As she realized this, Ding Zhitong felt a thrill, as if she had discovered the convergence of world lines.
Knowing Gan Yang’s habits, the general manager arranged for cars to take them back to the hotel after the karaoke ended, not too late in the evening.
During the ride, the city’s neon lights and streetlamps filtered through the windows, refracting and shifting like light through crystal. Ding Zhitong and Gan Yang sat next to each other. She knew he was waiting for her response, but he hadn’t answered her question either. Besides, with others in the car, there was no opportunity to talk.
The car arrived at the Saigon Hotel, a white building in French colonial style with long corridors surrounding a lush courtyard. They checked in and went to their respective rooms. Ding Zhitong followed her usual routine – washing up, opening her laptop, and replying to emails.
Her phone vibrated. She answered to hear him say, “I can’t drink now, but I’ll still say silly things if you want to listen. You won’t faint from menstrual pain anymore, but whenever you need me, just call, and I’ll be there.”
He had finally answered her question. Though the timing was off, the delay made his response seem more serious.
“Gan Yang—” she called his name.
“I’m here,” he replied.
“How should I write this pitch?” she asked teasingly, smiling silently to herself.
He predictably responded, “Ding Zhitong, don’t try to trick me. We agreed to keep work separate. Besides, you don’t need my help. You know that.”
She was about to ask if he was that confident in her, but she realized it was unnecessary. She was that confident in herself.
“Are you still flying to Shanghai via Hong Kong tomorrow?” she changed the subject.
Gan Yang said, “I could just go to Hong Kong.”
But she refused, “No, don’t. My colleague is here, and I still want to do business with you.”
He chuckled softly and said, “Then I’ll wait for your pitch.”
After hanging up, she pondered his last words. “Pitch” seemed to have a double meaning here – both the business proposal she wanted to make and his waiting for her to say she needed him.
The next morning, they left the hotel for the airport, boarded the flight to Hong Kong, and parted ways at the nearly empty Chek Lap Kok airport.
On the train back to the city, Ding Zhitong asked Li Jiaxin, “Have you got any ideas?”
“Probably still an online model?” Li Jiaxin answered uncertainly, as their previous proposal had been based on that approach, which hadn’t impressed Dr. Chen.
“No,” Ding Zhitong shook her head and shared her thoughts, “They want to do C2M, M2C.”
Li Jiaxin said, “Isn’t that still online retail?”
Ding Zhitong shook her head again and gave him the answer, “Online plus physical stores.”
“Physical stores?” Li Jiaxin initially thought it impossible. E-commerce has been dominating in recent years, with traditional industries rushing towards asset-light models. Most physical retail businesses were struggling, with many stores closing and some companies going bankrupt.
“Let’s simplify this industry into four parts: design, development, production, and sales,” Ding Zhitong explained. “They’ve already secured production, and they’re catching up in design and development. To compete with brand companies now, they’re only missing the sales component. But online sales alone aren’t enough, partly due to the unique nature of sports shoes, and partly because they need distributor qualifications.”
There was another point Ding Zhitong hadn’t mentioned yet. If Gan Yang succeeded in this venture, with China being the world’s largest market in the foreseeable future, the consumer base he could directly engage with and the data he could collect through LT Capital’s investments in online sports platforms would be unimaginable. Launching their brand wouldn’t be out of the question. At that point, it wouldn’t just be competition; it would be a counterattack.
“You mean…” Li Jiaxin caught on, “They might want to acquire a sports apparel retailer or distributor?”
“Shoemaking, retail, sports services – they want to do it all,” Ding Zhitong nodded, then listed a few names, assigning him some homework. “The target companies in the proposal should be similar to these – nationwide coverage, publicly listed, underperforming in recent years but with good asset quality and undervalued stock prices.”
“Privatization and acquisition got it,” Li Jiaxin agreed, already opening his laptop to start working while still on the train.
As the train stopped, Ding Zhitong looked out at the empty Tsing Yi station. Her mind wandered to the story Gan Yang had once told her – about how sports shoes were sold over half a century ago. Salespeople were often retired athletes who would visit high school and college sports coaches to learn about each student’s shoe size and preferences. Sports enthusiasts would even mail in paper tracings of their feet for shoe recommendations.
Back then, business could be done slowly, and shoes could be sold one pair at a time. It was like the “slowness of the past” described in poetry, where people spoke one sentence at a time and loved only one person in a lifetime.
She had thought it absurd then, but now she felt it might not be impossible. She wasn’t sure when exactly she had this realization, but when it fully dawned on her, she felt a thrill, as if she had discovered the convergence of world lines.
Yes, it was a thrill.
Over the next few days as she prepared the materials, she continued chatting with Gan Yang across thousands of miles.
While cooking dinner one evening, she finally asked him, “On the day of the challenge, did you see my heart rate monitor alarm go off?”
“Yes, I did,” he answered.
“And what about you?” she asked, implying, “What about your excitement?”
After a brief silence, she heard him laugh and reply, “I wasn’t even wearing one, because I already knew how I would react. I had already seen you in Shanghai before that.”
It wasn’t her in person, just a photograph.
From 2017 to 2018, Gan Yang reviewed countless business plans for fitness management companies.
One of them was a CrossFit gym in Hongqiao. The materials included several group photos of members. These Polaroid pictures had been cropped and reduced, showing many people standing together. When projected, the colors were slightly altered and details blurred. But he recognized her instantly, despite how much she had changed. Dressed in all-black workout gear with her hair in a low ponytail, she stood smiling next to a trainer, looking as elegant as an arrow. Her signature, “Tammy,” was written in the blank space below the photo.
At first, he didn’t feel his heart beating particularly hard. He only lost focus for a few seconds before pointing at the photo and telling the gym manager, “I didn’t expect to see a classmate here. It’s been ten years.”
The manager was pleasantly surprised and elaborated: CrossFit box members were typically middle to high-income individuals with a fitness background. Their goal was to provide advanced, targeted fitness training. He even offered to help find contact information for this “classmate.”
Gan Yang nervously agreed, but the manager regrettably informed him that this “Tammy” had only attended a drop-in class without booking, so they didn’t have her phone number.
By then, Zeng Junjie had lost 70 pounds, built an impressive physique, opened his studio, and secured investment from LT for expansion. Perhaps due to professional rivalry, he viewed himself as a fitness industry expert and disapproved of many other fitness styles, particularly CrossFit.
He gave Gan Yang an analogy: “Picture this: It’s late at night on Huaihai Road. I step out of my azure Aston Martin and walk into TAXX in Dàtóng Fang. The changing lights illuminate my body, and people around me stare in amazement. My round pecs and sculpted arms fill out my clothes, while my pants hug my firm buttocks and muscular thighs. As I approach the bar, men step back, and women draw closer. Countless heated gazes fall upon me. I feel incredibly charismatic. Although I’ve endured the hardships of dieting and weightlifting, it feels like every bit was worth it…”
Then he pivoted: “But if I did CrossFit, suffering even more than weightlifting every day, without developing the right muscles, how would I attract women? Should I drop down and do 50 burpees on the spot?”
Gan Yang laughed, impressed by Zeng Junjie’s vivid description and clear reasoning. Chinese people value practicality; after spending money, sweating, and starving, they want to see results – either weight loss or muscle gain. CrossFit’s target audience seemed far too niche.
However, before finalizing the investment, Gan Yang immersed himself in CrossFit.
Oddly enough, that year Shanghai was already considered the most developed fitness market in China. The city boasted all kinds of gyms, from high-end clubs mimicking foreign counterparts with widely spaced equipment for privacy to nightclub-style establishments with blinding lights and deafening music where members could barely see or hear each other.
Yet among all these options, Gan Yang, seemingly mildly socially anxious, chose the style that emphasized community the most, and at that very Hongqiao gym.
That one hour there became the liveliest part of his day.
He felt conflicted, thinking it unlikely to see her again, yet hoping for it with each visit.
He had mentally rehearsed their reunion countless times until it felt routine, expecting to feel nothing.
But when he truly saw her again, he realized all his rehearsals were useless.
That day, he was heading to the gym when he received a phone call. While talking, he walked past the arcade on the same floor.
Near the entrance stood a row of 4D racing simulators. On one of them sat two people, one big and one small. The smaller one was steering while the larger one furiously worked the pedals, both deeply engrossed in the game.
At first, he didn’t even realize who he was seeing. His heart merely skipped a beat before he recognized the familiar profile as Ding Zhitong.
At that moment, he felt his blood run cold. He pressed his phone to his ear, pretending to continue the call in a corner, though he heard nothing the other person said.
He just stood there, watching them from afar. Ding Zhitong was laughing wholeheartedly, looking even better than in the photo.
When the game ended and they got up, the child was sweaty, and she crouched down to wipe his face.
Only then did Gan Yang turn and leave, never looking back.
He couldn’t understand his feelings. They had been apart for so long, and he knew she was married. Having a child was a natural progression. But seeing it in person was still too much for him. He realized she might have returned to China and lived nearby, explaining her presence at this mall with a child.
A few days later, the gym manager shared the good news: “Tammy” had returned and left her number this time.
“No need,” Gan Yang declined without explanation.
The manager was unsure of his meaning but eventually guessed a possibility. In a meeting with LT, he specifically mentioned that their gym did not leak member information or engage in privacy violations.
He had probably interpreted Gan Yang’s words as a test.
Regardless, the CrossFit investment didn’t proceed, for reasons unrelated to Ding Zhitong or privacy concerns. Gan Yang simply agreed with Zeng Junjie’s perspective but continued CrossFit at a different box.
Ding Zhitong was confused by this story, taking a moment before asking, “So, you thought that was my son?”
There was silence on the other end. It wasn’t until he contacted Song Mingmei later that he realized his mistake.
Ding Zhitong burst into laughter.
Gan Yang said, “Hey, Ding Zhitong, can you stop laughing? Is this funnier than you mistaking Wang Yi and me for that kind of partner?”
Ding Zhitong couldn’t help but laugh a bit more before asking, “Did you notice what car we were driving in the game?”
“What car?” Gan Yang hadn’t paid attention.
Ding Zhitong answered, “Every time I take Yulin there, we choose the Mustang.”
There was a long pause before he asked, “Why… the Mustang?”
But Ding Zhitong teasingly deflected, “Don’t get too emotional. That game only has Ford cars. Compared to the Fiesta, the Mustang looks better.”
It was like running. She had started by running with him, then became afraid to run, and now she thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of spending time alone.
The Mustang was similar. Some experiences, once lived, become a part of you. They exist not to commemorate anyone but as a part of yourself.