Later, Zhang Xingchuan would say that he fell for Tan Xiao at first sight.
In reality, after their first meeting, he forgot Tan Xiao almost as soon as they parted. He had not even remembered his name.
Then one day, a manager from Marketing came to report a few miscellaneous matters. The manager was not senior enough to have many opportunities to meet the president directly. After nervously finishing the actual business, perhaps trying to ease the atmosphere, he added, “The intern the President’s Office recommended to us is excellent. Smart and capable. Young, but very steady.”
Who? Confusion showed on Zhang Xingchuan’s face. He had no idea who the man meant.
The manager had not been sure himself what kind of connection the intern had. Seeing the president’s expression, he did not dare say anything further. He laughed it off and excused himself.
Zhang Xingchuan asked his special assistant, “Which intern was he talking about?”
“A student named Tan Xiao. Finance at Qing University,” the assistant said. “When you attended the alumni forum in November, you told me afterward to forward his résumé to Marketing.”
Only then did Zhang Xingchuan remember.
More than a month earlier, Qing University had invited him to an alumni forum.
It was only the second time he had been invited to attend an alumni event in person. The previous time had been five years ago. Back then, his startup was only halfway off the ground and the road ahead was uncertain. Being invited at all had already been an honor, but his seat had naturally been near the back.
Two years ago, WenCheng had successfully listed on the Main Board of the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, transforming from an internet unicorn into an industry giant.
This time, thirty-five-year-old Zhang Xingchuan, co-founder and executive president of WenCheng, was making a triumphant return to his alma mater. His seat was arranged near the center of the front rows.
During a break in the event, Zhang Xingchuan stepped out to take a phone call. By the time he returned, an alumnus in his eighties was already onstage speaking with student representatives. Rather than disrupt the proceedings, Zhang Xingchuan casually took an empty seat near the end of a back row.
One seat away sat a male student in the audience. The student was not particularly interested in the conversation currently underway. He was looking down at his phone, where a video was playing on mute. It was a humanities-and-economics documentary Zhang Xingchuan had also seen before, The Super-Rich and Us.
The moment Zhang Xingchuan, dressed in a full suit, sat beside him, the student did not even lift his head. He smoothly tucked away his phone, placed both hands on the keyboard of the laptop in front of him, and completed the flawless little combo of a student caught slacking off.
Zhang Xingchuan happened to glance at the laptop screen. There really was an unfinished document open. Its title read: Challenges and Reconstruction of Tech-Company IPO Pricing Models in the Age of AI.
The forum was already more than halfway through. Earlier, Zhang Xingchuan had gone onstage to speak as an alumni representative, and his remarks had happened to touch on the same general subject as this paper.
He quickly noticed that the student had written a section extending ideas from Zhang Xingchuan’s speech. The surrounding paragraphs had not yet been revised, so it had clearly been inserted after the student heard him and was struck by inspiration.
At that moment, the young man realized Zhang Xingchuan was looking at his screen. He reached out and put the laptop to sleep.
Zhang Xingchuan was an extreme extrovert. Before success or after it, then or now, he had always been the kind of person who enjoyed initiating conversation.
By this point he had become a little interested in the young man. Without hesitating, he spoke first. “You’re writing a paper?”
“Yeah.” The student was obviously outgoing too. Keeping his voice low, he said, “It’s ridiculously hard to write, so I have to seize every spare moment. Professor, which department are you from?”
“Computer Science,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “But I’m not a professor. I was in the 2008 cohort.”
The student looked surprised and turned fully toward him.
Naturally, Zhang Xingchuan got a proper look at his face too.
Both men paused for half a beat. Then, at almost exactly the same time, both smiled politely.
Judging from the paper, Zhang Xingchuan guessed, “School of Economics and Management? What major?”
“Finance. Sorry, I thought you were one of the professors.” The student sounded faintly embarrassed. “You… hello.”
He had listened carefully to the alumnus’s speech but had not paid attention when the host introduced his title and background. No matter how hard he searched his memory, he could not remember who Zhang Xingchuan was.
“I’m Zhang Xingchuan from WenCheng,” Zhang Xingchuan said.
“Oh, President Zhang from WenCheng.” The student immediately understood and broke into a smile. “Hello, President Zhang. I’m a Diamond Member of WenCheng. My name is Tan Xiao.”
WenCheng Group’s main app, also called WenCheng, was an online travel-services platform.
Tan Xiao voluntarily pushed his laptop a little closer so Zhang Xingchuan could look at the paper.
“I’ve been stuck on this part forever,” Tan Xiao said. “One conversation with a wise man beats ten all-nighters. Coming today was absolutely worth it. President Zhang has turned my brain into gold.”
Zhang Xingchuan skimmed the document and found that Tan Xiao’s original line of reasoning was already exceptionally clear. The newly inserted material was, at most, icing on the cake.
Even knowing perfectly well that Tan Xiao was flattering him, Zhang Xingchuan still found it pleasant to be flattered by an intelligent person.
They briefly discussed the paper. So as not to disturb anyone else, both leaned slightly toward each other.
At one point, Zhang Xingchuan suddenly noticed Tan Xiao staring at him. “What?”
“Sorry.” Tan Xiao looked a little embarrassed. “The stage lighting was so bright that when you were speaking earlier, I couldn’t really see your face. Looking at you up close now, you’re seriously handsome in person.”
For once, Zhang Xingchuan had no reply.
Of course he knew he was handsome. Good-looking people rarely failed to know they were good-looking. It was simply that no one had looked him directly in the face and told him, one-on-one, you’re really handsome, in quite some time. He was no longer used to it.
Tan Xiao, meanwhile, was not flattering him at all. He meant it sincerely.
Zhang Xingchuan possessed a broadly appealing kind of handsomeness. His proportions were textbook-perfect. In an era that prized distinctiveness, some people might say he was almost too conventionally handsome, but no one could truly find a fault in his face.
Presumably to suit the occasion, he wore a perfectly fitted dark suit and a proper tie. He clearly exercised regularly. Even beneath the thin shirt at his collar, the outline of his chest was noticeable. He also wore gold-rimmed glasses, giving him the appearance of an unusually handsome scholar.
“Thank you,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “You’re handsome too.”
Tan Xiao was a different type entirely. Large eyes, high nose bridge, naturally upturned lips. He wore only a simple tracksuit and had very little scholarly air about him. Even seated, it was obvious that his limbs were long and his shoulders and back upright. He looked lively and athletic, the very picture of a sunny university guy.
Two men who had just met sitting there complimenting each other’s faces was, objectively speaking, a little strange.
By mutual agreement, they stopped talking and quietly listened for a while to the alumni onstage discussing the influence of university life on personal development. It was not dull and was occasionally quite interesting, but most of it was familiar ground.
Zhang Xingchuan really should have gone back to his assigned seat. But sitting here was much more comfortable. Up front, everyone around him was frighteningly shrewd. Every sentence seemed to hide eighteen layers of meaning, and he had to stay mentally alert at all times.
Tan Xiao seemed puzzled about why he had not gone back either. He glanced toward the front rows. “Did someone steal your center spot?”
Zhang Xingchuan laughed. “Our alumni events aren’t that ridiculous.”
“Not necessarily.” Tan Xiao gestured toward another section. “The Computer Science students are sitting over there. There must be some of your fans among them. Someone will come ask for a photo later.”
This was Zhang Xingchuan’s first time returning to campus since WenCheng’s successful listing. He had no idea how much his status as a rising business figure had increased among his juniors. “Me?” he asked in surprise. “I have fans?”
Tan Xiao did not take the opportunity to flatter him or WenCheng. Instead he said, “Which famous senior here doesn’t have a few admirers? I heard some of them even have campus fan groups.”
“What?” Zhang Xingchuan said. “I thought I was the only one. Turns out everyone gets one.”
Tan Xiao laughed and took out his phone. “Can I request a photo first?”
“Of course.” Zhang Xingchuan looked toward the camera and took a selfie with him.
Zhang Xingchuan found himself liking this student named Tan Xiao.
He had met plenty of Gen-Z newcomers at the company, including current and former students from Qing University and the neighboring university. Many were capable and promising. But a young person like Tan Xiao, naturally pleasant without being timid, socially perceptive, and handsome besides, was rare. He simply had the sort of personality people liked instinctively. Among elite talent, that was an unusually valuable quality.
Until the end of the event, the two also chatted about trivial campus matters. Tan Xiao remained neither servile nor overbearing, spoke with excellent boundaries, and still retained a distinctive humor. Zhang Xingchuan’s impression of him improved even further.
Near the end, Tan Xiao seemed to have a sudden inspiration and smoothly brought something up. “Once I finish this paper, I should start looking for a winter-break internship.”
Zhang Xingchuan understood the implication and followed along. “Where are you planning to intern?”
Sure enough, Tan Xiao asked in return, “Does WenCheng take interns?”
Zhang Xingchuan gave him his special assistant’s email address. “Send over a résumé.”
And so a chance, pleasant campus encounter came to an end.
But Zhang Xingchuan was genuinely too busy. He mentioned the matter to his assistant once, then forgot all about it.
More than a month later, deep autumn had turned into midwinter. Only when the department manager tentatively mentioned the intern did Zhang Xingchuan remember Tan Xiao again.
For a company president, meeting a talented young person by chance and inviting him to send in a résumé was completely ordinary.
The special assistant had merely followed normal procedure. Zhang Xingchuan himself never brought up Tan Xiao or the matter again.
This time, though, Zhang Xingchuan felt faintly apologetic.
He had such a good impression of Tan Xiao that when he invited him to submit a résumé, he had never intended for someone to casually shove the boy into whatever department happened to have space.
It was simply unfortunate timing. There had been a lot going on, and the winter-break internship period had not begun yet. A gap opened between the conversation and the internship. Then Zhang Xingchuan got busy and forgot.
A person did not become a president’s special assistant without excellent instincts. One look at Zhang Xingchuan’s expression and the assistant immediately went out, investigated the matter thoroughly, then practically flew back to report.
Tan Xiao had already been interning in Marketing for two weeks. He handled both workplace tasks and interpersonal relationships exceptionally well. Otherwise, no department director would remember a short-term winter intern this clearly. The director had specifically asked HR and only then learned that Tan Xiao had been referred by the President’s Office.
Qing University students performing this well did not surprise Zhang Xingchuan. His alma mater produced talent endlessly. If a meteorite unfortunately struck the campus, whoever it hit at random would probably be some top-tier genius.
The assistant also brought Tan Xiao’s résumé for Zhang Xingchuan to review.
Zhang Xingchuan was never worried about the quality of résumés from his Qing University juniors, and Tan Xiao did not disappoint. Excellent grades, extensive internship experience, and every year another placement at a major internet company or prominent industrial firm.
One thing did fall outside Zhang Xingchuan’s expectations.
Tan Xiao looked young. Zhang Xingchuan had assumed he was either a fourth-year undergraduate or currently doing a master’s. They had enjoyed talking when they first met, and he had never asked.
Tan Xiao really was only twenty-three, born in 2002. He had entered Qing University’s School of Economics and Management at sixteen as a Finance major, been recommended directly into postgraduate study after finishing his undergraduate degree, and then continued in an integrated master’s-doctoral track. He was currently in the third year of his PhD.
Zhang Xingchuan’s apology level rose another five percentage points.
He decided that within the next day or two, he would find time to call Tan Xiao upstairs for a conversation.
Personally inviting a Finance PhD candidate to send a résumé, then leaving him in Marketing as an operations intern, really was a little inappropriate.
This materialist world occasionally produced phenomena that felt suspiciously idealist. People usually called them fate, or destiny.
That afternoon, the president was still thinking he should make time to meet the intern. By evening, he ran into Tan Xiao himself.