Chapter 8
It was Cheng Jiayang who changed my mind.
At the meeting that day, he was truly impressive, serving as the interpreter for speakers from both the Chinese and French sides. His responses were quick, his thinking sharp, his choice of words precise, and his nearly indistinguishable Parisian accent was most impressive. However, what left a deeper impression was his handling and command of the meeting scene, the flexible rhythm, the sharp and engaging discussions, and the harmless jokes; Cheng Jiayang was more than capable. I realized that a translator is actually the master of ceremonies at a conference.
His appearance that day was etched into my mind: the black suit and tie, his fair, thin face, his calm expression, his quiet and elegant demeanor. Although it wasn't long before I got to know the real him beneath that magnificent facade, that image of him was unforgettable.
It was also that day, I think, that Brother Jiayang must have remembered me.
After the large-scale negotiations ended, some of the business representatives from both sides wanted to take the opportunity to talk separately. However, the organizers hadn't made adequate preparations, so my two classmates and I had to step in at the last minute.
"Quotas, orders, value-added tax, factories, insurance, letters of credit.
The friendship between China and France is long-standing, and cooperation in the field of economic and trade continues to strengthen.
Our factory has strong technical capabilities and abundant human resources...
...
I was grateful that I had always been diligent. I could translate the standard contents, but a comment from the head of the Chinese textile enterprise still made me break out in a cold sweat. He was boasting about the large scale of his enterprise and the complete living facilities provided for his workers when the bald-headed boss said, "Our living community has everything: apartments, cafeterias, gyms, theaters, dance halls... essentially everything except for a crematorium."
When I heard the word "crematorium," my mind went blank, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cheng Jiayang finishing his own task, standing not too far from me. In the blink of an eye, thinking he might be watching, I forgot every word.
I said to the foreigner, with earnest, "People can do anything here except die." Seeing his shocked face, I added, "I mean, the facilities are very comprehensive."
Now I was certain that Cheng Jiayang was indeed watching me, as I saw his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Everyone has many "firsts," and this was my first time interpreting, drenched in sweat. I felt this job could definitely keep one warm during the coldest days of winter.
The French were quite generous, paying on the spot. I worked for less than half an hour and received 300 yuan. Looking at the thick stack of envelopes in Cheng Jiayang's hand, he waved it at us, "I'll treat you to dinner."
The four of us classmates took Cheng Jiayang's German sedan into town to a well-known seafood restaurant. When it was my turn to order, I chose a long-coveted and never-before-tasted deluxe salmon sashimi, costing 388 yuan per order. In my heart, I had some mischievous thoughts; if this gentleman was treating, let him splurge.
After everyone had ordered, I raised my hand to add to the waiter, "Excuse me, I would also like a potato and eggplant stew, the kind where the potatoes and eggplants are mashed into a puree with green onion on top."
"I'm from the Northeast," I said to Cheng Jiayang, who was trying not to laugh.
"Yeah, yeah," a male classmate from the same class said, "She eats raw onions."
(End of Chapter)
This book is first published by Xiaoxiang Academy and is not allowed to be reproduced!