The day the doctor announced that I had terminal brain cancer seven years ago was the same day that Gu Huaishen received his acceptance letter from Harvard Business School.
I deliberately broke the wine glass at his celebration party and held the hand of his nemesis: "It's a waste of time to fall in love with a idiot like you who can only read."
Seven years later, my technology company rang the bell at the Nasdaq. The moment I looked up at the bidding meeting, I saw the man in suit and tie at the head of the table with my "posthumous photo" spread out on his knees.
He rubbed the photo frame with his fingertips and chuckled: "Miss Lu and my late wife look so much alike."
The assistant reminded in a low voice: "Mr. Gu has collected all the photos of women who look like her. Wall Street calls his office area 'Forgettable Bay'."
All the blinds in the conference room were suddenly lowered, and Gu Huaishen's voice filtered out from the darkness: "Now you can tell me - what did you plan to write on your epitaph when you deceived me by pretending to die?"
