Once upon a time, she thought their compatibility test must have been flawed. Later, she attributed it to personality types. Now, she realized it was due to shared experiences and understanding.
As the new year began, a series of historic events unfolded, almost like watching a movie.
In early January, the U.S. Capitol fell, rivaling scenes from “Wonder Woman 1984.” One of Gan Yang’s classmates working in Washington D.C. posted a photo on Instagram, digging a trench around his house with an entrenching tool. Gan Yang laughed, showing it to Ding Zhitong.
Ding Zhitong exclaimed, “So you’re not the only one our age who’s so childish!”
Gan Yang, speechless, made a mental note to return the jab later.
By the end of the month, GameStop’s stock skyrocketed, forcing several short-selling institutions into a corner. The internet buzzed with talk of retail investors defeating Wall Street.
Ding Zhitong, reverting to her student days, made a bet with Song Mingmei on how it would end. She discovered Song had already interviewed industry leaders, including Qin Chang, and produced two video episodes on the topic.
Ding Zhitong accused Song Mingmei of “cheating,” only to have Gan Yang retort, “Seems there are many childish people our age.”
At the time, the two “childish” friends were in Shanghai and Hong Kong, nearly arguing across thousands of kilometers before reconciling to watch the videos together.
Ding Zhitong recognized a familiar name in the program – Michael Burry, the real-life inspiration for “The Big Short,” who had predicted the 2008 subprime mortgage crisis. This legendary fund manager had foreseen GameStop’s 160% short interest rate since 2019, likely profiting handsomely again.
February brought a once-in-a-century snowstorm to North America. News footage showed Manhattan and Long Island blanketed in shades of gray. The anchor poetically remarked that snow-covered New York resembled someone trying to forget an unbearable loss, with a heartbreaking beauty.
The Texas blackout followed, turning deadly as people froze, reminiscent of “The Day After Tomorrow.” Poetry gave way to survival: avoiding going out, stockpiling food, preserving body heat, and learning to melt snow for water.
By then, Ding Zhitong had returned to Shanghai for Spring Festival, squeezed onto Gan Yang’s single sofa, watching news videos of snowplows in Times Square, suspended light rail in Queens, and pedestrians trudging through the snow under elevated tracks.
In the past, she would have reminisced about her time there. Now, she and Gan Yang wondered how desolate Ithaca must be.
With the pandemic and extreme weather, even Cornell University, known for never canceling classes due to snow, had postponed the semester start and switched to online classes. At that moment, snow repeatedly covered the paths they once walked, including the big snow slope they had climbed. No students would be sliding down on makeshift sleds now.
In March, the sneaker world imploded. Nike fired a North American vice president whose son had exploited her position to profit from reselling sneakers. Ding Zhitong learned from Gan Yang that sneakers had become investment products, traded like stocks.
In a world where even pixel avatars could be auctioned as “digital art” (NFTs) for hundreds of thousands of dollars, anything could be capitalized and gamified as long as someone was willing to buy in.
“What would your former shoe-selling boss say?” Ding Zhitong wondered about the old man from 18th Street Sporting Goods, unsure if he was still alive.
“He’d probably curse their lack of integrity,” Gan Yang laughed, feeling that only they could have such a conversation, understanding each other without explanation.
Ding Zhitong felt the same.
Around that time, the situation in Myanmar suddenly intensified. News reported conflicts between the military and civilians, but Chinese-funded factories became targets. Then came the BCI incident.
Their wedding date was approaching.
Ding Zhitong called Gan Yang, who explained without prompting:
The burned and vandalized businesses were mostly small enterprises in Yangon. LT’s larger factory in the suburban industrial park, far from the city center conflicts, wasn’t directly affected. The embassy hadn’t ordered evacuations yet. As a precaution, headquarters announced a work stoppage, with Chinese staff returning home in batches. The supply chain’s capacity might be affected, but they could absorb the losses.
Regarding BCI, LT’s orders weren’t solely from the involved brands. After the pandemic’s reshuffling, China was the only country fully resuming production with guaranteed raw materials and smooth logistics. Although still an OEM factory, they weren’t without leverage.
Ding Zhitong had heard similar views – Chinese manufacturing had become legendary worldwide post-pandemic. But she also felt the world was being torn apart and changing silently.
Years ago, startups were all about high-tech and light assets, with internet tycoons shining brightest. Now, people realize the winds had shifted long ago, with tech giants hoarding farmland and star investors heavily backing traditional manufacturing. Outsourcing once considered a panacea for cost-saving and risk distribution, revealed its shortcomings and powerlessness in crisis management.
“Don’t worry,” Gan Yang told her.
“I know,” Ding Zhitong replied confidently.
They both understood that last year’s acquisition was the right decision, allowing him to start what he wanted to do.
Once upon a time, she thought their compatibility test must have been flawed or influenced by some unknown cosmic force. Later, she attributed it to personality types. Now, she realized it was due to shared experiences and understanding.
The wedding was set for late March, first in Shanghai, then in Quanzhou.
The night before, following tradition, they stayed separately. Before bed, Gan Yang called Ding Zhitong, asking her to go to the window and wave to him from afar.
Ding Zhitong waved back, asking, “What are you doing?”
Gan Yang asked, “Do you miss me?”
Ding Zhitong laughed, reminding him, “We just had dinner together, remember?”
Gan Yang persisted, “Well, I miss you.”
Ding Zhitong countered, “Guess what I’m doing?”
“What?”
“I’m watching your running video.”
“Studying so hard? Learning running posture for tomorrow’s wedding?” Gan Yang teased.
Ding Zhitong didn’t take the bait, simply saying, “I recorded it for moments like this.”
“Why?” Gan Yang asked.
Ding Zhitong replied, “The rhythm, the sound of footfalls – watching it is very comforting.”
“Nervous?” Gan Yang guessed, chuckling softly.
Ding Zhitong found another excuse, “I can’t write my vows.”
Gan Yang said, “Then don’t write them. Just look at me and say whatever comes to mind.”
“That won’t do…” Ding Zhitong dismissed him, hanging up to continue writing.
That night, she didn’t dare sleep too late. In her dreams, she felt inspired, but upon waking, couldn’t remember a word.
Early the next morning, the makeup artist arrived, and Song Mingmei came early to keep her company.
Ding Zhitong finally admitted her nervousness, her pulse fluttering and mind blank. She rambled about post-wedding plans: “…First, we’ll have another reception at his place, then stay in Xiamen for two weeks. There’s a running camp there…”
“Running during your honeymoon?” Song Mingmei found it peculiar.
“Yes,” Ding Zhitong nodded, “After looking around, it’s the one place we both want to go.”
Song Mingmei commented, “Even a production team’s donkey doesn’t work that hard.”
“How can you say that?!” Ding Zhitong laughed, throwing a pack of tissues at her.
Song Mingmei dodged, saying, “Let me rephrase: you two deserve each other.”
Ding Zhitong pondered, “That still doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
Song Mingmei placed one hand on her chest and the other on Ding Zhitong’s shoulder, saying, “I swear, I mean it. I truly wish you happiness.”
It still sounded like a joke, but as Ding Zhitong looked at her friend in the mirror, her laughter faded, and tears welled up in her eyes.
Song Mingmei smiled back, instructing the makeup artist, “Make sure to use waterproof eye makeup.”
“Why?” Ding Zhitong asked.
Song Mingmei answered, “So you can cry freely.”
“I won’t cry,” Ding Zhitong assured her.
“Don’t be so confident,” Song Mingmei teased.
“I definitely won’t cry,” Ding Zhitong insisted, despite her words.