The carefree days of youth had passed, yet some still chose to act foolishly and irrationally, though not necessarily out of love.
Ding Zhitong had nearly finished the second draft of the sales materials. She wanted to discuss it with Qin Chang before finalizing the next steps. However, Qin Chang was in New York for a few days, reporting to his superiors in the business line.
That Thursday, when Qin Chang was expected to return to the office in the afternoon, Wilson arrived earlier.
Before departing Singapore, Wilson had called Ding Zhitong. The U.S. Internal Revenue Service planned major changes for January, keeping the Charitable Management Department busy. Countless donations and fund establishments needed completion before year-end. Wilson had thought their Christmas meeting impossible, but December 31st was also the expiration date for the FATCA (Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act) grace period. This affected a certain tycoon on the island, giving Wilson a chance to visit Hong Kong.
The situation on the island remained tense, with several indiscriminate attacks on civilians and increasing flight cancellations. After some difficulties, Wilson finally made it to IFC in the financial district, borrowing office space at M Bank’s Hong Kong branch.
At noon, he invited Ding Zhitong for lunch. This long-planned meeting finally brought them together, but both sensed something had changed. They chatted pleasantly about Hong Kong and Singapore’s weather, gossiped about various tycoons, and cheerfully arranged to visit a nearby gym on Friday evening, tacitly retreating to collegial friendship.
Ding Zhitong wasn’t surprised. It reminded her of past workplace romances – a spark existed, but quickly faded with time and distance.
She thought of her gray Mustang 2.3T parked in East Man’s underground garage, an impulsive purchase from last year. Rarely driven, she would disconnect the battery’s negative terminal before leaving Shanghai. This tip from a former traveler proved ineffective; the charge still drained by 10% monthly, leaving the car’s start-up uncertain after extended absences.
She realized relationships were similar. At least one person needed to make a foolish, irrational decision to grow closer for a future to exist. But such reckless acts became rare after youth passed. Perhaps all these adults could hope for was fate’s special favor – when that spark ignited, both worlds aligned perfectly, preventing its immediate extinction.
After lunch, she messaged Song Mingmei, joking: “The chance to naturalize an American man and create a future female CEO candidate for Greater China is probably gone.”
Song Mingmei called immediately, asking, “What’s going on between you and Gan Yang?”
Ding Zhitong was stumped. If her battery theory held, her connection with Gan Yang had likely solidified. Their only advantage was that they had once acted foolishly and irrationally for each other, but whether they’d do so again remained uncertain.
The office was quiet, with colleagues nearby. She stepped into the stairwell and said, “It’s just that. I’m waiting to do a big deal with him.”
“Get together. Stop messing around,” Song Mingmei said bluntly.
Ding Zhitong laughed, “What’s wrong with you today? Are you shipping characters from a TV drama?”
Song Mingmei suddenly said, “Anyway, you can’t blame me for anything I do now.”
“Why’s that?” Ding Zhitong found this unreasonable, but before she could argue, Song Mingmei explained.
“Because I have cancer.” Her tone wasn’t serious, even carrying a hint of laughter.
Ding Zhitong paused, then scolded, “How can you joke about such things!?”
“It’s true, Tongtong. I have cancer,” Song Mingmei patiently explained, her voice still tinged with laughter. “Weren’t we supposed to have check-ups every November? I felt a lump recently, went for tests, and it’s stage 4C.”
“How… how is this possible? 4C isn’t cancer!” Ding Zhitong was stunned, unable to form complete sentences.
Song Mingmei comforted her instead: “The ultrasound and mammogram showed poor morphology, and there’s discharge. The doctor says malignancy is likely. But don’t worry, it’s early stage. After surgery and immediate treatment, I promise I won’t die.”
Tears welled up in Ding Zhitong’s eyes, barely containing her sobs.
Song Mingmei paused, then continued, “There’s one more thing. Listen to me, then support my decision. Don’t try to persuade me otherwise.”
“Go ahead,” Ding Zhitong wiped away tears, her voice slightly hoarse despite her efforts.
Song Mingmei’s voice remained calm and clear: “I’m divorcing Deng Baiting. We need to divide assets and settle custody of our two children. The whole process will take at least a year.”
True to her word, Ding Zhitong didn’t try to dissuade her or ask why. She realized she wasn’t entirely surprised; the signs had been there.
“Okay, I understand,” she replied, then asked, “Is there anything I can do to help? Please tell me.”
Song Mingmei responded, “No need to help. I just wanted to tell you because I knew you’d understand. Friends, parents, children – so many people around, always noisy, but when something happens, there’s no one to talk to.”
Ding Zhitong’s heart nearly broke. She silently wept, saying, “When’s your surgery? I’ll come back to Shanghai.”
Song Mingmei laughed, “Are you joking? Aren’t you working?”
Ding Zhitong sniffled, quickly finding a legitimate reason: “I was planning to discuss staying in Shanghai for a while with my boss. Hong Kong flights have been unreliable lately, making even business trips uncertain.”
“Really,” Song Mingmei refused, though she too began to cry, “I just needed someone to talk to. You don’t have to come back.”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m not doing this for you; I really need to go to Shanghai,” Ding Zhitong wiped her face and spoke firmly. “Tell me when your surgery is. I’ll be there with you.”
Both cried silently on either end of the phone, imagining similar scenes – racing to each other’s side in the dead of night on New York streets, all because of a single word. The carefree days of youth had passed, yet some still chose to act foolishly and irrationally, though not necessarily out of love.
After the call, Ding Zhitong went to the restroom, washed her face, reapplied her makeup, and immediately sought out Qin Chang to request leave.
On her way, she planned what to say. Qin Chang, as always, had arrived on an international flight that morning and was in the office hours later. Though likely tired, he didn’t appear particularly dejected.
Approaching her superior with a request required tact. Ding Zhitong first discussed her ongoing projects, all progressing smoothly. She emphasized the LT Group’s sales plan, which she believed could bring a series of transaction opportunities.
Qin Chang listened quietly, occasionally nodding, without offering much input.
Ding Zhitong wasn’t surprised; this had been their dynamic for the past two years. She no longer needed detailed guidance, and her periodic reports to Qin Chang had become a long-standing habit. She enjoyed watching him nod; it reassured her.
After discussing the projects, she proposed working in Shanghai for two months. Her reasoning: the aforementioned clients were all mainland-based, Hong Kong was chaotic, flights were being canceled, airport security was tight, and the metro occasionally suspended service. Many colleagues had opted for remote work. Her absence for two months wouldn’t significantly impact operations and would facilitate business trips.
Though somewhat suddenly, Qin Chang looked at her, smiled, nodded, and agreed.
Years of working together had built unshakeable trust between them. But each time Qin Chang reacted this way, Ding Zhitong felt touched.
Especially this time.
She recalled what Qin Chang had told her years ago when she first entered the industry: “Give yourself at least one day each week to rest properly and spend time with friends.”
Back then, she couldn’t have imagined maintaining such a long friendship with Song Mingmei. They were so different, initially viewing each other as temporary roommates. Later, they married, and Song Mingmei had children. They didn’t even live in the same city. Yet strangely, as people came and went in her life, Song Mingmei remained constant. Perhaps Qin Chang counted too, but in an entirely different way.
Qin Chang’s next words caught her off guard: “Email me your request today. I’m about to leave this place, so I can approve your application in my last two months here.”
“Where are you going?” Ding Zhitong blurted out.
“Beijing,” Qin Chang replied.
This answer confirmed something for her, as M Bank’s Greater China headquarters was there. Qin Chang had just returned from reporting in New York; this was a transfer.
Some said 2019 was Hong Kong’s worst year in the past decade, yet potentially the best for the coming decade, unlikely to recover soon. Qin Chang’s departure seemed logical, and she assumed he’d take her along.
Qin Chang, seeming to read her thoughts, smiled and shook his head: “It’s not a transfer. I’m planning to retire.”
Ding Zhitong was shocked, saying, “But you’re only…” She suddenly couldn’t remember his age.
Qin Chang smiled, fingers interlaced, “Of course, I won’t stop working entirely. A business school wants me to teach.”
Ding Zhitong felt like crying and laughing simultaneously. Crying because the person she thought would always be there, nodding as she reported, was suddenly leaving. Laughing because when she first met him, she thought he looked like a teacher, and now he was becoming one.
“My daughter is coming to China for university,” Qin Chang explained, gesturing to a photo frame on his desk.
“Is the business school where you’ll teach at the same university?” Ding Zhitong asked.
Qin Chang nodded.
Ding Zhitong said, “Do you think she wants that? Finally in college, with her father at the same school?”
She wasn’t sure if she was joking or trying to persuade Qin Chang not to leave.
Qin Chang laughed heartily, looking at her, “I’ll miss it too, but you can do it. You know you can.”
Ding Zhitong’s eyes welled up with tears once again.