“You studied psychology, didn’t you? You seem skilled at analyzing people,” he said.
“Yes, I majored in psychology, but only the basics. Observing people is far more enlightening. What was your field of study?”
He twirled a strand of angel hair pasta with his fork. “Chemistry.”
“The kind of work where you’re always hiding in a lab,” I remarked.
“No, studying chemistry is romantic,” he said.
“Romantic? That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”
“In a lab, the transformation of colors is fascinating. When you mix red and yellow on a palette, you get orange. But in a test tube, yellow and red might combine to form a vivid blue—a blue so bright it can’t be found anywhere in the natural world,” he explained.
“Can the blue in a test tube really compare to the blue of the sky or the ocean?”
“It’s different,” he said. “The blue in a lab doesn’t exist in this world. Perfumes are another example—each unique fragrance is crafted in a lab.”
“So the most romantic thing about chemistry is making perfume?”
“No, the most romantic thing about chemistry is that nothing ever truly disappears. It only transforms.”
“Does that mean people don’t disappear when they die?” I asked.
“Yes, when a body is buried in the soil, it transforms into nutrients that enrich the earth, which then nurtures life. You and I will never truly disappear—we’ll only transform into another form of matter,” he said.
“Perhaps I’ll just become a piece of coal,” I laughed.
“Or maybe a speck of dust,” he replied.
“That’s not romantic—it’s bleak. In my next life, I’d be a piece of coal, and you’d be dust,” I teased.
“But we wouldn’t cease to exist,” he insisted.
“If you’re so passionate about chemistry, why are you doing the work you’re doing now?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I studied; I was always destined to inherit my father’s business,” Gao Hai Ming said indifferently.
“Are you your father’s only son?”
“I have an elder sister. She’s married to an accountant and is a very happy woman.”
The mention of an accountant piqued my interest.
“Which accounting firm does he work for?”
“Ma & Chow.”
“Did you ever build a fighter jet for them?”
“My family doesn’t know I do this. If they found out, they’d probably think I’m weird.”
“Well, you are a bit odd,” I teased.
After dinner, Gao Hai Ming drove me home.
“Thank you for having dinner with me tonight,” he said.
“Until today, I thought you might have autism. But tonight, you talked so much, and I even learned some chemistry. I hope the person I saw tonight is the real you.”
His face turned red again.
“You still haven’t told me why you specifically requested me to build the fighter jet,” he said.
“I never said that jet was built by you,” I replied.
He wasn’t convinced. “Why did you play this trick on me?”
“I didn’t trick you—you tricked me,” I retorted.
“Me? How did I trick you?” he asked, bewildered.
“You claimed you were the one who spread the rumors about BeeComfort and Ai Baobao having bugs.”
“Fine, let’s call it even,” he said.
“How could you tell the fighter jet was yours?” I asked.
“A tailor always recognizes their own work. Even the smallest flaw, they alone would know,” he replied.
“My fighter jet has a flaw? Where?”
He didn’t answer.
“Goodbye,” he said as he drove off.
Later, I closely examined the F-15 model in the office. I couldn’t find any flaws—perhaps, as he said, only he could see them.
“Did you pick up the fighter jet yet?” Meng Meng asked me.
“Yes, but Gao Hai Ming came to the office that day and discovered it.”
“What now?”
“He treated me to dinner. He’s actually a decent guy.”
“You already have Qu Xiao Jue. You’re not planning to juggle both, are you?”
“Of course not. Do you like Gao Hai Ming? I could be the matchmaker.”
“I don’t need free sanitary pads,” Meng Meng said with a laugh.
“But you might need a man, right?”
“I already have one.”
“Too bad you get over them so quickly.”
“That’s because I haven’t met someone worth changing for.”
“What about Tie Han?”
“Him?” Meng Meng’s eyes gleamed momentarily before she dismissed the thought. “Forget it. He wouldn’t understand.”
“Why not just tell him?”
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