Once a person begins observing people and events through a preconceived assumption, it becomes very easy for suggestion and confirmation bias to lead them toward the conclusion they already expect.
From this point on, the more Zhang Xingchuan looked at Tan Xiao, the more he thought Tan Xiao looked like a little gay guy.
Tan Xiao sat at his desk working seriously, a sliver of white sock visible beneath the hem of his jeans.
Zhang Xingchuan: Gay.
A female coworker picked up Tan Xiao’s takeout for him. When he thanked her, Tan Xiao sweetly said, “Thanks, sis.”
Zhang Xingchuan: Gay.
The indoor heating was too dry. Tan Xiao used his phone screen as a mirror and applied lip balm.
Zhang Xingchuan: Gay… wait.
That one might be too much of a stereotype. It did not necessarily mean anything.
Zhang Xingchuan could not be one hundred percent sure he possessed supernatural gaydar. Occasionally, when he had a spare moment, he simply observed Tan Xiao as though playing a little human-behavior game.
Ultimately, an intern’s sexual orientation had very little to do with the president anyway.
If Tan Xiao wanted to be a salted fish, then once the winter internship ended, he could return to school and continue being one.
Zhang Xingchuan merely felt a little regret that he would not get to raise the little colt he had taken a liking to.
Then Spring Festival arrived, and his relationship with Tan-Salted-Fish-Xiao took an unexpected turn.
It began when Special Assistant Jiaxin heard that Tan Xiao would be spending New Year alone in his dorm.
“The President’s Office doesn’t start its holiday until New Year’s Eve and comes back on the third day of the lunar month,” Jiaxin said. By now she and Tan Xiao were close, so she comforted him by stabbing directly into the wound. “As long as you report back on time, you only need to survive three days. Loneliness is brief. Overtime is forever.”
Tan Xiao said, “Sister Jiaxin, your year-end bonus finally hit your account and you’ve already stopped being human?”
The mention of her generous bonus immediately cheered Jiaxin up again. She offered another line of comfort. “You’re not the only one spending New Year on your own. The boss will be alone too.”
“Doesn’t he have anyone in his family?” Tan Xiao asked. “His parents? Are they gone too?”
“No, no.” Jiaxin was startled. “Don’t make that face. It’s not what you’re imagining. His parents immigrated to Australia and live very happily there.”
Tan Xiao let out a breath of relief.
He had a very good impression of Zhang Xingchuan. The president was a good person. All good people in the world deserved happy, fulfilled lives.
So hearing that Zhang Xingchuan still had family made Tan Xiao happy on his behalf.
Tan Xiao’s own mother was an ordinary person and a decent one. His relationship with her was fine. During the years he studied in China, he had always listed her as his family contact, which had occasionally created some unnecessary inconvenience for her.
She had remarried several years earlier. She and her husband never had children and enjoyed a sweet life as a couple. Tan Xiao generally did not want to disturb their peaceful world for two.
Tan Xiao’s father had formed a new family a couple of years ago. If Tan Xiao remembered correctly, the current wife was his third stepmother. He had heard she was a Latin American beauty queen and extremely beautiful, but he had never met her. He had not returned to Europe for two years, and he had not been invited to that wedding either.
Tan Xiao did not want to return home and play the role of a proper heir. Naturally, his father had no time to stage some loving-father-and-son performance with him either.
Tan Xiao’s older sister Tan Yun was more than ten years older and had a different mother.
To Tan Xiao, she carried something closer to the meaning of an eldest sister who was half a mother. When he was little, he returned home for several months every year. Private tutors taught him the skills and etiquette expected of a wealthy heir. The older adults, including their father, seldom appeared. More often it was Tan Yun who took responsibility for disciplining him. Tan Yun was a strict older sister. They were not affectionate, but blood tied them together strongly enough to create a fairly solid bond of trust.
On one condition: Tan Xiao did not compete with her for the position of first heir.
So there was no one who ought to spend New Year with Tan Xiao. His relatives had their own lives and their own families.
Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve.
Tan Xiao passed Zhang Xingchuan’s office door several times.
Zhang Xingchuan watched him walk past once, then again. A while later, he walked past yet another time.
Finally Zhang Xingchuan could not stand it anymore and called him in. “Are you city-walking outside my office?”
Since their previous conversation about salted fish, Zhang Xingchuan had not called in this completely unambitious little colt for another chat. Tan Xiao had not deliberately come wander in front of him either. They had not spoken alone again.
Tan Xiao was not shy. He had simply seen that Zhang Xingchuan was busy and was waiting for a moment when he seemed free.
Now that he had been called in, Tan Xiao came straight to the point. “Does anyone have New Year’s Eve dinner with you tomorrow? If not, may I have the honor of inviting you to eat with me?”
Zhang Xingchuan was surprised. And unexpectedly pleased. He still liked Tan Xiao far more than not. A clever, lively, very attractive young person standing in front of him like an auspicious mascot, occasionally chatting with him and helping the president update his understanding of Gen Z, was a delightful thing in itself.
It was only that Tan Xiao had chosen to become a salted fish and rudely rejected the cultivation plan. The president had lost a little face and felt frustrated that the boy refused to live up to his potential. More importantly, Zhang Xingchuan no longer had any sufficiently legitimate reason to deliberately get closer to him.
“I’ll treat,” Tan Xiao said. “Consider it repayment for President Zhang’s… for your appreciation of me.”
Saying the word appreciation made him feel deeply strange.
Rationally, he knew Zhang Xingchuan’s so-called appreciation was largely the president getting carried away on his own.
Emotionally, Tan Xiao liked Zhang Xingchuan as a person. The president was good in nearly every respect, and spending time with him was pleasant.
For that reason, Tan Xiao did not want to spend New Year’s Eve alone. He needed someone to eat with, and Zhang Xingchuan, who happened to be alone too, was the best candidate.
Jiaxin had already mentioned to Zhang Xingchuan that Tan Xiao was likely spending Spring Festival alone.
“Sure,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “Can you still book a restaurant now? Let me book. What kind of food do you like?”
With such short notice, popular places would be full. Zhang Xingchuan planned to deploy a little cash-powered superpower.
“I already booked somewhere,” Tan Xiao said. “Seven tomorrow night.”
Zhang Xingchuan did not ask where. McDonald’s would have been fine.
“It might be hard to get a ride on New Year’s Eve,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at school tomorrow.”
Tan Xiao paused, then agreed happily. “Perfect. Otherwise I’d have to take the subway.”
On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, Zhang Xingchuan’s driver had the holiday off, so Zhang Xingchuan drove himself to the Qing University gate to pick up Tan Xiao.
After getting in, Tan Xiao entered the restaurant address into the navigation system.
This was the first time they had met privately one-on-one. Zhang Xingchuan did not know what to say first. The friends he normally met outside work were mostly old classmates around his own age or two or three close acquaintances from business. Their conversations usually followed adult social formulas: asking about family, talking about the industry, perhaps drinking a few glasses and beginning to brag once everyone warmed up.
But using that mode with a Gen-Z student would make the uncle-energy overflow.
“Cold?” Zhang Xingchuan felt that adopting the role of a friendly older neighbor was safest. “If you need it, you can raise the temperature.”
“I’m fine. It’s warm today.”
The Gen-Z passenger was not quite his usual self either.
So Zhang Xingchuan understood that Tan Xiao had no idea what to talk about either.
Zhang Xingchuan gestured toward the back seat. “New Year’s gift for you.”
Tan Xiao looked. A large bag bearing a luxury-brand logo sat there. “What is it?”
“Open it now if you want.”
Tan Xiao pulled it over and looked inside. A men’s backpack. The design suited either a student or a young professional, a classic style, except this version carried the horse emblem of the Year of the Horse New Year limited edition.
Tan Xiao produced an appropriately pleased expression. “Thank you, President. It’s my zodiac year too.”
“Mine too,” Zhang Xingchuan said. “No need to thank me. It’s the return gift for inviting me to New Year’s Eve dinner.”
When they reached the restaurant, Zhang Xingchuan vaguely felt that he had been here before.
The hostess asked for Tan Xiao’s reservation information. Her eyes flickered rapidly before she quietly spoke into her headset. “Mr. Tan has arrived.”
A manager hurried out from inside, greeted them with a warm smile, and personally led them to a private room.
When Zhang Xingchuan saw the antique-style sliding door embroidered with magpies perched on flowering branches, he finally remembered the place.
“How far in advance did you reserve this?” he asked Tan Xiao.
Even on ordinary days this restaurant was difficult to book. Some dishes were served only in limited quantities. New Year’s Eve should have been worse.
“Three days,” Tan Xiao said.
He had only made the reservation after deciding to invite Zhang Xingchuan.
Zhang Xingchuan looked puzzled. “Has business here gotten this bad?”
Tan Xiao: “…”
As a student, there was no way he could admit he had used a black-card privilege to jump the queue.
“I’m not sure,” Tan Xiao said. “Maybe someone canceled and I happened to catch the opening.”
Since his career took off, Zhang Xingchuan had almost never sat down with a single person who had no business relationship with him purely for the sake of sharing a meal. And this was New Year’s Eve dinner, a meal with its own special meaning.
The private room had excellent soundproofing and was extremely quiet. Whenever neither of them spoke, it felt as though a needle hitting the floor would be audible.
Tan Xiao said, “Inviting you to New Year’s Eve dinner might have been a little presumptuous.”
“How could it be?”
Tan Xiao sighed lightly. “Sister Jiaxin said you’d be alone too. I thought two people would at least be livelier than one.”
“Much better,” Zhang Xingchuan said.
“You don’t feel awkward, do you?”
“Do you?” Zhang Xingchuan asked back.
Both laughed.
“This year I did think about going to my mother’s place,” Tan Xiao said. “But I didn’t want her husband to feel bothered by me, so I gave up.”
Zhang Xingchuan nodded in understanding.
“Last year I spent New Year with a senior who also had nowhere to go. He graduated, so this year I lost my companion.”
“Aren’t I your companion?” Zhang Xingchuan asked.
“You’re better than that senior,” Tan Xiao said. “Sitting with him was basically two people staring at each other. I exhausted myself inventing topics. He only lowered his head and ate dumplings.”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “Was this Dumpling Immortal mute?”
Tan Xiao burst out laughing.
The restaurant was difficult to book, and its food justified the difficulty. Everything was extremely good.
Somehow, it even tasted better than Zhang Xingchuan remembered.
“You’re always this busy with work,” Tan Xiao said, starting another topic. “I heard your parents are in Australia. They don’t want to come back and spend New Year with you?”
“They’re far away. It’s fine if we only talk occasionally. Seeing each other too often is worse. My father argues with me every time we meet.”
Tan Xiao nodded. “I understand. It seems like a lot of Chinese fathers and sons are like that. They need distance just to preserve the relationship. I don’t understand why.”
Something about that phrasing struck Zhang Xingchuan as odd. He thought of a possibility. “Your father isn’t Chinese? I mean your biological father.”
Tan Xiao considered it. “He has several passports. He was born in Italy and later lived mostly in Switzerland. I don’t even know what nationality I’d call him. He’s one-quarter Chinese. His maternal grandmother was Chinese. According to him, she was some Qing-era noblewoman. Who knows whether that’s true? He’s always bragging about noble blood. If you ask me, he’s just mixed.”
Zhang Xingchuan did not know whether to laugh or cry. Describing one’s own father like that was absurd and made it obvious the relationship between father and son was truly finished.
Apart from very fair skin and a high nose bridge, Tan Xiao did not possess obvious white features. The dominant genes from his Chinese great-grandmother and biological mother had won decisively. Judged by appearance alone, he was a strikingly handsome Asian man.
“Did your mother meet him while studying abroad?” Zhang Xingchuan guessed.
“No. He came to China to do business in Shanghai,” Tan Xiao said. “He needed a local interpreter. My mother was a graduate student studying German at Fudan University. They fell in love, had a whirlwind marriage, and quickly had me. While my mother was still in postpartum confinement, my father fell in love with the new female interpreter he’d hired.”
“So he’s a romance expert,” Zhang Xingchuan commented.
“He actually is. Supposedly every wife has loved him to death, and whenever he broke up with them, they wanted to kill him.”
“Is he still in China?” Zhang Xingchuan asked. “What business is he in?”
“Transportation. Back then he came to China to explore something like cross-border logistics. It didn’t go well, so he abandoned it halfway and went back. Now he’s semi-retired and doesn’t work much.”
“How old is he to be retired already?”
“Fifties. Almost sixty, probably. He was married once before meeting my mother, so I have a sister more than ten years older,” Tan Xiao said. “I barely speak to my father. He remarried several times afterward. I also have one younger brother and two younger sisters, but I’ve hardly met any of them.”
Zhang Xingchuan did not know how to evaluate this extraordinary European old man.