In a parallel universe where 2008 never happened, their lives would have been completely different.
Leaving the hotel in the morning, they drove back to Ho Chi Minh City for the final stop of their trip: LT’s Vietnam headquarters.
The local general manager greeted them and led them to the conference room. He started a PowerPoint presentation, introducing himself as a veteran employee who joined in 2012. He explained that he had overseen the first factory’s completion and production launch, taking it from last place to first in the group within two years, earning awards at every year-end ceremony.
At first, Ding Zhitong thought he seemed quite genuine, not shy about taking credit in front of his superiors. However, she soon realized he was using a rhetorical technique of buildup and contrast – like in martial arts novels where a villain is described as unbeatable, only for a hero to appear and defeat him easily.
In 2014, Dr. Chen’s fears materialized again. The Foreign Ministry issued two travel warnings within three months. Mainland Chinese, Taiwanese, Hong Kong, and Japanese enterprises (perhaps they all looked similar and were indistinguishable?) were vandalized and attacked.
LT’s factories faced the same fate. Due to their substantial size and failure to anticipate the rapid escalation, they couldn’t shut down immediately. Not only was there chaos outside, but thousands of workers inside the factories were also on a sit-in strike. Some took the lead in causing trouble, and the situation nearly spiraled out of control several times.
Most Chinese managers were too scared to come to work. The general manager admitted he was a coward too, moving into an international hotel near the airport and calling the Chinese headquarters, asking if and when they could evacuate.
Gan Yang was in Cambodia at the time. Unable to get a flight immediately, he took a seven-hour bus ride from Phnom Penh. He picked up the general manager from the hotel and then systematically implemented the Business Contingency Plan (BCP). He located the missing Chinese employees one by one, counted the injured, arranged medical treatment or repatriation as needed, and gathered those willing to stay with him.
The general manager recalled Gan Yang sitting down with union representatives, maintaining a friendly yet composed demeanor. He talked about his experiences from Myanmar and Cambodia to Indonesia, subtly conveying that factories just hundreds of kilometers away were already in production, with many more under construction. The message was clear: if these workers wouldn’t do the job, others would.
After days of negotiation, both sides compromised. Management agreed to a reasonable pay raise, and the union persuaded workers to return to their jobs. The assembly lines started running again. However, because a group of troublemakers had been fired, Gan Yang hired a security company and was accompanied by bodyguards wherever he went for a while.
The story was vividly told, with Ding Zhitong feeling tense at several points. But since it was all in the past, she even imagined a comical scene: Gan Yang wearing cheap shorts and flip-flops, holding a half-eaten banana, followed by two bodyguards.
She made notes on her computer, hiding a smile, then looked up to meet Gan Yang’s gaze from across the table.
Seemingly uncomfortable with such open praise, he had maintained a cold expression throughout. But now he was struggling to keep his composure, looking at her with pursed lips as if to ask, “Ding Zhitong, do you have no conscience? Is this funny?”
The others in the room remained oblivious as the general manager continued his story, moving on to 2015.
At that time, comparisons were often made about China’s declining role in sports shoe manufacturing. In 2001, China produced 40% of the world’s famous brand of sports shoes, but by 2010, this had dropped to 34%, with Vietnam and Indonesia taking the lead. Pie charts illustrate China’s textile manufacturing industry’s gradual decline.
But behind these charts was the joke Gan Yang had once told Dr. Chen: “Whether you send orders to Vietnam, Myanmar, Cambodia, or Indonesia, you’ll always encounter me. Surprised and delighted?”
The general manager provided more details on the next slide. From 2011 to 2015, Gan Yang spent four years setting up factories everywhere, integrating vertical supply chains, improving inventory forecasting, and reducing supplier response times. This led to steady growth in revenue and after-tax profits in subsequent years. When dividend figures were reported in the news, people realized how profitable this business could be, despite the low profit margins of just a few dollars per pair of shoes. But after the initial buzz, people still viewed them as mere contract manufacturers, the lowest of the low-end, recalling the old story of trading eight hundred million shirts for an airplane.
Ding Zhitong admired the manager’s storytelling skills, anticipating a shift from this low point.
Sure enough, the general manager continued, “So after that, Mr. Gan entered a new arena.”
Ding Zhitong remembered this time – 2016 was when LT Capital was established.
Gan Yang took over, speaking briefly. From that point on, he began investing in sports-related forums, live streaming platforms, running apps, fitness apps, and various fitness management companies.
In the following years, as the fitness craze swept the nation and new trends emerged, the industry developed its complex hierarchy. Gan Yang invested in top players or those with potential in each category on this “contempt chain”. His portfolio expanded, but shoe manufacturing remained the core business.
Listening to this, Ding Zhitong had a moment of clarity, finally understanding what Gan Yang was trying to achieve. The answer was simple; he hadn’t been withholding information – he had told her long ago.
That evening, another round of entertainment followed. The general manager and several executives took them out for dinner, followed by karaoke.
In the dimly lit karaoke room, Ding Zhitong sat at one end of the long sofa, with Gan Yang at the other. While others sang, drank, and chatted, they just sat there.
Her phone vibrated. She received a message from Gan Yang: “We’re going back tomorrow”
There wasn’t even a punctuation mark at the end. Unsure of his meaning, she didn’t reply.
The “typing” status appeared for a long time before the second half of the message came through: “I want to tell you, I like you. The current you.”
Ding Zhitong looked at the message but still didn’t respond.
He asked again: “Do you like me? The current me.”
Sitting in the darkness, with Li Jiaxin singing a Chen Yixun song in the background, she finally gathered her thoughts to ask this strange question: “Do you know what our current problem is?”
Gan Yang replied: “Tell me, I’m listening.”
Ding Zhitong asked: “Do you remember how we started in the past?”
Gan Yang: “Of course.”
Ding Zhitong: “Now you can’t drink, and I don’t have painful periods that make me faint, needing you to carry me to the car. Without that catalyst, without that excitement, how can we start again?”
Gan Yang immediately responded: “No excitement? Ding Zhitong, be honest with yourself.”
She thought of her heart racing to 198 during the challenge, his kneeling in the Hong Kong conference room, the kisses at the apartment building, and on the beach. Perhaps there were too many moments; she wasn’t sure which one he meant. She simply replied: “Those were just because you scared me.”
Gan Yang sent back: “Haha”
Ding Zhitong returned: “Haha”
Then she added: “And please don’t call me Ding Zhitong.”
She had been wanting to say this for a long time.
Gan Yang asked: “Why?”
Ding Zhitong answered honestly: “I always feel like the second half of that sentence is ‘Are you crazy?'”
Gan Yang smiled at his phone screen from the other end of the sofa and replied: “You’re the one who told me not to call you Tong Tong.”
“Don’t you dare call me that!” her 2009 self had told him.
Ding Zhitong praised him: “Well, you’re good at following instructions.”
He promptly asked: “So can I call you that now?”
She refused: “No.”
No new messages came through, and the screen quickly darkened. Ding Zhitong wasn’t sure what to make of this and tossed her phone into her bag at her feet.
When she looked up again, she heard the general manager saying, “This is a rare opportunity. Mr. Gan is going to sing a song. I’ve been with him for so many years and have never had the chance to hear him sing…”
Ding Zhitong looked over to see Gan Yang taking the microphone and walking to the front, standing with his back to the screen, facing directly toward her.
Someone selected a song for him, and an unfamiliar melody began to play.
Looking at her, he sang: “Someone as excellent as me should have lived a brilliant life…”
Ding Zhitong had never heard this song before and laughed at the first line, thinking, “How shameless!”
But the line did sound like something Gan Yang would say – the Gan Yang in his early twenties, running in Ithaca, the Gan Yang who thought he was different and could accomplish anything. Perhaps, just perhaps, in a parallel universe where 2008 never happened, they would have had completely different lives.
He kept looking at her as he sang each line, changing “twenty” in the lyrics to “thirty,” making it sound more like he was singing about himself.
Ding Zhitong watched him, suddenly feeling emotional, but still thinking it was a bit pretentious for someone like him to humbly describe himself as “living an unremarkable life.”