After the markets tanked he disappeared. Rumor was he’d hit the road, looking to unload the firm on some unsuspecting Russians. Only the top earners would survive a sale, so everyone was scrambling to stake out his little patch of scorched earth. Other firms were jettisoning their traders by catapult. Things were bad. Above the waterline, we were in flames. Beneath, the structural integrity of lace. Then word got around that Boss Zhou had been spotted at a Hanfu ceremony, and suddenly Brother Kang was the most popular guy in the office. Brother Kang was head of the institutional sales desk, and since discovering the glory of the Hanfu lifestyle movement, he’d tried to convert anyone who’d listen. Before festival weekends, he’d show up for work in his flowing robes and putou hat and pass out instructional pamphlets on leading an ethical life and returning the motherland to her once-exalted status. He was solicitous, bordering on shy, in his recruitment efforts, but if he managed to catch your eye, he’d add on a pocket copy of the Analects, and you could be sure he’d be back to ask if you’d read it.
