“Yes. Thank you,” Gao Hai Ming said, satisfied as he admired his model.
“What model is this?” I asked boldly.
Perhaps because of my psychology background, I was particularly intrigued by people who seemed as socially withdrawn as he was.
“F-16,” Gao Hai Ming said, looking at me curiously. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised that someone dared to strike up a conversation with him or that I didn’t recognize an F-16 fighter jet.
“It looks amazing,” I complimented him.
“Thank you,” he replied without meeting my gaze. He seemed even shyer than I was.
At that moment, his secretary entered and said, “Mr. Gao, two investigators from the Commercial Crime Bureau would like to speak with you.”
“Send them in,” Gao Hai Ming replied, though he seemed reluctant.
“Mr. Gao, I’ll take my leave,” I said.
“Do you know why BeeComfort and Ai Baobao have been targeted with these bug rumors?” Gao Hai Ming suddenly asked.
“It could be a competitor, a disgruntled former employee, or perhaps even an enemy of your family,” I speculated.
He shook his head.
“Then who could it be?” I asked.
“Did it never occur to you that it might be me?” Gao Hai Ming asked.
When he said this, his expression was a mix of smugness and mischief, like a mischievous child who had caused trouble for the adults and was reveling in getting away with it.
I was stunned.
Two investigators from the Commercial Crime Bureau entered his office, and I left. As I walked, I kept replaying Gao Hai Ming’s words in my mind. Could he have been telling the truth? Was it possible that there was no commercial rivalry, no disgruntled employee? Could it really be that the one spreading the rumors about “BeeComfort” and “Ai Baobao” was Gao Hai Ming himself?
But why would he do that?
The first explanation could be dissatisfaction with reality. Despite having everything most people envy—youth, a prestigious education, wealth, and being single—these blessings might feel like a cage to him. Perhaps he didn’t want to take over his father’s business but couldn’t defy his father’s wishes. Watching his products’ sales rise, he may have intentionally spread rumors about bugs to cause a decline, thus alleviating the pressure he felt. It would be like a pampered child acting out to upset their parents.
The second explanation could be a desire to control everything. Living in isolation and boredom, he might have devised the “bug rumors” as a game. Watching company executives, the police, the media, and even me scramble to address the problem could have been his way of treating us like pieces on a chessboard or components of his models, orchestrating everything for his own amusement. In this scenario, he would see himself as an omniscient being, mocking the ignorance of those below him.
The third explanation? He could simply have been messing with me. Perhaps he wasn’t the source of the rumors at all and just wanted to see how I’d react. But why target me?
The rumors about “Ai Baobao” eventually subsided, and Le Tao weathered both crises. The next time I saw Gao Hai Ming, it wasn’t work-related.
That Sunday, Meng Meng and I went to Mong Kok to watch a movie. As we passed a model shop, we noticed it was packed with young couples, the girls patiently accompanying their boyfriends as they shopped for models. A man in his twenties stood before the window display, his eyes lighting up as he gazed at a bright red Ferrari model, as though he were about to own the real car.
“Stop staring; I’m exhausted!” Meng Meng complained, urging me to keep moving.
As we waited for a taxi near the model shop, I saw Gao Hai Ming carrying a large box into the store.
That day, he wasn’t wearing a suit—just a shirt and jeans, which made him look even younger. He was likely there to buy a model.
He opened the box to reveal a fighter jet model—the same one I’d seen him assembling in his office. The shopkeeper examined it and then paid him. Why was the shopkeeper paying him instead of the other way around?
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