Chapter 27: Don’t Think I’ll Be Pining Unrequitedly—I’m a Full-Stack Engineer

“Have you ever seen me date a product manager or an algorithm engineer? I just fear they’d steal my ideas.”

“You think they’re ugly.”

After purchasing two new smartphones—a large-capacity iPhone and an Android—Jian Zhaowen went on a downloading spree, installing most of the competitive apps on the market: “Talent,” “Tail Fish,” “Touch,” “Blocks,” “Migo Pie,” “Pink,” and “Lala Island.” The types were largely similar: the most direct ones featured video and live streaming, representing the future trend. The next tier was photo-based with voice flash chats—simple, targeted users, and straightforward. The worst was Jian’s old app, Lovedate , which relied on photo flash chats and chat rooms, essentially a mobile version of QQ Space. Opening the screen and then closing it again, Jian saw his own hollow face reflected. Thankfully, he had bought a new SIM card; otherwise, based on today’s big data algorithms, yellow ads and flyers would have followed him in no time.

The whiteboard was densely filled with notes. Standing in front of it, Jian analyzed the pros and cons, his mind racing like a spaceship navigating the universe. Next door, Yu Zhimei was watching a movie, the volume low—it sounded like The Legend of 1900 . Mixed in were faint snores—perhaps Dou Yu had fallen asleep while watching, leaving Yu Zhimei as the sole audience member. How could someone sleep through such a classic film? A little later, the TV turned off, and there were sounds of a cat meowing. It seemed Yu Zhimei was feeding Lulu a late-night snack.

Hearing Yu Zhimei’s voice, his train of thought broke.

Back in the first half of 2016, two breakout apps emerged: one allowed users to design and export custom emoji packs, and the other let users add cinematic effects and custom subtitles to photos. Both went viral, and at that time, Jian deeply felt the user demand for personalized expression. People harbored unique aesthetics and desires to express themselves. When these apps appeared, they generated massive registration and sharing numbers. However, lacking quick monetization channels and effective strategies to manage rapid user growth, these apps gradually declined. As Jian put it, this was essentially forcing architecture engineers to handle server scaling and machine expansion while also figuring out how to sell those machines once traffic waned.

Since he himself was a genius capable of full-stack development, there was nothing to fear. With clear requirements, he could just do it himself.

Over the weekend, Jian met up with Xu Heng, a friend he hadn’t contacted in a long time. Xu Heng was one of the first friends Jian made when he came to Shanghai. He worked in design at a startup but often took freelance gigs on the side. At his busiest, he juggled page designs and interactions for three financial companies simultaneously, earning a fortune in side income. Xu Heng lived in Songjiang, where he cultivated flowers and plants, owned a long-legged poodle mix, and wore the same T-shirt every day, buying seven identical ones at a time. Upon seeing Jian, the sharp Xu Heng immediately guessed that Jian wanted him for outsourcing work. After ordering lemon tea, he cut straight to the chase: “What’s the main requirement?”

“Can we at least have a proper meal first?”

“I need to know what you’re planning to do, or this meal won’t sit well with me.”

“I want to create a dating social app themed around a virtual world with black and white sides. Login requires real-name verification. Once logged in, users are divided into day and night modes. During the day, users can post selfies and videos, share their emotions, and match for dating flash chats. At night, they log in anonymously to share secrets, vent frustrations, and seek help.”

“What about specific product requirements?”

“I’ll send you the documentation. But before that, we need to sign a confidentiality agreement. You understand—it’s not that I don’t trust you, but I’ve been bitten by snakes before and now fear wells. These people who always try to copycat others are relentless.”

“It’s clearly because you don’t trust me.”

“Don’t be silly. Have you ever seen me date a product manager or an algorithm engineer? I just fear they’d steal my ideas.”

“You think they’re ugly. Did you bring your laptop? Let me take a look.”

“Confidential, okay?”

Xu Heng scrutinized the computer for half an hour, asking a series of detailed questions. After finishing his coffee, he let out a long sigh: “Your thinking is much clearer than the product managers I’ve been dealing with recently. A genius is still a genius.”

“Don’t embarrass me.”

“What’s unclear about the structure, character limits, link destinations, and interaction details? The product manager I’m working with is still writing business logic and functional logic for me. That amateur—I’m not their boss. But I have a question: where will your initial batch of users come from? If you’re focusing on content sharing, you’ll need good content creators.”

“My target is clear—a platform for emotional exchange among men and women in first- and second-tier cities. I estimate the first wave will rely on word-of-mouth among friends in the industry—that spreads fastest.”

“Then where will your early content come from?”

“For core data, forget about open APIs—every major company has dozens of people dedicated to fighting web crawlers. Scraped content is too fake. I’m thinking of inviting some friends to write content and promote it on forums, spending a bit of money.”

“Then you’d better start looking for funding. This round will cost six or seven figures.”

“We’ll see. I’ll do it myself for now.” Jian glanced at the menu: “I haven’t seen investors’ ugly faces yet. The burgers here look good—join me for a meal?”

Xu Heng was calm and smart. Hearing this, he knew Jian was single. And Jian, who had never lacked admirers, was now seriously working, likely aiming to achieve something significant. In front of Xu Heng sat a panini, and as he watched Jian devour squid ink risotto, he finally spoke: “I always thought Philip wasn’t a good fit for you. It’s better that you’re going solo.”

“No wonder you directly refused when Philip asked you to join his startup. You knew all along and didn’t stop me.” The squid ink stained Jian’s teeth black, making him look terrifying.

“One must venture out. I’m older now and too lazy to commute ten extra subway stops. Think about how far Madang Road is, and Zhangjiang even farther.”

“After all, you’ve earned enough from side gigs.”

Xu Heng didn’t respond, only asking: “What about Qiu Nuo?”

At the mention of her name, Jian grew angry: “We broke up.”

“Sounds like it wasn’t pleasant.”

A pang of bitterness hit Jian, and he didn’t feel like talking to Xu Heng. If anyone needed an explanation, it should be Yu Zhimei. But thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he told Xu Heng, Jian muttered: “Recently, there was a girl I liked. She started dating someone else.”

“Why? Is there really a girl you can’t handle?”

Jian shoved another spoonful of rice into his mouth: “It’s my fault.”

Yu Zhimei’s visits to the dessert shop halved, while Shi Rui entered all the group activities—eating, drinking, and being around Jian every day. After accidentally losing her job during mid-year evaluations, Jian transferred ten thousand yuan to Xiao Ma Ge, asking him not to evict Shi Rui. Shi Rui diligently worked as a private tutor, gaining more free time and energy. She clung to Jian relentlessly. He Jie began complaining that Yu Zhimei had forgotten their friendship in favor of romance, seemingly pausing her own escapades and scheming to pair Xiao Ma Ge and Shi Rui together. Xiao Ma Ge, however, didn’t consider the tenant who refused to leave as a potential match. Although Shi Rui joined the chat group, Xiao Ma Ge immediately reformed a four-person group behind closed doors, saying: “He Jie, stop matchmaking at the dinner table. My first consideration is economics. Once this girl’s lease ends, I absolutely won’t renew it. Boss Jian, you’re done—you’ll never shake off a clingy girl like her. Just wait and see.”

Early one morning, the door was knocked open. Shi Rui was delivering loquats house by house. She didn’t act like a tenant with only five months left but rather like a new resident settling in. Especially at Jian’s place, she dumped the remaining half-box of loquats onto his floor: “Brother Zhaowen, my mom sent these for me to share with neighbors. I’ve distributed them downstairs already. The rest are for you.”

“I don’t eat much fruit…”

“They’re especially sweet. You won’t find any like these elsewhere. Try one, and you’ll know…”

Looking at the three loquats on the stool and glancing back at the partially visible box, the intention behind the gesture was glaringly obvious. Yu Zhimei had joked earlier that Shi Rui, at twenty-five, perfectly matched Jian’s algorithm for ideal romantic partners. Jian had already rejected Shi Rui, but every time he saw her, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. One of the subconscious criteria in his algorithm might have been that twenty-five was a psychological crisis age for women.

By the weekend, Xiao Ma Ge insisted everyone go to karaoke, but no one was interested—Yu Zhimei was tone-deaf, He Jie dismissed it as childish fun, and Jian, buried in weekend overtime, couldn’t wake up. Only Shi Rui was willing to accompany Xiao Ma Ge. Unable to gather enough people to sing, Xiao Ma Ge canceled his group-buying coupons, lamenting everyone’s lack of enthusiasm. Shi Rui kindly bought popcorn and puffed snacks, only to be met with Xiao Ma Ge’s emotionless jab: “This is a VIP coupon—it includes free fruit platters and snacks. Have you ever seen the world?”

On his way home after dinner, Jian ran into Shi Rui. She stepped off the bus wearing silver Mary Janes and a green dress, looking slightly more stylish than before, with earrings to match. There was an air of innocence yet a yearning to step into the adult world. Seeing Jian, Shi Rui shyly waved, exuding a bittersweet charm. Something about her had changed, Jian thought.

Shi Rui seemed to have something to say to Jian. He left his door open after going upstairs, sitting in the living room to turn on his computer while searching for cigarettes. As expected, Shi Rui followed him upstairs, having touched up her makeup, waiting at the door for Jian to invite her in. He gestured for her to enter, inwardly sighing at how busy weekends were and how exhausting it was to run around for blind dates. Shi Rui placed the snacks on the floor and was startled to see the unpacked sleeping bag and three computers on the table: “Brother Zhaowen, aren’t you sleeping on the bed?”

“Not really. I just forgot to clean up.”

“Not sleeping on a bed will hurt your back. Over time, it could lead to serious issues.”

“Really, I just forgot.” Girls who acted too maternal weren’t cute—they always sounded like mothers.

“Once I get paid from my tutoring gigs, I’ll repay you by gifting you a sofa...”

Endless affection. Jian gently replied: “No need. Really, I don’t need a sofa. Save your money to honor your parents and take care of yourself. Don’t worry too much about me.” As soon as he said this, love brimmed in Shi Rui’s eyes, enveloping him entirely. Headache-inducing—he realized these words might signal to her that he was available: “He is available.”

Just then, Yu Zhimei passed by the door with her bag. Seeing Shi Rui kneeling on the floor helping Jian tidy up, her expression darkened: “Jian Zhaowen, your laziness is one thing, but why are you letting Shi Rui do your chores?”

“It’s not like that. I volunteered. Brother Zhaowen works so hard—I just came up to help.”

Yu Zhimei glanced at Jian before leaving. Hearing the door close, Jian’s lungs nearly exploded—what was going on?