Gan Yang didn’t give her a peach; instead, he wanted her to measure the stars and sea.
The Spring Festival holiday was extended again and again, lasting until mid-February. With no end in sight to work and business suspensions, schools announced postponed reopenings, and news of lockdowns in newly infected areas kept coming. Under these circumstances, international flights were gradually suspended, and the United States began restricting entry for travelers from China.
The ex-husband from Long Island called Yan Aihua, saying, “Do you regret it now?”
It wasn’t clear if he was urging her to return or just trying to irritate her.
Yan Aihua, with her green card, could still enter the United States. She had already booked her return flight, but his words provoked her. In a fit of temper, she canceled her ticket and decided not to leave.
Ding Zhitong initially wanted to persuade her mother, thinking that while she could do without the dim-witted man, the travel agency was still there – after all, it was her life’s work of over twenty years.
However, Yan Aihua saw things clearly and explained, “Why should I go back now? My business was mainly leading Chinese tour groups. There won’t be any business now. I might as well stay here with my family.”
Her reasoning made sense, but Ding Zhitong also knew that she had already moved in with Old Ding. She decided to keep quiet about it, waiting for them to announce it officially someday.
Compared to the ex-husband from Long Island, the boss’s wife from Queens was much more concerned about her mahjong friend who had returned to China. She often asked Yan Aihua on WeChat how the situation in Shanghai was. She even sent two boxes of N95 masks to do her bit to help.
However, fate had other plans. Whether it was because the boss’s wife chose sea freight to save money or because international parcels were particularly slow during that period, the masks hadn’t arrived by the time the epidemic in China was largely under control. Instead, New York started showing signs of trouble.
Word spread that hospitals were full of patients, with shortages of wards, ventilators, and even basic protective equipment for medical staff. The boss’s wife had expanded her health product MLM business online, with thousands of WeChat friends. After showing off her mask donations to China on her Moments, she was accused of running a side business and stealing American epidemic prevention materials. This infuriated her so much that she ignored her sales performance and directly blocked a batch of people.
But compared to anger, fear prevailed. Not far from her rented apartment was a hospital in Queens. During that period, white and blue bags were being transported out every day. Initially, they used gurneys, but later switched to forklifts, moving from the morgue to transport vehicles, truckload after truckload.
Statistical data always lagged behind eyewitness observations. By the end of February, the number of confirmed cases and deaths in the United States began to soar.
The boss’s wife also considered returning to China, but after checking ticket prices, she gave up. Regular tickets that used to cost a few thousand dollars had soared to ten or twenty thousand, and they were hard to come by. Wealthier people around her were already discussing chartering business jets to return to China.
Yan Aihua watched this reversal unfold through news and WeChat Moments. Besides being surprised, she wanted to call her ex-husband in Long Island and throw his words back at him: “How about now? Do you regret it?”
Then, with a twist, add: “Oh, right, regret is useless. You can’t come back.”
The thought alone was satisfying.
But in the end, she didn’t make the call, feeling it wasn’t worth it.
She only reminisced to Ding Zhitong, saying, “The year I went abroad, do you know how long the queue was outside the U.S. Consulate on Huaihai Middle Road for visa applications? When people got their visas and came out, a group would cheer. Some who were rejected cried on the spot. Thinking about it now, it seems like madness…”
After a pause, she sighed, “Almost thirty years have passed. What have we been fussing about?”
Ding Zhitong jokingly comforted her mother, saying, “Don’t think like that. We’re all the same, bustling about for money. Even now, people fake divorces to buy houses, don’t they?”
She had many thoughts of her own. She knew her parents had separated for a “better financial future,” but looking back now, it seemed like a fleeting dream. But who could predict the future? And the hardships along the way weren’t meaningless. It’s never too late to start over, and all of one’s experiences in life are never in vain.
Although the epidemic in China had been brought under control, preventive measures weren’t relaxed, and the impact on various industries remained enormous.
For instance, the incubator run by Deng Baiting and Song Mingmei invested in startups. After a month of work stoppage, many couldn’t hold on, and there was no end in sight for when normal operations could resume. Some were laying off large numbers of employees, some had partners disagreeing to the point of falling out, and some CEOs simply went missing. When finally found, one was in the hospital – not due to the epidemic, but because of excessive stress leading to anxiety disorder with physical symptoms, including tics and nystagmus, making work impossible.
For these small businesses, such a halt could mean never reopening. And the incubator providing angel round investments would suffer along with them. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be likely for all ten invested companies to fail, but with the epidemic, total loss was a real possibility.
Deng Baiting still had his old temper, prone to acting on impulse when faced with problems. Suddenly, various disputes emerged, and over a dozen cases were waiting to go to court with the invested companies.
Song Mingmei, however, joined a cultural media company at this time. Established less than six months ago with only five people, it focused on film and TV creation and commercial photography. They had just started to make a small profit before the New Year but unexpectedly ran into the epidemic. Unable to obtain work resumption permits, they couldn’t complete their signed commercial shooting contracts, facing breach of contract compensation. With rent and salaries still needing to be paid and only a few tens of thousands left in the account, they were on the brink of collapse.
Song Mingmei gave them a sum of money for a 20% stake, then came up with an idea. She suggested they apply to their local street office to volunteer to produce video materials for anti-epidemic activities. This way, they obtained one of the first work resumption permits on February 10th.
She also reopened her “Huajie Mingmei” account and started producing finance-related videos about 10 minutes long. She reasoned that with so many people idle at home, they would need entertainment. After watching too much pure entertainment content, people might feel guilty, so knowledge-based content would surely have a market.
Ding Zhitong agreed with this view. Moreover, at that time, the number of confirmed cases in Italy and the United States was climbing, and international passenger and cargo transportation was greatly reduced due to the epidemic. Oil prices were already falling, and with her gambler’s intuition, she felt that the U.S. stock market wouldn’t hold up either. She suggested that Song Mingmei could cover this topic, which might become a hot point.
Song Mingmei was more laid-back, saying, “I didn’t plan to achieve anything specific. I just want to prove that I’m in good shape when we go to court. Old Deng’s company is being liquidated, he’s unemployed, busy with lawsuits, and has no time to take care of the kids.”
She did look good, still confident, bright, and charming.
Ding Zhitong had to smile, reminding her, “Don’t work too hard.”
“I know my limits,” Song Mingmei nodded, pressing her palms together, “Besides, nothing is as tiring as taking care of kids. I pray for schools to reopen soon and take these little monsters back.”
“If you ever don’t want to deal with them, you can leave them with me,” Ding Zhitong offered.
“Really?” Song Mingmei was pleasantly surprised.
Ding Zhitong said, “Of course it’s real. I’m not called the cool aunt for nothing.”
But a few days later, instead of sending her kids over, Song Mingmei called to interview Ding Zhitong about her views on international oil prices. Ding Zhitong knew she was working on the topic she had suggested. Coincidentally, the first project she had worked on when formally entering the industry was energy-related.
Like telling a story, she omitted those days of battling until dawn, colleagues lying in the ICU, and the dilemma between making money and living life. She only explained the evolution history and extraction technology of U.S. shale oil and gas. Even now, the cost is still 3 to 4 times that of the Middle East region. Given the current global epidemic, reduced economic activity, plus the price war between Saudi Arabia and Russia, it seemed doomed. She advised against chasing the fall to short sell, as no one knew where the bottom was.
After all, it was a once-in-several-hundred-years grand scene. She had just mentioned it casually, but unexpectedly, entering March, international oil prices fell for five consecutive days, and the May futures price turned negative. Moreover, the strange operation of a certain domestic bank that didn’t force liquidation, led to investors’ accounts being wiped out. Not only did they lose their principal, but they also had to pay additional margin calls. Some woke up owing the bank millions, becoming a news hotspot overnight.
Song Mingmei told Ding Zhitong that that episode of the video went viral, with viewers calling it a prophecy, and they came looking for a sequel.
However, Ding Zhitong had a sudden inspiration and brought up an old matter in a new way, saying, “I’d better introduce you to an expert. No matter what you want to discuss in the future, he’s more capable than me.”
“Who?” Song Mingmei asked.
Ding Zhitong answered, “My mentor.”
A boss was no longer a boss, but a mentor would always be a mentor.
Qin Chang had left his job, and she still hadn’t gotten to eat that peach. But when express delivery resumed after the holiday, she received a package from Hong Kong. Inside was a black box, and within it was Qin Chang’s signature pen, a Montblanc Starwalker Midnight Black Resin from the “Shoot the Moon” series, with a space compass. It was the reward he received when he became an MD.
There was no note in the box, but just looking at this pen, Ding Zhitong remembered what Qin Chang had said to her – “Your journey in this industry is not over yet.”
He didn’t give her a peach; instead, he wanted her to measure the stars and sea.