Chapter_9

The weather forecast was accurate.

The next day dawned clear and cool, with crowds gathering in the cheering zone at the Pulaski Bridge.

At 9:40 AM, the main group set off from Staten Island with a cannon salute. By the time they reached this point, it was already halfway through the race. An hour later, runners began passing by. The race route was closed off, making the cheering zone somewhat crowded with limited visibility. But with cameras lining the road and helicopters filming from above, everyone around was cheering enthusiastically. Ding Zitong, caught up in the atmosphere, pressed against the railing, scanning the runners for Gan Yang’s fair face.

The professional athletes led the pack, first the men’s group, then the women’s. Amateur elites followed, along with a few paralympic athletes gliding by in racing wheelchairs. After them came scattered groups of running enthusiasts.

Ding Zitong was growing tired of searching when she overheard a man nearby saying how brutal the New York Marathon route was, with five major bridges and over twenty hills to climb, causing many runners to drop out each year. She began to wonder if Gan Yang might have quit without telling her, leaving her waiting here.

But just then, she finally spotted Gan Yang. He wore a blue race shirt with a bib number, black running shorts revealing evenly muscled legs, and gray-blue running shoes.

Perhaps because she had waited so long, seeing a familiar face – even one with an “I’m dying” expression – made Ding Zitong’s eyes light up. She stood on tiptoe, squeezing to the railing to wave at him.

Gan Yang saw her too, suddenly coming alive. He leapt up, waving back.

Wang Yi, running beside him, glanced at him as if to say, “What are you doing? Save your energy.”

But Gan Yang wasn’t finished. He jumped again, pointing at Wang Yi’s head and shouting to Ding Zitong, “This is my partner!”

As soon as he said it, nearby spectators gave him a thumbs up, saying, “Good for you!” Ding Zitong, behind the railing, felt embarrassed, then saw Wang Yi’s face flush too. Just then, another group of runners came up, blocking her view.

Partner? Ding Zitong’s hand hung in mid-air as she pondered this term in the crowd.

Did he mean it that way? She wasn’t sure, but knew if Song Mingmei had heard, she’d surely think the man Ding couldn’t attract was indeed of questionable orientation, and congratulate her on finding a gay best friend.

But if that were the case, it would simplify things. He was just genuinely seeking a running buddy, and she had overthought it.

To be honest, Gan Yang was a great person – righteous, generous, easy to talk to, and not effeminate. He’d make an excellent friend. As she mused, she left the cheering zone. She understood the logic but still felt a bit disappointed. As for the reason, only she knew in her heart.

Back at the guesthouse, Ding Zitong gathered her luggage and went to settle the bill with the landlady, only to find the price differed from what she had prepared.

The landlady lectured her about contractual spirit, saying the last-minute additional night would cost 30% more than the pre-booked rate.

“It’s marathon day, and you went to watch, didn’t you?” the landlady explained. “Tens of thousands of people come to the city, so hotel prices go up.”

The logic made sense, but Ding Zitong felt even more cheated. She reluctantly took out another bill to pay the room fee.

Her streak of bad luck wasn’t over. Leaving the guesthouse, she took the subway to Manhattan. But when she reached Central Park, she found the cheering zones near the finish line were already full. The autumn wind was thin, the sunlight weak. As she waited and grew colder, she finally found a nearby café to sit in. She texted Gan Yang, asking him to call her after he finished so they could arrange a meeting place.

The café had a large screen showing the live race broadcast – professional runners crossed the finish line in just over two hours, amateur elites in three-plus hours. After four hours, various running enthusiasts began to arrive. Soon after, even groups of white-haired elderly runners came in, each receiving a finisher’s medal and posing energetically for photos in front of the backdrop at the finish line.

But Gan Yang’s call hadn’t come.

Ding Zitong was getting hungry. She checked the time, thinking, “Your performance isn’t great, is it?”

Just then, her phone rang. She answered to hear panting on the other end: “Um… I need to go to my friend’s place for a bit. Maybe we can meet up later…”

Friend? Do you mean your partner? Ding Zitong wanted to ask, but instead calmly replied, “Okay, take care of your business first. No rush.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick. I’ll call you again soon.” The other end sounded relieved and hung up.

Ding Zitong put down her phone, bought a sandwich at the counter, quickly ate it, and then took her luggage directly to the long-distance bus station. After buying a ticket, she texted Gan Yang saying she’d decided to take the Greyhound back and wouldn’t be joining him.

He quickly replied: Wait for me a bit longer. Taking the Greyhound will add at least two hours to your trip.

Ding Zitong answered: I’m already on the bus. No need to trouble you. Thanks!

After sending the message, she sighed and covered her face. Gan Yang was indeed a great person – righteous, generous, easy to talk to, and not effeminate. He’d make an excellent friend. But there was one fact that could be a deal-breaker for this friendship: she had developed feelings for him beyond friendship.

The return journey took over six hours. When the bus reached Ithaca, it was already evening.

Ding Zitong had slept for a long time with her head against the window, waking up at the station to find her neck stiff. She massaged it back to her dorm. Night fell quickly, and the room lights were on. She thought it unusual for Song Mingmei to be home on a weekend, but upon entering, she found it was Feng Sheng waiting for her.

A study group? A member of the job-hunting squad naturally came to discuss serious matters, like asking how her recent endeavor went.

But Ding Zitong, perhaps still groggy from sleep, took a moment to remember the real purpose of her New York trip – the interview, not watching a race. She then detailed the Superday experience, describing the schools represented, the case analysis questions, and the one-on-one interview topics.

Feng Sheng asked if she was hungry and went to cook noodles, familiar with her kitchen. She opened her backpack to unpack, only noticing her phone when she took it out. There was a missed call from Gan Yang. She habitually called back, realizing it was a mistake and wanting to hang up, but the call had already connected.

“You called me?” she asked, taking the initiative as her heart raced uncontrollably.

“I saw the news about a highway accident this afternoon and wanted to check if you were stuck in traffic,” he explained, his words rushed, his voice somehow slightly different from before. But she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different.

“What accident? I didn’t see anything. The journey was smooth,” Ding Zitong replied, her tone also not quite her usual one.

As they talked, Feng Sheng came over. Seeing her on the phone, he remained silent and opened the refrigerator to look for something.

“What are you looking for?” Ding Zitong asked, moving the phone away slightly but not covering the microphone.

Feng Sheng looked at her and said, “The sauce for the noodles.”

“Isn’t it on the second shelf? We bought it together at the Chinese supermarket last time,” Ding Zitong said, reaching out to hand it to him.

Gan Yang must have heard, as he chuckled softly on the other end of the line, saying, “Okay, I understand. Nothing else then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Ding Zitong replied, and the call ended.

“Who was that?” Feng Sheng asked while using chopsticks to serve the noodles.

“No one,” Ding Zitong said dismissively, inexplicably feeling troubled.

She had intentionally let Gan Yang overhear the conversation about the noodle sauce. She intended to say, “You have a boyfriend, and I have one too. I have no romantic intentions towards you. We’re just good friends.” But she felt weak, her mind blank, unable to think of any topics or even a joke. She must have sounded very cold. And the person on the other end wasn’t much better, just saying, “I understand. Good night.”

Ding Zitong wished she could immediately call back and redo the entire conversation.

Meanwhile, Gan Yang was still in Wang Yi’s small apartment.

Wang Yi, seeing him put down the phone and noticing his mood had changed from last night’s “run through Harlem” state, deliberately asked, “Was that the girl who came to cheer for you this morning? Your girlfriend?”

“Just a classmate. We were supposed to return together,” Gan Yang explained, adding unnecessarily, “But it seems she has a boyfriend.”

Wang Yi laughed, saying, “So what if she has a boyfriend? Aren’t you just classmates? Can’t even share a ride? And what do you mean by ‘seems’?”

Gan Yang was speechless. Indeed, sharing a ride shouldn’t be an issue, but there was one exception – when he had developed feelings beyond friendship for her.

Typically, Superday results come out quickly. All candidates’ scores are compiled and combined with previous written test results, then ranked from highest to lowest. Those at the top might even receive offers on the same day.

But Ding Zhitong had been waiting for an entire week. No phone call, no email, not even a rejection letter.

Throughout that week, she checked her phone countless times, refreshed her email incessantly, and repeatedly imagined her name peeking out from the bottom of the shortlist. She envisioned the pen that held her fate hovering indecisively, torn between ticking her name or crossing it out.

She knew her chances of success were slim from the start. BB Bank’s recruitment had strict criteria based on university reputation and internship experience, but the soft skills demonstrated during interviews were the decisive factor.

According to interview guides, applicants fell into three categories:

The lowest tier consisted of pure exam-takers and over-performers, who usually didn’t make it past the first round.

Slightly better were the more perceptive exam-takers, well-rounded but unremarkable. They could pass the first round but rarely received offers.

Then came the technically strong candidates, like Feng Sheng, with about a 30% chance of getting an offer.

The ideal candidates had high EQ and polish, like Song Mingmei. Meeting this standard meant a 70% success rate, with technical skills becoming secondary.

Ding Zhitong had a clear self-assessment. She placed herself between “perceptive exam-taker” and “technical expert,” estimating her chances between 0% and 30%.

For days, Song Mingmei encouraged her, saying, “You know investment banks love PSD candidates – Poor, Smart, and Desiring. You’ve got all three.”

Ding Zhitong was confident about being Poor and Desiring, but less so about Smart.

Song Mingmei persisted, “Big firms are all about diversity now – women, minorities, international students. You tick three boxes! Plus, with so many Chinese companies listing in the U.S., being a native Mandarin speaker is a huge advantage!”

Ding Zhitong expressed genuine gratitude but continued to hide away, counting the days.

As time passed, Song Mingmei’s tone changed. She suggested Ding Zhitong might be a backup candidate, her fate hanging on whether someone ahead of her accepted their offer.

Meanwhile, Feng Sheng made progress. He leveraged his connections from his summer internship and secured an offer from BB Bank.

When the news broke, Song Mingmei insisted he treat them to dinner. In high spirits, Feng Sheng agreed, booking an expensive restaurant by Cayuga Lake.

On Saturday evening, Ding Zhitong went straight from the library to dinner. After sitting there for a while, she sensed something was off.

The restaurant was quiet but pleasant. Their table by the window overlooked the calm lake at night, with yachts moored along the shore, covered in gray-white waterproof canvas dusted with a thin layer of snow.

Feng Sheng had arrived early, his hair styled with gel, wearing a new shirt and a hint of woody cologne. Not unpleasant.

Song Mingmei hadn’t shown up. She initially called to say she’d be late, but after they had ordered and received appetizers and drinks, she texted that Bian Benjamin had unexpectedly come to Ithaca to see her. She wouldn’t make it but urged Ding Zhitong to eat well and not to skimp on Feng Sheng’s treat.

As Ding Zhitong put down her phone, the atmosphere grew awkward. Despite knowing Feng Sheng well, she struggled to find topics for conversation.

Feng Sheng, however, came prepared. He spoke about his offer from L Bank, where he had interned. They offered him a quantitative trader position in the securities department in New York.

“Are you going to accept it? Or keep looking?” Ding Zhitong asked, feeling less awkward discussing this.

As members of their job-hunting squad, their ideal was the investment banking division. They claimed it was for the challenge, but in reality, it was for the higher pay.

Feng Sheng didn’t answer immediately. He focused on cutting a piece of fish, then said, “There’s also an IBD position with H Bank, but it’s in Hong Kong.”

“They’re recruiting you from here to Hong Kong? Surely it’s a global pay package? Same salary, but lower personal income tax than the U.S., plus housing allowance – isn’t that unique to Hong Kong?” Ding Zhitong focused on the practical aspect – money.

Feng Sheng nodded, “Yes, global pay. The housing allowance is 16,000 Hong Kong dollars per month.”

“That’s a great offer!” Ding Zhitong thought it was an easy choice.

But Feng Sheng put down his cutlery and looked at her silently.

“What’s wrong?” Ding Zhitong asked, sensing something and feeling slightly nervous.

Feng Sheng changed the subject abruptly, “Any news from M Bank?”

Ding Zhitong understood but pretended not to. She shook her head with a wry smile, as if mentioning it now was a mood-killer.

Feng Sheng, seemingly no more confident in her chances than she was, said slowly, “I think I’ll wait until your situation is settled before deciding.”

“Why wait for me?” Ding Zhitong asked with a smile, her heart racing despite her natural tone.

Seeing her response, Feng Sheng decided to be direct. He rotated his wine glass and asked, “What do you think I’m waiting for?”

Ding Zhitong met his gaze and answered sincerely, maintaining her role as a job-hunting squad member, “I think you should go to Hong Kong. While New York’s business is more international, if you want to do IBD, this is your best chance. It’ll be much harder to switch once you’re in the industry.”

Feng Sheng paused, then lowered his head. After a while, he said, “You’re right. I still have a few days. I’ll think about it.”

Ding Zhitong was relieved he didn’t push the issue further, thinking they might still manage to be friends. She added with a smile, “I think you’re suited for IBD. On Superday, I thought if you were there, you’d have performed much better than me.”

“Of course,” Feng Sheng laughed.

Ding Zhitong snorted, “I was just being polite. Did you take me seriously?”

In the past, she might have given him a playful push, but that wouldn’t happen anymore.

They finished dinner without incident. When Feng Sheng called for the bill, Ding Zhitong suggested splitting it. He gave her a look and said, “You can treat me back when you get your offer.” Ding Zhitong felt deflated.

They left the restaurant and walked side by side through the park and town back to their dorms.

Feng Sheng was quiet, and Ding Zhitong was lost in thought, bundled in her down jacket.

Since senior year, Feng Sheng had helped her far more than she had reciprocated. He taught her how to apply to schools, and how to get a visa, and shared the most comprehensive question bank with her. His generosity stemmed from an obvious reason. Some might see her actions as manipulative, but she couldn’t reciprocate in the way he hoped. She could only console herself by thinking that someday, she’d find a way to repay his kindness.

The area had several bars with open windows or floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The weekend night was lively, with students in their late teens and early twenties coming and going. Suddenly, Ding Zhitong felt as if someone was watching her, but when she turned to look, she only saw a group of liberal arts students at a high table, competing to eat peanuts.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter
Related Chapters

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

Latest Chapter

Recent Comments