Song Mingmei still believed in Pareto improvements, but Deng Baiting had long since violated this principle.
Leaving Qin Chang’s office, Ding Zhitong returned to her desk and dialed Gan Yang’s number.
“Gan Yang—” The call connected quickly, but she suddenly forgot what to say next.
Sensing something amiss, he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ding Zhitong composed herself. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve revised the sales materials and would like to schedule another meeting with Dr. Chen to discuss them.”
After a brief pause, Gan Yang replied, “Alright. I’ll let you know as soon as we set a date.”
Ding Zhitong thanked him, adding, “Please give us a few days’ notice if possible. Flights from Hong Kong have been unreliable lately.”
“Understood,” he agreed.
Ding Zhitong had nothing else to say and hung up, her mind full of thoughts about Qin Chang and Song Mingmei, especially the latter.
After finishing work early, she returned to her apartment and video called Song Mingmei.
On-screen, Song Mingmei appeared to be in good spirits. She had finished dinner and was at home with her children. Yu Qi was practicing piano while Yu Lin caused mischief nearby, their occasional squabbles audible. Song Mingmei intervened in her usual tone as if nothing had changed.
Ding Zhitong remembered something Song Mingmei once said: “You think I can cry when I get home? Think again.”
Children are lovely, but motherhood can be cruel. Once in that role, anger, fear, sadness, and timidity must all be hidden away.
Song Mingmei knew why Ding Zhitong had called and soon took her phone to another room.
Ding Zhitong said, “Let me see your test results.”
“Why?” Song Mingmei laughed. “That’s my personal information.”
Ding Zhitong persisted: “What privacy? I’ve shown you mine before.”
Reluctantly, Song Mingmei searched for the reports and sent several photos. They described “a solid mass with spiculated, lobulated margins and blurred edges.” The doctor recommended surgical removal followed by a biopsy. If confirmed malignant, radiotherapy and chemotherapy would be necessary.
Ding Zhitong couldn’t understand the medical jargon, having only recently researched online. She recalled a metaphor comparing each round of chemo and radiation to a gasoline bomb detonating in the body, engulfing the patient in flames. Survival depended on one’s constitution and willpower.
Unsure if this description was exaggerated, she could only offer weak words of comfort: “I’ve read several articles saying the cure rate for this is very high now. Just treat it like a chronic illness and don’t focus too much on its name.”
Song Mingmei noticed Ding Zhitong’s avoidance of the word “cancer” and smiled, “That’s not what the doctor said.”
“What did the doctor say?” Ding Zhitong asked.
Years ago, when they first became “illness friends,” Song Mingmei had heard about an incredibly handsome male doctor in the breast surgery department of a Shanghai hospital. She’d insisted on seeing him but ended up with a female doctor for follow-ups, who must have been exceptional.
Song Mingmei seemed to recall her time in the doctor’s office before answering, “She told me to take it very seriously, to treat it like going to war, not as a joke.”
Ding Zhitong found the doctor’s words harsh. While it’s important to be tactically vigilant, isn’t such “seriousness” usually directed at patients’ families?
“Maybe it’s because you seemed too calm and didn’t need encouragement,” she rationalized the doctor’s attitude. “She wouldn’t say that to other patients.”
“Perhaps,” Song Mingmei explained. “The doctor noticed I always come alone and suggested having someone accompany me. She said the upcoming surgery and treatment might be too difficult to bear alone. But I’ve thought it through carefully. Good family members are the real support. Someone like Deng Baiting wouldn’t help my treatment and recovery at all. He might cry here today, but tomorrow some woman could be accusing me of hurting him deeply. Only by separating and discussing the split calmly, like business partners, will my anxiety disappear.”
Ding Zhitong was taken aback. “What woman? Accusing you of hurting him deeply?”
“More than one. His mother, and his current girlfriend,” Song Mingmei found it almost amusing, speaking as casually as if discussing two jujube trees outside her door.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Ding Zhitong realized this had been going on for some time.
Song Mingmei smiled, “I’d tell you about big things, but this didn’t seem worth mentioning.”
Ding Zhitong was speechless. Compared to a life-threatening illness, everything else indeed seemed trivial.
Divorce had been on Song Mingmei’s mind for a while, but the decision came suddenly after receiving her test results.
Before that, she had already known about Deng Baiting’s affair. Ironically, she never actively sought evidence; it found her.
The girl Deng had taken to a newly renovated apartment used the smart scale in the bathroom after their encounter. A weight reading of 45 kg was sent to Song Mingmei’s phone.
Song Mingmei reported an illegal entry, using the timestamp to request CCTV footage from the property management. Cross-referencing with company records revealed the woman as an employee from a startup Deng had signed last year.
Song Mingmei found herself uninterested in confrontations or accusations. Instead, she consulted a lawyer and approached Deng Baiting about divorce, armed with a draft agreement.
Caught off guard, Deng Baiting promised it wouldn’t happen again but also listed Song Mingmei’s shortcomings: not understanding him, not caring for him, not loving him enough. He suggested couples counseling.
It was at this moment that Song Mingmei received her 4C test results, strengthening her resolve to separate.
Deng begged, argued, and threatened. Eventually, his composure crumbled. He angrily moved out, taking his collection of figurines and a drawer full of luxury watches. The divorce proceedings began. His mother and the 45 kg girlfriend then confronted Song Mingmei, accusing her of deeply hurting Deng Baiting. The former told her to know when to stop, while the latter demanded she stop “harassing” Deng.
Ding Zhitong was appalled. “What kind of people are they? How can they say such things?”
Song Mingmei defended them somewhat: “It’s not entirely their fault. Deng Baiting must have told them I never loved him. He’s said the same to me.”
“What nonsense!” Ding Zhitong was furious. “He cheats, and somehow it’s your fault?”
Song Mingmei replied, “I’ve apologized to him for this.”
“Why on earth would you do that?!” Ding Zhitong grew anxious. “Please don’t tell me you’re going easy on him in the asset division.”
“How could I?” Song Mingmei found the idea absurd. “If he says I don’t love him, fine, I’ll take the blame. But as his partner, both in business and family, I have a clear conscience. I’ve said ‘sorry,’ now it’s time to divide the money, the company, and settle child custody. I’m confident about all of these. We’ll proceed as we should.”
“That’s the you I know.” Ding Zhitong was relieved but recognized the apology as sarcasm. She remembered Song Mingmei’s expression in that Queens apartment when she said Deng reminded her of Tintin and the joke at their wedding. The current lack of love was simply the result of gradual erosion.
Indeed, Song Mingmei often thought of the past during this time.
She recalled the phone call from Deng Baiting after the Benjamin incident, telling her “Mo Qi” had surpassed 10 million views and saying, “I’ll come get you. Wait for me.” Although he never actually went to New York, it was still the most touching thing she’d ever heard.
Later, when Mo Qi’s lawsuit reached an impasse, she quit her job in Hong Kong to help Deng negotiate. In the end, the other party finally conceded, offering them favorable acquisition terms.
“Should we accept?” she asked Deng Baiting.
Deng Baiting, already mentally exhausted, saw this as an unexpected blessing and said, “I think we should.”
Song Mingmei explained clearly: “The current terms are acceptable, but you should know that once we sell, we lose control. Moreover, given their underhanded business style, even though they’re offering shares and positions, do you see a good future in this cooperation and development?”
Deng Baiting clicked his tongue and said, “Of course, I understand all that, but they’re a big company. How can we compete with them? It’s a chance to cash out and secure our finances.”
Song Mingmei looked at him, realizing he didn’t understand at all. Mo Qi was doing well and had developed its style. The big company just wanted to integrate it into a Chinese Facebook clone, swallowing it whole.
But Deng Baiting had decided to sell out, believing that exchanging years of hard work for financial freedom was enough.
Thinking back, even Song Mingmei found it strange. Initially, she had disapproved of the project, seeing problems everywhere. All the adjustments and packaging were aimed at being acquired. Yet when it came time to sell, she was more reluctant than Deng Baiting.
Deng Baiting tried to persuade her: “We’ll worry about the future later. With money, I can always do something else.”
Looking back now, Song Mingmei realized she had already begun to lose faith in Deng Baiting then. At the time, selling Mo Qi seemed the most logical choice, just as accepting Deng Baiting’s proposal had been the most reasonable decision.
Unfortunately, Deng never accomplished much afterward. With money came insecurity, and he constantly needed validation. Song Mingmei, knowing him too well, couldn’t provide this, making subsequent events almost inevitable.
Marriage is difficult. The initial “heart flutter” had long since worn away, and the remaining “reasonableness” was far from enough. Recognizing her mistake, she sought to correct it. Her “sorry” was meant for both him and herself.
She continued telling Ding Zhitong: “Even my parents think I’ve lost my mind, insisting on divorce at a time like this. They tell me, ‘Deng Baiting cried in front of you. What more do you want?'”
“He had the nerve to cry?” Ding Zhitong was surprised.
“I never told him about my illness, only my parents. At first, they thought he had abandoned me and called to berate him. Then he came here crying,” Song Mingmei’s tone remained joking, genuinely amused this time. “Am I supposed to forgive him because he cried? Should I heed his mother’s advice and know when to stop? Or listen to his girlfriend and cease ‘hurting’ him?”
For others, this might have been an opportunity for reconciliation, but Song Mingmei wasn’t like others. After all these years, she still believed that interpersonal relationships must follow the economic principle of Pareto improvement, a rule Deng Baiting had long since broken.
Ding Zhitong agreed and blurted out, “Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.”
Song Mingmei could find the best doctors and hire the best nurses, but she lacked adequate support. Ding Zhitong could be that support.
Hearing this, Song Mingmei paused, then asked as she had earlier that day, “What about your work in Hong Kong?”
“I’ve already spoken with my boss. I’ll go to Shanghai next week and work there for a while,” Ding Zhitong explained, then thought of Qin Chang.
Just like New York in 2010, she once again felt that Hong Kong in 2019 held nothing worth staying for.