After they parted ways, he finally understood her choices back then.
As Gan Yang finished recounting the past, he realized it was the first time he had mentioned Gan Kunliang’s arrest to Ding Zhitong.
“I was afraid you’d judge me if you knew,” he explained.
“Judge you how?” Ding Zhitong asked, feigning ignorance.
“For having a father who’s a fraudster,” Gan Yang answered honestly.
“Mm,” she nodded, “You are quite good at deceiving people.”
Gan Yang clicked his tongue but chuckled softly.
After a moment, Ding Zhitong spoke again, “Do you remember how you always wanted me to quit my job back then?”
Gan Yang ruefully mocked himself, “I’ve reflected on that. Asking you to choose between making money and living with me – how presumptuous was I?”
But Ding Zhitong didn’t laugh. She carefully chose her words and spoke simply yet completely: “I insisted on that job to repay my mother. She ran a travel agency in New York and misappropriated some tax money to pay for my Cornell tuition. It had to be repaid quickly. Only working as an analyst at a major investment bank could earn that much in a year…”
Gan Yang watched her silently, listening without interrupting to ask why she hadn’t told him, that he could have helped.
Ding Zhitong knew that the old him would have reacted that way. But not anymore. He truly understood now the motivation and feeling of bearing burdens alone. Just as she couldn’t confide in him back then, but could do so now.
She paused, then finished, “It’s not that I couldn’t borrow from you, but since I could manage it myself, I didn’t want our relationship to change… At that time, I hoped we could go further together.”
Gan Yang was deeply moved.
Since reconnecting, he had shared much with her, but she had told him little. Yet this one sentence outweighed all his odyssey-like experiences from being two billion in debt until now.
He had countless times recalled their months together, always feeling she was pushing him away, leaving him to travel alone on the highway between New York and Ithaca. On the eve of graduation, standing amidst packed luggage, he felt so pitifully worked up. He had always thought he was the one who gave more, assuming she would move on quickly after they broke up.
If only… if only he had known then.
Adding this condition, re-examining that period, he could hardly imagine what choices he might have made.
For a long while, he couldn’t speak, grateful for the cover of night.
Ding Zhitong gave him this moment, quietly gazing at the thinning lights of the old city before them.
She too found it amazing how close they once were, believing they loved each other so deeply, yet their impressions of each other were wrong.
In her eyes, the Gan Yang at Cornell seemed carefree and transparent. And Gan Yang probably always thought she loved him less, maintaining distance in their relationship.
Indeed, that was the image she deliberately cultivated then, afraid of loss, not daring to fully possess what she had.
But now, she was completely different.
“Hello, Ding Zhitong,” the man beside her finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse in the night breeze.
Ding Zhitong turned to look at him, resting her chin on her hand. This was his first message to her on “Mo Qi,” signaling a new beginning.
She knew he was waiting for her to respond: “Hello, Ah Gang.” But she didn’t.
His slightly reddened eyes dimmed, and he asked, “Ding Zhitong, do you want to go running with me?” His voice grew deeper but more persistent.
She smiled softly, rising to leave, only saying, “Next time. The air here isn’t good.”
Without intending to notice, before turning away, she saw Gan Yang’s eyes light up again, just like before.
For the next three days, they visited factories.
The schedule was tight. On the first day, still in Hanoi, they set out early for the suburbs.
The Vietnamese sun rose early, completely tearing away the night’s cover, frankly illuminating the city, making it look increasingly like several disjointed parts. Some areas strived to be modern, bustling metropolises, some retained colonial memories, while the rest were ordinary, simple towns bordering on dilapidation.
Like the Hanoi Cathedral’s time-worn, grayish-yellow Gothic exterior walls, not far from the Chinese-style villa in Hoan Kiem Lake adorned with red couplets. Driving westward, they saw railways cutting through slums, garbage piled everywhere, and even chickens clucking and pecking in flowerbeds, as swarms of motorcycles roared past, kicking up clouds of dust.
The suburban factory’s manager, a Chinese man, was already waiting to give them a tour. But Gan Yang said it wasn’t necessary; he knew the place well.
The manager smiled, saying, “Indeed, when you first came, there was nothing here.”
Gan Yang said no more, just led Ding Zhitong and Li Jiaxin around, then took them to a nearby alley to a small restaurant with Chinese signage for lunch. The three sat outside, sunlight filtering through tree branches, occasional breezes stirring a dappled ground. Not far away, on an empty lot overgrown with reeds, children played ball.
Gazing at that empty lot, Ding Zhitong seemed to see how it looked many years ago. She knew beginnings were always the hardest – various approvals, import-export customs clearances, running from place to place, figuring things out bit by bit.
After lunch, they went to the airport to fly to Ho Chi Minh City.
On the way to the airport, Gan Yang briefed them on the group’s situation in Vietnam: currently seven factories near Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, nearly 60,000 workers, annual production capacity maintaining 7-10% growth.
In recent years, with the trade war escalating, more companies were setting up factories in Vietnam, driving up wages and land costs. Fortunately, LT came early, securing land at unbeatable prices. However, planned new factories were avoiding the original industrial zones, moving to Vinh Phuc Province in the north. The land was already acquired, with production expected to start in 2021.
In comparison, domestic land and labor costs were higher. Over the past decade, ordinary production lines had been decreasing, but investments in research and development had correspondingly increased. For example, the joint laboratory with USST was fully responsible for core technologies, eco-friendly innovative materials, and new mold design and prototype manufacturing.
Once on the plane, seated next to Ding Zhitong again, he asked, “Do you remember Wang Yi?”
Ding Zhitong nodded, though they hadn’t been in touch for years.
Gan Yang looked at her and said, “He’s now in that joint lab at USST, responsible for biomechanics research and testing.”
“He’s there?!” Ding Zhitong exclaimed, momentarily incredulous.
Gan Yang just smiled and nodded, finding it amazing himself. Their partnership in making shoes, once a casual joke, had finally come true.
As the plane began to taxi, Ding Zhitong finally asked Gan Yang, “Dr. Chen asked me if I knew what you told him after your first trip to Vietnam. What did you say?”
Gan Yang leaned back in his seat, smiling. As the plane took off and the noise subsided, he answered, “I said, it’s just Southeast Asia, right? As long as we set up factories there – Vietnam, Myanmar, Cambodia – wherever they send orders, they’ll still be dealing with me.”
In the winter of 2010, Gan Yang first visited Vietnam.
Before departing, he hired a Vietnamese interpreter. The interpreter had graduated from Guangdong University of Foreign Studies with a major in Vietnamese, having spent his senior year at Hanoi University as part of a 3+1 program. He frequently traveled to Vietnam, mainly doing business translations for various industries.
Since they weren’t in the same location, Gan Yang conducted a video interview. The interpreter didn’t seem to take it too seriously, appearing on camera as if just woken up, running his hands through his hair, wearing what looked like a floral sleep shirt, with a slightly messy room visible in the background.
Despite his casual attitude, the interpreter’s knowledge of Vietnam was frighteningly thorough. Gan Yang realized that interpreters, with good memory, could be like self-updating encyclopedias. The interpreter effortlessly recited information about Hanoi, Haiphong, Da Nang, and Ho Chi Minh City – the types of export processing industries, factory distribution areas, labor laws, tax rates, and local union rules – without a single error in dates or figures.
As the interpreter was a few years older, Gan Yang respectfully called him “Laoshi” (teacher) and made his decision on the spot.
The interpreter raised his fee by 30%, accepted the job, and before ending the video call, specifically reminded Gan Yang, “When you get there, don’t rent a car. Rent a motorbike, you understand? It must be a motorbike.”
Gan Yang agreed, somewhat bewildered, and then set off for Vietnam with the interpreter.
It was the perfect season for tourism there, with temperatures in the twenties Celsius, clear skies, and lush vegetation everywhere.
The two rode motorbikes through streets and alleys, with the interpreter leading, wearing an iron-faced sun mask, hands on the handlebars, exuding confidence. Gan Yang followed, visiting many places. At first unaccustomed, his backside ached after a full day, and he walked awkwardly after dismounting, but he understood why the interpreter had told him not to rent a car. Even the largest cities felt like small Chinese towns, with small city centers, few four-lane roads, and mostly one-way streets in poor condition. Driving a car here would be slower than riding a bicycle. According to the interpreter, locals would buy a small motorbike even if they couldn’t afford to eat.
Of course, there were already some foreign-invested factories in the suburbs, though not yet forming industrial zones. Most were local workshops, so primitive they seemed like a step back in time – large sheds with corrugated iron roofs, housing decades-old machinery and dozens of workers, men, and women, sharing a single tea mug during breaks.
Nevertheless, Gan Yang saw everything he needed to see and met everyone he needed to meet.
About a month later, he returned to his small city and drove up the mountain to visit Dr. Chen.
It was close to the Lunar New Year. The mountain villa’s entrance was adorned with white-rimmed spring couplets. Dr. Chen offered him preserved fruits, like a neighborly grandfather, but when they sat down to talk, it was strictly business. He asked directly, “Have you made your decision?”
Gan Yang nodded.
“And the result?” Dr. Chen pressed.
Gan Yang’s answer was off-topic: “In today’s world, brand owners willing to do OEM are considered conscientious. The trendier ones do JDM, and the shameless ones directly do ODM, just needing to provide a brand name. They have no factories, don’t put all products with one contract manufacturer, or even in the same region or country. No risk, guaranteed profit.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Chen agreed, “That’s why I advised you to quit. This game can’t be played without scale anymore.”
“But if brand owners can hedge, contract manufacturers can do the same,” Gan Yang continued, jokingly digressing further. “It’s just Southeast Asia, right? As long as we set up factories there – Vietnam, Myanmar, Cambodia – wherever they send orders, they’ll still be dealing with me. Isn’t that surprising and delightful?”
“Do you still have money?” Dr. Chen asked bluntly.
Gan Yang finally laughed, shaking his head honestly.
Dr. Chen spread his hands, the conclusion obvious: without money, how could he hedge?
But Gan Yang looked at him and said, “But you do.”
The conversation paused here. The old man slowly smiled, understanding Gan Yang’s intention – rejecting the acquisition offer and seeking cooperation instead.
“Young man,” Dr. Chen addressed him as before, “I left Vietnam in 1968. Back then, our family’s fabric shops in Saigon were all burned down. By ’75, when relatives escaped from there, it took twelve gold bars just to board a ship to Hong Kong. They were lucky to have that money and not die at sea…”
“It’s different now,” Gan Yang wasn’t surprised. Dr. Chen had commissioned a memoir, which Gan Yang had read, knowing this story. It was the reason for his first trip to Vietnam.
“You’ve been there?” Dr. Chen looked at him.
“Yes,” Gan Yang nodded, “I just got back.”
That day, they talked for a long time.
Gan Yang detailed his experiences and thoughts about Vietnam, especially the minimum wage standards, the legal 6-day workweek, and the flexible three-shift system.
Strangely, at that moment, he thought of Ding Zhitong again.
When they were together, he despised overtime work, even arguing with her about it. How ironic that now he was seeking a place where long working hours were legal, cheap, and reasonable, planning to build a sweatshop with his own hands.
Also, his chance encounter with Feng Sheng in New York would have left others depressed, but it sparked his passion for making money.
He even had a strange feeling that after their separation, he understood her choices better, finding more in common between them.
It was also then that he started running again.
Waking early had become a habit. He’d open his eyes around 3 AM, stay in bed until 4, then run on the treadmill for 40 minutes, shower, eat breakfast, and start work.
Looking at the distance displayed on the LCD screen, he was initially shocked. Once, he could easily run 10 kilometers, only hitting the wall after 20 kilometers in a marathon. Now, 5 kilometers was challenging. What had once been as natural as breathing was difficult to resume after a two-year break.
But he kept running, continuing to run.
It was partly because of Ding Zhitong’s words, and partly because of that book – Haruki Murakami’s “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.” He’d bought it long ago but only now dared to read it.
He read a few pages before bed each night, taking a long time to finish, but one quote stuck with him: When you hit the wall, don’t think about how far the finish line is. Just look a few meters ahead, run there, then look ahead another few meters, and keep running bit by bit like that.
The specific terms of cooperation with Dr. Chen were refined by project teams and lawyers for several months. The actual pioneering work didn’t start until mid-spring of 2011.
Gan Yang went to Vietnam again with the interpreter from Guangdong University of Foreign Studies, and later called his classmate, the former small shoe factory owner, to help build relationships.
Vietnam was still a society based on personal connections. They needed to establish close, familial-like relationships with various departments, especially the unions.
The interpreter emphasized repeatedly: “Vietnam’s unions are the most difficult to deal with, but remember, the union is the boss!”
Fortunately, the former factory owner was skilled in this area. Bored with just collecting rent in China, he thrived in Vietnam, quickly becoming a major client at various massage parlors and forming brotherly bonds with relevant figures.
Gan Yang was happy to delegate this aspect, focusing on results and project progress.
By then, the local rainy season had begun. The weather was sweltering, with daily thunderstorms that left the air exceptionally clear.
He still woke up early, leaving the hotel to run 5 kilometers, ending at the market to eat breakfast at small stalls – banana pancakes or pho, accompanied by various strange juices. He bought a motorbike and rode daily between the hotel and factory in shorts and flip-flops, looking much like a local.