The question she had once asked him finally had an answer.
What happens when the passion fades in a long-term relationship? Elders would say, “Have a child, and it’ll be fine.”
So, Ding Zhitong borrowed two to try it out.
It was just a joke, of course.
In reality, Song Mingmei had unceremoniously dropped her kids off at Ding’s place one day.
Ding went to the community entrance to receive them. Yu Qi, displaying a motherly demeanor, politely explained, “Mom said she absolutely must finish a video today. She has an appointment with a teacher in Beijing.”
Ding smiled knowingly.
Yu Lin interjected, “Hasn’t she already rescheduled several times? I always hear them arguing.”
“Arguing?” This surprised Ding. She had never seen Song Mingmei or Qin Chang argue with anyone; they usually quietly sorted out their thoughts before taking action.
“That’s not arguing,” Yu Qi corrected, “They’re discussing issues.”
Hmm, quite heatedly.
“What issues?” Ding probed gently.
Yu Lin said, “Something about the Earth melting.”
Yu Qi sighed and corrected him again, “Not Earth melting, it’s geopolitics and U.S. stock market circuit breakers.”
Schools remained closed, with students learning online from home. The curriculum was thoughtfully arranged, including a daily live-streamed physical education class. However, like online fitness programs, it lacked supervision and relied entirely on self-discipline. Thus, a scene unfolded where the PE teacher demonstrated sit-ups and push-ups on video while Yu Qi and Yu Lin watched idly, secretly slacking off.
Gan Yang, however, seemed more interested than the children. Abandoning his emails, he joined them, watching and critiquing, “Your PE teacher isn’t very good…”
Yu Qi and Yu Lin asked, “What would be good, then?”
Gan Yang gave them a live demonstration: clapping push-ups, face-cover push-ups, and Superman push-ups.
As a result, while the PE teacher on the video was sweating, Gan Yang was also drenched in sweat, much to the children’s amusement as they sat comfortably on the sofa.
After the class ended, Gan Yang realized he’d been tricked. He immediately went back to his place, returning with two skateboards – one new, one old – and a full set of protective gear. He then took the children down to the community garden.
When Song Mingmei came to pick them up that afternoon, both children had learned to mount the boards and propel themselves on flat ground. They were flushed with excitement, sweaty, and reluctant to part with the skateboards.
Gan Yang generously said, “Take them, take them. They’re for the kids anyway.”
Intrigued, Ding asked him after returning home, “How come you have such a complete set of equipment?”
Gan Yang hesitated before admitting, “…One was mine, the other I bought later. I had prepared for this possibility back then.”
“When? What possibility?” Ding didn’t understand.
Gan Yang explained, “When I saw you with Yu Lin at the training center. I thought about how to raise a child that age and figured he’d definitely like skateboarding…”
“How to raise a child? Why were you considering that?” Ding laughed.
Gan Yang hugged her, covering her face to stop her laughter, saying, “Can’t I just think about it casually?”
Ding couldn’t break free, unsure if this was love or cunning on his part.
But this was just one aspect of life. The other, as Yu Lin had innocently put it, was that the Earth seemed to be melting.
The U.S. stock market circuit breaker mechanism, established in 1988, had only been triggered once in 1997. Yet in March 2020, on the 9th, 12th, 16th, and 18th, within a single month, the S&P 500 index plummeted over 7% four times, triggering Level 1 circuit breakers. The risk premium at that time was approaching levels seen during the 2008 financial crisis.
Despite this, LT’s acquisition plan continued to move forward.
During that week’s project meeting, Li Jiaxin briefly outlined the upcoming key dates:
In March, LT Capital would lead the formation of a buyer consortium, planning to acquire a total of 38% shares from the two largest shareholders of the target company.
In April, the buyer consortium would issue an offer letter to the target company. The premium would be calculated based on the stock price on the trading day before the offer, so they needed to determine the price per share in Hong Kong dollars for the acquisition.
The target company’s board would form a special committee to evaluate the offer and other potential strategic alternatives with the assistance of financial and legal advisors. If the evaluation passed, further negotiations on the acquisition agreement terms were expected in May.
Then came the most crucial and uncertain part of the acquisition plan.
Since the transaction with major shareholders exceeded the one-time increase of 30%, according to the Hong Kong Securities and Futures Commission’s Takeovers Code, it would trigger a conditional mandatory cash offer. This meant that within 21 to 60 days, minority shareholders in the secondary market would decide whether to accept the buyer’s offer, just like the major shareholders.
If the final proportion of shares accepting the offer, plus the original 38%, didn’t exceed 50%, the cash offer would become invalid, and minority shareholders would continue to hold their shares.
However, if it exceeded 50%, the buyer would have to acquire all shares at the same price.
After explaining the acquisition plan, Ding Zhitong analyzed the broader perspective. She noted that developing customized consumption and experiential consumption, as well as enhancing new brands and cultivating high-end brands in the clothing and home textile industry, aligned with major trends. The continuous increase in Chinese consumers’ sports participation supported a genuine demand for quality sports products and services, which was expected to grow steadily over an extended period. The current market downturn might even become their opportunity.
However, after she and Li Jiaxin signed off, the LT board representatives continued to argue heatedly.
Supporters said, “If the epidemic situation improves, we’ll have completed the acquisition at the lowest stock price.”
Opponents questioned, “What if it doesn’t recover? We can’t even fully resume work now!”
“Let’s wait a bit, I think we should wait,” was the opinion of most, similar to the situation with several other projects Ding was handling.
Although LT’s goal had always been to gain absolute control of the acquired company, making such a move at this time seemed somewhat rash.
U.S. stocks have long been considered a bellwether for global financial markets. Coupled with the oil price crash and the spreading epidemic, with negative news every day, the Hong Kong stock market had also reacted. The Hang Seng Index had fallen from its peak in late January, with a maximum drop exceeding 27%. The current price-to-book ratio was only 0.93, already below net asset value.
In the coming months, offline retail stores were likely to be the most affected industry. No one knew how low the target company’s stock might fall. Would LT end up being the unfortunate last bearer of the burden?
But Gan Yang only raised one question: “If not at this time, at what price would the stock rise for us to buy over 50%? And how much chance of success would we have then?”
Again, Ding overheard this.
It was only at this moment that she suddenly realized Gan Yang’s thoughts aligned with hers.
This was the worst time, but it could also be the best time. He had never thought of giving up.
That day’s meeting ran late into the night, with the final vote narrowly passing.
After the video call ended, Gan Yang was exhausted from talking. He lay on the yoga mat by the floor-to-ceiling window, not even turning on the lights.
Ding walked over and sat beside him, pulling open the curtains.
Looking out through the glass, they could see into the living room of the opposite building. Someone was running on a treadmill behind their floor-to-ceiling window, another was doing Zheng Duoyan’s workout, and a child was skipping rope indoors.
He turned to look, understanding her meaning, and smiled quietly.
Ding said, “The situation is serious, but it’s not going to collapse. This is already the worst time; things will get better.”
Gan Yang replied, “If the God of Gamblers says to take a chance, then let’s take a chance.”
But Ding countered, “You know this isn’t entirely gambling.”
For a moment, he thought he had misheard, as if transported back to that night years ago when he sat alone on the floor behind his desk, imagining her saying the same words: You know this isn’t entirely gambling.
“What if we lose?” he asked, just as he had then.
“Then we lose,” she answered.
“Is it okay if we have no money?” he joked.
She played along, saying, “Do you think I’m that money-hungry?”
“Have you seen that cartoon?” he asked, holding her hand.
“Which one?” she inquired.
“The one where,” he described, “a bear is growing carrots at home, and a rabbit asks why. The bear says it’s so he has a reason to invite the rabbit over.”
Just like them, reuniting over one project after another.
“Mm,” Ding nodded, “I’ve seen that cartoon series. Isn’t that the bear who uses the rabbit to wipe its bottom?”
Gan Yang burst into laughter, rolling over to embrace her and pulling her down onto the mat. Their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling. The position reminded them of stretching in his house after running in Ithaca. But now they were surrounded by Shanghai’s slightly damp spring night air, the city lights mixing with faint moonlight diffusing into the room, illuminating each other’s faces.
“I might have made a mistake back then. If we had been together…” he said, looking at her.
Ding shook her head, “No, we couldn’t have done it then, but it’s different now.”
This was what she thought, and what she said. The question she had once asked him finally had an answer.