Chapter 2: Wild Beauty

After listening to all those love speeches during the day, she couldn’t remember a single useful line. Wrapped in her blanket, staring at the ceiling, all she could think about were the four turns where she hadn’t managed to drift.

“You were following me?”

The man also recognized Yu Zhimei: “It’s you?”

“Stay back! That whole thing earlier was a misunderstanding. I barely know that guy—I was just helping him drive. Don’t turn his methods against me; this has nothing to do with me!”

The man rolled his eyes dramatically under the light: “Can you stop being dramatic? I’m your neighbor from next door.”

The scent around him was familiar—the faint aroma she often smelled in the hallway whenever she went out. Before Yu Zhimei could say anything, the man kept apologizing: “Sorry, I don’t live here often. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“…Oh. Is your friend okay?”

“She’s already on a flight back to Beijing. I told her to go home and lay low for a while—Shanghai isn’t safe right now.”

“It’s not that bad,” Yu Zhimei said, feeling a little annoyed. “Sure, my friend got too emotionally invested, but he’s not a criminal.”

The man dropped the topic and started lecturing her instead: “It’s dangerous for a girl to come home so late at night. If I hadn’t been standing here today, you’d be in serious trouble.” His speech was clear, his voice confident yet somewhat overbearing. Yu Zhimei found it amusing—he probably loved playing the hero in front of women. “No one would break into an old house like this.”

“It’s hard to say—criminals often hide in the safest places. Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“I was watching a movie tonight, and the volume might’ve been a bit loud. Did it bother you?”

“Oh? Oh.” Yu Zhimei snapped out of her thoughts. “No worries. Late at night, it’s normal to watch… uh, movies.”

“What are you thinking?” The man sighed and opened a black plastic bag, revealing Life is Beautiful and Memories of Murder : “Foreign films.”

“My apologies—I was being crude. Are there still stores around here selling DVDs like these?”

“Over on Loushanguan Road. I’m too lazy to download movies, so I go to the store and chat with the owner while picking them out.”

An awkward silence filled the corridor as Yu Zhimei stood there holding her shoes in the dark, eager to open her door and retreat inside. She changed the subject: “This light… I’ll ask the landlord to fix it in a few days. Sorry about tonight.”

“You should contact the property management—the landlord only handles things inside the door.”

“In my memory… our houses belong to the same landlord. This small new-style lane house is entirely his, except for the first floor.” The landlord was elderly, short in stature, and hunched over, but incredibly kind-hearted. He insisted on doing everything himself. Once, when a young girl downstairs wanted a TV, this eighty-something-year-old man carried a bulky, old-fashioned color TV under the scorching sun and delivered it to her.

“What’s that in your hand?”

“Shoes.”

“You walk barefoot?”

“High heels—they’re exhausting.”

“Oh. Don’t come home so late at night. Even though this is downtown, it’s still not safe. And even though you drive aggressively, you wouldn’t stand a chance against a man.”

With that, the man went inside. Standing at her door, Yu Zhimei wondered how someone in this day and age could still nag endlessly about safety—more than her own father did.

As she pushed open her door, the sound of his closing echoed behind her. Sure enough, Ruru had already arrived at her feet. Ruru was a three-year-old curly-eared cat, very smart. Holding him for even a short while made your arms sore, but neglecting to hold him upset him. When friends visited, Ruru hid on the shelf behind the curtains, refusing to greet guests or eat, becoming cold and domineering—just like… the male neighbor next door.

Yu Zhimei lived on the third floor of the new-style lane house. Upon entering, there was a small living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a narrow staircase leading up to the attic. A square section served as the bedroom, while the slanted roof area was used for storage. At sixty square meters, the layout was clear and not cramped. As young people flocked to Shanghai with dreams of finding their own place, older apartments in the city center often became their choice—or slightly farther out, renting apartments near the end of subway lines. In any case, lane houses weren’t typically their preference. But passing through the narrow gate beside the street-facing old building and discovering this three-story house, Yu Zhimei secretly felt she had struck gold. By converting part of the attic into a square skylight to let in sunlight and setting up flower racks on the golden carved railings, her secluded life amidst the bustling city began. Originally, the third floor housed three units, but the neighboring male tenant seemed to have combined two into one large apartment, spanning a full hundred square meters. Occasionally, when opening her door, Yu Zhimei glanced back at his door, wondering… just how much bigger was his hundred-square-meter duplex compared to hers, and what kind of life did he lead?

But now, she wasn’t curious at all. Next door didn’t live a boy—it was a dad.

After taking a shower, she heard the sound of a movie playing from the neighbor’s side. The boy was watching a film in his bedroom, and the attic window was open—it was Memories of Murder . For some reason, Yu Zhimei couldn’t fall asleep. The incessant shouting and gunshots from the movie replayed in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them. Her restless thoughts persisted until the final scene played at 2:15 AM. Her eyes wide open like copper bells, she was furious. Her habit of sleeping before midnight had been completely ruined tonight.

The warmth of the hands that had held her back lingered, and the words “If I hadn’t been standing there, you’d be dead” echoed in her ears. Her heart pounded. After hearing all those love speeches during the day, she couldn’t recall a single useful line. Wrapped in her blanket, staring at the ceiling, all she could think about were the four turns where she hadn’t managed to drift. Why had he exited at Hutai Road? There were so many curves ahead—if he had driven faster, both lanes would’ve been clear, perfect for drifting. Had the boy moved in recently? Yu Zhimei racked her brain but couldn’t remember seeing him. Her balcony and the neighbor’s balcony were close enough to reach out and touch. Every day, she watered her flowers on the balcony but had never seen the neighbor. The small patch of empty space next door looked desolate, as if no one lived there. Perhaps someone with no passion for life would leave their balcony completely empty—even smokers usually had an ashtray, right?

She didn’t sleep well, of course. At 5:40 AM, Ruru stepped onto her face, and the sounds of pots and pans clanging, clothes washing, and mop wringing from downstairs inevitably followed. The morning bustle of urban life came early, and with a cat around, she never slept deeply anyway. She could hear every sound from the neighbors clearly. Her attempt at catching a few more minutes of sleep did nothing to ease her headache. By the time she waited for the elevator, feeling dizzy and disoriented, and walked through the long corridor past countless small offices, Yu Zhimei realized she had bought the wrong coffee. Pushing open the office door, she found the room full of men engrossed in their computers, reveling in excitement. In media, a trending topic usually meant fear of overtime—but for car enthusiasts, it only fueled their enthusiasm. Today, she would likely have to endure their banter all day long, unable to find peace.

Earplugs were an essential tool for Yu Zhimei to focus on her work. To be precise, when purchasing office supplies, she had proactively asked the administrative staff to include this option. Their shared office was located downtown, with travel agencies, loan brokers, design studios, and telecommunications after-sales services lining the corridors. Everyone shared the water cooler in the tea room and the cramped meeting rooms—it was truly “survival in the cracks.” Yu Zhimei’s boss,猩总 (Xing Zong), rented two offices for their team of thirteen people. Initially, they shared a single conference table, with equipment piled on the floor. Now, they each had their own desks, but the space was so tight that moving a chair would bump into the colleague behind you—every little sound was audible. It was said that during the early days of entrepreneurship, Xing Zong and three others worked out of a factory in Jiading’s Auto City, using the space as both an office by day and a sleeping area by night. The neighboring repair shop and gas station created constant noise. Once the company started turning a profit and attracting investment, they moved downtown—not for anything else, but to elevate the company’s image. However, Xing Zong probably never imagined that even in this prime real estate, the office would lack windows, leaving it stuffy and airless. Arguments over topics among employees added another layer of noise.

Yu Zhimei worked as a director and editor at a small automotive review company. Everyone in the company had an animal nickname. The boss was “Gorilla,” a senior member was “Monkey King,” and the position of “Cat” had been claimed by her direct superior. Being too fierce in nature, Yu Zhimei was given the nickname “Tiger,” though no one dared to call her that. There were fewer than three female employees in the entire company, and in the perpetually smelly office, she sprayed perfume year-round. During her previous three years working at a bank in Lujiazui, the office building had a luxurious fragrance system and a polished corporate atmosphere—but it was also suffocatingly rigid, with strict hierarchies. Now, surrounded by brash men who were relentless in pursuing topics and endlessly sweet-talking her with milk tea and pleas when they needed something—she found it amusing. “Sister Mei” was their content guardian, responsible for growing followers and occasionally going live as a cute host to warm up audiences and host giveaways. She found it entertaining, especially during busy seasons when she almost lived in the office with these tireless men, brainstorming ideas, monitoring data, handling collaborations, and piling up takeout boxes without time to throw them away. The building’s cleaning staff dreaded their presence. But she believed the most interesting part of her life had begun in recent years. Her previous life, though seemingly dignified, was riddled with invisible rules. Now, she spoke the truth openly and unapologetically chased money—happily.

Yes, her life philosophy boiled down to just two things: money and happiness.

“Sister Mei! It’s all up to you today—make sure the video goes live at 6 PM sharp.” Monkey King slung his camera over his shoulder, preparing to head to the studio, and greeted her warmly.

“No problem.” Studio shoots were effortless; everything depended on the script. The studio was rented outside the inner ring road, spacious and affordable. Occasionally, the team used filming as an excuse to get some fresh air. Yu Zhimei planned to finish writing within an hour before Monkey King left. Once the car arrived at the studio, they’d start immediately. She already knew which car it was—the safety collision test results had come out yesterday, providing new material for all automotive review platforms. Her main task today was to gather information, draft the script, and edit it into a vivid video. This brand had different manufacturing standards domestically and internationally. In collisions, it was notorious for causing severe injuries, yet its PR team excelled. By now, internet trolls had likely flooded forums big and small, pretending to be victims of defamation. Yu Zhimei was curious to see how they’d whitewash this incident, especially since the crash test showed the dummy’s neck and head hitting the A-pillar when the airbag deployed. Ironically, this brand was a favorite among China’s conservative middle class for its economical cars.

After drafting the script, she reviewed footage with an intern girl, edited the video, and added subtitles and effects. When the video went live that evening, it received mixed reviews. The men gathered for a meeting, spending ten minutes on key points and three hours discussing cars—from Lamborghinis and McLarens to Dongfeng agricultural tricycles and street-side motorcycle taxis. Anything went. But when it came to relationship issues, they were like cars running on fumes, sputtering after a short drive, with warning lights flashing constantly. The only person who could bridge both topics was Yu Zhimei, debating fiercely like a one-woman army. But today, her mind kept wandering during discussions about love, and after finishing the topic selection, her colleagues dispersed without further ado.

________________________________________

On the weekend, she picked up a few cans of beer and some mackerel on her way home, planning to fry them and watch a movie. As she reached the stairs, she noticed the hallway light on the third floor had been fixed. Her neighbor stood hesitating at his doorway, unsure whether to go inside or stay outside to enjoy the breeze. He stared at her princess-cut hairstyle for a long time, his sharp eyes devoid of amusement, nodding politely: “I’m sorry about nearly making you fall the other day.”

“I should apologize too—for chasing your car.”

“That car was borrowed from a friend. But there’s no need to bring it up again—it’s none of our business what happens in someone else’s relationship.”

It was the first time she saw her neighbor under the light. His shoulders were broad, his head slightly large, his eyes slightly upturned, and his lips thick yet shapely. Fine wrinkles from lack of sleep creased the corners of his eyes, but his skin was fair. Most importantly, he exuded a youthful vigor that, despite his apparent age, made him undeniably attractive to women.

“It’s fine—I didn’t fall. Just got off work?”

“About to head out for drinks.”

He seemed troubled by something. After a moment’s thought, Yu Zhimei asked, “Do you still have that Memories of Murder DVD? I’d like to borrow it.”

“Sure, wait a moment.”

The man left his door open, kicked off his shoes, and went upstairs. His room was even tidier than hers. A transparent shoe rack by the door held rows of sneakers, some of them collector’s editions. The dark wooden floors and mismatched furniture gave the room an eclectic charm, while the sofa and coffee table were stylish. Barefoot in white socks, he came back downstairs holding a disc: “I couldn’t find the outer packaging—you can watch it like this for now.”

“…Is it good?”

“No idea—I fell asleep in five minutes.”

“…”