“Where in Japan?”
“Mount Fuji. I went to Tokyo for business, and after finishing, I came here,” he said.
“How’s the weather?” I asked.
“Cold. The mountaintop is covered in thick snow. I’m sitting by my hotel window right now.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said.
“Tomorrow is Christmas,” he remarked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas.” So, he called just to wish me that?
“See you when I’m back,” he added.
On New Year’s Eve, I received another call from him.
“You’re back?” I asked.
“Yes. Are you free? I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“But it’s New Year’s Eve,” I said.
“Do you have plans?”
“No.” Meng Meng and Tie Han were both busy.
“How was Japan?”
“It wasn’t a vacation—I went to negotiate product distribution rights.”
“Did it go well?”
He nodded.
“Congratulations!”
We went to the same Italian restaurant, and once again, he ordered angel hair pasta.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend to spend New Year’s Eve with?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“It’s impossible that you don’t have a girlfriend,” I said.
“The purpose of chemistry is to study reactions,” he explained. “A reaction only occurs when two substances collide. But not every substance can react with another—they need to align perfectly in position, temperature, and energy for a reaction to happen.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met that perfect substance yet,” I teased.
He gave a faint smile and pulled a small, floral-wrapped gift from his pocket.
“I brought you a gift from Japan,” he said.
I unwrapped it to reveal a small, lightweight can. Its contents were a mystery.
There was a pull tab on the can, and I instinctively reached to open it.
“Don’t!” he stopped me immediately. “Once you open it, the air inside will escape.”
“What’s in it?” I asked, curious.
“Air from Mount Fuji. I brought you the air of Mount Fuji.”
No wonder it was so light. “But if I’m not allowed to open it, how will I ever experience the air from Mount Fuji?”
“There are too many people here. The air will dissipate quickly. Open it at home,” he suggested.
“Thank you,” I said, tucking the can into my coat pocket.
“Consider it a belated Christmas gift,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you. Have you ever received a Christmas gift you’ll never forget?” I asked.
“Yes. When I was ten, my parents took me on a cruise, and we spent Christmas on the Pacific Ocean. What about you?”
“When I was little, I’d hang a Christmas stocking at the foot of my bed every year. I truly believed Santa Claus would sneak in at night and leave gifts in it,” I said with a laugh.
“And what happened?”
“The gifts were from my father,” I admitted, still smiling.
“I never tried hanging a stocking,” he said.
“I loved it. Falling asleep with hope in my heart—it was wonderful! And waking up the next morning with that same hope was even better.”
“Waking up with hope?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
As we left the restaurant, Gao Hai Ming drove me home. When we reached my door, he got out to open the car door for me.
“It’s past midnight,” he said. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year,” I replied.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another floral-wrapped gift.
“This is for you,” he said.
I opened it—it was another can of Mount Fuji air.
“Why is it air again?” I asked, half amused.
“I plan to give you one can every day. I bought a total of thirty-three. When all thirty-three are opened together, they’ll fill a room with the air of Mount Fuji,” he said, gazing at me with a depth that made me unsure of how to respond.
Then, without warning, he hugged me and kissed my lips. I pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly. “I should have told you—I have a boyfriend. He’s studying in the UK, and he’ll be back in a few months.”
His face reflected a mixture of surprise and disappointment.
“I should’ve told you earlier. That was my mistake—”
“No, it’s my fault,” he interrupted, apologizing. “I crossed a line. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you for the air. Truly, thank you. Goodbye,” I said.
He left, visibly embarrassed.
I tossed both cans of Mount Fuji air into my desk drawer.
At around 1 a.m., I made a long-distance call to Xiao Jue.
“Happy New Year,” I said.
“Happy New Year,” he replied groggily. He had been sleeping.
I wanted to tell him about what had happened with Gao Hai Ming. My mind was a mess, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Sensing my silence, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year,” I said softly before reluctantly ending the call.
If only he were here with me.
I had been naive, thinking Gao Hai Ming just wanted to be friends. Perhaps he was just a typical playboy who enjoyed chasing women.
On the morning of January 2nd, a courier delivered a third can of Mount Fuji air to my office. Gao Hai Ming wasn’t giving up—he could be quite stubborn at times.
“What is this?” asked Xiang Ling Ling and Wang Zhen.
“It’s nothing,” I replied, placing the can in my drawer.
Despite my plea for him to stop, he continued sending a can of air daily. By the time the fifteenth can arrived, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and called him.
“Stop sending them,” I told him.
He ignored me. The sixteenth can arrived the next day. Frustrated, I shoved them all into my drawer.
Receiving his cans of air had become a strange routine over the past month.
By the thirty-third day, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I picked up the phone and called him.
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