The “Violet Flower Shop” had accumulated many old objects, and customers who stepped inside felt as though they had been transported back to the 1980s: on the counter sat a Crossing the River brand radio, in the corner stood a Honeybee brand sewing machine, the door curtain was a bead curtain made from rolled-up calendar pages, and on the windowsill were arranged green paper pineapples folded from two-fen coins — all “treasures” that Xiao Man had salvaged from the ruins of Xi Tie Cheng.
While customers waited for their cut flowers to be arranged, they studied the shop’s decorations with great interest. Everyone loved this nostalgic style, and gradually more and more people came by just to look around. Girls who cared about their appearance would deliberately dress in sundresses to take vintage-style photographs. Xiao Man would often demonstrate and guide them from the side: “See, for your pose you need to put your hands on your waist — and your hands should be clasped behind your neck — that’s what the cover of Popular Cinema looks like.”
During the lunch break, Xia Lei invited Kong Sheng to join him in the floor’s smoking area.
After lighting his cigarette, Xia Lei took a long drag and said to Kong Sheng: “Boss, there’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and I’d like to take some time off.”
Kong Sheng was visibly taken aback. A seasoned veteran of the corporate world, he naturally knew what Xia Lei’s next words would be. What surprised him was that Xia Lei was on a fast track upward — by any measure, leaving for another job made absolutely no sense as a deal. There was, of course, another more cunning possibility: that Xia Lei was using the threat of departure as leverage to negotiate a promotion and raise. At this thought, Kong Sheng held the smoke in his mouth, tilted his head, and countered: “What would it take for me to keep you?”
“I’ve thought this through carefully, and it’s not about negotiating terms,” Xia Lei said. “The reason is entirely on my end — I need to rest. There’s no other reason.”
This genuinely surprised Kong Sheng. With his businessman’s mindset, he believed every condition could be negotiated, every interest exchanged, every position bought — yet Xia Lei’s answer unmistakably said his mind was made up, with nothing left to bargain with. What on earth was going on!
Over the following two days, Kong Sheng formally sat down with Xia Lei twice, trying to get to the bottom of what he was really thinking. Xia Lei could sense Kong Sheng’s reluctance; if he didn’t offer a convincing reason, Kong Sheng would not easily sign off on letting him go. In the end, Xia Lei could only fabricate a story — that he had recently gotten together with a girlfriend whose family had both government and business connections, and they were urging him to come and manage holdings on their behalf.
“A girlfriend? Is this the Magellan on the globe?” Kong Sheng asked.
“Yes — we’ve already registered our marriage,” Xia Lei said.
Hearing this, Kong Sheng leaned back contentedly against his chair. It all made sense now. The man had lucked into a high branch — perhaps raking in a fortune each day, no longer needing to earn twenty or thirty thousand a month here.
“Congratulations, Xia Lei — you’ve taken the shortcut I envy most,” Kong Sheng said, smoothing his hair with a reflective sigh. “I’ve fought my own way up from nothing my whole life — studied abroad, came back to work as a senior executive — but I could never break through that final ceiling, while you had it handed to you effortlessly. Good fortune indeed — congratulations!”
Xia Lei smiled noncommittally; as long as Kong Sheng believed it, that was all that mattered.
“I won’t bother with a farewell dinner,” Kong Sheng said finally. “Find some entertainment receipts — anything under ten thousand — and put in one last reimbursement claim. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”
“Thank you for all your support over the years!” Xia Lei knew this was the final hush money, and he responded graciously: “We’ve had a good working relationship — I’ve genuinely learned a great deal from you. Thank you!”
One day after Xia Lei had resigned, Kong Sheng was sitting in his office when something suddenly occurred to him. He called in the finance department to review Xia Lei’s past reimbursement records, and found no submission for the ten-thousand-yuan entertainment expenses. In other words, Xia Lei had never claimed that hush money. Kong Sheng paced back and forth in his office, completely baffled. Could it be that Xia Lei hadn’t wanted to owe him a favor? Surely not — even if he had married into money, a free ten thousand yuan was nothing to sneeze at.
After resigning, Xia Lei’s first order of business was to go to the sales office and get his apartment deposit refunded.
“That’s strange — property prices are surging, and you still want to back out?” the saleswoman asked him.
“I’m sorry — I’m a bit short on cash.”
“Fortunately, the value has gone up. There’s going to be purchasing restrictions soon — the moment you back out, someone else will snap it up. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“Yes, I’m certain.”
As the saleswoman handed Xia Lei the cancellation agreement to sign, he hadn’t even finished writing the last stroke when the bystanders who had gathered around began jostling and calling out: “Miss, I’ll take that unit he’s giving up — I’ll pay by card right now!”
Xia Lei had always been too busy to attend to his parents. Now, with time finally on his hands, he made up for it by taking them on trips across several provinces and cities. When they returned, he quickly found a position at a mid-sized company. The pay and benefits were ordinary, but at least there was rarely any overtime, leaving him free to spend more time with his family.
“You’re finally living for yourself,” Xiao Dan said, happy for Xia Lei’s freedom. “While things aren’t so hectic, why not develop some of your own interests?”
“All these years I’ve been frantically chasing one target and deadline after another — I don’t even know what hobbies I have left,” Xia Lei said with a rueful smile.
“I just signed up for an amateur choir — why don’t you come and sing with me?”
“An amateur choir? Surely it’s not a bunch of retired aunties with nothing to do?”
“Not at all — it’s young people from all walks of life,” Xiao Dan said. “Not every Shanghai white-collar worker is a consumerist at heart. You really should step outside the survivorship bias of the workplace and look at this city with fresh eyes.”
Xia Lei’s new office was still in Lujiazui, just two city blocks from his old one. The salary was modest and overtime was rarely required.
One evening at the end of the workday, Xia Lei picked up his briefcase and headed downstairs, hurrying to meet up with Xiao Dan for choir rehearsal. Crossing through the lobby of the office building, he happened to catch a glimpse of Kong Sheng shaking hands and parting ways with someone wearing a polo shirt outside the café entrance.
Kong Sheng also spotted Xia Lei. He froze for an instant, then forced an awkward smile. After a few stilted pleasantries with Xia Lei, Kong Sheng took a phone call and quickly departed. Watching his retreating figure, Xia Lei was puzzled — why had Kong Sheng come all the way here, so far from his own office, for a conversation? And who was the man in the polo shirt?
Curiosity stopped Xia Lei in his tracks. A plan came to him. He pretended to reach for his wallet, walked over to the café cashier, and said: “Miss, I’d like to settle a bill.”
“Which table are you from?”
“I’m paying on someone’s behalf — the gentleman who just left, the one in the polo shirt.”
“But he already settled it himself.”
“Take another look — I think it might still be outstanding.”
“It was really paid — even the receipt has been printed.” The cashier, at a loss, showed Xia Lei a glance at the printed copy of the receipt.
Xia Lei caught a brief look and memorized the company name on the invoice header: it was a headhunting firm in the industry.
Now that was curious. If Kong Sheng were meeting a headhunter on company business, he would certainly have done so in his own office, with the head of HR present. Xia Lei thought it over: running into Kong Sheng here today, this clearly wasn’t a business meeting — could it be… that Kong Sheng was looking to jump ship himself? The thought prompted him to pull out his phone and call a former colleague he was close with.
Sure enough, the colleague on the other end of the line said that Kong Sheng had been jointly reported to the American headquarters by distributors, and that the parent company was currently auditing the Chinese division for falsified business records. “The foreign auditors have already moved in. It’s only a matter of time before Kong Sheng’s major irregularities come to light — everyone is saying he’s out there looking for a new job.”
Now it all made sense. As Xia Lei walked on, he turned over the events of the past year in his mind — so many clever people brought down by their own cleverness. Kong Sheng had just been meeting with a prospective new employer. Without a doubt, the scheme he had engineered had failed; the distributors, having swallowed a silent loss, had decided on mutual destruction and blown the lid off the falsified data from the Chinese division.
The streets of Lujiazui were busy with the flow of people. Kong Sheng moved through them in search of his next career gamble; Xia Lei moved through them toward a choir rehearsal. The two men traveled in opposite directions, passing each other by, each heading his own way, each seeking and finding what he sought — this was Shanghai, the city they called the Magic Metropolis.
Xia Lei got off at Changshu Road station on the subway, the closest stop to the Conservatory of Music. Before every rehearsal, he and Xiao Dan would grab a bite to eat in the neighborhood first. That evening, they chose a small restaurant that specialized in water-boiled fish. Seated before a brimming basin of steaming hot fragrant broth, Xiao Dan raised her chopsticks, ready to dig in, then suddenly stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Xia Lei asked.
“Listen — listen — what song is playing on the speakers?” Xiao Dan pointed to the speakers in the corner of the restaurant, laughing.
Playing from the restaurant’s speakers was The Fish That Swims All Day Long.
Xia Lei couldn’t help but burst out laughing, turning to call out to the service counter: “Boss, could you change the song? Neither of us can bring ourselves to touch the fish!”
“Do you still remember the words?” Xiao Dan asked.
“Of course — this was the song Xiao Man and I loved most during the summer of our first year of middle school.” Xia Lei hummed as he spoke: The fish that swims all day long never stops swimming; the one who thinks of you all day long never stops loving…
“Old songs are just better — the new ones these days don’t come close.”
“It’s not that the new songs aren’t good — they just can’t reach this generation’s hearts anymore,” Xia Lei said. “When I went back to Xi Tie Cheng and saw Xiao Man, the two of us were cycling along and singing this song together.”
“Xiao Man has always had a child’s pure heart — that’s the most precious thing about him. I worried most about him during that period when he was withdrawn and hiding from the world at the Anning Hospital,” Xiao Dan said.
“Fortunately he met Chunchun — that gave him new hope and companionship,” Xia Lei said. “I spoke with him. He’s found his old confidence again. Time does change some things, but it can’t change everything.”
After dinner, Xia Lei and Xiao Dan walked hand in hand through the lush, leafy plane tree-lined road and arrived at the campus concert hall. The choir members who had rushed over after work were gathered there, forming an arc on the stage — the women’s section on the left, the men’s section on the right.
“Tonight is the Qixi Festival, so we’ll be rehearsing a song about confessing affection,” the conductor in his tailcoat announced as he stepped up to open proceedings. “First, a little survey — would the ladies who have ever received a declaration of love please raise their hands?”
Laughter rippled through the room. The women covered their mouths, giggling, as hands went up one after another.
“Wonderful — your lives are complete!” The tailcoated conductor turned to the matter at hand. “The song we’re rehearsing today may be the most long-winded declaration of love in history. Please don’t get tired of it.”
“If it comes from the heart, no one minds the length,” everyone laughed back.
The conductor nodded and gestured to the pianist to begin. The pianist promptly struck a string of crystalline, translucent notes. Xia Lei and Xiao Dan stood beneath the great stage curtain, swaying gently with everyone else, their voices rising softly together:
I love the ringing of the bell at the end of the school day I love the evenings when the power goes out Lighting a pair of candles in the quiet entryway I love the distant green hills at the edge of the city I love the hot air balloon rising into the sky on the western horizon I love the stone path at dawn, the misty breakfast stall, and grandfather’s osmanthus cake I love every dusk cloud and every green tree I love you — you must already know I love you — you must already know …
In the midst of the song, Xiao Dan and Xia Lei seemed to see the oil-cloth paper being placed back into the old pump room by Xiao Man, the train ticket being returned to the ticket-window attendant by Xia Lei, snowflakes rising from Xiao Dan’s open palm up toward the sky, the chalk end flying back from Wang Dongdong’s nose into Teacher Gu Ala’s hand, Brother Zhuang — who had fallen to the ground — leaping back up onto the stage, the rolling pin being gathered up by Master Ding and tucked back into his bicycle basket, the moving trucks slowly reversing back to the residential compound, the household belongings on the trucks being carried back inside by everyone, pots and pans and bowls and chopsticks being placed back into the kitchen cupboards, and the dark and silent Xi Tie Cheng returning to a place ablaze with light.
In the midst of the song, each member of the choir was reminded of their childhood dreams, their adolescent poetry, and the time and light of their hometown. Time is a seven-colored flower; time is a nine-colored deer; time is the gently murmuring brook in every ordinary person’s heart. The brook rose like mist and drifted in swirling eddies, floating out through the domed ceiling of the concert hall and into the sky above the city of ten thousand glowing windows — merging with the world’s thousand rivers and the moon mirrored in each one, stirring up countless tiny ripples of laughter and tears, of foam and splashing water.