In 2007, he was confident in his uniqueness, always believing that if he were to tackle this task, it would yield results.
Gan Yang first saw Ding Zitong at a gathering in early autumn last year.
It was in a two-story bar in Ithaca, packed with students. Arriving late, he stood at the entrance, peering inside. That’s when he caught sight of her profile. Her hair was fine and soft, yet straight and smooth, falling to her mid-neck. When she lowered her head, it cascaded down, seemingly immune to dishevelment.
He remembered she wore a navy blue hoodie that day, sleeves slightly rolled up, revealing a portion of her forearms, pale as if they’d never seen sunlight. He also recalled seeing her stand up, her legs in straight-cut jeans showing no visible muscle definition, like strokes from a manga artist’s pen.
At that moment, he thought, “Those legs would be great for running.”
He typically preferred naturally tanned skin and toned curves, while she was the antithesis of his aesthetic. At least, that’s what he believed at the time.
Later, he learned her name through the “Mochi” app’s two-choice game.
Song Mingmei had sent test invitations to every Chinese international student at Cornell. He received one too. When the results came out, he found it unbelievable – two people with nothing in common, matching on all ten questions. Surely the website’s algorithm was flawed.
“Mochi,” mimicking Facebook, required users to register with real names and photos. Seeing her picture, he realized she was the one from the gathering. Surprisingly, his initial impression of her hadn’t faded at all.
The system automatically suggested her as a friend. He took the initiative to send a greeting message, though he’s not sure what possessed him. Like a grade schooler giving a female classmate a nickname, he called her “Ding Straight-leg,” thinking it clever.
She didn’t reply for days, and he realized his mistake. He considered apologizing, but whenever he saw her on campus – whether heading to class, eating, or going to the library – she always seemed in a hurry, either with an unapproachable expression or accompanied by Feng Sheng.
Unsure how to approach her, he kept putting it off until she finally replied, giving him a nickname too. He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he’d worried for nothing and that she didn’t mind. But when he messaged her again, she never responded.
“Ah Gump,” he quite liked this nickname, and even changed his English name accordingly, as a gesture of love and peace.
In his impression, Ding Zitong was plain, her clothing equally so. Prints or bright colors never appeared on her. Sometimes he’d see her eating a sandwich alone on the bridge, gazing into the distance with a rare relaxed expression, or walking down the street, cupping a hot drink with both hands, shoulders drawn in, looking as thin as paper, making him want to fold her up and hide her in his palm. He didn’t understand this feeling, finding it strange yet persistent.
During those moments, he always wanted to go over and greet her, but worried she might be dull, and they’d struggle to find conversation topics. Feng Sheng was also a concern – was he her boyfriend or not? Sometimes Gan Yang thought so, other times not, leaving him conflicted and hesitant to make a move.
It wasn’t until they talked during the interview day, shared a meal, and drank caramel apple juice that he realized his misconception. She wasn’t bland at all. They could chat, moving from one topic to another, and even moments of silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. Moreover, he confirmed that Feng Sheng wasn’t her boyfriend, as she never had such relaxed body language or smiled that way when with him.
Gan Yang had attended high school in America, dating classmates since he was fifteen. Even with Chinese girls, he followed local customs, with goodbye kisses almost being standard procedure. That night, walking Ding Zitong back, he had intended to do something, but found his palms sweaty, so he just stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and waved them at her. Recalling this now, he could hardly believe he had made such a gesture – hands in pockets, waving at her to hurry inside…
He should have realized how foolish he looked while making that gesture, just like when he messaged her on “Mochi” calling her “Ding Straight-leg.”
And when she agreed to go running with him, the two pats he gave her on the back were too forceful. He clearly remembered her thin shoulders under his big hands and her startled reaction.
Thinking of these things, Gan Yang closed his eyes and sighed deeply, not noticing the steps beneath his feet. He stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face.
Just from the road conditions, he knew he had entered Harlem. He remembered Wang Yi’s warnings but found them amusing. It wasn’t that scary here; the cheap rent attracted many students who deliberately chose this neighborhood to save money. Someone as frugal as Ding Zitong would probably make the same choice if she were studying at Columbia.
His thoughts scattered, yet always returned to her. “Have you ever met someone as money-obsessed as me?” He suddenly recalled her asking him this. In the pitch-black night, he grinned to himself, then turned back, valuing his life.
After completing his run, Gan Yang returned sweaty and jumped into the shower. Wang Yi was sitting under the lamp, like a caring mother, sewing the bib number onto his race shirt.
“I told Director Liu about the lab,” Gan Yang called out from the bathroom.
“Hmm…” Wang Yi didn’t speak, just hummed to indicate she’d heard.
Gan Yang had discussed this with Wang Yi long ago – what equipment and personnel would be needed to set up a sports biomechanics lab? Wang Yi hadn’t taken it seriously, giving him figures for the most basic setup: an experimental track, 3D motion capture system, sports mechanics analysis system, laser speed measurement, and high-speed cameras. Besides these, they’d need researchers and athletes to repeatedly simulate various scenarios, using sensors to collect motion data like speed, angles, and impact forces, then build models for 3D analysis.
Gan Yang listened attentively and added a few more items: “Designers, technicians, separate molds for prototypes…”
Wang Yi said, “It all comes down to money.”
“Roughly how much?” Gan Yang asked.
“It depends on what exactly you want to do,” Wang Yi looked at him, wondering what this kid was up to.
Gan Yang answered, “Make shoes, of course.”
“Are you serious?” Wang Yi looked at him as if he were crazy. Many runners liked collecting shoes, and they were no exception, but making shoes was a different matter entirely.
“Of course I’m serious,” Gan Yang nodded. He quickly drafted a business plan, analyzing the risks and drawbacks of the OEM profit model and the necessity of developing their brand as soon as possible. His ultimate goal was clear – to get money from Director Liu. Back when he chose to study finance in college, it was at Director Liu’s suggestion, not for future job prospects, but because her friends’ children were all studying it. Gan Yang hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now he felt it might be somewhat useful.
Wang Yi had seen that business plan. It was written in layman’s terms, but she still didn’t take it seriously. Business students were always writing these things, 99.9999% of which ended up in computer recycle bins or the shredders in professors’ offices.
Until this night, when Gan Yang emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet, looking down at her and asking, “How long until you graduate?”
Wang Yi calculated and said, “About a year and a half.” He was in his fourth year of his Ph.D., and if all went well, he could submit his dissertation next year.
Gan Yang then asked, “What are your plans after graduation?”
“I’m not sure, maybe find a post-doc position somewhere for a while,” Wang Yi replied. His specialty was quite a niche, and there wasn’t much manufacturing industry in the Northeast. The nearest relevant corporate lab was in Portland, so he didn’t know where he’d end up.
But Gan Yang had already thought it through for him, nodding and saying, “Hmm, by the time you finish your Ph.D., it should be about right.”
“What should be about right?” Wang Yi didn’t understand.
Gan Yang answered, “To be the first researcher I hire, of course.”
Wang Yi was stunned, increasingly feeling that this guy’s initial approach to him had ulterior motives, like cultivating a relationship for two years.
Gan Yang went even further, saying, “If you’re willing, you’d be my partner.”
This wording made Wang Yi shudder, nearly pricking his finger. No one had ever said such a thing to him before.
Director Liu had made a similar attempt five years ago. She went to Shanghai to recruit people, visiting Fudan University’s biology department, medical school, and the Shanghai University of Sport. She offered very generous terms, saying that as long as they came, they wouldn’t need to do anything besides research, and someone would even brew their morning tea for them – these were Director Liu’s exact words.
Gan Yang could almost imagine the awkward expressions on the faces of the university faculty and students. Their research directions had nothing to do with making shoes, and Director Liu didn’t know what needed to be done, unable to even put forth specific requirements. She did this only because some peers in the industry were considering similar moves, and at the time, the OEM business was doing very well, giving her extra money to try something new. Unfortunately, she never found suitable people, and the matter was dropped. Similarly, there was a trend of hiring high-salaried professional managers from foreign companies, but after trying and finding them unsuitable, that idea was abandoned too.
To this day, five years later, Director Liu still only did OEM work. The so-called “R&D centers” of other local shoe factories were still engaged in research that involved dismantling and imitating branded products. The bosses with their brands still preferred to splurge on celebrity endorsements and advertising bids. With the 2008 Beijing Olympics approaching, their shared goals were to dominate the five minutes before and after CCTV news broadcasts and open more stores in third-tier and lower cities.
But Gan Yang felt he was different from those people. More accurately, the 2007 version of him was confident in his uniqueness, always believing that if he were to tackle this task, it would yield results.
That night, he slept on the couch in Wang Yi’s small apartment. He slept well but had many strange dreams.
The timeline in his dreams was chaotic and reversed. A second felt as long as a lifetime, while a decade passed in the blink of an eye. At times he was running under the chestnut trees in Ithaca, at others he was back in his hometown, meeting many people, doing many things, and saying many words. But upon waking, he couldn’t remember any of it.