Life is so strange. Some people seem so suitable at first, but as you walk together, things become completely different.
Sabotage. Jeopardize. Ding Zhitong thought again.
Aren’t you supposed to never mention your ex? But she still needed to bring it up. Because she knew this time was different from before. She wasn’t sabotaging, but building. As her therapist had once told her, it’s hard to start a long-term relationship without resolving past issues. She had already made this mistake once.
She married Feng Sheng in November 2008. They queued at the city hall, signed papers, and received an A4-sized document proving they were now husband and wife.
Theoretically, this should have been a major life change. But afterward, apart from giving up one apartment and moving in together, their lives didn’t change much.
They truly seemed suitable.
Ding Zhitong didn’t feel guilty about working late or traveling often, and Feng Sheng didn’t think there was anything wrong with her doing so. Their living habits were similar: they liked cleanliness but weren’t particular about food, often opting for takeout. There was even that detail Song Mingmei had mentioned—two Shanghai natives not needing to speak Mandarin in bed. Unfortunately, Ding Zhitong didn’t see this as an advantage; she couldn’t remember saying anything during the process.
During that time, she was very busy with work, almost always traveling. The miles she accumulated in a year were enough for round-trip tickets between China and the U.S. for Feng Sheng’s parents. As some in the industry said, in good years, the annual bonus could buy a car or a house. In bad years, they might be even busier, but with no results to show for it.
Of course, Feng Sheng was working hard too.
He had done various short-term jobs and applied to several schools for MBA programs. The competition was predictably fierce. That year, countless people in the financial industry were laid off. The best proof was the number of people who had time to write books, resulting in many financial classics being published in 2009.
Finally, Feng Sheng was admitted to a business school in Philadelphia, starting in the fall of 2009.
To save on tuition, he chose a one-year program. Due to the compressed schedule, the pace was very tight. Fortunately, with his background in mathematics and finance, the courses weren’t too difficult for him, but they still took up a lot of time. From Monday to Friday, 8 AM to 7 PM, there was no hope for a day without classes or an early afternoon finish. Even weekends were spent on reading and group assignments.
The first four months were all core courses. He had no time to return to New York, and Ding Zhitong had no time to visit Philadelphia, but they felt this was normal. There were more older classmates than in previous years, with many in their thirties already having families. Everyone was living like this.
Feng Sheng just joked with Ding Zhitong on the phone, saying that most of these people had worked for several years, many with management experience. In the past, it would have been a rare networking opportunity, but now it was just a group of unemployed friends discussing leadership, with only frustration and absurdity behind their bravado.
They endured two semesters this way. Feng Sheng was lucky to catch the employment boom when the market recovered in 2010. He interviewed at a hedge fund on Wall Street. There were still many people waiting in the lobby, but there were also many vacancies. In the end, he got a summer internship position, finally able to return to New York.
He once again promised Ding Zhitong that they would have a good life in the future. He even started planning to buy a house in New York, looked at several properties, and compared the pros and cons of various repayment plans. He asked for Ding Zhitong’s opinion, but she didn’t know. Although everything seemed within reach, she found it hard to imagine living there long-term. Plus, housing prices were still falling, so they kept putting off the decision.
In June of that year, Feng Sheng’s parents came to New York using the air miles Ding Zhitong had accumulated. Like many Chinese parents, they brought money to help with the down payment on a house.
On the last night before they left, the whole family gathered at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Yan Aihua was there too, and the atmosphere was harmonious.
Feng Sheng’s mother had probably had a bit too much to drink, or perhaps she didn’t realize how inappropriate her words would sound. In any case, it wasn’t until that day that Ding Zhitong learned that even before she and Feng Sheng got married, his mother had gone to speak with a bank executive—Guan Wenyuan’s father—to arrange a position for Feng Sheng at C Bank’s New York branch. But Feng Sheng hadn’t taken it.
When those words were spoken, Feng Sheng wanted to interrupt, but it was too late.
He turned to look at Ding Zhitong, but she avoided his gaze, not wanting to see his panicked expression.
During the meal, she showed no reaction, even maintaining a friendly conversation on the surface. In her mind, though, she calculated the dates—this had happened after she had suggested marriage to him, but before they had obtained their marriage certificate.
That night, after leaving the restaurant, Yan Aihua drove back to Long Island. Ding Zhitong and Feng Sheng took his parents to their hotel and then walked back to their apartment.
Along the way, they walked under the Queens elevated train line, with trains rumbling past every few minutes. Feng Sheng kept trying to make conversation, talking about tomorrow’s arrangements for seeing his parents off at the airport, asking if she had anything she wanted to send back to Shanghai for her father. Ding Zhitong only responded with, “I see. Nothing to send.”
Back at their place, Feng Sheng brought up the house-buying again, saying, “I think the apartment being built at Skyview is the most suitable. Shall we make an appointment with the sales agent to take another look next weekend?”
Ding Zhitong merely responded, “Sure, if you think it’s good, that’s fine. I have no opinion.” Halfway through her sentence, she had already opened her laptop to work overtime.
Feng Sheng looked at her but said nothing more.
The next day, they saw his parents off at the airport together. By the time they returned, it was quite late. As usual, they found a nearby Hong Kong-style cafe to sit down for a meal. Ding Zhitong ordered beef with scrambled eggs over rice, while Feng Sheng had a combo meal with two braised dishes.
As the food arrived and they ate face to face, Feng Sheng suddenly asked, “Do you remember this place?” Ding Zhitong shook her head, not because she didn’t remember, but because she didn’t understand why he was asking. In Flushing, such small restaurants were everywhere. They rarely cooked, eating out every day at one place or another. What was there to remember or not?
Feng Sheng fell silent again. Ding Zhitong sensed something was off but didn’t pay much attention to it.
Recently, while he had been studying in Philadelphia and she had been frequently traveling for work, they sometimes went a month or two without seeing each other. On the rare occasions, they video-called or spoke on the phone, she would talk about her work, and he would talk about things at school. Fortunately, they were in the same field, so there was no worry about not having common topics.
Now, he had returned to New York for his internship and had an income. They were together again. Just as both sets of parents believed, everything was improving, gradually getting on track for a middle-class couple.
She felt she had nothing to complain about. Even if conversations fell flat, it was just a normal part of life. From now until the future, most people will spend their entire lives this way.
But Feng Sheng didn’t see it that way. He suddenly took her hand and said, “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you. I should have asked when you suggested we get married here.”
Ding Zhitong put down her chopsticks, finally remembering that autumn night over a year ago when she had proposed to him right here, saying, “Why don’t we get married?”
Now, in the early summer over a year later, in the same place, facing the same food, Feng Sheng looked at her and asked, “Is this a real marriage or a fake one?”
Ding Zhitong was stunned, not knowing how to answer. Her first reaction was anger, thinking, “I didn’t even want to pursue this, and now you’re asking me?”
“What do you think?” she asked Feng Sheng in return. “Real marriage or fake marriage, don’t you know yourself?”
Feng Sheng unexpectedly asked her, “Then why are you giving me that look?”
Ding Zhitong found it absurd and said, “Don’t you feel you’ve done anything wrong by deceiving me?”
Feng Sheng didn’t answer. After a moment of silence, he spoke again: “If I had told you then, would you still have married me?”
Ding Zhitong was taken aback, then asked him in return, “Why didn’t you try and find out?”
Feng Sheng fell silent. Ding Zhitong looked at him and suddenly realized that this situation had formed a paradox. If she accused him of deception, then she had equally deceived him.
In an instant, her mind was flooded with memories of that phone call just before the 2009 Spring Festival. Gan Yang, thousands of miles away, had told her, “If you’ve truly fallen for someone else, I wish you happiness. But what you’re doing now… do you have any idea how much it’s breaking my heart?”
At the time, his words seemed utterly absurd. She had simply chosen the most suitable person to marry, as everyone did. It wasn’t until now that she first clearly realized her mistake.
Was there still time? Or was it too late? Countless chaotic thoughts crashed down on her. A decision so insignificant in the grand scheme of things was enough to cause an earth-shattering collapse in her heart.
She recounted the events that followed with extreme brevity.
She proposed divorce, but Feng Sheng disagreed. In the time that followed, he treated her exceptionally well, causing her to hesitate. However, she eventually felt it wasn’t right and sought to end things. He then changed his approach, secretly transferring all her money and hiding her passport, preventing her from finding another place to live. The two argued and struggled, back and forth. Finally, she made up her mind and left New York for Hong Kong with Qin Chang.
On the day she left, Feng Sheng followed her to the apartment building, gripping her tightly, his knuckles turning white. Ding Zhitong felt pain and told him to let go. Even the driver noticed something was amiss and asked if she needed help. Only then did Feng Sheng release her, watching as she got into the car and drove away.
“Where is he now?” Gan Yang suddenly asked at this point.
“Why do you ask?” Ding Zhitong laughed, thinking to herself, ‘Are you going to beat him up?’
“I remember telling you before,” she calmly explained, “we were both at fault in this matter. Besides, divorce is always ugly, but it’s all in the past now.”
“Have you seen him since?” Gan Yang asked after a moment of silence, his voice deep and slow.
Ding Zhitong nodded and replied, “I saw him once a long time ago, in 2015, in Shanghai.”
She had come from Hong Kong on a business trip to meet a client, arranging to meet at M1NT on Fuzhou Road. By coincidence, she encountered Feng Sheng again.
He was sitting in a window booth, surrounded by many people. She hadn’t noticed him until she was leaving and passed by, hearing his voice. The voice was familiar, but the tone was somewhat strange. He was talking about a woman he had just met who claimed to have worked for his boss in New York, and his boss had once dated Miranda Kerr.
“If I sleep with her, does that count as indirectly sleeping with Miranda Kerr?” he asked, and the whole table erupted in laughter.
Then he saw Ding Zhitong. He sat there, momentarily stunned. She nodded to him and turned to leave.
“Ding Zhitong!”
As she waited for the elevator, he rushed out, accompanying her to the ground floor and then waiting with her for a taxi in the lobby. He was dressed more elegantly than before, wearing an expensive watch, with a woody fragrance. It seemed he had something to say to her, but apart from a few polite exchanges, he said nothing.
Finally, Ding Zhitong spoke first: “When did you come back?”
“Last year…” Feng Sheng replied, then went on to detail his recent situation.
He had been assigned to Shanghai, working for a trading company dealing with precious metals, rubber, and soybean meal imports and exports. In reality, it was a wholly-owned subsidiary of the hedge fund he had worked for in New York, and he was still doing quantitative and hedge trading.
The company had rented a serviced apartment for him at Yonghe on Shimen First Road, where he was currently living. Last year, he had also bought a fully furnished flat in Zhabei, though it was far from his workplace and his parents were unwilling to live there, so he had given the keys directly to an agent to arrange for a rental.
“Handling hundreds of millions every day broadens your horizons,” he said self-mockingly. “The houses I liked in Jing’an cost fifty or sixty million, and you have to rush to pay the deposit or they’re gone in the blink of an eye. But I’m just an employee after all, not like those who can easily afford it. To put all my savings plus a thirty-year mortgage into it, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Ding Zhitong wasn’t very familiar with the area, but she had some ideas. Knowing that Fengyang Road crossed both Huangpu and Jing’an districts, she guessed from his words that his family’s old villa was probably in the Jing’an section.
She didn’t quite understand why Feng Sheng was telling her all this, and he seemed to realize he had strayed far from the topic. But whenever the conversation lulled, he would continue along these lines.
It was a Friday night, and taxis were hard to find. After waiting for a long time at the bottom of the building, Ding Zhitong decided to take the subway instead.
Before saying goodbye, Feng Sheng said, “You look really good.”
“So do you,” she returned the compliment. She had always thought he was well-suited to this industry, and after a few years, he looked even more like someone from that circle.
Feng Sheng shook his head and softly called out, “Tongtong…”
Ding Zhitong seemed to guess what he was about to say and interrupted, “I’ve always wanted to apologize to you. I was the one who made a mistake back then. I’m sorry.”
These words were sincere. Even before they got married, Song Mingmei had warned her that what she was doing wasn’t fair to Feng Sheng.
“Don’t say that…” Feng Sheng replied.
Ding Zhitong just smiled and added, “You’re right, let’s leave the past in the past.”
After saying this, she walked out of the building, the hem of her coat fluttering in the winter night wind. She didn’t look back, thinking they would never have a chance to meet again.
Until June of that year, when the A-shares market crashed, with 1,500 stocks in Shanghai and Shenzhen hitting their daily limit.
The trading company Feng Sheng worked for was named, all trading accounts were ordered to cease operations, and he, as the head trader, was taken in by the Economic Crime Investigation Unit to assist with the investigation. His parents, unfamiliar with such situations, desperately called Ding Zhitong, asking if she had any way to help. Of course, Ding Zhitong had no solution, but she comforted them and helped them find a lawyer.
Fortunately, it turned out to be a false alarm. When the investigation results came out, officials characterized the incident as a foreign-owned enterprise without QFII qualification illegally investing in A-shares, but not involving market manipulation or malicious short-selling. There would be a follow-up review by the Securities Regulatory Commission, which was mainly a matter of administrative fines.
After the matter was completely resolved, Feng Sheng sent a WeChat message to thank her. Ding Zhitong replied with a simple “No need to thank me” and joked with him, saying that the news of Zhabei merging into Jing’an had been officially announced, easily realizing his dream of owning a house in Jing’an.
Feng Sheng sent a rueful emoji, and after a while, followed up with: “I now realize that when you said the past is past, you meant it. You don’t care at all anymore.”
Ding Zhitong wanted to say sorry again, but in the end, she just sent a vague emoji.
There was no reply from his side, and she knew this time it was truly over. Life is strange like that; some people seem so suitable at first, but as you walk along, everything changes completely.