My Destiny

I believe some cities have genders, just as some novels do. This isn't about whether the author is male or female, but rather the content of the novel itself. The content seems to imbue the novel with a certain temperament, which in turn gives the novel a gender. Dream of the Red Chamber and The Lady of the Camellias are very feminine books, as is Uncle Tom's Cabin. Wuthering Heights is very masculine, and Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin are even more so. Jane Eyre and War and Peace strike me as "neutral"; Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio possesses a distinctly masculine temperament, and And Quiet Flows the Don is undoubtedly masculine as well. In my view, Les Misérables is maternal, David Copperfield is paternal, and The Old Man and the Sea also carries a strong paternal temperament.

To me, Shenzhen initially resembled a handsome youth, growing year by year into a dashing young man. In Shenzhen, you could often catch reruns of old Hong Kong and Taiwanese films on TV. For a while, Xiang and I particularly enjoyed watching Ti Lung's movies. I felt Shenzhen possessed that captivating masculine energy Ti Lung exuded in his martial arts films.

In my eyes, Shanghai is like an elegant and serene lady—having gone through phases of coquettishness, modernity, and the bewildering era of social butterflies, she has finally shed all pretenses and entered a graceful, tranquil period, seemingly achieving the "enlightenment" of a woman who embodies both Chinese and Western temperaments.

To me, Guangzhou is a city akin to a "wet nurse." Despite its history being so earth-shattering and awe-inspiring, it seems precisely because of what it has endured that it later became exceptionally tolerant. Wanderers are most suited to linger in Guangzhou. Though it may not be the ideal city for wanderers, anyone's homesickness finds solace in its "embrace." Juan and I have visited Guangzhou many times, and Juan quite likes the city too.

However, Shanghai's "Western flavor" is something Guangzhou lacks, and Shenzhen even more so. Xiang once said, "That's a lingering legacy seeped into the very fabric of the city." Xiang's feelings toward Shanghai are often contradictory—as a descendant of an old Shanghai family, Shanghai is like his "ancestor" to him. If anyone speaks ill of Shanghai or its people in front of him, he often gets into arguments. Yet he himself frequently criticizes Shanghai and its people, especially regarding its "Western flavor," using particularly sharp words. On one hand, he is inherently protective; on the other, the thought that one of China's most famous cities was once equated with the "Ten-Mile Foreign Concession" pains him like a "history of resentment."

Yet our wedding was not without its "Western flavor."

Initially, he said to his mother, "We'll handle our wedding ourselves. Please don't worry about it, okay?"

His mother replied, "That won't do. You're my only son, and your wedding must be arranged by me. I want the pleasure of organizing my only child's wedding. You have no right to deprive your mother of this privilege!"

I was there at the time.

His mother said, "Let's not argue. Whether you, as the son, arrange it or I, as the mother, do it for you, let Wan Zhi decide."

Without hesitation, I firmly stated, "Let Mother arrange it."

Even before the wedding, I had already started calling her "Mom," which delighted her greatly, and she praised me for being "sensible."

Afterward, Xiang complained to me, "You're the one who overruled me. Don't blame me if you're not satisfied."I said, "Tell your mother I have only one requirement—simple, fast, and economical."

Xiang didn’t have much savings. His mother was a retired worker from a watch factory with a modest pension, and my own money was tied up in two shops in Shenzhen, unable to be withdrawn for wedding expenses—so of course, I opposed extravagance.

In reality, the wedding was planned jointly by Xiang and his mother—to be held in the small auditorium of the Cultural History Museum. Xiang’s father had been a veteran journalist in Shanghai and a senior member of the Municipal Cultural History Museum, so the museum was happy to cooperate. The guest list wasn’t large, just over sixty people, spread across eight tables. Xiang’s father was also an only child, so he had no paternal relatives in Shanghai. The attendees were mostly a few of his father’s close friends, elderly men he called "uncles." On his mother’s side, the relatives were limited too—just his three aunts and their husbands, along with their children. The majority of the guests were friends. Although Xiang was a photographer, he had extensive connections in Shanghai’s cultural and artistic circles. Writers, poets, singers, opera performers, magicians—quite a few artists came, representing three generations: old, middle-aged, and young.

Xiang’s mother was unwavering about the wedding’s "Western flair."

I heard her say to her son in a tone of "solemn warning": "A wedding held in Shanghai without a touch of Shanghai flavor—is that right? What is Shanghai’s flavor? Isn’t it precisely that unique Western flair from the past? When it comes to Western flair, we must leave a deep impression on the girl! If you can’t even manage this, don’t bother seeing your mother or your three aunts again!"

To fulfill the old lady’s wishes, Xiang rented a batch of props from the Shanghai Theatre Academy and asked a stage design teacher there to decorate the wedding venue in a Western style. He also borrowed several oil paintings from painter friends to hang around the space.

The night before, Xiang invited me and his mother to "inspect" the venue. Sure enough, it was brimming with "Western flair."

I exclaimed in surprise, "Is this a wedding or a film set?"

His mother laughed, repeatedly saying it was wonderful, and asked me, "Wan Zhi, you’re happy, right?"

I had no choice but to smile and reply, "Happy, happy."

Xiang, proud of his hard work, boasted, "Tomorrow, all the servers will be dressed in Russian folk costumes, like in the ballet The Nutcracker, each one unique."

I broke into a sweat and asked urgently, "How much will that cost?"

Xiang said, "It won’t cost much—just half a day’s rental, at a friendly price. We’ll repay the favor later. It’s not just about saving money; it’s about getting things done and making them distinctive!"

Hearing that it didn’t cost much, his mother was even happier and praised him lavishly.

Just before the wedding began, Xiang gave me and the old lady another surprise—he had invited the famous writer Ye Xin. Cheers erupted, and everyone clamored to take photos with him.

Xiang’s mother was so moved she nearly cried—she and her two sisters had been sent-down youth during the Cultural Revolution. Ye Xin was nationally renowned for his novels depicting the fate of Shanghai’s sent-down youth and was considered a "male god" in their hearts. Originally seated at a table with the "uncles," at Xiang’s mother’s strong request, Xiang swapped the name cards and moved Ye Xin to the table with his mother and three aunts. As soon as Mr. Ye Xin took his seat, the four women of his generation immediately took turns "interviewing" him. One asked what he was writing next; another asked when he would return to Guizhou. At that moment, I felt those four women were incredibly happy.I also felt a surge of happiness—because Teacher Ye Xin would be the witness for Xiang and me at our wedding. He seemed like a very approachable person. But no matter how approachable, he wasn’t a professional wedding witness after all. I estimated he had only served as a witness eight or ten times in his life; and one of those times was for someone as ordinary and common as me—how could I not be overjoyed? My happiness also stemmed from the fact that Ye Xin had been sent to Guizhou during the Down to the Countryside Movement, which made me feel particularly close to our witness. Without this connection, no matter how prominent the figure witnessing our marriage, I would only have felt honored, not this sense of closeness. It suddenly struck me that Xiang’s move to invite Ye Xin was quite "cunning"—because his mother and his second aunt had also been sent to Guizhou, and they would surely think Xiang had invited Ye Xin for their sake.

As soon as the wedding ceremony ended, the cultural performance began. All were professional performers, representing a fairly high standard in Shanghai. Xiang took me to the parents’ table and told Ye Xin he could leave early if he had other matters.

Ye Xin said, "No, no, the program is wonderful. I’ll stay and watch it all." Then he turned to me and said, "You remind me of the little sister from a Guizhou family back in the day."

His words warmed my heart, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say—I could only smile.

He smiled back at me. His smile was like that of a kind old grandmother, leaving a deep impression on me.

My mother raised her glass and toasted Teacher Ye Xin on my behalf.

Second Aunt said, "We’re fellow sent-down youth, and you two were even in the same township back then. Why not get even closer and drink a cross-cup wine?"

Ye Xin laughed and said, "Sure, let’s drink however makes everyone happy."

...

That night, after we entered the bridal chamber, Xiang said to me, "If there’s anything you’re not satisfied with, please bear with it."

I replied, "Not at all. I never dreamed my wedding would be like this. It was wonderful."

Xiang said he hadn’t expected it to turn out so distinctive either. He had asked his friends to add a bit of a "Western touch" to the decorations, and they had taken it seriously. When professional stage designers get serious, the effect is bound to look like a movie set.

"My mother was the cultural committee member in her middle school back then—she could sing and dance. Not long after being sent down, she fell in love with my father. My father was a graduate of Fudan University’s drama club who had stayed on as a staff member. He played the elder cousin in Ba Jin’s Family, but because he said a few things he shouldn’t have, he was sent to Guizhou for re-education through labor. Because my mother fell in love with him, she even lost her eligibility to be a propaganda team member. Back then, she and my father didn’t have the conditions to hold a wedding—that’s a sore spot in her heart. In a way, our wedding fulfilled a youthful dream of hers. As long as she’s happy, we should be happy too, right?" Xiang’s words were sincere.

I said, "Right."

He was about to say something else, but I sealed his lips with a kiss.

Then, he lifted me up and gently laid me on the bed. His movements were gentlemanly, as if following a script.

I pointed at the door.

After the door closed, he was no longer so refined, and I felt no shyness either. Though it was far from our first time, perhaps because we had truly become bride and groom, our interaction felt even more thrilling and wild. After the storm of passion subsided, I thought once again of the phrase, "A person is the sum of their social relationships." I reflected on how I had become the daughter-in-law of a Shanghai mother, and how I now had to call three other women "eldest aunt," "second aunt," and "youngest aunt." It struck me how fate seemed to weave through every corner of life, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how unpredictable life truly is.

Mother-in-law’s name is Sun Lihua.Her parents had hoped for a boy as their second child, but it turned out to be another girl. Xiang’s eldest aunt was named "Liting"—a homophone for "stop." Yet hope persisted, and Xiang gained a second aunt, named "Lijie," meaning "cut off." But "cutting off" didn’t work, persistence turned into stubbornness, and so Xiang got his youngest aunt, "Lijuan." Stubbornness then turned into action, and when she was just a few months old, she was "donated" to Xiang’s eldest uncle’s family. Fortunately, the uncle and his wife treated her as their own, and not only did she grow up without lacking love, but she was also especially doted on. Moreover, because she was young, she later avoided being sent "up to the mountains and down to the countryside," becoming one of the "fish that slipped through the net." Far from distancing the sisters, the "donation" of the youngest aunt became a joke they both loved to recount, always fresh with each telling; it also brought the two families even closer, in stark contrast to my own abandonment. Xiang’s mother had three uncles, seemingly "overdrafting" Xiang’s quota, leaving him with none.

I thought that, from the perspective of Chinese folk understanding, the phrase "man is the sum of his social relations" could well be translated as "man is the embodiment of his own fate." "Fate brings people together across a thousand miles; without it, they remain strangers even when face to face"—one can’t help but believe it.

Xiang asked me what I was thinking.

I replied with a particularly profound line: "Contemplating life."

He leaned in and said, "Elaborate."

So I explained to him the difference between my abandonment and the "donation" of his youngest aunt.

He said, "People are passive from the moment they are born. Ever since humans have had names, anyone’s gender, physical strength, intelligence, appearance, and name have all been ‘given’—no one has the slightest autonomy in choosing."

I asked, "So you believe in fate?"

He said, "Why deny fate? Fate is nothing more than predetermined good luck, bad luck, or neither good nor bad luck. But humans are also creatures with strong self-determination..."

I interrupted him, not without melancholy, saying, "I understand what you mean, but what about those with very poor luck who also lack self-reliance? Are they destined to suffer their whole lives?"

He said, "That’s why the state of the world matters. For now, in my view, the country is the ‘heaven,’ or it’s not an exaggeration to call it ‘God,’ especially for those with poor ‘heavenly fate.’ A good country should have the ability to help those with poor ‘heavenly fate’ change their destiny and provide a safety net for their lives. Your abandonment back then was ultimately caused by the huge disparity in living standards between rural and urban areas. Think about it: if my eldest uncle’s family weren’t an old Shanghai household with substantial means but a rural family, what would have become of my youngest aunt’s fate? And what about the relationship between my mother and her three sisters?..."

I chuckled silently.

Xiang asked, "Is what I said laughable?"

I said, "Not at all. Just estimate—how many newlywed couples in the world today, like us, would discuss such topics right after making love?"

He thought for a moment and said solemnly, "Probably just us. Chinese characteristics produce Chinese-style brides and grooms!"

We received over ten thousand yuan in betrothal gifts.

Xiang firmly forbade his friends from giving "contributions," but the red envelopes from his three aunts had to be accepted, and the goodwill from the "elders" could only be gratefully received—it would be impolite to refuse. Juan sent me five thousand yuan, which surprised me.

When I spoke to her on the phone, I scolded her for being "crazy."She said, "Money talks! Both our shops are doing well, so I wanted to share the good news with you."

Xiang wouldn't let me touch the five thousand yuan and personally deposited it, saying, "Li Juan has so many poor relatives, and there are plenty of places where money is needed. We should find a way to return it to her when the time is right."

That was exactly what I had in mind.

I finally had a home worthy of the name, and it was in Shanghai, China's second-largest city. I was happier than I had ever been.

Our home was in an old alley, a pavilion room in a Western-style old building, twenty-four square meters. Xiang said that for a pavilion room, it was quite spacious. Though it was a pavilion room, it was bathed in ample sunlight. Mother-in-law didn't give too many instructions about how our home should be, and Xiang's arrangements mostly suited my taste. The inconvenience was sharing the small kitchen and bathroom with the neighbors downstairs. There was no place to bathe either. Fortunately, there was a public bathhouse at the entrance of the alley, costing fifty cents each time.

Mother-in-law lived alone in a small three-bedroom apartment with an elevator, allocated to her during my father-in-law's lifetime.

Once, Mother-in-law said to me apologetically, "Wan Zhi, after I die, that apartment will belong to you two. But for now, let me enjoy it first. I'm sorry to have you two put up with this, please don't mind, okay?"

I replied respectfully, "Mom, how could I mind! I love our home very much. I only wish you health and longevity, to become a centenarian! Your long life is a blessing for Xiang and me."

After my "Principal Mother" passed away, I hadn't had a "mom" to call for many years, so calling her "Mom" also brought me happiness. In front of Mother-in-law, I naturally became sweet-tongued and adept at handling things. And in my "harmony," Mother-in-law, my husband, and Juan held equally important positions. She had once been an educated youth sent to Guizhou, and the fact that I was also from Guizhou indeed laid a good foundation for our harmonious relationship.

I had only enjoyed a few days of my honeymoon when a call from Li Juan, like an urgent summons, forced me to immediately set off and return to Shenzhen.

The usually unflappable Juan was completely flustered—one morning, she pushed open the pharmacy door and saw three boys and two girls, all half-grown children, squatting in a row under the window, clamoring to see "Aunt Fang Wanzhi." Upon asking, they were all from Shenxianding, having heard that "Auntie" had made it big in Shenzhen and was a "successful figure." They had all come to seek refuge with "Auntie," wanting to find jobs in Shenzhen and become Shenzhen residents. From their tone, some seemed to have informed their families, while others had clearly run away from home. One of the boys, though not from Shenxianding, was from the township's No. 1 Middle School, still one of my "little fellow townsfolk."

When I returned to Shenzhen and saw them, they were indeed all children. Under pressure, I found out that only the boy from the township's No. 1 Middle School was almost eighteen, while the other four were around sixteen or seventeen.

I got angry and scolded them, "You're not even adults yet. I absolutely won't help you find jobs, don't even think about it!" They all teared up.

Juan pulled me aside and whispered, "Your words are too easily misunderstood, as if you have the ability to help them find jobs but just won't."

I said, "How could I possibly have the ability to find jobs for five people at once? I was so angry I lost my head." I had no idea what to do with them either, so I had to ask Zhang Jiagui to come and help me figure something out.

Brother Zhang sighed repeatedly and said, "Ah, ah, how did you, Wan Zhi, become a 'successful figure'! The mouths of those people in our Shenxianding, who knows how they spread it, they've completely fooled these kids!"He believed it was absolutely impossible to let them stay long; if any of the children had an accident, what a huge responsibility that would be! It was also absolutely impossible to find them jobs—hiring minors was illegal. Including the one almost eighteen, they all had to be sent back. That boy hadn’t even graduated from high school yet; he was close to getting his diploma but hadn’t, and he would surely regret it later. He said we couldn’t immediately buy them tickets and send them off either, as that would make them unhappy. And if they were unhappy, who knew what they might say about me and him, two "successful figures"? In the eyes of adults, they were children, and adults believed children wouldn’t tell lies. The result would be—no matter how badly they spoke of us, we’d be unable to clear our names even if we jumped into the Yellow River.

Brother Zhang believed there was only one proper solution—let the children stay in Shenzhen for a few days, take them around to play and explore, make sure they ate well, drank well, and stayed comfortably; then, he would send someone from his company to escort them back.

I thought Brother Zhang’s consideration was thorough and completely agreed.

Juan added, "But don’t let them stay too comfortably either; it’s not about the money. Mainly, if you do, even if you’re not a successful figure, you might start feeling like one."

Brother Zhang said, "Right, right."

So he arranged a van from his company, and I took the five children to the hotel where Juan and I had stayed, booking two rooms for them.

When I returned to the pharmacy, Juan had just tidied up the loft bed. For the past few days, all five children had squeezed onto the loft to sleep, while she and her brother slept on the floor between the medicine shelves.

She said the loft smelled of stinky feet, spraying perfume as she spoke.

I didn’t have much money with me, so I called Xiang and asked him to send me the five thousand yuan Juan had mailed me earlier. He didn’t do that, worried I might act impulsively, and instead came back with the money himself.

In the following days, the pharmacy finally returned to peace. Juan and her brother could sleep in the loft again, while Xiang and I acted as tour guides for the five children from Shenxianding.

A few days later, Xiang accompanied the children back to Shenxianding. He said the children had come to Shenzhen because of me, so it wasn’t appropriate for someone from Brother Zhang’s company to escort them; and if I escorted them back, he was afraid I’d be too exhausted.

After Xiang and the children left, I was in charge of the pharmacy during the day and slept with Juan in the photo studio at night. Having been apart for so long, we had endless things to talk about.

Juan told me that Director Xu had gotten into trouble and was no longer the vice principal of the TV university—he had been demoted for taking bribes after being exposed, felt too ashamed to go to work, and retired early.

I said, "Before I came, Gao Xiang had spoken with him, and Gao Xiang didn’t seem to know."

Juan said, "Then don’t tell him; just act like you don’t know either."

I asked, "Is the problem serious?"

Juan said, "Probably not too serious; if it were, wouldn’t he have been locked up?"

I asked again, "Then should I meet him this time? Since Gao Xiang and I are married now, I should thank him."

Juan said, "Up to you. Brother Zhang and I often meet with him; we both pretend not to know, and he’s always quite happy."

I said, "Then I’d better see him once; I should represent Gao Xiang and give him some wedding candy."

Juan said, "I’ll arrange it. And let me tell you one more thing—Zheng Yiran has a partner now. Her figure isn’t as good as mine, but her looks are better. They showed up in our supermarket one day but only bought a bottle of mineral water. I think he did it on purpose to annoy me."

I asked, "Did it annoy you?"She said, "Then why be angry? It's because I felt we weren't compatible, and he didn't do anything wrong to me. At the time, cherries had just come into season, so I sent him two boxes of cherries on your behalf."

I hosted a meal at a countryside seafood restaurant, with Li Juan and Brother Zhang accompanying me to entertain Director Xu. Brother Zhang had thoughtfully considered that inviting Director Xu in the city might cause him concern. Once we reached the suburbs, Director Xu’s mood indeed brightened considerably. While singing in the private karaoke room, he was practically brimming with enthusiasm. Although he had once been a vice principal, I still habitually addressed him as Director Xu, and he responded just as cheerfully, as if he had always been the director. For this reason, I felt he was someone worth befriending.

Brother Zhang drove Director Xu home first, then dropped off Juan and me. On the way, he said, “I heard he fell victim to a political scheme.”

I didn’t understand and asked, “What’s a ‘scheme’?”

Juan explained, “It’s when several people collude to set a trap for someone or dig a pit.”

I asked again, “What do the colluders gain from it?”

Juan said, “Positions in officialdom are limited. If you step down, I can step up.”

Still confused, I continued, “But if several people collude, only one can move up after taking someone down. What do the others get out of it?”

Juan replied, “That’s true. Your question is too deep; I can’t answer it. Brother, you explain it to her.”

Brother Zhang said, “If you don’t understand, there’s no need to force it. Officialdom has its own rules, and the common folk have their own ways. Becoming friends is fate, and not easily losing a friend is our way. Common people live by their own principles when dealing with others and handling affairs.”

That evening, I said to Juan, “Juan, we’ll definitely have fewer chances to meet in the future. In everything you do, think carefully and take good care of yourself. Be extra careful not to fall into any ‘schemes’ others might set!”

Juan immediately teared up, saying sadly, “What do you mean? Are you telling me to my face that I’m going to lose you?”

I grew melancholy too, took her hand, and forced a smile. “Where did you get that idea? I’m now a Shanghai man’s wife and daughter-in-law. Even though I’m already a Shenzhen resident, I’ve married into Shanghai and will work, have children, become a mother, and support my husband and raise my children there. In short… But we both have phones, and transportation will only get more convenient. We’ll even be able to afford plane tickets. If one of us misses the other, we can meet in half a day…”

I couldn’t hold back my tears. Juan comforted me instead, saying we were still business partners, like two grasshoppers tied to the same rope—only the length of the rope might change…

When I returned to Shanghai, Xiang had already arrived home before me.

He said it was fortunate he was the one who took the children back, not me—as soon as he returned, my second sister latched onto him, obsessively talking only about her situation with Zhang Jiagui, complaining that I hadn’t taken her request seriously and never gave her a reply…

He earnestly advised me, “You must handle this matter properly, or your second sister will be very upset.”

I asked, “She’s clearly the only one interested. Brother Zhang doesn’t have those feelings at all, yet she insists on expecting me to make it happen. What am I supposed to do?”

He retorted, “She’s your second sister, not mine. Don’t ask me.”

I could tell the trip to Guizhou had left him unhappy. Guiltily, I said, “I’m sorry for causing you trouble because of me…”He was taken aback for a moment, then hugged me and sighed, "The phrase 'man is the sum of his social relations' holds true for me as well. Since we're married now, I can't exactly become an anti-truthist."

I laughed and retorted, "Who told you to assume I was just the daughter of a prestigious family, the mayor's daughter?"

He smiled wryly, "You didn't exactly elaborate on how complicated your social connections were back then."

That night, as we lay in bed, he said again, "Before, as an artist passionate about poverty alleviation, it was one thing. But now, seeing a poor farming family in the mountains become my own relatives—that's another matter entirely. Your second sister—I have to call her Second Sister too, don't I? When I call her that, it feels strange..."

I sensed a hint of "what did I do to deserve this" in his tone but didn't respond.

He added, "The five thousand yuan Juan sent us is almost gone."

I said, "I'll start looking for a job tomorrow. I don't need your help." With that, I turned over and ignored him.

He tried to hold me, but I pushed his hand away.

Tears welled up in my eyes—because of my own "sum of social relations," and because humans are creatures who selectively weave their social ties. As for Director Xu, Xiang actually knew about it—Brother Zhang's words, like 'becoming friends is fate, not easily losing a friend...' Xiang had said something similar, showing he could still handle his relationship with Director Xu according to folk principles. But when it came to suddenly having a "sister-in-law" like my second sister, he found it hard to see it as "fate."

Yet, realizing I felt the same way, I understood and forgave him.

In the end, everyone is fundamentally just a person first, so we should forgive others more and not be too hard on ourselves—even though I desperately wanted to be a good person.

I sent out multiple resumes and spent four or five days wandering all over Shanghai, doing my best to sell myself. Yes, to keep life going, I had taught myself how to market myself, and I did it as effortlessly as someone who never needed to self-promote.

It turns out some things in this world can be learned without a teacher—this realization freed me from feeling inferior about my education. I figured this ability of mine definitely wasn't genetic; my parents would never have passed down such so-called "superior genes." It was clearly acquired, yet neither my adoptive parents, my husband, Li Juan, nor Brother Zhang were particularly good at selling themselves—so how did I learn it? I found it strange but also quite pleased—it's better to know how than not.

I finally found a job I was quite satisfied with—working as a clerk in the Human Resources Department of Mingde Investment Co., Ltd. It was a Taiwanese-owned company, and the boss, in his seventies, reportedly shuttled between Taiwan and Shanghai, still personally serving as chairman of several subsidiaries. The name of the Shanghai subsidiary was obviously derived from the phrase "Great Ming, Bright Virtue."

Several interviewers were pleased with my performance, and one even whispered to me, "Sleep well tonight."

But when I showed up with the job offer, things changed—a stranger told me I could only work as a receptionist in the lobby, as the clerical position originally meant for me had been taken by someone "more qualified." So I had only two choices: either "seek better opportunities elsewhere" or become the lobby receptionist.My heart sank instantly.

But then he added, "The salary remains unchanged."

So I decided to stay—the place was close to home, just a half-hour walk away, like taking a stroll. Besides, I was quite satisfied with the salary.

The company was housed in a standalone old Western-style building. The lobby wasn’t very large, but my job was monotonous and dull. I had to sit upright behind the reception desk, forbidden from reading books or newspapers, let alone dozing off. Whenever someone entered, I had to ask them to show their work ID. If they were a business guest, I had to greet them with a smile, inquire about their purpose, check if they had an appointment, and politely ask them to register.

Behind me hung a large photographic work—a bald Tibetan monk walking with a cane on a snowy field, accompanied by six or seven dogs, all seemingly strays. Two of them looked up at him, one on each side. He had clearly been walking for a long time, as the footprints in the snow were small in stride and not straight, indicating his unsteady gait. The hand holding the cane was bony, with prominent veins, devoid of flesh, and covered in cracked, aged skin. The wind was strong—the hem of his earth-red robe billowed backward, and the withered branches of wormwood poking out of the snow all leaned in the same direction. His face was not visible, making it hard to discern his expression.

It was an enlarged version of Xiang’s photographic work, which I had seen in his photography collection.

Sitting as a lobby receptionist for some company in front of my own husband’s photographic work made me feel "strange" inside, much like how Xiang felt when he called my second sister "Second Sister."

Before me, there were only two dynamic scenes—a multi-layered carved stone ball and a middle-aged woman. The stone ball rested on a stone pillar, with water gushing continuously beneath it, causing the ball to spin endlessly. I spent my days dizzy from watching that ball. Humans are truly peculiar—the more you don’t want to look at something, the more your gaze involuntarily drifts toward it.

The woman’s surname was Wu, and I called her Sister Wu. She was from Huaibei, Jiangsu Province. She worked as a cleaner, responsible for the corridors, toilets, and lobby on three floors. I only saw her in the lobby after 10 a.m. each day, by which time she was already exhausted. Only after she appeared would my gaze shift to her. After finishing her cleaning duties in the morning, she would go to the kitchen to help in the afternoon.

The person in charge of logistics also assigned me a secret task—to evaluate Sister Wu’s work performance daily on a sheet of paper: good, average, or poor. Where I placed my "√" would affect her monthly bonus.

I resented this "task" and initially refused to carry it out. But the logistics supervisor said, "You can’t refuse to cooperate. This is also a sign of trust in you. Because you’re the only one who sees her work performance in the lobby every day."

So, every time, I placed my "√" next to the word "good."

When Sister Wu mopped the floor near the reception desk, she would lean on the mop to rest for a while. During those moments, I would take the initiative to chat with her. For me, it was like recharging, keeping me from dozing off and maintaining the alertness required for the job.

Sister Wu also enjoyed chatting with me.

She held many negative views about Shanghainese because old Shanghainese used to look down on people from Huaibei.

She said she disliked cleaning the large glass cabinets near the elevator the most—the blue-and-white porcelain vases inside were bought by the boss at an auction in Hong Kong, each priced at over two to three million Hong Kong dollars, making them antiques. Every time she cleaned them, she was on edge, fearing something might go wrong.I asked why, if it was such a valuable item, it wasn’t stored properly but displayed openly instead.

She said, “Capitalists, showing off, that’s all!”

I never discussed company matters with Xiang, because my job meant I knew very little about them. In over three months, I hadn’t seen the boss even once, so there was nothing to talk about.

But one evening, I couldn’t help asking him what exactly he wanted to express through that photographic work.

He countered, “Are you referring to the central theme that middle school Chinese teachers always emphasize?”

I said, “You could understand it that way.”

He said, “Photographic works, paintings, sculptures, a piece of light music—they can have a theme, or they can have none.”

I asked, “You must have had some subjective thoughts when you took the photo, right?”

He said, “Honestly, I didn’t at the time. I was standing high up and captured it spontaneously. Later, I considered naming it ‘Road Companions,’ but in the end, I dismissed the idea myself. Still, a work needs a title, so before publishing it in the magazine, I settled on ‘Untitled.’”

I thought “Untitled” was better than “Road Companions”—clearly, they were just a few dogs, and they looked like strays at that. Calling them road companions seemed rather forced.

He believed the opposite—not forced at all, but actually quite fitting. It was just too literal, which could limit the various other imaginings it might inspire, restricting the idea of “different views for different people.”

That evening, he had a bit to drink while dining with friends and was quite excited, using the topic as a springboard to speak eloquently and at length.

He said that so-called life is nothing more than a journey through time, whether long or short. No one wishes their life to be a lonely journey, so deep down, everyone needs road companions. If no one can be a companion, dogs will do, even stray dogs. He said that in this world, angels absolutely do not exist, but good people absolutely do. It’s simply unrealistic for a person to form a “sum of social relations” only with good people. Some people are even worse than stray dogs, and they too form their own sum of social relations. Their “sum” might even become the “hard core.” Moreover, they often wear the masks of good people, forming social relations with the good. So, a person’s life is a journey shared with all kinds of road companions...

I asked skeptically, “So in your eyes, am I also a road companion?”

He said, “Of course. We are each other’s road companions, companions who share joys and sorrows, who never abandon or leave each other. Like a song says, ‘You have me, and I have you.’ Because we have each other, the journey of life doesn’t become dull.”

“Wouldn’t the outcome be inevitably tragic if one’s companions were stray dogs? Once you’re exhausted, wouldn’t they devour you?”

“No one spends their entire life with stray dogs; that scenario can be completely ruled out. But it’s possible for a small segment of one’s journey to be shared with stray dogs. That is, of course, dangerous. However, if you look closely at my work, you’ll see how gentle those stray dogs appear, how special their gaze is toward the old monk. Doesn’t it seem like they’re cheering him on? Don’t they look like his protectors? An emaciated old monk, who could be blown over by a strong wind at any moment—how did he achieve such a relationship with those stray dogs? That’s what both shocked and moved me at the time...”

Talking about road companions in life naturally led to the topic of children.He said that personally, he didn’t care whether they had children or not. He wasn’t an ultra-wealthy tycoon or a modern-day crown prince, so he didn’t feel any “mission” to have children. He wouldn’t regret it even if he never became a father in his lifetime. But his father was an only child, and so was he, which made his mother desperately eager for a third generation. She would be happy with either a son or a daughter, but not having one at all was absolutely out of the question.

He said, “I’m not just a husband—I’m also an only son. What do you think we should do about this?”

I replied, “I understand, and I’m willing to cooperate wholeheartedly. But with our abilities, what kind of son could we possibly raise?”

He sensed that my thoughts aligned with his, hugged and kissed me, and said affectionately, “Thank you on behalf of my mother. Let nature take its course. But I’m confident I’ll help bring another good person into China. What about you?”

I replied softly, “Me too.”

The next day, when I looked at Untitled again, amidst the loneliness and crisis, I indeed saw a hint of harmony.

However, that same day, something rather “disharmonious” happened. As work was about to end, Sister Wu was mopping the floor again. A sudden rain had just passed, and puddles remained in front of the elevator. Just then, the elevator doors suddenly opened, and a man stepped out first, “clearing the way” for some VIP inside. Aside from Sister Wu, there was no one else outside the elevator, making his gesture entirely unnecessary. Sister Wu was mopping the floor with her side turned and didn’t have time to react. The man swung his arm sideways like a club, shoving her in the back. Sister Wu stumbled forward, crashed into a glass cabinet, and both the cabinet and the vase inside shattered into pieces on the floor...

Yet the VIP and their entourage didn’t stop. They hurried past me, turned, and disappeared outside the revolving door.

“Are you blind? You’ve destroyed something so precious—how could you ever repay it with your life?!” A department head pointed at the terrified Sister Wu and berated her loudly, as if he had seen everything more clearly than I had; clearly, Sister Wu was to bear the consequences.

Others joined in the accusations. Their harsh words echoed in unison—an antique worth two to three million, how could you ever afford to compensate for it? Even if you sold your family’s house back home, it would only cover a fraction of the cost!...

At that moment, I felt as though the wild dogs in the photography piece behind me had leaped up, pouncing on those men and women. In an instant, humans and dogs merged—the human forms remained, but the wild dogs had become their souls.

Sister Wu suddenly turned and ran out right in front of me.

Those people acted as if they hadn’t seen her—some called the police; others directed security to cordon off the scene; some had already brought cameras and were taking photos nonstop; while others could only shake their heads, stomp their feet, and sigh in despair...

I had a foreboding feeling and chased after Sister Wu.

Not far away was an overpass. Sister Wu’s figure was already on the bridge. I called out repeatedly as I ran closer, reaching her side and grabbing her arms tightly, not daring to let go.

She asked, “If someone dies, can they avoid responsibility and end it all?”

I said, “It’s not entirely your fault!”

She replied, “But who will testify for me?”

I said, “I will!”

She stared at me blankly for a moment, then said despairingly, “But I can’t afford a lawsuit. My family’s new house back home was just built—if we sell it, where will my family live? Xiao Fang, just let me repay it with my life!”

I said, “Your life is far more precious than that vase. I can’t just watch you die!”

She tried to break free, but I had to hold her tightly. After my earnest persuasion, she finally left the overpass with me and followed me back to my home.Xiang was at home making a photo frame. Watching Sister Wu sitting on a chair, tears streaming down her face, he listened as I finished explaining what had happened. After a moment of thought, he said to Sister Wu, "I know your boss. Maybe I can put in a good word for you."

I asked, "How well do you know him?"

He replied, "Well enough."

I suddenly snapped, "Why have you never told me this before?!"

He said, "You work there. What good would it do to tell you?"

He took his phone and stepped outside. More than ten minutes later, he returned to the room and solemnly said to Sister Wu, "I assure you, it’s fine. Go to work as usual tomorrow. No one will hold you accountable."

Xiang was considerate and insisted that Sister Wu stay for dinner and spend the night.

To make the meal more substantial, he personally went to a restaurant to order several dishes and brought back a bottle of red wine. To help Sister Wu calm her nerves, we repeatedly urged her to drink, and the three of us finished the bottle.

The next day, Sister Wu and I arrived at the company to find the lobby filled with chairs. Someone said the boss was going to personally hold a meeting there. Everyone’s eyes when they looked at Sister Wu and me were evasive and inscrutable.

The boss’s surname was Geng, given name Shiheng, a thin, balding elderly man. That day, I finally saw his distinguished face—unremarkable in appearance, but his voice was gentle and warm.

He began with self-criticism—saying he shouldn’t have always used the back entrance, heading straight to his office upon arrival, appearing and disappearing like a mythical dragon. This had not only severely distanced him from the employees but also left him largely unaware of what was happening at the front entrance. He said he couldn’t promise to use the front entrance every time from now on, as his car could only be parked in the backyard, but he would frequently come and go through the front entrance. If he encountered any employee, they could exchange greetings and chat a little—a form of emotional connection, after all. Even in the military, there needs to be a basic emotional foundation between superiors and subordinates, let alone in a company.

The crowd responded with applause and laughter.

I didn’t clap or laugh. Sister Wu, sitting beside me, was trembling. I held one of her hands.

Old Mr. Geng pointed at the glass cabinet and continued—the reason they were placed there was because he had followed the advice of an environmental designer at the time. The designer believed that with those two rows of vases, people waiting for the elevator wouldn’t feel impatient. The idea made sense, but now it seemed the intention and the effect were opposite. He couldn’t shift the blame to the designer, as he had agreed to it back then...

"Get to the point!" I couldn’t help but shout, interrupting him. As soon as the words left my mouth, I was secretly shocked by my own rudeness. For a moment, the room fell into an eerie silence. People sitting in front of me turned to look at me, their eyes like needles, regarding me as a troublemaker.

Old Mr. Geng Shiheng continued, "Alright. Let’s get to the point. The point is—those were cheap vases, bought as discounted items for two or three hundred yuan each. One day when I had nothing to do, I personally went to a porcelain shop and picked them out..."

Another wave of silence fell.

Amid the silence, Sister Wu began to cry softly.

Old Mr. Geng went on, "I need to clarify something—I never told anyone that those vases were particularly valuable. How the rumor of their high worth came about doesn’t need to be analyzed here. I admit I’m someone who cares about face, but my dignity has never needed others to uphold it, nor has it ever manifested in such ways. I hope such phenomena will be eradicated in this company from now on. Because a cheap vase was broken, Ms. Wu suffered considerable distress. I, Geng, hereby apologize..." He bowed deeply.He then said, "Here, I am filled with gratitude toward one person. I won't say who it is. Without her, our company might have faced a major incident yesterday. Would I still have the face to appear in Shanghai's business circles? Would our company still deserve to be called Mingde Company?..."

After the meeting, I was invited to his office.

"This is famous Taiwanese high-mountain tea," he said, personally brewing a cup for me. He sat with me on the sofa and began to chat.

He mentioned that he was born in Shanghai and had a special affection for the city; he also said he was a friend of my husband.

I replied, "Gao Xiang only told me yesterday."

"So that's how it is... Not only are we friends, but your husband has also done great favors for both me and my wife. I'll keep you in suspense for now—ask him when you get home..."

He smiled warmly, while I was left utterly confused.

"I've looked over your resume. You studied business management, and I think the investment department would be a better fit for you. You can start your new position tomorrow..." He stood up to refill my cup.

I said, "Business management and investment are two entirely different fields..."

He replied, "For every project our company invests in, we also assign personnel to participate in management..."

He didn’t return to the sofa but instead sat behind his desk and began writing something.

I said, "I don’t want you to do this because of my husband..." Suddenly feeling insulted, I didn’t finish my sentence.

He looked up at me with a smile and said, "You’re overthinking it. Some things don’t need to be dwelled on so much. I’m a businessman, and my perspective always starts with what this company needs. I’ll leave this as a mystery for now—you’ll understand in time. Look, I’ve already signed the recommendation form for the investment department. Let’s settle it this way."

"Who recommended me? I don’t know anyone in the investment department, and they know nothing about me..." Driven by pride, I grew stubborn.

But he said, "Didn’t I ask you not to overthink it? Why insist on making it more complicated? The world is often simple—overthinking tends to make things seem vulgar... I’ve already signed. So, it’s settled, then?..."