Chapter 8

It seemed that when life hands you a golden finger, there’s always a price to pay. 

Gu Yi watched as Liang Daiwen sorted and packed the silkworms, and she went over to help.

“Scared now?” 

“What’s there to be scared of? Back in middle school, I’d come home late after tutoring, and my schoolbag would hide a heating pipe and some street thugs I’d been fighting with. But this is the first time I’ve seen someone raising silkworms in a city center apartment. This is the most expensive silkworm farm in history.” 

“Not necessarily. Even if you live in a luxury apartment like Tomson Riviera, if a grade school’s nature class requires raising silkworms, you still have to comply. A friend with kids recommended this to me, saying it cultivates patience. Now, I get it—the patience it cultivates is probably the little that remains after the education system has already taken most of it.”

Gu Yi finally understood. Liang Daiwen—good-looking, his voice magnetic, sharp-tongued with clear logic, hated by everyone, and a persona that if measured by sarcasm, would score a perfect 10.

“You saw it, too. The curtains divide the living room, this half is for you to move around freely. I rarely cook in the kitchen, and there’s not much food in the fridge, so you can order takeout and bring it home. Just don’t dirty the room, and make sure to throw away the trash in time. The washing machine and dryer are in the bathroom, just dry your clothes and put them away, don’t worry about drying them in public view. The study has my work things, so please try not to touch them. As for sleeping, you can sleep in my room, Auntie will come regularly to change the linens. I’m going to the studio.” 

Gu Yi quickly shook her head. “Sleep in your bed? I’d be overstepping. The sofa’s fine, just the sofa.” 

“It’s not convenient for you with a guy around.” Liang Daiwen tossed her the key. “I’m leaving. You can rest before work.”

Gu Yi stood at the door, the wind from the door closing waking her up. Although Liang Daiwen was harsh, bringing her back to his home wasn’t out of affection, just simple politeness—politeness to the extent that he didn’t even want to cause himself any trouble.

That’s fine, then. 

After taking a shower and wrapping herself in a towel, Gu Yi, still curious, pushed open the doors to the two bedrooms. One bedroom, aside from the bed, had nothing in it—just like his face. The other bedroom had been converted into a study, with an iMac, a drawing tablet, and walnut bookshelves filled with books. On the wall was a very unique painting—the frame was an old-fashioned, double-open, three-pane window frame, white paint with window latches. Outside the window were dilapidated ruins. The left window could be opened, revealing another painting: pink curtains, a pitch-black room with a wisp of smoke floating out, as if there was someone smoking inside.

She stared at the painting for a long time.

Lying on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, she could still smell the woody fragrance in the air. As a designer, she must have seen many aspects of the world that had nothing to do with her, the kind of elegance and charm that was similar to what she had seen in Yi Zhou—refined and high-class. Liang Daiwen had blended these into his life, but it seemed he hadn’t truly integrated them into his heart. The small night lamp beside the sofa quietly brought on drowsiness, and she gradually melted into the soft sofa. Maybe it was because she had lived in rental apartments with hard wooden beds for so long, but she was easily softened by the sofa. She thought that if these sofa beds could be rented like in a youth hostel, it would be great. This was easily a thousand times more comfortable than her one-and-a-half-meter-wide hard bed.

Opening her eyes, she saw the boxes of silkworms that hadn’t been delivered yet.

When she arrived at the company, Yu Dule certainly wouldn’t let her off easily, and the message came early: “So how was it at his place?”

“Don’t mention it. I spent the whole night awake.”

Yu Dule responded sharply on the phone: “Oh!”

“Don’t overthink it.” Gu Yi rubbed her temples. “It’s stuff even K-dramas couldn’t come up with.”

“Oh!”

“Don’t overthink it. Our stand-up comedy may be a flash in the pan in the entertainment world, but we still have ethics. The first rule is: don’t sleep with your fans.” She couldn’t tell him that Liang Daiwen had been harsh and had made her pet depressed. For now, she didn’t want any of her friends to influence her judgment. Back when she watched the movie He’s Just Not That Into You with stand-up comedians, her first conclusion was: never confide in friends when you’re confused. It usually just amplifies misunderstandings and messes with your judgment.

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah.”

“He helped you move and even let you stay at his place. He’s a living Buddha. What are you afraid of?” On the other end of the phone, Yu Dule seemed to wave his hand. “Forget it. My ‘80s generation script fee finally came through. I’m going to write some good material, hoping I’ll be as lucky as you and find my soulmate in the audience.”

After hanging up the phone, Gu Yi sighed. She thought to herself, how could she compare to Yu Dule? His work was just watching ounce, attending hip-hop performances, SNH48 small theaters, and pondering female psychology. He had an endless supply of romantic material. Everything she had experienced couldn’t be spoken about. If she were to tell a story about a roommate encountering hidden cameras, she would have to move out. If she spoke about the workplace, she could probably become a full-time stand-up comedian.

Just as she thought of this, Jacqueline walked in, and the meeting room suddenly fell silent. Jacqueline, as always, had a pale, cold face. She looked even more haggard than Gu Yi, who hadn’t slept all night. Without lifting her head, she asked, “Have you got the theme from last time?”

“I did a survey on the ‘Generation Z’ group and talked to the illustrator. We’re planning to make a long illustration.”

“Explain it in detail.”

Gu Yi went on to explain the characteristics of Generation Z’s consumer group, their personality types—such as the popularity of Guochao, Hanfu, and JK styles—and how they no longer value hard advertisements but emphasize quality. They prefer diversity over monopoly, lack brand loyalty, and how the fan culture has infiltrated all corners of society. Everyone has multiple labels... Jacqueline seemed satisfied. This was the point their group had brainstormed for three days—it was concise and yet sounded like a fresh topic. Of course, they privately despised such generalized terms, but Jacqueline liked the concept that targeted new consumer groups and resonated with younger people. Gu Yi privately thought this was Jacqueline’s need for information as she grew older and felt out of touch. The fear of aging after thirty was different from before; it wasn’t just the anxiety of survival but the fear of being left behind by society because your mindset couldn’t keep up with younger people. Jacqueline carefully reviewed the entire topic, from the title to the content, ensuring it would be published without complaints, and only then did she relax. They called their editorial meetings “Finding Problems Where There Are None,” doing checks until everything that needed to be fixed was fixed, cutting away what needed to be removed. After all that, no one knew if the result was still healthy, but it wouldn’t cause harm to society.

After Jacqueline finished reading, she suddenly said with a cold face, “How many people in the room belong to ‘Generation Z’? Not everyone has just one label. We should find an opportunity to exchange ideas about other talents.” She glanced around, but no one responded. After she left, everyone let out a breath, and colleagues whispered, “Doesn’t Jacqueline realize she’ll feel awkward trying to get close to us? Saying that sounded like we were caught taking side jobs.”

“That’s not about side jobs. What she means is a team-building activity, or maybe a chance to show something during afternoon tea.”

“‘Generation Z’ specifically refers to the post-90s generation. No one raised their hand because the only one here who isn’t from that group is her.”

Everyone was afraid of Jacqueline. Gu Yi sat at her desk, urging the illustrator for the artwork, preparing for the next meeting about business content, and letting out a breath of relief. Jacqueline didn’t know she did stand-up comedy, or else she would be in for a disaster, like her trying to perform in the office at a random time. The argument with her roommate had finally made her realize that in a setting where people didn’t understand stand-up comedy, performing would just feel offensive, unfunny, and unbearably awkward. Most importantly, Jacqueline was the type of person who would rigorously ask about private hobbies and time management during interviews, and if she felt that personal interests could affect work—or if she suspected someone was using the resources from Yi Zhou to develop their own career—she would immediately reject them, drawing a very clear line between work and personal life.

Gu Yi knew that her side job of writing stand-up jokes about people around her was something she needed to keep from the boss.

She had overheard Jacqueline on the phone once. The Eight Bridge Creative Park had three buildings connected, and when Jacqueline came back with coffee, she took a shortcut through the side stairwell. Gu Yi happened to overhear Jacqueline breaking up with her boyfriend. That was the first time she had ever heard Jacqueline say a long string of words about relationships: “After all this time, I haven’t seen your intentions. Even if there was something that moved me, I would’ve felt some lingering attachment. But your gift of flowers was mechanical, meals were routine, hugging was just for relief before sleep. Your intentions are so simplistic, like rushing through a procedure. In the end, you say you like me, but I honestly can’t feel what exactly you like about me. Do you like that I’m old enough? Are you as anxious as me?”

On the other end of the phone, it seemed like he was asking what kind of relationship she wanted. Jacqueline sounded cold but was being serious: “It doesn’t matter anymore, but if you want to know, I’ll tell you. Relationships are impulsive. If you think you need to think things through, follow routines, or follow methods, that’s all calculation and an exchange of interests—pick-up artistry, nothing to do with love. True love is what naturally comes out, from the heart, even if it defies instinct and makes you feel bewildered, doubting if you made a mistake but not being able to control yourself. That’s love.”

She had never felt so awkward walking down the stairs, knowing that Jacqueline would see her as soon as she reached the bottom. She was stuck in a dilemma. What made it even more awkward was that she had heard Jacqueline’s human side, and she could no longer bring herself to hate her. Especially the line, “The intention is simple,” which made her later realize that Jacqueline always wore a world-weary expression because she had grown too disillusioned with people and the world for not caring enough.

Tonight was Yu Dule’s open mic. He wore a dark gray suit with canvas shoes, a necklace, and looked like he had put some time into his appearance. One audience member described Yu Dule as the kind of person you would summarize as a “handsome guy,” but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was handsome about him, which frustrated him a lot.

His features weren’t as striking as other famous comedians, but when combined, they exuded a romantic vibe. His thick hair, full face, dog-like eyes, smiling lips, and a small gap between his front teeth made him radiate an approachable charm. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. When he rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, exposing his wristbones, female audience members began to scream, saying Yu Dule’s arms and veins were so sexy, and that his articulation was clearer than her romantic experiences. After that, Yu Dule earned a nickname: “Yu Sexy.” Besides booking drinks and rehearsing performances, he liked to cut his own clothes and redesign them, buy single flowers and hand them to fans, and even ordered a birthday cake for Ounce’s birthday and shared it with the audience. He seemed to have endless romantic thoughts.

The first person Gu Yijin met during her internship at the TV station was Yu Dule. At the time, he had just left a well-known production company. Although he was still an intern, he had worked on “The Voice,” “Dance Battle,” and “Extreme Challenge,” and was skilled in post-production. He joined the station for a more relaxed pace, as working in a production company meant staying up all night for months on end. Gu Yijin was assigned to write video scripts under a full-time employee. At 10 p.m., she was still working alone in the office when Yu Dule took her out for a late-night snack and told her that once the boss left, she could go home, emphasizing that time should be spent when the boss was around. At the time, Gu Yijin felt he was a bit slick. Shouldn’t she finish the task diligently? Yu Dule didn’t say much, and after a month, she realized that those trivial scripts were never even glanced at by the bosses during the selection process; all the energy was wasted. Instead, Yu Dule taught her editing, filming empty shots with small cats, dogs, and children, and how to smoothly switch between PR and AE.

She got to know him better during a month-long internship in Suzhou. They lived in a 70-yuan-per-night hotel, and after work, Yu Dule would often come find her to drink and chat in the lobby, where even the security guards joined in. When it was time to leave, they were reluctant to part. Later, Gu Yijin learned that Yu Dule was afraid of wind and thunder, and despite being a big man, he always thought there were ghosts.

They spent nights drinking, and in their poverty, they became comrades. Yu Dule was very popular with girls, but he wasn’t well-regarded at the station. The only official position left was for the station director’s daughter in Japan, and that spot had been vacant for a long time. Later, when Gu Yijin left the station, Yu Dule stuck around for another year and a half. On the surface, he said he wanted to enjoy a relaxed life at the station, but in reality, the station never had holidays, and he simply wanted to compete with his own strength.

Of course, he lost.

The older generation’s obsession with stable positions was unimaginable, and after that, Yu Dule grew weary. His classmates had successful variety shows at various stations, and he took on several part-time jobs, eventually becoming the manager of Ounce’s bar. Occasionally, when he saw variety shows on TV, he would stare at them for a while before pulling out his phone to browse Weibo. The most unforgettable memory was a scripted murder mystery show in the summer of 2017, which became a nationwide hit among young people, and the executive producer was his ex-girlfriend from the production company. Their breakup happened when Yu Dule’s mother insisted he break up and settle down in Shanghai. After the breakup, his ex-girlfriend went to Hunan and slowly rose to her current position. They never contacted each other again.

That day, the bar played the show on a loop, and Yu Dule took a live photo of a boiling kettle, the steam casting a faint shadow on the wall. As he held his phone, the wall in front of him was empty.

Now, as the owner of Ounce, Yu Dule was only interested in stand-up comedy.

“Any single girls here tonight? Raise your hands so I can see. Alright, put them down, mostly guys, haha.”

“When I was in college, I really liked being in relationships. College life was basically eating, sleeping, playing games, skipping classes—honestly, it was quite boring. For guys, the four years passed quickly. So, any guy who had a bit of ambition put it into pursuing girls. Student councils, rollerblading clubs, basketball matches—the ultimate goal was to date. There’s a real phenomenon: If you ask these guys to do something for youth and passion, they would never do it. But if you mention pretty girls, they’ll get out of bed. But years later, when they look back, they might not even remember the girl’s face, but they’ll remember the passion and youth.”

“Just kidding. Girls are really cute. Back in college, I was really into studying these things, and I found a way to meet girls: taking general arts courses. These were required for art majors, but non-art students could take them as electives and still see pretty girls. But there was an application ranking for these courses. Freshmen and sophomores couldn’t get in; only juniors could. But when I got in, I realized… hmm? There weren’t that many pretty girls after all. Later, I figured it out: they had already realized this course was filled with guys trying to find girlfriends, so they took other courses to avoid us.”

“But at that time, I still worked hard to find a pretty girl among the students. She had long hair and long legs, and she was unforgettable. I thought to myself, how could I approach her naturally without being awkward and still get her contact details? After all, girls are a bit wary of guys like us, with a playboy look—don’t laugh. I sat next to her, pretending to sleep—actually, I really did sleep—for half an hour, then suddenly woke up and said, ‘Classmate, where are we in the lecture? I must have dozed off. Could I borrow your notes?’ She naturally gave me her QQ, and sent me her lecture notes. After that, I didn’t keep chatting with her, but instead, I played games and slept. Three months later, I swapped WeChat with her. It was only after some time that I realized she had been sitting around me all along in class. Girls’ makeup really makes a huge difference. Guys at that age are still not capable of recognizing makeup, so when a girl changes her makeup, it’s like she becomes a completely different person.”

“Later, by a chance encounter, we met at the school gate. That day, she was in a bad mood and wanted to talk to me. I said okay, but in my heart, I was hesitating because I urgently needed to use the restroom. So, I walked with her into the school, and we ended up by the football field. We walked around for two hours, and I was sweating bullets. After two hours, she said, ‘Yu Dole, I never realized you were so understanding. I’m ready to go back now, but I still want to talk more.’ At that moment, my face turned green, and I claimed it was because the grass was reflecting on me, holding back tears, saying it was because I was so moved by her. She was very, very happy, and in the end, I nervously said, ‘Let’s date.’ She was touched, thinking I was nervous, and nodded. As soon as I turned around, I ran back to the dorm, holding my legs together, trembling three times before I realized that I had actually won her over. For a full two hours, I walked around the field with my green face, and looking back now, it really does feel like ‘every second of the road you walk counts.’

Gu Yi laughed so hard from the audience. Yu Dole had a bit of a Beijing accent, and his self-deprecating humor was sharp, neutralizing the straightforward ‘straight man’ vibe in his jokes. In the end, he held the microphone and said, ‘Actually, there are very few times when people feel their life is worth living. Even now, years after graduation, I really don’t remember what that girl looked like, but that time in my life is the most unforgettable part of my college days. “Those Years We Chased the Girl Together” became so popular because that’s how guys are—they’ll throw themselves recklessly for those moments that make their hearts race. People probably need these kinds of moments to remind them they’re alive. Now I’m twenty-six, about to turn twenty-seven, and I still look okay, right? Pretty decent. But inside, I’m dead. My state is extremely weak. If you ever see someone like me on the street, eyes unfocused, stop and ask; especially if they’re trembling, don’t hesitate to show some love and point them to the nearest—recently renovated—restroom.’

The audience laughed heartily, and after his performance, Yu Dole bowed. Once he entered the backstage area, his expression immediately changed to one of indifference and exhaustion, his body worn out from overuse. The lingering effect of the show seemed to still be in the air, but only Gu Yi knew that the eccentric, romantic-minded boy had not been in a relationship for a long time.”