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Nineteenth-century criminologist Cesare Lombroso specialized in studying the skulls of criminals in prisons. He discovered that one-third of the criminals shared identical characteristics in their skulls, which included:
Individuals possessing several of these facial traits were considered born criminals. I don’t know if my father falls into this category. Out of the eight characteristics, he exhibits six, with only two exceptions: his eyebrows aren’t messy, the space between them isn’t particularly narrow, and his jaw isn’t overly prominent. In his youth, he was considered quite handsome. Now, at fifty-three, for some reason, he has grown increasingly disreputable with age. Unfortunately, I resemble him—I look like a feminine version of his younger self. The slight differences are that my face isn’t particularly large, and my nose isn’t upturned enough to reveal my nostrils. But our large ears are the most similar feature.
At 2 a.m., I received a call from the police station asking me to bail out Qiu Guo—my father.
I arrived at the Wan Chai Police Station at 2:22 a.m. I informed the officer on duty that I was there to bail out Qiu Guo, and he led me to a room behind the report room. My father sat there, crestfallen, while across from him was a garishly made-up, disheveled middle-aged woman with a swollen left cheek and blood at the corner of her mouth.
“What’s your relationship to him?” a plainclothes detective asked me.
“I’m his daughter.”
The look the detective gave me was the most contemptuous gaze I had ever encountered.
“He assaulted this woman,” the detective said.
I glared fiercely at my father. The head of this fifty-three-year-old born romantic criminal drooped even lower, not daring to meet my eyes.
The disheveled middle-aged woman requested to be taken to the hospital for a medical examination. I paid the bail, and after thirty minutes of processing, we were finally allowed to leave the station. As we stepped out, an ambulance was just pulling in.
The moment my father walked out of the police station, his demeanor instantly turned flippant. He kicked an empty plastic bottle of active lactic acid drink across the street.
“That woman—” he began, trying to explain.
“I don’t want to hear it!” I covered my ears with my hands.
“Did I wake you?”
“I wasn’t asleep! School exams are on—did you think everyone leads as carefree a life as you?”
“You’ve always done well in school,” he said, trying to placate me.
Just then, the ambulance drove out of the station, taking the woman to the hospital. I raised my hand to stop it.
“We know the injured woman. Can we accompany her?” I asked the driver.
The driver glanced back at the woman in the ambulance. She shot a look at my father but didn’t object.
“Alright,” the driver said.Dad and I got into the ambulance, and the woman sat across from us. Without any explanation from my father, I already knew this was another one of those embarrassing romantic disputes. Dad always had different female companions—when he was young, and even now in his old age. There had been instances before where women barged into our home, so this time, with the scene escalating to the police station, I wasn’t surprised. On the ring finger of his left hand, he wore a platinum ring—not his wedding ring, but probably a token of commitment to another woman. He had achieved nothing significant in his later years because, it seemed, he was born to fall in love.
The ambulance quickly arrived at the hospital. After getting out, I pulled Dad away.
"Aren’t we supposed to accompany her to the hospital?" he asked.
"Who said that? I just wanted a free ride."
My home was near this public hospital, so I could save on taxi fare.
"Clever thinking! This is the first time I’ve ever taken an ambulance home. I’ve always said you’re smart." He was trying to flatter me again.
My father was a master of sweet talk—it was probably how he charmed my mother into marrying him. But eventually, the sweet talk stopped working, and they divorced when I was fourteen. He was an eternal optimist, always believing tomorrow would be better, which was why he never saved money and was often broke. He named me Huan’er, hoping I’d carry a bit of joy, but unfortunately, my surname is Qiu.
I didn’t sleep all night; the notes just wouldn’t sink in. I decided to set them aside and rest for two hours to regain my energy. Before sleeping, I woke my sister, Le’er, for school. She’s in her second year of middle school and doesn’t seem very interested in studying—or, to be honest, in much of anything.
At noon, I went back for the exam. After it ended, I ran into Hu Tiehan in the hallway.
"Don’t forget our meeting this weekend," he said.
Hu Tiehan, Zhu Mengmeng, Yu Deren, Ou Xiaojue, and I had been in the same class since fourth grade, all the way through middle school, and we were very close.
Hu Tiehan was incredibly handsome. His father was a police officer, and he had a strong sense of justice. For a while, he even worked as a child host on a TV show, becoming a child star.
In our fourth year of middle school, Zhu Mengmeng went to Canada to study.
Three years ago, she returned, and we started hanging out regularly again.
The weekend gathering was held at Zhu Mengmeng’s 2,800-square-foot home in Kennedy Town. Her family owned several dried seafood shops in Nam Pak Hong. Her mother was the most fashionable woman in the area.
"Huan’er? You’re here? You’re the first to arrive," Zhu Mengmeng greeted me at the door.
"Here are the things you and your mom wanted," I said, placing two large bags of skincare products on the floor to count. "Six bottles of facial cleanser, three bottles of toner…"
"Alright, alright! How much in total?"
"One thousand six hundred and two dollars."
"That cheap? How’s your multi-level marketing business going?"
"Not bad."
"I really admire you. I could never do that kind of job—I hate having to persuade people to buy things."
"Life forces you to adapt!" I said with a laugh.
I started working as a distributor for an American skincare and health products company two years ago. On top of that, I have three tutoring jobs, bringing in about eight thousand dollars a month. That eight thousand is to pay off Ou Xiaojue’s debts. For him, even being in debt feels like a kind of happiness.In our second year of middle school, ten classmates and I went camping at Tai Long Sai Wan. The weather was already bad when we set off in the morning. By the time we arrived at Tai Long Sai Wan, the weather had suddenly turned severe—thunder and lightning raged, heavy rain poured down, many areas were flooded, and trees had fallen. We were trapped on a beach, and the tent we pitched was swept away by the fierce wind in less than five minutes.
We made our way to a nearby village. It was already past eight in the evening, and the surroundings were pitch black. Several village houses were deserted and uninhabited, which was terrifying. We knocked on the door of a house with a light on, and a man answered.
The man led us to a nearby village house to spend the night but demanded two hundred dollars for the accommodation.
It was a dilapidated, uninhabited house. As we stepped inside and looked up, we were shocked to discover ten coffins on the roof.
"These coffins belong to the elderly in our village. They have a habit of ordering their coffins in advance. Out of these ten coffins, only one contains a body."
"A body?" we screamed in terror.
"One of the village elders passed away earlier tonight. The body couldn't be transported out, so it's placed here," the man explained.
"Is there another place?" someone asked him.
"This is the only place," the man replied.
We huddled together, terrified. I had never seen a real coffin before, let alone one that held a corpse.
"If you don't like it, you can go outside," the man said coldly.
"We don't have any other choice. Let's stay here," Hu Tiehan said.
The village house had only two levels: a ground floor and a loft, with a combined area of less than two hundred square feet. The ground floor could accommodate at most six people lying down, while the remaining four had to sleep in the loft. But the loft was closest to the roof, where the coffins were placed on wooden racks. If you slept in the loft, you'd be only four feet away from the coffins.
"Which coffin has the body?" Yu Deren asked the man.
"The one on the far left," the man said before leaving the house.
"Let's draw lots to decide the sleeping arrangements. Whoever draws a skull must sleep in the loft. If someone draws two skulls, they have to sleep directly under the coffin with the body. Any objections?" Hu Tiehan suggested.
At a time like this, he actually proposed drawing skulls.
We looked at each other, and no one had a better idea. The drawing of lots began, and I prayed desperately not to be chosen. In the end, I was the one.
I sat under the coffin that held the body, hugging my knees and covering my face as I sobbed.
"I'll swap with you," Ou Xiaojue said.
"Aren't you afraid?" I asked him.
"You're a girl," he said, crawling over to exchange places with me.
"Xiaojue, thank you."
"Sleep now, don't be afraid. It'll be morning soon," he comforted me.
I lay down next to Xiaojue, closing my eyes and not daring to look up. Truthfully, no one could possibly sleep that night. I had known Xiaojue since we were nine years old. He was never the most outstanding in the group and seemed to lack strong opinions. Hu Tiehan, on the other hand, was tall, handsome, and a natural leader. I had always had a crush on Hu Tiehan, but that night, he stayed on the ground floor without even considering swapping places with me.
I glanced at Xiaojue sleeping beside me. He had covered his head with his clothes, curled up into a ball, and was trembling under the covers."Xiaojue, are you really scared?" I patted his back. "I can't sleep, shall we chat?"
He emerged from under the blanket, pretending to be composed.
"Why did you switch places with me?" I asked him.
"Besides Hu Tiehan, there are other boys, you know?" Xiaojue said, looking at me.
So I had been overlooking him all along.
Because he liked me, even though he was terrified, Xiaojue was willing to swap places and sleep beneath the coffin where the body lay. I turned to look at him, and he met my gaze. I had never realized how close we actually were.
Xiaojue was clever yet willful. If there was a type of person who only discovers their life's purpose very late, Xiaojue was that type. His college entrance exam results were poor, and he didn't get into university. He drifted aimlessly for a year before suddenly becoming determined and scoring three A's in the University of London entrance exams. The University of Bristol in the UK accepted him to study accounting. The annual tuition and living expenses combined amounted to nearly 150,000. Xiaojue's family wasn't well-off; his parents had retired, and his three older sisters were married, with only the third sister living relatively comfortably. As his girlfriend, I couldn't bear to see his hopes dashed, and I believed that given the chance, he would surely succeed and return. Xiaojue's third sister agreed to cover half of his annual tuition and living expenses, and for the remaining half, I borrowed from Mengmeng's mother, planning to repay it in monthly installments. In one more year, Xiaojue would be back. We couldn't afford plane tickets, and long-distance calls were expensive, so unless necessary, we didn't call each other, relying instead on letters. He would send me a letter every two weeks. After graduating this year and finding a job, maybe I could save up for a plane ticket to visit him.
Hu Tiehan and Yu Deren arrived, with Yu Deren holding two four-foot-tall Sailor Moon figures.
"For you two, Sailor Moon! One for each, just arrived."
"Such childish toys, I'm not interested," I said.
Yu Deren hadn't done well in his exams either and didn't get into pre-university courses, so he joined a trading company as a toy buyer. He was still childlike, immature, and lacked clear life goals, so this job suited him well.
"Started job hunting yet?" Yu Deren asked me.
"Writing application letters now," I said. "What about you, Hu Tiehan, what will you do?"
"No need to ask, he's definitely going to be a policeman," Mengmeng said.
"I've already applied to be a police inspector," Hu Tiehan said.
"Have you ever considered any other job?" I asked him.
"I decided to become a policeman back in fourth grade," Hu Tiehan said. "I want to uphold justice and punish evil."
I almost spat out the tea in my mouth. Hu Tiehan's words sounded like lines from a police recruitment ad on TV.
"Huan'er, what kind of job are you planning to do? With a psychology degree, will you become a psychologist?" Yu Deren asked me.
"A psychologist? Dealing with people with psychological issues every day? I couldn't handle that. I want to work in public relations and marketing. I've already sent out many job applications."
"My mom seems to have a friend who works at a PR company, one of the largest in Hong Kong. Should I ask my mom to introduce you?" Mengmeng asked me.
Three days later, I received a call from that company, inviting me for an interview. The person in charge was a woman in her thirties who had previously participated in a beauty pageant.This woman named Maisie was the manager of a PR firm. I remembered she had participated in the fifth Miss Hong Kong pageant, with contestant number two, but didn’t make it into the top three.
“Are you contestant number two, Maisie?” I said.
She was surprised that I recognized her and even remembered her contestant number.
“You have an excellent memory,” she said.
The reason I remembered Maisie was that my father had liked her back then and had placed a bet on a horse race using her contestant number, winning several thousand dollars. We used that money to buy a new television, refrigerator, washing machine, and rice cooker. The four modernizations of my household were all thanks to Maisie—how could I ever forget her?
“Why didn’t you enter a beauty pageant? You have the qualities!” she said.
“Me? I don’t have the qualities! And I lack the courage.”
“Nowadays, it’s not even worth entering a beauty pageant—it’s more like an ugly contest. Back when we competed, every girl was truly of high caliber,” she said proudly.
“Yes! I remember your cheongsam was emerald green with a peony pattern and a layer of lace at the chest—very enchanting.”
“Your memory is truly remarkable; it’s been over ten years,” she said, laughing so hard she seemed to bloom like a flower.
“When can you start work?” she asked me.
“Are you offering me the job?” I asked Maisie.
“You completely meet our requirements,” Maisie said.
“Can I think about it?”
“Think about it?” She seemed taken aback.
“I’d like to go home and discuss it with my father,” I said.
I went for an interview at another PR firm. This one was smaller in scale compared to Maisie’s. The person who interviewed me was a man nearing fifty, short in stature, with a smile on his face. His office was a complete mess: magazines, newspapers, and vinyl records were piled up like mountains, along with a few old photos of Hong Kong, several oil paintings, a few pairs of designer men’s shoes, several designer briefcases, and a few designer umbrellas. His desk was cluttered with dozens of antique fountain pens and a large jar of preserved plums.
“Would you like a preserved plum?” he asked me.
“No, thank you.”
“You studied psychology?” he asked, flipping through my resume.
“Yes.”
“I had a dream last night. Could you interpret it for me?” he asked, chewing on a preserved plum.
This little old man’s interview question was actually asking me to interpret his dream!
“Don’t worry, it was definitely not a romantic dream,” he said, spitting the plum pit into an ashtray. “I dreamed I was constantly cooking. I made a lot of dishes—soy sauce chicken, sweet and sour pork, salt and pepper shrimp—no, wait, garlic prawns, chili crab... anyway, lots and lots of dishes. The thing is, I don’t know how to cook, so when I woke up, I was starving. What does this dream mean?”
“This kind of dream is usually had by women.”
He was startled: “Really? But in the dream, I was a man.”
“If you dream of yourself continuously cooking all kinds of dishes, it means the dreamer wishes to forget a past romance that’s hard to let go of.”
A look of surprise crossed his face.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked him.
“I guess it’s true that what you think about during the day, you dream about at night,” he said. “I just broke up with my girlfriend last week. Actually, she was the one who broke up with me.”
I hadn’t expected this man, who was nearly fifty, to still be unmarried."I really like her; she's only twenty-five. Single older men often get rejected by young women," he said with a bitter smile.
"You look very young for your age," I complimented him.
"Because I'm always in love," he replied smugly.
"When can you start working?" he asked me.
I never expected to land my first job by interpreting dreams.
I stood up to say goodbye and noticed four bottles of red wine behind the door, all prestigious Bordeaux vintages.
"I love drinking wine. Some of these I bought a few years ago—they’ve appreciated in value, and I can sell them to friends for a profit. I really regret not buying a 1982 PETRUS last time; that wine would’ve been a great investment. Now it’s impossible to find anywhere."
"You really enjoy collecting things," I remarked.
"It’s not collecting—it’s investing. I’d never buy anything that I couldn’t sell later," he said playfully. "Once you start working here, I’ll teach you all about investing."
"I don’t have any money to invest," I laughed.
"A woman’s best investment is in a good man," he said.
I called up Maroushka and told her I’d accepted a job at Yun Sheng Public Relations.
Even Meng Meng was surprised by my choice.
"Maroushka really liked you. She praised you to my mom and thought you’d take the job with her."
"Yun Sheng pays fifteen hundred more than Maroushka’s offer. Now I can send a bit more living expenses to Xiao Jue."
"Oh, so that’s why. How touching! But what if Xiao Jue changes his heart?" Meng Meng asked.
"He won’t," I said firmly.
"Dad, does the wine shop have a bottle of ’82 PETRUS?" I asked.
"’82 PETRUS? That’s extremely expensive! It sells for ten thousand now, and we don’t have any in stock."
The next day, my dad called to say he’d found a bottle of ’82 PETRUS in the warehouse. It was originally reserved for a customer who never came to pay for it.
"Get it for me!" I told him.
On my first day at Yun Sheng, I brought along a bottle of 1982 PETRUS.
Yun Sheng’s office was located in Causeway Bay, with a total of twelve employees, including the receptionist. Each public relations professional worked independently, only collaborating with colleagues for large-scale projects. The two people sitting near me were Xiang Lingling and Wang Zhen. Xiang Lingling was a genuine housewife—I overheard her calling home every fifteen minutes to ask her Filipino maid whether her son had had a bowel movement. If her son really went that often, he’d be severely dehydrated by now. Wang Zhen was petite and looked fragile, but she was very friendly.
"My son hasn’t pooped in two days," Xiang Lingling said to me with a frown.
"How old is he?"
"Four years old, and he’s already this tall," she gestured with her hand to show me.
"He must be adorable," I said, knowing that every mother thinks her son is the cutest.
"He’s absolutely adorable—this is him!" Xiang Lingling showed me a photo on her desk. Her little son was so chubby he was almost indistinguishable from being swollen—definitely born with a tendency to obesity.
"He really is cute," I praised.
Fang Yuan treated everyone to lunch as a welcome for me. He was a pretty good boss.Back at the company, I walked into his office and asked, "Mr. Fang, are you looking for a 1982 PETRUS?"
"Do you know where to find one?"
"I have a bottle."
He was overjoyed: "Where did you find it?"
"My father works at a wine shop, and this was the last bottle left. I brought it back, not sure if you'd want it." I handed him the bottle.
"Of course I want it! This wine will only appreciate in value. How much is it?"
"Ten thousand dollars. I have the receipt here—it's already discounted."
"I'll write you a check right away."
"There's a task I need you to handle," he said.
"You're too inexperienced, and honestly, you shouldn't have been assigned this task, but I believe it's a great opportunity for you to learn. There are rumors that 'Bee Comfort' sanitary pads have insects in them, and some even claim that a woman who used this brand ended up with worms in her uterus, leading to a full hysterectomy. This is pure slander. The general distributor has already reported it to the police, but sales of the sanitary pads have plummeted. The distributor has hired us to handle this. Crisis management is a crucial aspect of public relations, and it's the perfect chance for you to learn."
To follow up on the issue of insects in the sanitary pads, I went to the general distributor, Letao Group, for a meeting the next day. Letao is one of the largest distributors in Hong Kong, handling hundreds of products. Just for sanitary pads alone, they represent five brands, along with diapers, toilet paper, shampoo, and more. "Bee Comfort" is the top-selling brand in Hong Kong, with a 50% market share, making it an easy target for criticism. I myself am a loyal user of "Bee Comfort."
I was received by the president of Letao, the so-called "Sanitary Pad King," who, surprisingly, was a man.
The Sanitary Pad King was younger than I had imagined—he looked no older than thirty. When I entered his office, he was intently assembling a model fighter jet.
He was performing a delicate task, gluing a tiny, rice-sized part onto the plane. I stood to the side to avoid disturbing him, but at that moment, I couldn't help it—I sneezed. I covered my mouth, but the sneeze still startled him. I saw his right hand tremble suddenly, and the small part ended up in the wrong place.
"I'm sorry," I apologized awkwardly.
He didn't seem too pleased but still replied politely, "It's fine, please have a seat."
"I'm Qiu Huan'er, representing Yun Sheng Public Relations," I said, handing him my business card.
"I'm Gao Haiming," he replied.
This Gao Haiming wasn't particularly tall—about five foot six—with a slender build, naturally curly and thick hair, and very fair skin. His eyes didn't have the sharp, determined look of a successful businessman; instead, they held a hint of sorrow and resignation.
"Regarding the rumors about insects in 'Bee Comfort,' I've drafted a clarification statement, and the follow-up actions are outlined in the proposal," I said, handing him the document.
He silently read through the entire proposal in front of me without saying a word.
"That's fine," he said.
"Mr. Gao, do you have any feedback?" I asked cautiously again.
He shook his head and said, "You may go."
I had no choice but to stand up and take my leave. As I turned to leave, he suddenly called out to me.
"Miss Qiu—"
"What is it?"
I turned back to ask Gao Haiming, thinking he finally had some input.
Gao Haiming pointed to the left sleeve of my jacket—it had caught on a small part of his model fighter jet.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, placing the part in his palm.
"Thank you," he replied, then focused entirely on assembling his model again. His movements were skilled, and the connections were flawless—he must have been building models frequently. As he worked, he was as meticulous as a surgeon performing an operation: the plane was his patient, and the office was his operating table. It seemed as though once the assembly was complete and the paint applied, that fighter jet would soar straight into the sky to battle.I organized a large-scale press conference for "Bee Comfort," hiring two gynecology experts to provide professional opinions. They stated that it was impossible for insects in sanitary pads to crawl through the vaginal canal into the uterus and cause uterine infestations. Gao Haiming did not attend this conference; it was represented by the general manager of Letao. Following this, I placed advertisements in newspapers for several days to clarify the rumors about "Bee Comfort" having insects. The sales of "Bee Comfort" rebounded, and the matter was finally put to rest. However, the police were still unable to identify who had maliciously slandered "Bee Comfort." The case was handed over to the Commercial Crime Bureau, but according to industry insiders, it was unlikely to be a competitor, as the main distributors of "Bee Comfort's" key rivals were large companies that wouldn’t risk such actions. It was more likely that some laid-off employees of Letao, harboring resentment, had spread the rumor about insects in "Bee Comfort."
"You did well," Fang Yuan said to me in the office.
"Gao Haiming isn’t what I imagined the 'Sanitary Pad King' to be like," I remarked.
"He inherited the business from his father," Fang Yuan explained. "But don’t underestimate him; he’s a very intelligent person."
"He seems quite introverted."
"That’s probably why he still doesn’t seem to have a girlfriend," Fang Yuan said with a laugh.
Over the weekend, we had dinner at Mengmeng’s place.
"Tiehan, have you heard back about your application for the inspector position?" I asked Tiehan.
"I’ve been accepted."
"When does the training start?"
"Next week, and it will last for 36 weeks."
"After 36 weeks, you’ll be a real man," I said.
"Aren’t you afraid of dying?" Mengmeng asked him sarcastically.
"I—WILL—NOT—DIE," Hu Tiehan said, enunciating each word slowly.
"Why so serious? I know you won’t die. You’ll live to at least a hundred. By the time the rest of us are gone, you’ll still be around, a living relic to be put on display!" Mengmeng retorted at Hu Tiehan.
"Better than being idle like you," Hu Tiehan deliberately provoked her.
"Mengmeng doesn’t need to work at all. If I were her, I wouldn’t bother looking for a job. At most, I’d be like those socialites, organizing charity parties, fashion shows, or spending a few hundred thousand to shoot a music video with the hottest male singer just to show off," Yu Deren said.
"If I were to shoot one, I’d make my own music video," Mengmeng declared.
"Your own music video?" I asked.
"I want to be a singer," Mengmeng said.
"You?" Hu Tiehan sneered.
"I plan to enter the singing competition hosted by the TV station. I’ve already picked up the application form," Mengmeng announced.
Mengmeng had a natural talent for singing; her voice was truly captivating.
Sure enough, Mengmeng smoothly advanced to the finals.
On the night of the competition, we went to cheer her on.
When Mengmeng took the stage, her outfit startled me. She was wearing a black vinyl top and pants, looking like a garbage bag, and even she seemed a bit embarrassed. But Mengmeng truly had the composure of a star. Her voice was deep and unique, far surpassing the other contestants. If she hadn’t been dressed like a trash bag, her performance would have been even better. In the end, she won first place.
The record company announced they would heavily promote Mengmeng and signed her to a five-year contract.
Her career was off to a smooth start.
Gao Haiming really had no luck. Shortly after the "Bee Comfort" incident settled down, another product he represented—a brand of disposable diapers—ran into trouble.Le Tao was the agent for "Love Baby Diapers," which were rumored to contain insects. There was even a rumor that a three-month-old baby boy had half of his buttocks bitten and damaged by insects after using "Love Baby" diapers. "Love Baby Diapers" ranked second in sales across Hong Kong, holding about 30% of the market share. The issue of insects in diapers is different from that in sanitary pads because the materials used in diapers can indeed harbor insects. If the packaging is inadequate, it can create an opportunity for insects to breed. A few years ago, there was an incident involving insects in a certain brand of diapers, and as a result, the agent recalled all the diapers on the market. However, the current rumor about "Love Baby" diapers containing insects remains just that—a rumor. No one has filed a complaint. The method of malicious slander used here is similar to the one used against "Bee Comfort," and it’s likely the work of the same person or group.
Because of the "Love Baby" issue, I went to Le Tao again to meet with Gao Haiming. As I expected, when I entered his office, he was intently assembling another fighter jet model, which was already 80% complete. Given that his products were being maliciously slandered one after another, he should have been very troubled, but Gao Haiming appeared remarkably calm. Just like last time, he silently reviewed my proposal without offering any comments.
"Let’s proceed like this," he repeated the same phrase.
"Then I’ll go ahead with it," I said, standing up to leave.
"Ms. Qiu—" he called out to stop me.
"What is it?" I quickly checked both my sleeves, worried that I might have accidentally snagged one of his model parts again.
"May I see your hands?" he asked.
Puzzled, I set down my briefcase and extended my hands.
Gao Haiming placed his hands behind his back and studied my hands with his gaze, as if examining a tool.
"Your fingers are very slender," he remarked.
"Thank you."
"Could you do me a favor?" he asked.
"Of course, what do you need?"
He pointed to a delicate part and said, "Please help me attach this piece inside the cockpit. My fingers aren’t slender enough, and I don’t know where my tools are."
So that was it.
"I don’t know how to assemble models. I’m afraid I might mess it up and ruin your work," I said.
"It’s fine," he replied expressionlessly.
I had no choice but to follow his instructions. Using my pinky finger, I carefully picked up the tiny part—I had no idea which part of the model it was—and nervously attached it to the spot Gao Haiming indicated inside the cockpit. Gao Haiming watched me intently, as if afraid I would make a mistake. My hands trembled slightly from nervousness, but fortunately, I managed to complete the task.
"Is this right?" I asked him.
"Yes. Thank you," Gao Haiming said, looking satisfied as he admired his model.
"What model is this fighter jet?" I ventured to ask.
Perhaps because I studied psychology, I’ve always been intrigued by people who seem to have a touch of autism.
"F-16," Gao Haiming replied, looking at me with surprise. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised that someone was engaging him in conversation or that someone didn’t recognize it as an F-16 fighter jet.
"You’ve built it beautifully," I complimented him.
"Thank you," he said without looking at me. He seemed even shyer than I was.
Just then, his secretary came in and said, "Mr. Gao, there are two officers from the Commercial Crime Bureau here to speak with you."
"Please show them in," Gao Haiming said, though he didn’t seem particularly eager to meet them.
"Mr. Gao, I’ll take my leave now," I said to him."Do you know why 'Bee Comfort' and 'Love Baby' were rumored to have insects?" Gao Haiming suddenly initiated a conversation with me.
"Maybe it was spread by competitors, or disgruntled employees you fired, or perhaps enemies of your family," I said.
He shook his head.
"Then who could it be?"
"Have you ever considered it might be me?" Gao Haiming asked.
When he said this, his expression was both smug and ambiguous, like a mischievous child who had done something that caused the adults a great headache, yet remained unscathed.
I was stunned.
Two officers from the Commercial Crime Bureau entered, and I left Gao Haiming’s office. On the way, I kept mulling over his words. Could he have been telling the truth? There was no commercial warfare or resentful employees—it was Gao Haiming himself who spread the rumors to slander "Bee Comfort" and "Love Baby."
Why would he do such a thing?
The first explanation was his dissatisfaction with reality. Although he possessed enviable qualities—youth, talent, a wealthy family, a degree from a prestigious foreign university, and being single—all of this felt like a prison to him. He didn’t want to take over his father’s business, yet he couldn’t defy his father’s orders. So, just as the sales of his products were soaring, he deliberately spread rumors about insects in them, causing sales to plummet. The decline in sales didn’t add to his pressure; instead, it relieved it. It was like a spoiled child intentionally doing something bad to upset his parents.
The second explanation was his desire to control the situation. Gao Haiming lived a life too lonely and dull, so he devised this game about insects in sanitary pads and diapers, watching everyone—company executives, the police, the media, and me—scramble to resolve the issue. We were like pawns or models in his hands, manipulated and directed without realizing it was his prank. As he watched this farce unfold, he seemed to ascend to the throne of God, looking down on the world and mocking its foolishness. He controlled the entire situation; he was the smartest one.
There was a third explanation: he was toying with me. Perhaps he wasn’t the one spreading the rumors about insects in sanitary pads and diapers at all—he just wanted to see my reaction. But why would he toy with me?
The rumors about "Love Baby" having insects eventually died down, and Letao weathered two crises. The third time I saw Gao Haiming had nothing to do with work.
On Sunday, Mengmeng and I went to Mong Kok to watch a movie. As we passed by a model shop, it was crowded with young couples, the girls obediently accompanying their boyfriends as they browsed for models. A man in his twenties stared at a bright red Ferrari sports car model in the display window, his eyes gleaming as if he were about to own the real thing.
"Stop looking, I’m exhausted!" Mengmeng urged me.
We waited for a taxi near the model shop when I spotted Gao Haiming carrying a large box into the store.
That day, he wasn’t wearing a suit, just a shirt and jeans, making him look even younger. He might have been there to buy a model.
He opened the box and took out a fighter jet model—the same one I had seen him assembling that day. The shop owner inspected it and then paid him. Why would the owner pay him instead?The shopkeeper carefully stored the aircraft model under the counter. Gao Haiming received a stack of banknotes, tucked them into his pocket, and left the model shop. I quickly pulled Mengmeng aside to avoid being seen by him.
"Do you know him?" Mengmeng asked me.
"He's the 'Sanitary Napkin King,'" I replied.
"I always imagined the Sanitary Napkin King would be some sleazy-looking guy," Mengmeng said with a laugh.
I watched as Gao Haiming drove off in a small Japanese car. Given his wealth, he could easily afford a Ferrari. It seemed he was quite low-key, much like his introverted personality.
I pulled Mengmeng into the shop. The owner was a young guy.
"Boss, who was that person who just handed you the model?" I asked him.
"I only know his surname is Gao."
"Why did he give you the model?"
"He builds models for others. This one was bought by someone else, and once he finished building it, he naturally had to hand it over to me."
I was shocked. The Sanitary Napkin King actually built models for others?
"Do you know what he does for a living?" I asked the owner.
"I don't know. Maybe he's just an ordinary office worker. Building models can earn him some extra cash."
I found it amusing. Did Gao Haiming really need that kind of side income?
"The models he builds are the best I've ever seen," the owner said.
"Doesn't he buy models to build for himself?"
The owner shook his head.
This Gao Haiming was truly peculiar.
Suddenly, an idea struck me. I asked the owner, "If I buy a model kit, can I request that he builds it?"
"Sure."
I picked out a battleship model.
"Not this one," the owner said.
"Why? You said I could request him to build it."
"He only builds aircraft models," the owner explained.
"Only aircraft models? Why?"
"I don't know. He just sticks to aircraft."
"Then let's pick an aircraft," Mengmeng suggested.
"Which one is the most complicated?" I asked the owner.
The owner picked up a model kit from the shelf and said, "This one! It's an F-15. Very complex."
"We'll take this one," I said.
"I'll pay half," Mengmeng chimed in. "He does business with me for a few days every month. It's only fair he serves me too."
"Sounds good!" I laughed.
"When will it be ready?" I asked the owner.
"Leave your phone number. Once he finishes building it, I'll notify you to pick it up. There's no fixed timeline, but he usually delivers pretty quickly."
"Just make sure you don't tell that Mr. Gao that someone specifically requested him to build this model," I reminded the owner.
Though he looked puzzled, the owner nodded in agreement.
Last time, Gao Haiming had played a trick on me, claiming he was the one who spread the rumor about "Bee Comfort" and "Love Baby" having bugs. This time, it was my turn to mess with him.
During a meeting at Letao that day, I deliberately passed by Gao Haiming's office. Sure enough, he was intently building that F-15 fighter jet.
"Mr. Gao," I greeted him.
He gave a slight nod.
"That fighter jet looks really complicated," I remarked.
He nodded again.
I felt an indescribable sense of satisfaction.
"Goodbye," I said softly to him.
Three weeks later, the model shop owner notified me that the fighter jet model was ready.
"He built it really well," the owner said admiringly. "That guy definitely has some talent."
The model was indeed beautifully crafted. As I looked at the fighter jet, I couldn't help but feel a secret delight, knowing I had occupied Gao Haiming's time and effort for three whole weeks.I carried the fighter jet model back to the office and placed it on my desk. Wang Zhen walked over and asked, "Who assembled it? Your boyfriend?"
"No, my boyfriend is studying in the UK," I told her.
"Really?" she asked curiously.
"He'll graduate in eight months."
"You look so sweet when you mention him," Wang Zhen teased me.
It turns out happiness is hard to conceal.
Suddenly, Wang Zhen started coughing violently.
"Are you okay?" I patted her back.
"I'm fine. I've always had poor health," she said.
"You should take better care of yourself."
"I've tried both Western and traditional Chinese medicine."
"You should exercise—it's the best medicine," I suggested.
When Fang Yuan saw the fighter jet, he came over and asked, "Who assembled it? It's beautiful."
"Can't tell you," I said mysteriously.
Fang Yuan, being naturally curious, insisted on knowing who built it. I had no choice but to lie and say a friend did it. If he found out I had the audacity to mess with Gao Haiming, he might fire me.
I never expected that one day, Gao Haiming would actually show up at my office. That afternoon, I was buried in work at my desk when a man stood in front of me for a long time without moving. Curious, I looked up—it was Gao Haiming. He was staring at my fighter jet model with an expression of disbelief.
"Mr. Gao," I greeted him, feigning composure.
Gao Haiming nodded in acknowledgment and then went into Fang Yuan's office. When he came out, he stood before me again. After a moment of silence, he finally asked:
"Is this model yours?"
"Yes, it's mine."
My heart raced, afraid he would discover the truth. If he found out I had tricked him, I had no idea what the consequences might be.
Gao Haiming studied the fighter jet for a long time, as if trying to recall whether this particular model was his work.
Fang Yuan also came over and asked, "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Gao Haiming said before bidding Fang Yuan farewell.
"Why did he come up?" I asked Fang Yuan.
"He's very satisfied with our work on 'Bee Comfort' and 'Love Baby' and wants to collaborate long-term. You played a big part in that," Fang Yuan said.
I hadn't expected Gao Haiming to praise me in front of Fang Yuan. I felt guilty for making him spend three weeks building a model for me. But that guilt quickly faded—if he hadn't built it for me, he would have built it for someone else. Thinking further, my worries seemed unnecessary. Even if he recognized the model as his own work, so what? It could just be a coincidence—I bought the model from that shop and had someone assemble it, and the owner happened to assign it to him.
About two hours after Gao Haiming left Yunsheng, around 7 p.m., I also left the office. As I stepped out of the building, I noticed Gao Haiming browsing magazines in the convenience store across the street. When he saw me, he quickly paid for a magazine and came out.
"Mr. Gao, are you still around here?" I asked.
"Where did you buy your fighter jet model?"
"Why are you so interested in my model?"
"I just went to that model shop."
He looked at me as if he had figured everything out. Had the shop owner told him someone specifically requested he assemble it? That wretched guy.
I pretended not to understand what Gao Haiming was implying."You must be one of the two girls who bought the model, right?"
A smug expression suddenly crossed Gao Haiming's face, as if he had seen through the scheme all along.
I was completely defenseless and didn’t know how to argue my case.
"My car is parked just ahead. Do you have time?" Gao Haiming asked me.
I didn’t understand what he meant. Was he asking if I had time to talk, or if I had time to do something else?
He seemed unable to articulate it clearly. We stood silently for three minutes amidst the bustling streets of Causeway Bay before he finally spoke again: "Shall we find a place to sit down?"
What would we do once we sat down? He didn’t specify, but his expression showed no ill intent, so I agreed.
Gao Haiming drove the small Japanese sedan I had seen outside the model shop. He remained silent as he drove, and I could tell he wasn’t upset about the prank I had played on him, which eased my mind a little.
He parked the car in a narrow alley in Wan Chai and led me into an Italian restaurant.
"What would you like to eat?" Gao Haiming asked me.
"This is my first time trying Italian food."
"Then let’s have angel hair pasta," he suggested.
He ordered the same for himself.
The so-called angel hair turned out to be very thin pasta strands served with a small amount of lobster and sauce.
"Do you like this dish?" I asked him.
"I like the name, but the taste isn’t particularly special," he replied.
"To eat a dish just because of its name—that’s quite romantic," I remarked.
"Why did you specifically request that I build the model for you?" he questioned me.
"I didn’t."
"That day, when you saw me building the model, you had a very smug look on your face," he said, confident in his judgment.
"Really? Then why do you build models for others?" I countered. "You don’t really need to do that."
"Do you know why people hire others to build models?" Gao Haiming shot back.
"Of course, it’s because they don’t know how to build them themselves."
"Most of the time, it’s girls who hire someone to build models. They buy the models as gifts for boys they like and lie to them, saying they spent a lot of time and effort building the models themselves."
"And the boys believe that?"
Gao Haiming’s models were so impeccably crafted that it was impossible for those girls to have built them.
"Strangely enough, the boys who receive the models always believe the girls built them," Gao Haiming explained. "When they get a model fighter plane, they’re so moved they don’t scrutinize it closely. They believe that, for love, a woman can accomplish something she normally couldn’t."
"You still haven’t told me why you build models for others. Even if you enjoy building them, you don’t have to do it for other people."
"Up to now, through this model shop, I’ve built thirty-three fighter planes for others," Gao Haiming told me with a radiant expression.
"And what does that mean?"
"It means that, at this very moment, in thirty-three different corners of the world, there’s a fighter plane I built."
As he said this, his eyes sparkled, as if those thirty-three fighter planes were his children, and those thirty-three unknown corners were the fiefdoms he had bestowed upon them.
"You have quite a possessive nature," I said. "You feel like a fighter pilot occupying thirty-three different places, don’t you?"
At least, that was the impression I had of his mindset.
"I’m not possessive," Gao Haiming insisted.
I thought he was denying his possessiveness, too embarrassed to admit his desire to encroach upon others’ lives and spaces.“If it’s not possessiveness, then what is it?” I asked him. “If you only want the model planes you build to be placed in other people’s homes, how is that any different from someone who designs telephones? The same model of telephone could appear in over two thousand, or even twenty thousand, different places.”
“Telephones are mass-produced, but every single model plane was built by my own hands,” Gao Haiming was clearly dissatisfied with my comparison of his planes to telephones.
“So you admit that you build these planes for others out of possessiveness,” I retorted.
“No. I don’t even know the names or faces of those people. I don’t even know where those planes are now—except for one,” he added, “the one you have.”
“Then why do it?”
“I’ve said it before—these models are all bought by girls to give to boys. That means, so far, there are thirty-two planes, not counting yours. Thirty-two planes represent thirty-two love stories. Although I didn’t create these thirty-two relationships, the planes I built must have played a role in them, touching someone at a certain moment,” Gao Haiming said happily.
“That makes you even worse—you’re appropriating other people’s love.”
Gao Haiming’s face flushed red with anger. “I am not appropriating anyone’s love.”
“You said it yourself—these models are bought by girls to give to boys, and those boys all think the girls built the models themselves.”
Gao Haiming nodded.
“That means those girls are lying, and you’re helping them lie. Every plane is a deception. Those boys will be deceived for life, and those girls will feel guilty from time to time. Only you are the sole victor.”
Gao Haiming’s face turned even redder.
“But in any relationship, there are lies. Some lies are told to make the other person happy, while others are meant to deceive. The lie of giving a model plane is one meant to bring happiness,” I hoped this explanation would ease the redness in his face.
These words seemed to have some effect—the flush on his face gradually receded to his ears.
“Yes, it’s as simple as that,” Gao Haiming said. “I help girls fulfill their wish to make boys happy.”
I nodded in agreement, though in reality, I didn’t agree at all. I still believed Gao Haiming was a deeply possessive person, trying to occupy more space and love. Perhaps even he didn’t realize it was possessiveness driving him. He romantically imagined himself playing a small role in others’ love stories—he was a man full of fantasies. The title “King of Sanitary Napkins” embarrassed him, yet he couldn’t escape it. So, he used model planes as a way to make himself seem more refined. What he created was no longer something disposable but something meant to last forever. Clearly, he hadn’t considered that if a boy and girl were to break up, the model plane would eventually be forgotten or discarded.
“Why do you only build model planes?” I asked him.
“Don’t you think the shape of a fighter plane is the most elegant?” Gao Haiming countered.
“People who like fighter planes have a storm raging inside them,” I said, deliberately pretending to see through him.
“Is that so?” He didn’t admit it.
“Fighter planes are meant for attack,” I said."Are you studying psychology? You seem very good at analyzing people."
"That's right, I study psychology, but I've only learned the basics. It's more practical to observe people directly. What's your major?"
Gao Haiming twirled a forkful of angel hair pasta and said, "I study chemistry."
"Another job that involves hiding in the laboratory all day," I remarked.
"No, studying chemistry is quite romantic," he said.
"Really? This is the first time I've heard that explanation."
"In the lab, the changes in colors are fascinating. When red and yellow mix on a palette, they might become orange, but in a test tube in the lab, yellow and red could turn into blue—a vibrant blue that exists only in the lab and can't be found anywhere else."
"Could the blue in a test tube possibly be more beautiful than the blue of the sky or the sea?"
"I said it's different because that lab blue can't be found in the real world. Just like perfume, it's also blended in the lab, and each fragrance is unique."
"So, the most romantic thing about chemistry is being able to create perfume."
"No, the most romantic thing about chemistry is that no substance ever truly disappears; it only transforms."
"Even when a person dies, they don't disappear?" I asked him.
"Exactly. A body buried in the soil can turn into nutrients, enriching the earth, which then nurtures living things. You and I will never disappear; we'll only transform into another form of matter."
"That might just turn me into a piece of charcoal," I chuckled.
"Right, or maybe a speck of dust."
"That's not romantic; it's bleak. In my next life, I might just be a piece of charcoal, and you a speck of dust."
"But we won't disappear," he insisted.
"Since you love chemistry so much, why are you doing your current job?" I asked him.
"No matter what I studied, I was always going to take over my father's business," Gao Haiming said lightly.
"Are you the only son?"
"I have an older sister. She's married to an accountant and lives a happy life."
Hearing the word "accountant," I perked up with interest.
"Which accounting firm does he work for?"
"Ma Cao."
"Did you build model fighter planes for them?"
"My family doesn't know I do things like that. If they found out, they'd definitely think I'm weird."
"You are a bit of an odd one, aren't you?"
After dinner, Gao Haiming drove me home.
"Thank you for having dinner with me tonight," he said.
"Before today, I thought you might have autism! You talked a lot today, and I learned a lot about chemistry. I hope the you I saw today is the real you."
His face flushed red again.
"You still haven't told me why you insisted that I built the model fighter plane," Gao Haiming asked me.
"I never said that the fighter plane was built by you," I replied.
He was unconvinced: "Why are you teasing me?"
"I'm not teasing you; you're the one teasing me."
"Me teasing you?" He looked puzzled.
"You said the rumors about 'Bee Comfort' and 'Love Baby' having bugs were spread by you."
"Alright, we're even now," he said.
"How could you tell that the model fighter plane was built by you?" I asked Gao Haiming.
"A tailor can always recognize the clothes they've made themselves. Only they know the tiny flaws in the garment."
"My fighter plane has flaws? Where?"
He didn't answer me.
"Goodbye," Gao Haiming said as he drove away.I carefully examined the F-15 model Gao Haiming had assembled at the office, unable to find a single flaw. Perhaps, as he had claimed, only he knew where the imperfection lay.
"Did you manage to get the fighter jet?" Mengmeng asked me.
"I did, but Gao Haiming came to the office that day and discovered it."
"What did you do then?"
"He took me out for dinner. He's actually quite a nice person."
"But you already have Ou Xiaojue. You're not thinking of two-timing, are you?"
"Of course not. Do you like Gao Haiming? I could play matchmaker."
"I don't need free sanitary pads," Mengmeng laughed.
"You need a man, don't you?"
"I already have men."
"Too bad you change your mind so quickly."
"Because I've never met someone worth changing for."
"What about Tiehan?"
"Him?" A glimmer flashed in Mengmeng's eyes. "Forget it. What does he understand?"
"Why not tell him how you feel?"
"Do you expect me to chase after him? Sooner or later, he'll find a policewoman at the academy and start a police family dynasty."
I couldn't help but laugh.
But Mengmeng had fantasies about Tiehan—she couldn't fool me.
Just before leaving work that day, I received a call from Gao Haiming.
"Are you free tonight?" he asked. "How about having dinner together?"
"Sure! Actually, there's something I need to tell you," I said.
"What is it?" he inquired.
"I'll tell you when we meet."
Gao Haiming took me to a restaurant located in a loft in Wan Chai.
"The salted fish and chicken claypot rice here is the best in all of Hong Kong," Gao Haiming said.
"Really?" I noticed he seemed quite eager.
"This place is an old establishment. My dad used to bring me here often when I was a kid. So, what did you want to tell me?"
"I found the flaw in that model fighter jet," I said triumphantly.
He looked somewhat taken aback.
"It's in the left engine," I declared.
Gao Haiming smiled. "How did you find it?"
"I used a magnifying glass."
"You're lying," he said. "That fighter jet has no flaws."
I laughed. "You're right. There is no flaw. I only said I found one to make you admit you were lying."
"You're very clever—" Gao Haiming remarked.
"Thank you," I replied smugly. "We're evenly matched, that's all."
"If the jet has no flaws, how did you recognize it as the one you assembled? Don't even think about tricking me this time," I warned.
"Intuition. It was just intuition. Of course, I also noticed your eyes avoiding mine, which made me even more certain it was my work. And that day in my office, when you saw me assembling the jet, you had a particularly smug look—one you don't usually have."
So I had given myself away.
The salted fish and chicken claypot rice arrived last, carried all the way from the kitchen by the waiter. Its aroma filled the air long before it reached our table.
"It smells amazing," I said.
"And it tastes even better."
I took a bite—it was the most delicious salted fish and chicken claypot rice I had ever tasted.
I ended up eating three bowls in a row.
"You really have an appetite," Gao Haiming remarked, clearly impressed.
"Thank you for treating me to such a delicious meal."
"If you like it, I can bring you here often. I don't have many friends."
"Sure, if there's always good food involved, I don't mind being your friend."Gao Haiming saw me home. Watching his car drive away, I suddenly felt an urge to do something—Xiaojue loved salted fish most of all. If only he could taste this salted fish and chicken claypot rice. Why not? I took a thermal food jar from home, hailed a taxi back to the restaurant, and asked them to prepare another serving of salted fish and chicken claypot rice for me.
“Didn’t you just have some?” the waiter asked, puzzled.
Twenty-five minutes later, the rice was ready, fragrant and irresistible. I transferred it into the thermal jar and took another taxi to a 24-hour express delivery service center in Shau Kei Wan.
“I’d like to send this to Bristol, UK,” I told the male staff member with an earring in his left ear.
“What is this?” he asked, seeming to catch a whiff of the aroma.
“Food,” I replied.
“Miss, perishable food items cannot be sent via express delivery,” he said. “Besides, it will take two working days to reach Bristol. By then, it’ll be inedible.” I hadn’t known that food couldn’t be shipped this way.
“You should offer this kind of service,” I told the man with the earring.
“You mean food delivery service?” he asked.
“Yes. Imagine if someone tasted something delicious and could immediately send it to someone they miss in another country. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” I hugged the thermal jar as I spoke.
“I’ll pass your suggestion along to the company,” the earring-clad staff member said.
Christmas arrived, and I was at a department store picking out a gift for Xiaojue.
As I left the store, a brand-new light-blue Mercedes sedan pulled up outside. Stepping out was none other than Gao Haiming.
He helped a lady out of the car—a woman around fifty years old, slender, dressed in neat, conservative attire, with a uniquely elegant grace about her.
“Miss Qiu? It’s you?” Gao Haiming greeted me.
“I didn’t expect to run into you here,” I said.
“I’m accompanying my mother for some shopping,” he explained. “Mom, let me introduce you. This is Miss Qiu. She works for the PR agency we’ve hired and is incredibly capable.”
“Auntie Gao, nice to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with Gao Haiming’s mother. She wore a warm, kindly smile, and her hands were pale and delicate.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied politely.
“I’ll see you another time,” I said to her and Gao Haiming.
Gao Haiming carefully assisted his mother into the department store. It seemed they shared a close mother-son bond.
After work, I saw the same light-blue Mercedes parked outside the office building. Gao Haiming stepped out of the car.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.
“Are you free? I’d like to invite you to dinner.”
“What about your mother?” I asked.
“She’s gone home,” he replied. “My own car is in for repairs, so I’m sorry you have to ride in this one.”
“No need to apologize at all,” I said with a laugh.
Gao Haiming’s driver took us to an Italian restaurant in Wan Chai.
“How about we eat here?” Gao Haiming asked.
He ordered another portion of angel hair pasta. I had tried it last time and found it rather bland, so this time I opted for wontons.
“Your mother looks very young,” I remarked."She's sixty-one this year." "Really? I wouldn't have guessed." "She's thirty years younger than my father." "So your father is ninety-one? He had you when he was almost sixty?" "Sixty-three, actually. I'm twenty-eight now." "Then you look much older than your actual age," I teased him.
"My mother is my father's third wife. She married him when she was twenty-eight." "Was your father very charming?" "He was very handsome when he was young. I've seen their wedding photos—he was still quite dashing and elegant." "Your mother must have been attracted to his elegance?" "She married him for money. My mother is the eldest of ten siblings." "Marrying someone you don't love must be painful," I said.
"No. My mother fell in love with him later." "How did that happen?" "My mother thought that since my father was already in his sixties, he would probably only live into his seventies. After he passed, she could inherit his money and then find someone she truly loved. But unexpectedly, my father lived until eighty-five, and his health remained quite good. By then, my mother was fifty-three and couldn't easily find someone she liked anymore." "But you just said your mother fell in love with your father." "It was the year my father turned eighty-five. One day, he suddenly had a stroke and was unconscious in the hospital for two days. My mother had always wished for his death, but in that moment, she didn't want him to die. She prayed to heaven not to take him away. It turned out that after twenty-five years of living together day and night, she had fallen in love with him." "What happened to your father's condition?" "He recovered." "Isn't that good?" "Since last year, my father's health has been declining. My mother deeply regrets not loving him sooner. Now that she wants him to live, he could pass away at any moment. My mother often says this story teaches us that if you don't love someone for a long time, you shouldn't suddenly fall in love with them, because when you do, you'll lose them. It's heaven's punishment." After dinner, Gao Haiming walked me home.
Suddenly, I understood something and called out to him.
"What is it?" he turned back to ask.
"I get it now." "Get what?" he didn't understand.
"I understand why you love building model planes for others." "Why?" He seemed genuinely unaware.
"Because when your mother gave birth to you, she didn't love your father. You weren't born out of your parents' love, so you build models for those girls to give to their lovers, occupying others' love to fill your own void." Gao Haiming just smiled.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, we had a party at the company.
Gao Haiming called.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Pretty good," I said.
"I just wanted to check in on you," he said shyly. "I'll talk to you later. Goodbye." "Goodbye." I thought his tone was a bit odd, as if he had more to say but held back.
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Gao Haiming.
"I forgot to tell you, I'm in Japan now," he said.
"Japan?" I was startled, not expecting him to call long-distance."Which part of Japan?" "Mount Fuji. I had business in Tokyo, and after finishing, I came here." "How's the weather?" I asked him.
"It's very cold, and the mountaintop is covered in thick snow. I'm sitting by the window in my hotel room right now." "That sounds enviable," I said.
"Tomorrow is Christmas," he said.
"Yes," I replied.
"Merry Christmas," he said.
"Merry Christmas." Did he call just to wish me a Merry Christmas? "See you when I get back," he said.
On New Year's Eve, I received a call from Gao Haiming.
"You're back?" I asked him.
"Are you free? I'd like to invite you to dinner." "But today is New Year's Eve," I said.
"Did you have plans with someone?" "No." Neither Mengmeng nor Tiehan were free.
"Was Japan fun?" "I wasn't there for fun, I went to negotiate some product distribution rights." "Did you succeed?" He nodded.
"Congratulations." Gao Haiming went to that Italian restaurant again and ordered the angel hair pasta once more.
"On New Year's Eve, don't you need to accompany your girlfriend?" I asked him.
He shook his head.
"You can't possibly not have a girlfriend," I said.
"The main purpose of chemistry is to study reactions. Reactions only occur when two substances collide. Not any substances can collide and produce a reaction. These two substances must be compatible—their positions, temperature, energy all need to align—only then can a reaction occur." "That just means you haven't encountered the right substance yet." He smiled bitterly and took out a small gift wrapped in floral paper from his pocket.
"I have a gift for you, brought back from Japan." I unwrapped the paper to find a small, lightweight can. I couldn't tell what was inside. The can had a pull-tab, and I thought about opening it.
Gao Haiming immediately stopped me: "Don't!" "If you pull it open, the air inside will escape." "What's inside?" I asked, puzzled.
"It's air from Mount Fuji. I brought you air from Mount Fuji." "No wonder it's so light. But if I'm not supposed to open it, how can I smell the air from Mount Fuji?" "There are too many people here; the air would escape quickly. Wait until you get home to open it." "Thank you." I placed the can in my coat pocket.
"Consider it a Christmas gift," he said. "A belated Merry Christmas." "Thank you. Have you ever received a particularly memorable Christmas gift?" I asked him.
"When I was ten, my parents took me on a cruise and we spent Christmas in the Pacific Ocean. What about you?" "When I was little, every Christmas I would put a Christmas stocking at the foot of my bed, thinking Santa Claus would really sneak in at night and put gifts in it." "And then?" "The gifts were put there by my dad." I chuckled.
"I never tried putting a Christmas stocking at the foot of my bed." "I really liked it—going to sleep with a hope, how wonderful! And the next day, waking up with that same hope." "Waking up with a hope?" "Mm." I nodded.
Gao Haiming drove me home. When we reached my door, he got out and opened the car door for me.
"It's already past midnight," he said. "It's a new year now. Happy New Year." "Happy New Year," I replied.
He took out another item wrapped in floral paper from his pocket: "For you." I unwrapped it to find another can of Mount Fuji air.
"Why is it air again?" I asked him.
"I plan to give you one can every day. I bought thirty-three in total. Only by opening all thirty-three at once can you fill a room with it." He gazed at me with such deep affection that I didn't know how to respond. Suddenly, he hugged me and kissed me on the lips. I pushed him away.
"I'm sorry, I didn't tell you—I have a boyfriend. He's studying in the UK and will be back in a few months." I said awkwardly.
His face showed a mix of surprise and disappointment.
"I should have told you earlier—it's my fault—" "No, it's my fault for overstepping. I'm really sorry." He apologized to me."Thank you for the air, really, thank you. Goodbye," I said.
He left awkwardly.
I tossed the two cans of Mount Fuji air onto my desk, and they fell into the drawer.
A little after one o’clock, I made a long-distance call to Xiaojue.
"Happy New Year," I said.
"Happy New Year," he replied, still half-asleep.
I wanted to tell him about Gao Haiming. My mind was in turmoil, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Hearing my silence, he asked, "What’s wrong?" "Nothing, just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year," I said, reluctantly hanging up.
If only he were here with me.
I was naive. I thought Gao Haiming wanted to be friends, but maybe he was just a playboy who enjoyed chasing after girls.
On the morning of January 2nd, a courier delivered the third can of Mount Fuji air to my office. Gao Haiming still refused to give up; he could be quite stubborn at times.
"What’s this?" Xiang Lingling and Wang Zhen asked me.
"It’s nothing important," I said, tossing the can into the drawer.
Gao Haiming continued to have a can of air delivered every day without fail. By the time I received the fifteenth can, I couldn’t take it anymore and called him, saying, "Please stop sending these."
He ignored me. The sixteenth can arrived the next day, and I threw all the cans into the drawer.
Receiving his air every day had become a habit over the past month.
On the thirty-third day, I finally couldn’t hold back and called him again.
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