In late August, the scent of osmanthus blossoms drifted through the streets of Chengdu. In Gu Ming’s office on the 10th floor, Secretary Su knocked on the door and entered carrying a plate of mangoes.
“President Gu, fresh mangoes just arrived today.”
“Thanks, just put them there.” Gu Ming remained buried under a mountain of documents.
Seeing her boss’s cup was empty, Secretary Su realized she hadn’t even had a drop of water all morning. “President Gu, coffee or tea today?”
“Tea, I think. My stomach hasn’t been great lately.”
“Stomach acting up again? In that case, skip the tea. Just drink plain water—it’s healthier.”
Gu Ming looked up from her desk and smiled. “Plain water is so tasteless.”
Secretary Su poured the water but lingered afterward, looking hesitant. Gu Ming stood up, popped a piece of mango into the secretary’s mouth, and asked softly, “Something on your mind?”
Secretary Su chewed the mango and paused. “President Gu, I think… I might be pregnant.”
Gu Ming froze for a second, then nodded. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“I’m afraid to tell Human Resources.”
Gu Ming bit her lip. The company viewed female employees who were of marriageable age but hadn’t yet had children like enemy combatants. In this patriarchal society, the workplace was always harsher on women. Gu Ming patted her secretary’s shoulder. “If you’re pregnant, have the baby. You can’t give up a child for a job. I’ll speak to HR myself. How many weeks?” Gu Ming pointed toward her belly.
“I just found out. Probably about 40 days. Thank you, President Gu.” Greatly relieved, Secretary Su moved behind Gu Ming to give her a “sycophantic” shoulder rub. In her excitement, she forgot that Gu Ming was physically sensitive and extremely ticklish. The moment her hands touched her shoulders, Gu Ming flinched away nervously.
“President Gu, your shoulders are so stiff. Let me help you relax,” the secretary said, hands hovering in the air.
“No need. Go back to your work.” Gu Ming feared physical contact. Even when visiting spas or clubs with clients, she was the one sitting to the side playing with her phone. Even in the early days with Shi Lei, she would tense up whenever he touched her. Over time, Shi Lei had grown used to it, and she had adapted to his touch. Speaking of which, she and Shi Lei hadn’t had any sexual intimacy in a long time; their feelings had been eroded by constant arguing. She was so busy that she felt physically broken by the time she got home; if Shi Lei didn’t touch her, she actually felt relieved.
Realizing she was daydreaming, Gu Ming shook her head and dismissed Secretary Su.
On her desk sat a white frame containing a wedding photo of her and Shi Lei. The mango was sweet. Gu Ming sat in her swivel chair, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window. From the 10th floor, the people below looked tiny. She spotted a girl clutching a messy pile of rolled-up banner material. It was long and unwieldy; when the delivery boy on the motorbike handed it to her, she fumbled it, and it spilled all over the ground. The boy seemed in a hurry and sped off, leaving the girl to stomp her foot at his retreating back before crouching down to pick up the mess.
Gu Ming adjusted her chair, pressing her body against the glass to get a better look. It was Zhong Xiao-ou. Xiao-ou, wearing an A-line skirt, gathered the bundle and headed into the building. Gu Ming felt a twinge of guilt for making the girl spend hundreds on that taxi ride. She had promised to treat her to dinner but had never followed through. Checking her schedule, she saw her evening was clear. She opened her door and called out to Secretary Su.
“Go down to Planning and find a girl named Zhong Xiao-ou. Ask her to come up.”
“Zhong Xiao-ou?”
“Yes.” Gu Ming returned to her office.
…
The Invitation
“Huh? Yes, this is Zhong Xiao-ou. Okay, I’ll be right there.” Xiao-ou had just dropped off the banners when she got the call from the 10th floor. What now? Nervously clutching her notebook and pen, she headed up. Gu Ming was standing by the window.
“President Gu, you wanted to see me?”
“Hmm? This isn’t about work.” Gu Ming noticed the notebook. “Are you free tonight?”
“Tonight?” Xiao-ou was stunned. If it wasn’t work, what private business could they possibly have? Ever since Chi Wei had bombarded her with “nightmare gossip” about the VP being straight and “impossible,” Xiao-ou had been as wilted as a frost-bitten eggplant. Chi Wei had told her that loving someone impossible was just a way of pitying yourself, and that Xiao-ou wasn’t even a moth—because a moth at least knows how to fly into the flame, whereas Xiao-ou wouldn’t even know how to find the match.
It made sense, but it still hurt. She had been telling herself to stop thinking about Gu Ming. That summer night in the taxi, the tenderness of the seatbelt moment—it all felt like a delusional fantasy.
“You’re busy tonight?”
“No! I’m free,” Xiao-ou blurted out, biting her lip.
“I said I’d treat you to dinner to thank you.”
It was just a polite formality, yet Gu Ming was taking it seriously. Xiao-ou was flattered; the emotions she had fought so hard to suppress were instantly reignited.
“That’s all. I should have come to see you, but there are too many people in the main office area. I’m sorry for making you come all the way up here.”
“No, no! It’s no trouble at all,” Xiao-ou said hurriedly.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll contact you after work.”
…
Love is a Hesitant Hand
The rest of the workday felt like an eternity. Xiao-ou stared at the clock on her computer until her eyes ached. While “fishing” on Weibo, she saw a quote:
“Some people think love is sex, marriage, a 6:00 AM kiss, or a house full of children. Maybe that’s true, Miss Lester. But do you know what I think? I think love is wanting to touch, but drawing your hand back.” — J.D. Salinger, “The Heart of a Broken Story”
It felt like a portrait of her own soul. She posted the quote to her WeChat Moments: “Love is wanting to touch, but drawing your hand back.”
A “like” popped up immediately: Wang Ling. “Writing poetry in the middle of the day?” Chi Wei commented. Classmates and friends replied too: “Is this the rhythm of love? When are you getting married, Xiao-ou?” “If you don’t hurry up, my kid is going to be too old to be your flower girl!”
The pressure to marry radiated from the screen. Xiao-ou flipped her phone over.
As quitting time approached, she ducked into the restroom to fix her makeup. She had a simple white shirt tucked into her A-line skirt—very professional. As she traced her lips with pink gloss, Chi Wei walked in.
“Work is ending. Why the hell are you putting on makeup now?” Chi Wei stared at her lips. “After work is the best time for makeup.” “Got a date?” “I’m not telling.” “Fine. I’m glad you recovered from your ‘heartbreak’ so fast. I was worried about you.”
Once the office emptied, Xiao-ou’s phone buzzed. Wait for me ten minutes. It’s Gu Ming.
A warm, aching feeling spread through Xiao-ou’s chest. Okay.
Ten minutes later, another text told her to meet in the underground parking lot. Xiao-ou grabbed her bag and practically ran to the elevator. She found the orange Audi easily. Gu Ming was already in the driver’s seat.
“A few things came up at the last minute, sorry for the wait.” “It’s no problem.” “What do you like to eat?” Gu Ming hadn’t started the engine yet. “Whatever you like, President Gu. I’m not picky.” “Yunnan food?” “Sure.”
As they sat there, Xiao-ou noticed the car parked next to them was acting strange. Gu Ming noticed it too. The vehicle was rocking in a very rhythmic, unnatural way. Suddenly, Gu Ming realized what was happening. Her face flushed a deep red, and she quickly turned the key in the ignition.
Xiao-ou had heard of “car sex” before but had never witnessed it. In the middle of the day? Well, twilight? In the company parking lot? What is wrong with people? she thought. She glanced at Gu Ming, who was now staring straight ahead, focused intently on driving.
Xiao-ou, horrified and curious, was still looking back through the window.
“Don’t look…” Gu Ming reminded her, her voice strained.