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Today's Reading

She seized up immediately, and the rest of us squirmed, knowing we'd eventually go up, as well.

"Class participation is a part of your grade," Mr. Chiang added casually, knowing that the remark would cut to the heart of our fears. Mei-hua rose and shakily walked to the front of the class. "Don't worry," Mr. Chiang reassured her in his best reality TV host voice. "Everyone has to go eventually, and you get a lot of credit for being first."

Mei-hua probably hadn't planned on presenting herself to a room. She was wearing a thin gray sweatshirt and a black mid-length skirt. She wasn't much taller than five feet, and looked shorter because she was hunched over. She tucked a lock of her shoulder-length black hair behind her right ear.

"I didn't think there would be public speaking," she said to her feet. "Isn't this supposed to be a business class?"

"How do you think business is done?" Mr. Chiang said slyly. "Telepathy?"

"I know how business is done," said Mei-hua. She looked up for the first time, and revealed her face. Tension drew her mouth tight as a closed drawstring bag. Small nose, small eyes. Her dark eyebrows twitched like insect feelers. "I know it's done with presentations, and with addressing a room, because I've seen it. But that's when there's a product to talk about, or a new strategy to work out. It's weird to just talk about, you know, yourself."

Mr. Chiang held up his right index finger. "Right. Good. Now we're getting somewhere. We're learning how business is changing. It's more personal than ever, and you are in fact the main product you're selling, Mei-hua. Now tell us your story."

She had dropped out of National Taiwan University—our Harvard, Yale, and Princeton rolled into one—to join a chip-design start-up that went from five people in a basement office to a publicly traded firm with 500 employees. But the company ran out of money in two years. Everyone lost their jobs, and their only compensation was being allowed to take home their ergonomic chairs. The founder had had to sell off patents to former rival Taiwan Semiconductor to pay off debts.

Mei-hua had gone from a lemonade stand to ringing the stock exchange bell to moving back in with her parents. At least she got a cool chair out of it.

That was the pain-free summary of her story. Mei-hua had stuttered through it all, and delivered her last sentence while running back to her seat. Five minutes never felt so long, and agonizing.

"Let's all give Mei-hua a hand," said Mr. Chiang. We applauded, and our teacher cut us off by announcing the next name.

There really was an advantage to going first, because after Mei-hua, Mr. Chiang began injecting questions and comments while students spoke, indifferently teasing out our insecurities, and idly flailing us in public.

When it was my turn, I sauntered my way up the aisle. Who was more experienced and more comfortable with public speaking than me? I was ready to start modestly by opening with something like, "You might have heard of me already, but it's all right if you haven't." Unlike nearly all of my classmates, I cajoled 1,000 strangers every night in English, Mandarin, and Taiwanese to buy my food and hang out with me, in that order.

Before I had even reached the front of the room, however, Mr. Chiang decided to preface my remarks.

"Class, we have a minor celebrity among us," he announced. "Jing-nan's name sounded familiar to me, so I searched online, and found quite a bit about him."

Not willing to let a single detail escape him, Mr. Chiang opened his folded phone and read from the screen.

"A couple of years ago, class, someone tried to shoot him, and he deflected the bullet with a metal pot at his night-market stall. Do any of you remember hearing about that incident?"

A few people nodded.

I said, "Well, that's not really relevant to my business story, even though my life was in danger."

I couldn't stop the Chiang train from rolling on, however.

"And then, more recently, Jing-nan was a kidnapping victim. No one knew where he was until Mr. Thomas Lee Tong-ming—who heads Taiwan's largest hedge fund, and is someone that I have had lunch with a number of times—rescued him with a private army of sharpshooters."

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The Dead Can't Make a Living: A Taipei Night Market Novel, Book 5 | Online Book Clubs Skip to main content

Today's Reading

She seized up immediately, and the rest of us squirmed, knowing we'd eventually go up, as well.

"Class participation is a part of your grade," Mr. Chiang added casually, knowing that the remark would cut to the heart of our fears. Mei-hua rose and shakily walked to the front of the class. "Don't worry," Mr. Chiang reassured her in his best reality TV host voice. "Everyone has to go eventually, and you get a lot of credit for being first."

Mei-hua probably hadn't planned on presenting herself to a room. She was wearing a thin gray sweatshirt and a black mid-length skirt. She wasn't much taller than five feet, and looked shorter because she was hunched over. She tucked a lock of her shoulder-length black hair behind her right ear.

"I didn't think there would be public speaking," she said to her feet. "Isn't this supposed to be a business class?"

"How do you think business is done?" Mr. Chiang said slyly. "Telepathy?"

"I know how business is done," said Mei-hua. She looked up for the first time, and revealed her face. Tension drew her mouth tight as a closed drawstring bag. Small nose, small eyes. Her dark eyebrows twitched like insect feelers. "I know it's done with presentations, and with addressing a room, because I've seen it. But that's when there's a product to talk about, or a new strategy to work out. It's weird to just talk about, you know, yourself."

Mr. Chiang held up his right index finger. "Right. Good. Now we're getting somewhere. We're learning how business is changing. It's more personal than ever, and you are in fact the main product you're selling, Mei-hua. Now tell us your story."

She had dropped out of National Taiwan University—our Harvard, Yale, and Princeton rolled into one—to join a chip-design start-up that went from five people in a basement office to a publicly traded firm with 500 employees. But the company ran out of money in two years. Everyone lost their jobs, and their only compensation was being allowed to take home their ergonomic chairs. The founder had had to sell off patents to former rival Taiwan Semiconductor to pay off debts.

Mei-hua had gone from a lemonade stand to ringing the stock exchange bell to moving back in with her parents. At least she got a cool chair out of it.

That was the pain-free summary of her story. Mei-hua had stuttered through it all, and delivered her last sentence while running back to her seat. Five minutes never felt so long, and agonizing.

"Let's all give Mei-hua a hand," said Mr. Chiang. We applauded, and our teacher cut us off by announcing the next name.

There really was an advantage to going first, because after Mei-hua, Mr. Chiang began injecting questions and comments while students spoke, indifferently teasing out our insecurities, and idly flailing us in public.

When it was my turn, I sauntered my way up the aisle. Who was more experienced and more comfortable with public speaking than me? I was ready to start modestly by opening with something like, "You might have heard of me already, but it's all right if you haven't." Unlike nearly all of my classmates, I cajoled 1,000 strangers every night in English, Mandarin, and Taiwanese to buy my food and hang out with me, in that order.

Before I had even reached the front of the room, however, Mr. Chiang decided to preface my remarks.

"Class, we have a minor celebrity among us," he announced. "Jing-nan's name sounded familiar to me, so I searched online, and found quite a bit about him."

Not willing to let a single detail escape him, Mr. Chiang opened his folded phone and read from the screen.

"A couple of years ago, class, someone tried to shoot him, and he deflected the bullet with a metal pot at his night-market stall. Do any of you remember hearing about that incident?"

A few people nodded.

I said, "Well, that's not really relevant to my business story, even though my life was in danger."

I couldn't stop the Chiang train from rolling on, however.

"And then, more recently, Jing-nan was a kidnapping victim. No one knew where he was until Mr. Thomas Lee Tong-ming—who heads Taiwan's largest hedge fund, and is someone that I have had lunch with a number of times—rescued him with a private army of sharpshooters."

What our readers think...