Chapter 16: He Said Love Was Like a Nebula

In my dream social app, I hope these ambiguous hearts can connect, and loneliness and anticipation can be felt. Not all emotions need to develop into romantic or reproductive relationships—they’re like distant stars in the universe. Even light-years away, someone can still see their glow. Throughout the development process, I’ve insisted on certain features that aren’t profitable and may seem outdated, but I know there are people who need them.

Xiao Ma suddenly ducked his head against the railing. Shi Rui, blushing, squeezed herself into the doorway of 203: “Goodbye. I meant what I said.”

Yu Zhimei silently returned to her room, and Xiao Ma followed her in: “Damn, she’s crafty. She’s using my apartment to chase Jian Zhaowen, isn’t she?” Watching Jian enter, clueless, Xiao Ma kept raising his eyebrows and mimicking a high-pitched voice: “Brother Zhaowen, she worked so hard to find the cat because she likes you!”

“Shut up.” Jian frowned, confused: “I’ve probably exchanged fewer than three sentences with her. Can someone fall for me after just three sentences?”

After the chaotic morning, Yu Zhimei had forgotten that her place was nearly packed up, with no cat food left. Jian glanced at his phone: “I was going to cancel my flight, but now that we’ve found the cat, I’ll fly out tomorrow night.”

“You’re leaving already?” Xiao Ma sounded regretful: “Won’t you stay one more night?”

“The one pushing me to vacate is you.”

“What about you, Yu Zhimei?”

“Not yet—I’ve only booked a hotel.”

“Forget it, stay here for now. Where else can you go with a cat? I’m going on a date. Call me if anything happens.” Taking two steps out, Xiao Ma frowned: “April 1st—it’s the start of a new month. My wedding plans have been messed up because of you two. Yu Zhimei, make sure to close the doors and windows. If the cat gets lost again, it’s not my problem.”

After the door closed, Jian stood at the entrance, watching Yu Zhimei move between cardboard boxes: “Can you do me a favor? Could you get some canned food He Jie usually feeds stray cats? I want to give him a bath first.”

“Of course.” Jian looked guilty: “About earlier…”

“I don’t know what the cat has been eating this past month. To be safe, after finding a new place, I’ll take him to the vet.”

“About earlier… did you hear it?”

“What?” Yu Zhimei straightened up: “Oh, you mean Shi Rui confessing to you? Yes, I heard. Should I… congratulate you?”

“No, absolutely not.” Jian shook his head like a rattle drum: “Aside from asking her to help find the cat, I barely know her. That kind of confession doesn’t count.”

“She’s a really good girl. Don’t let her soft appearance fool you—she’s incredibly stubborn. Oh, and she’s within the age range of your algorithm’s match.”

Jian, flustered, snapped: “I’ll go downstairs to get the canned food. Wait for me, alright? You have to wait for me.”

“Where could I run off to with all these boxes?”

When the room finally fell silent, Ruru sniffed around, as if recognizing the familiar environment. Looking at the packed boxes, his expression seemed a little confused. Kittens under a year old always seemed to wear an air of innocence, but as they grew older, they learned confusion, anger, and even cunning. After closing the doors and windows, the dirty Ruru leapt onto her lap, curling up obediently and burying his head in the crook of her arm. Suddenly, Yu Zhimei burst into tears—the kind of person who wouldn’t cry even if the sky fell, she hadn’t cried when the cat was lost, but now, no matter how hard she tried to stifle her sobs, the tears wouldn’t stop.

Jian Zhaowen first knocked on Shi Rui’s door after descending to the second floor. When Shi Rui opened the door, she was extremely shy and tried to invite him in. But Jian stood firmly at the doorway, patting her shoulder earnestly: “Thank you so much for helping find the cat today, but I’m returning to Beijing. I can’t be your boyfriend.”

“I could go to Beijing… and besides, I know…”

Before she could finish, Jian quickly interrupted: “I’m not that great, and I don’t stay fond of anyone for long. You want to find someone you like and get married, right? While you still have passion, go look for someone you truly love, okay?”

With that, Jian felt a weight lift off his shoulders and descended the stairs lightly. For people he had no chance of liking, Jian always politely and succinctly rejected them—after all, saying more would just waste time.

When Jian knocked again, fine hairs floated lazily in the air, making him sneeze repeatedly. A clean Ruru wriggled in Yu Zhimei’s arms, trying to escape. Amid the sound of the hairdryer, Yu Zhimei’s voice carried: “Ruru, just one last bit, then we’ll stop, okay? Five, four, three, two, one… a few more seconds! Five, four, three, two, one—good job!” As she removed her mask, he asked: “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Xiao Ma gave me an extra day, so of course I’ll stay home. Where are you staying?”

“I’ll find a nearby hotel—it doesn’t matter to me. At least the cat’s found, so I can leave with peace of mind.”

The room fell silent, save for the sound of Ruru eating his cat food. The clean Ruru had a tuft of stubborn fur sticking up on one ear. He looked up at Yu Zhimei, then at Jian, completely unafraid. Jian smiled as he watched Ruru: “With him here, this place feels like a home. Before, when I saw you in this house, it felt like your soul was gone—it was like a cold storage unit.”

“You have something to say to me?”

Jian rolled his eyes, his ears growing warm: “Not really, and it’s not urgent. I need to find a hotel first.”

“What about your identity being misused… why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

Jian didn’t look up: “What was the point of bringing it up while the cat was lost? It’s not a big deal—just bureaucratic red tape. I’m going back to sue them. If they drag it out for a year or two, I won’t even need to look for a job.”

“I have an extra blanket.”

“Huh?”

“You can sleep on my sofa. It’s not as comfortable as your fancy sofa, but it’s not too bad either. Or… you could jump over from my balcony—your sofa is still in the neighboring apartment, untouched.”

“You’re really heartless.” He flopped onto the sofa: “If I can stay one more night, why not? Xiao Ma’s being stingy, and if you’re not sincerely offering me shelter, Shanghai might as well be a cold ruin. There’d be nothing worth staying for.”

“I actually think… he’s not that bad.” Yu Zhimei brushed Ruru’s fur: “Even though he’s calculating, he’s not cold—he’s almost overly enthusiastic.”

Jian clicked his tongue: “I can’t see it that way. After all, he bought my sofa, speakers, and mattress at rock-bottom prices—the total was pitiful. I didn’t bother arguing, but he actually took everything.”

A towel suddenly flew into Jian’s face. Yu Zhimei stepped over the cardboard boxes: “Go take a shower. You smell terrible.”

The towel was gray, soft, and clean, as if prepared especially for him. Jian hesitated for a second before getting up, tripping over his own feet.

The sound of the shower filled the air. Up in the loft, separated by twelve steps, Yu Zhimei’s heartbeat quickened. For the first time, Ruru lay on the other side of the bed, claiming his territory. Yu Zhimei tilted her head and tapped his nose: “You’re finally acting like a proper male cat.”

Downstairs grew quieter, and Yu Zhimei grew increasingly worried that Jian might come upstairs without clothes. She peeked her head out just in time to see half of Jian’s naked body slip past the wall. Embarrassed, she quickly retreated, determined to pretend she hadn’t seen anything.

A few minutes later, she descended casually, finding Jian rummaging through his suitcase for clean pajamas. He sprawled on the sofa in gray sleepwear, scrolling through his phone. Yu Zhimei kicked his dirty clothes aside, thinking to herself: this supposedly meticulous Jian Zhaowen had forgotten to grab underwear before rushing into the shower. If she hadn’t been hiding upstairs, they might’ve bumped into each other completely undressed…

A man and woman alone in a room—if their eyes met, sparks would fly.

Yu Zhimei shook her head abruptly: “Well, I’m going upstairs.”

“Not drinking?”

“It’s all packed and boxed up, yet you’re still eyeing my alcohol.” Yu Zhimei broke into a sweat. After just finishing a shower, why did he want to drink? What was Jian planning?

Two glasses of Absolut Vodka sat in front of them, ice cubes clinking without juice—a setup that had become the standard for hosting Jian. They sat among the boxes, each sipping their drink. Jian wore his thin gray pajamas, which hung loosely on his broad shoulders, revealing his collarbone and Adam’s apple. His tongue flicked the rim of the glass, then licked his full lips. Yu Zhimei couldn’t bear to look, mentally tracking the progress: halfway through the drink, 45% done. Once this glass was empty, it was bedtime. Ruru sat on a box, frowning at them. Yu Zhimei thought: dear son, you mustn’t leave us alone here—otherwise, a man and woman together in a room, meeting eyes… tinder ready to ignite…

Ruru turned and walked away. Yu Zhimei panicked—how could he abandon her at such a crucial moment?

“Hey. Say something. You weren’t like this when you first invited me over to play games.” Jian broke the silence first.

Yu Zhimei thought: Of course not. Back then, I didn’t like you this much, and you weren’t sitting here like this either. Why does this vodka feel so spicy tonight? If Jian said one more word, she might kiss him. After all, it was their last night together—sleeping with the boy she liked wouldn’t yield any results, but she wouldn’t regret it for the rest of her life…

Just as she raised her head, Jian’s face drew closer, inch by inch. His lips looked tender and soft, and the scent of vodka was intoxicating—three centimeters, two centimeters, one centimeter…

The phone rang just in time. Jian sprang back, pointing at the phone. Yu Zhimei grabbed it, feeling a pang of bitterness. If he really liked her, he should’ve stopped her from answering. What was this retreat about? Monkey Brother apologized profusely on the other end, calling late at night but remaining polite. The request was urgent—they needed a release by ten the next morning, plus a live-stream collaboration to secure a major client for the next quarter. Everyone else was already working overtime at the office. Yu Zhimei jotted down the requirements, hung up, and pulled out her laptop: “I need to work now—you’ll have to drink alone.”

Jian Zhaowen sat up, hugging the sofa cushion as if relieved: “What’s there to be afraid of? Are you scared I’d actually sleep with you?”

“Of course not. What… do you plan to do after returning to Beijing?” Yu Zhimei skillfully worked on her computer, importing footage, dragging tracks, and pulling up the script, waiting for Jian’s response.

“I sent a message to my former boss—I want to meet him. He’s an important figure in my career planning. Whether it’s for finding a job or starting a business, I want to hear his advice.”

“Do you still feel attached to ‘LoveDate’?”

“Can I lie? It’d be false to say I’m not. But when your partner has already launched a VIP matchmaking system and is charging annual fees, it’s over.”

“Can you… tell me more about this app?”

Jian smiled: “You’ve already assumed it’s not worthwhile. Explaining it wouldn’t make much sense. Lately, when I think about the app, I feel uneasy—hard to pinpoint why, but I feel like creating it and watching it evolve to where it is now was a mistake.”

“Don’t blame yourself for mistakes.”

“Maybe. My original intention might have been to help people rediscover the feeling of heart-fluttering. For someone like me whose feelings fade quickly, heart-fluttering is like a nebula.”

“What?”

“I said, heart-fluttering is like a nebula. Do you listen to music? Have you ever read the comments under songs?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Sometimes we’re moved by the song itself, and other times by the comments, right? People always have fleeting moments they can’t share with those around them but yearn to be understood. Sometimes saying it out loud changes how it feels in your heart, yet there’s always someone else in the world who gets it. In my dream social app, I wanted these ambiguous hearts to connect—loneliness and anticipation could both be felt. Not all emotions need to develop into romantic or reproductive relationships; they’re like distant stars in the universe. Even light-years away, someone can still see their glow. Throughout the process, I insisted on certain features that couldn’t monetize, which made it seem outdated, but I knew some people needed it.”

Yu Zhimei sat on the stairs, looking at him as if he were an extraordinary hero.

“I’ll never forget the night user numbers first exploded. The server crashed, but driven by curiosity, everyone flooded into the chatrooms and confession holes. Daily active users hit 100,000—a hundred thousand lonely hearts rushing into the universe I built. That day, I had the design team create a launch screen: countless stars shimmering in the galaxy, nebulas swirling—it was beautiful. I created a world for those who wanted to pour out their loneliness. I still use that image as my phone background, as a memento…”

“Can I see that picture?”

Jian handed her his phone. The image was a vast starry sea, accompanied by text: “People fear budding emotions, crave marriage, grow weary of raising children, and suppress feelings altogether, as if love shouldn’t be mentioned. When people feel heart-fluttering and decide to choose true love, they remove their masks, break free from constraints, and timidly speak of the sincerity secretly nurtured within.”