“Your journey in this industry isn’t over yet. Don’t think I’m taking you into retirement with me!”
In recent years, Ding Zhitong often dreamed of returning to the past.
The scenarios in her dreams were always absurd: unprepared for an exam, attending an interview in pajamas and slippers, or discovering insufficient funds when trying to buy something worth just a few dollars.
After such dreams, she would eagerly want to wake up, then breathe a sigh of relief, reassured that she wouldn’t face an exam unprepared, wouldn’t attend an interview in sleepwear, and had enough money in her bank account to buy anything she needed. She could even own the home she had always dreamed of, alone, perhaps even more suited to her tastes than one shared with someone else.
But today, she dreamed of the apartment in the Upper West Side. In the dream, she lay curled up on that bed, someone holding her from behind, gentle yet close. It was that moment between waking and sleeping when she could still hear the distant wail of sirens echoing through the night on Manhattan Island. Only this small corner remained quiet, embracing two people, with a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains onto their bodies. There was no other plot to the dream.
This dream was so mundane yet so real that as she began to wake, she mistakenly believed she had truly returned there. Eleven years seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, with that familiar embrace and touch once again within reach. She was reluctant to wake up, but after lingering, she finally opened her eyes.
It was already morning. Outside the window was Hong Kong’s ever-present sunlight and the noise of traffic rushing through the urban canyons. She reached for her phone on the bedside table, checked the time, then got up to dress.
Gan Yang had also woken up. They stood together in front of the bathroom mirror, just like old times, brushing their teeth. Ding Zhitong found him a replacement head for the electric toothbrush. As she washed her face, he brushed his teeth beside her. The bathroom was small, forcing them to squeeze together.
As she finished and was about to leave, he pulled her back, looking at her and asking, “Can you tell me now?”
“Tell you what?” she feigned ignorance.
“What happened?” He closed the door and gently probed, “Last night, when you argued with those people, you spoke as if you wouldn’t be here tomorrow.”
He had caught on again.
Ding Zhitong smiled. Her hand slid down his chest, then up to his ear as she whispered, “Your abs are looking good…”
Gan Yang grabbed her hand, saying, “Ding Zhitong, don’t try that with me.”
But it worked nonetheless. He was the first to give in, lowering his head to kiss her, but she also wrapped her arms around him, responding to his kiss.
They made love in the shower cubicle, the room filling with steam. Whether from the hot water or the intensity of their encounter, Ding Zhitong’s cheeks remained flushed long after she had dried off and blow-dried her hair. She checked the time and started to get dressed to leave.
“Where are you going?” Gan Yang asked, holding her back.
She turned and said, “Didn’t you teach me this trick? When things come to this, eat first, talk later. I have a dim sum appointment this morning.”
She had arranged to meet Qin Chang the day before.
Just as he had once taken her to eat breakfast at a Jewish-owned restaurant on Manhattan Island, this time it was her turn to treat him to dim sum at a teahouse in Central. From New York to Hong Kong, it felt like coming full circle.
Because she had been delayed before leaving, Qin Chang was already seated and looking at the dim sum menu when she arrived.
Ding Zhitong sat down, and they ordered food and tea together.
As the steamer baskets and small plates arrived, Qin Chang asked, “What did you want to tell me today?”
“Nothing much, just accepting reality,” Ding Zhitong smiled. “I wanted to thank you. In this industry, it’s been my good fortune to have a boss and mentor like you.”
The words might have sounded too formal, but they both knew they came from the heart.
Qin Chang continued to smile, then shook his head, saying, “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not because you’re lucky.”
Ding Zhitong didn’t understand.
Qin Chang sipped his tea slowly and continued, “When I first entered this field, I was just an unprepared science student who understood nothing but numbers and theories. I wondered what to do. I could only approach it as I did when solving problems, starting from the simplest, most fundamental logic to understand the unknown. For investment, this core is value. For interpersonal relationships, it’s cooperation.”
Ding Zhitong nodded as she listened. Qin Chang had told her these things before, more than once.
But this time, Qin Chang gave her a twist: “Over the years, I’ve met many people and said these same things many times. In reality, very few truly believed me. When I was nobody, they thought I was naive and would end up being taken advantage of. When I achieved some success, they assumed I was just feeding them empty platitudes to hide the real power and money transactions behind the scenes. They would be skeptical, probing, even suspecting I had ulterior motives. These reactions often led to chaotic results, increasing entropy. Encountering such people and situations frequently, sometimes even I would doubt myself. Was my thinking correct? Would my approach work? But you know what? I found I could always trust you. You’ve helped me a lot too.”
Ding Zhitong was moved by his words.
She had arranged this dim sum meeting simply to have a proper farewell, never expecting to feel on the verge of tears in this noisy restaurant.
“Also,” Qin Chang continued, “when you say meeting me ‘in this industry’ is lucky, don’t you also think this industry is just a playground for sophisticated self-interest? A group of non-productive people playing a zero-sum game, where one side’s gain is exactly the other side’s loss, the total sum always zero, contributing nothing to society, possibly even negative, dragging all of humanity down?”
Ding Zhitong’s eyes were still moist, but she laughed. Yes, she had thought this way after experiencing one absurd transaction after another, where the only purpose seemed to be for insiders to fleece others.
But Qin Chang wasn’t finished: “Regardless of the industry, everyone has such doubts. Some come earlier, some later. Some choose to walk away when they see something they can’t accept. Others revel in it. Many more just want a piece of the action, frustrated they’re not invited to play. But if you observe over a longer timeline, you’ll find things ultimately return to that simplest, most fundamental logic—true value will be rewarded, lies will be exposed, nothing has changed.”
Is that so? Ding Zhitong wasn’t sure, but she hoped Qin Chang was right.
She immediately thought of the example closest to her—Bian Jieming. Mr. Bian had rapidly accumulated wealth in the early 2000s, but just a few years later, he quickly lost his reputation. Though he wasn’t in prison yet, his reputation was as tarnished as the companies he had packaged. And while America might be “free,” lawsuits were far from cheap; the freedom he currently enjoyed came at a very high price.
Qin Chang continued his reminiscence, suddenly smiling as he said, “You’ve always been diligent with the tasks I’ve given you. But once, I could tell you were just going through the motions.”
“When was that?” Ding Zhitong asked anxiously, trying to recall but drawing a blank.
Qin Chang revealed the answer: “When I told you to see a therapist.”
Ding Zhitong felt embarrassed, not expecting him to bring up that incident again—he had sent her to therapy because of her romance with a client. At this moment, the topic seemed particularly ironic. She couldn’t be sure if Qin Chang had noticed something again.
“Did you think I was just trying to stop you from dating a client?” Qin Chang laughed, with a hint of self-deprecation. “That wasn’t it. I was also receiving counseling there at the time and found it enlightening because one of the simplest core beliefs I held had been shaken.”
“Which one?” Ding Zhitong asked, wondering if it was about value being the core of investment or cooperation being the core of interpersonal relationships.
But Qin Chang spoke of neither: “I had always believed that two completely different people could come together, but I discovered marriage was too difficult. Many trivial matters accumulate, and in the end, it just doesn’t work. But after it was all over and I looked back, I found I could still believe it. The core of marriage is love. Although I failed once, as long as it stems from this core, every second of the process is worthwhile, regardless of the outcome. And not all outcomes are unhappy.”
Ding Zhitong guessed he was referring to his daughter as the happy outcome.
That counseling had been enlightening for him, so he had asked her to go too. She had indeed just gone through the motions then, but later she also gained a lot.
In their ten years of working together, this was the second time Qin Chang had discussed such a personal topic with her. Perhaps it was because he was leaving, removing some inhibitions, but it went no further. When he spoke again, the conversation returned to work.
“Ding Zhitong,” he called her name solemnly, yet still joked with her, “Although I’m leaving, your journey in this industry isn’t over yet. Don’t think I’m taking you into retirement with me! You need to believe in yourself and in what you’re doing. Financial services may not create value directly, but in each transaction you facilitate, both parties achieve a Pareto improvement…”
Ding Zhitong suddenly laughed.
“What is it?” Qin Chang asked.
She replied, “Pareto improvement, a friend of mine also likes to say that.”
“Smart,” Qin Chang commented.
A day later, on Sunday evening, Ding Zhitong and Gan Yang flew to Shanghai together.
During these special times, airport security was tight. After getting out of the taxi, they had to undergo police checks, with only one piece of luggage allowed per ticket. After a long security process, they barely made it in time for boarding.
She honestly told him that she would only be working in Shanghai for two months. What she didn’t say was that she didn’t know what would happen after that.
But Gan Yang couldn’t help overthinking, asking her, “Where do you plan to live when you go back?”
“At my own home, of course,” Ding Zhitong replied, thinking to herself, “Where else, your place?”
Gan Yang was surprised and said, “I thought you would have bought a house in Hong Kong to settle down…”
“That was years ago. I had some money then and wanted to buy a house, but I couldn’t get permanent residency yet. Buying a house in Hong Kong would have meant an additional 30% tax,” Ding Zhitong explained.
“Where did you buy?” Gan Yang asked.
“Remember that house in Oriental Manhattan I told you about?” she brought up the old topic, partly intentionally.
Gan Yang paused, saying nothing.
Ding Zhitong assumed he had forgotten and felt slightly disappointed. She continued, “It’s quite an old development, right behind my grandmother’s old house. When it was being built, I was still in middle school and could see it every day. Later, when I went back to Shanghai on business trips, I didn’t have much time, but I went to see it once, thought it was okay, and bought it.”
To her surprise, Gan Yang looked at her and said, “You know what? I’m living in Oriental Manhattan now.”
What? She laughed, thinking he was joking.
“Wang Yi’s lab is in Caohejing, and LT Capital’s Shanghai office is also rented there, so I live nearby,” he explained.
“Caohejing isn’t that close,” she said, deliberately nitpicking.
“It’s not far either,” Gan Yang returned the same reasoning to her. “I didn’t have much time then either. I only knew about that development, went to see it once, thought it was okay, and bought it.”
“Which year?” she asked.
“2016. You?” he asked in return.
“Earlier than you,” she said vaguely.
“Which year?” he insisted on knowing.
“2014,” she answered, then asked, “How much did you pay?”
They then exchanged the unit prices they had paid, used their phones to calculate the appreciation, and inquired about building numbers and floor levels. They discovered they were in adjacent buildings, and it was possible that from his living room, one could see her kitchen.