodded, “Like a cafeteria.”
Ding Zhitong paused, finally understanding his meaning. After more than a decade, she had treated him to another “cafeteria” meal. It was a cold joke, but she smiled anyway.
As they left the restaurant and were about to exit the IFC mall, Ding Zhitong stopped, intending to say goodbye. The Four Seasons Hotel was next door.
But Gan Yang asked, “Where do you live?”
“Very close, I can walk,” Ding Zhitong replied.
“I’ll walk you home,” Gan Yang offered.
“No need, I can manage,” Ding Zhitong declined.
“Nonsense, I’m walking you home,” Gan Yang insisted, already heading out the automatic doors with his hands in his pockets. Without looking back, he called, “Let’s go!”
The dialogue was identical to before. She pretended not to remember, but in truth, she recalled every minute, every second.
The night was deep, with a few late-working professionals still on the pedestrian bridge outside IFC, though far fewer than usual. As they walked, Ding Zhitong made small talk about housing.
In 2010, when she first arrived in Hong Kong, she lived in a serviced apartment in Sheung Wan.
As her job-seeking friends had said, among the world’s major financial centers, only Hong Kong offered housing allowances. The apartment was near Sheung Wan’s market and the North-South commercial street, a ten-minute walk from Central’s financial district. Despite its nearly 20,000 HKD monthly rent, it was only about 30 square meters, with a tiny bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and balcony. Even the water heater was built into the wall to save space, embodying the Shanghai saying about “making a temple in a snail’s shell.”
Song Mingmei, who had lived in a similar apartment in Hong Kong, once complained that it was just a slightly upscale “subdivided flat,” like a scene from a dystopian film where you’d return from killing clones to eat synthetic food – highly depressing. But Ding Zhitong didn’t mind then, as she only used it for sleeping, sometimes not even opening the curtains for months.
After a promotion, she moved to a slightly larger serviced apartment where she could close the bathroom door without putting one foot on the toilet.
This was her go-to joke when struggling with conversation topics with strangers.
Gan Yang laughed, but it felt different as if they were a paper-thin layer away from touching their shared past.
As they left the financial district, the streets grew quieter, and the jokes ran out. Fortunately, they had reached her apartment building. Nearby, the subway entrance had recently been vandalized, surrounded by yellow tape, and not yet repaired.
Changing the subject, Ding Zhitong said, “It’s good that I walk to and from work every day. As long as I don’t take the subway or go to Wan Chai and Admiralty, there’s no problem…”
But Gan Yang didn’t respond to her comment. Instead, he stepped closer, took her hand, and kissed her.
Their lips touched lightly, and Ding Zhitong’s mind went blank for a second before she pushed him away, saying, “What are you doing?”
Behind her, the doorman was already coming to open the glass door.
Gan Yang released her hand and said, “Go on up. I’ll see you next time.”
Confused, Ding Zhitong turned and entered the building, heading straight for the elevator without looking back. It wasn’t until she reached her floor and opened her apartment door that something struck her. Without turning on the lights, she pulled back the curtains and looked down.
From her eleventh-floor window, she saw a figure standing across the narrow street. Seeing her head poke out, he waved.
Her phone vibrated. She answered and heard him say, “Ding Zhitong, why aren’t you waving back?”
Ding Zhitong was at a loss for words. “Gan Yang, what exactly are you doing? You said we were done talking. Are you playing hard to get?”
“No, I really couldn’t drink anymore,” he chuckled, explaining, “I had stomach ulcers for a while. At its worst, I couldn’t even drive. I even worried it might be stomach cancer…”
This reason caught her off guard, as did her reaction.
In the darkness, she suddenly felt like crying. Tears welled up silently, but she composed herself before speaking, managing only to tease, “Drowning your post-breakup sorrows in alcohol?”
He laughed again, shaking his head as he continued, “It was just to borrow money. You know how it is in small towns. The doctor said stress was a factor but advised me to quit drinking entirely.”
“Then why did you drink?” she asked, unsure if she had successfully hidden the slight catch in her voice. Her mind flashed to a scene from “Night in Shanghai,” where he only drank water, as did the “Barbie-built” woman. Someone like him surely didn’t lack care; her concern was neither needed nor missed.
“To gather courage,” he smiled up at her. “Just like that night in Ithaca. I wanted to do this when I walked you back to your dorm.” His words were cryptic, but she knew he meant the kiss.
“You’re the one who said there was nothing to discuss,” she reminded him.
He replied, “Business is business.”
“There’s nothing beyond business,” Ding Zhitong reminded him, unsure if she was addressing him or herself.
Gan Yang wasn’t surprised by her response. “I know. We both have our things to do. I’m returning to Shanghai tomorrow. Why won’t you wave to me?”
Ding Zhitong hadn’t expected him to bring this up again. She turned aside, smiling into the air, then reluctantly waved down at him before closing the window. “There, now you can leave,” she said into the phone.
Gan Yang kept looking up at her window for a moment before turning to leave.
Ding Zhitong couldn’t make out his expression, but for the next few seconds, she stood there watching his retreating figure through the window. His white shirt and straight dark gray trousers, with his jacket draped over his arm, reminded her that he still had the same upright, athletic build as before. Although they had said “it’s over” countless times, she couldn’t help but wonder what roads he had traveled, what experiences he had had on his journey from Ithaca to here.
Leaning against the wall by the window, she opened WeChat to check her friend requests. She found that his request from a few days ago had expired. Just as she was trying to convince herself to forget about it, a red dot appeared. Startled, feeling as if she’d been caught stalking an ex, she quickly closed her phone and tossed it aside. It wasn’t until the next day that she retrieved it and accepted his request, worried he might realize she had been watching him too.