Chapter 33: You Have a Boyfriend, Proving My Rival is Only One

People with low spirits often have unresolved issues. No matter how much they try to talk around the subject, the other person always seems distracted, and hitting the sore spot only leads to evasion. Jian Zhaowen naturally knew the problem lay with Dou Yu, but how could he possibly compare to that jerk?

By the end of 2017, Shanghai’s winter was unusually cold. Dressed in a down jacket, Jian Zhaowen submitted his app to the App Store for review while sitting in the living room. Outside, dawn had already broken. He took out his laptop and slowly scrolled through the entrepreneurial tweets he had written before, content that had been sealed away for three months without being updated. He wrote a new sentence:

“Once, I thought my dreams were too small, and I didn’t have the right to influence others’ feelings or lives. But this world has too many abysses and traps. The weak get deceived, and some silently endure immense suffering. Someone needs to step up and create a clean universe. Even if our power is minuscule, we shouldn’t underestimate the energy that gathers together.

“Social apps can’t just be tools for sex or let bad people succeed. I’m back in the race.”

On the night of He Jie’s dramatic year-end incident, Jian Zhaowen met Yu Zhimei and sensed her unhappiness. The Christmas market was nearby. As he listened to Shi Rui recount the biracial boy’s disruptive behavior and subsequent removal, Jian walked with Yu Zhimei, sometimes close, sometimes distant. Several times, he tried to secretly hold her hand, only to see Dou Yu running towards them, causing him to retreat awkwardly.

After that, Jian often stayed up late. By the time the app “Day & Night” officially launched, he had single-handedly handled interaction design, illustrations, product development, and bug fixes, developing dark circles under his eyes and gaining five pounds. The homepage image was still purchased from an old friend, paired with new text: “In places no one knows, you can truly embrace yourself and the person you want to love.” After the app went live, Jian posted a lengthy essay on Weibo, reflecting on his two-year entrepreneurial journey and announcing his departure from Lovedate to launch “Day & Night.” The post was filled with his thoughts on social dating apps and urban romance. By afternoon tea time, after chatting with colleagues in the office, Jian returned to his desk to find that Li Yin had reposted it. Under the table, Jian clenched his fist tightly—meeting Li Yin hadn’t been in vain.

Li Yin’s repost would soon reach Philip’s ears. During meetings at Lovedate, Philip often mentioned Li Yin. If he browsed Weibo during lunch breaks, he might even download the app immediately. It had been seven months since Jian left Lovedate. For old times’ sake, he opened the app again. The initial page featured two voluptuous women with the caption, “Match your most compatible love interest and release the day’s fatigue at night.” The primary interface directly displayed active user photos segmented by time. The four discovery buttons led to “Gaming Companions,” “Local Hot Chat,” “VIP Hall of Fame,” and “Gift Mall.” Through the screen, Jian could smell the stench of greed. The app’s background color had changed to pink—it felt like… a brothel. Relying on investors made the backbone weak; they increasingly pursued vulgar tactics for quick profits. From what Jian could see, neither user numbers nor click-through rates on the homepage had significantly changed, and the daily active leaderboard didn’t even rank in the top hundred.

Jian’s goals this time were very clear: his target market was urban men and women aged twenty to thirty-five. The black-and-white page design, combining “social networking + anonymity,” was tailored to meet the emotional needs of city dwellers. As long as the first wave of users came in and started creating content, more users would follow to register. The first batch of data had to look good. Although it was initially friends who helped attract users, downloads surpassed a thousand within a single day. Jian reached out to several influential friends online to repost, and after days of hesitation, he decided to create ten thousand invitation codes, distributing them online and waiting for the first wave of early users to share content.

Of course, he was nervous. Aside from the interactions and illustrations designed by others, all product building and development were done by himself. While he had often criticized other companies’ product managers for their flawed thinking during his previous ventures, now that he was working on architecture using requirement documents, he realized how difficult it was to make trade-offs. Frankly speaking, his rudimentary ideas barely qualified as mid-level. In his heart, he even made a bet: if the number of downloads exceeded ten thousand within a week, he’d change all his online profiles from “algorithm engineer” to “product manager.”

During work hours, he couldn’t constantly monitor download numbers, but by lunchtime, colleagues were already discussing Jian Zhaowen’s app. They sat in a row in the cafeteria, openly praising the product’s uniqueness while secretly anticipating the nighttime features. As one colleague put it, Jian Zhaowen’s app was somewhat “scary” upon its release—there were no similar competitors, and no one dared to operate so independently without seeking capital. This was genuine backbone. Many engineers at big tech companies could develop apps, and product managers were equally talented. Some colleagues had even secured investments and quit. The ideal scenario would be a direct acquisition by a major company. Jian understood clearly: social apps had matured over the past three years, and with livestreaming gaining popularity, it was time for big capitalists to step in and reap the rewards. Intervening now would disrupt his current plans—timing was simply not ripe.

If that was the case, he had to remain as low-key as possible at the company.

Returning downtown earlier than planned, Jian parked his car and noticed an elderly parking attendant arguing with someone in the distance. Upon closer inspection, it was Yu Zhimei. The parking lot, located in the city center, was designated as future construction land but had remained unused, becoming a parking space for nearby old houses. Jian figured that Yu Zhimei must have rented a car and hadn’t yet reached the return time, stopping here briefly to shoot some footage. Sure enough, the elderly man kept shooing her away: “Don’t park here. This spot is reserved, and the rules state cars must face outward. Yours is the only one facing inward—leave quickly!”

“Uncle, just wait a moment. I’m waiting for someone—I’ll leave as soon as my colleague arrives.”

“What if the owner comes back from work? If you don’t leave soon, I’ll call the police!”

“I’m leaving right now. They’re coming—I’ll go, I’ll go…”

Yu Zhimei looked up and saw Jian Zhaowen. Struggling with the lack of help carrying equipment, her eyes lit up when she saw him: “Are you busy? If not, help me return the car!”

Yu Zhimei needed to return to the company to unload the equipment, then return the car, and finally take the subway back downtown. Jian thought, why not unload the equipment into my car, drive together, and then ride back with me? Then he realized why—of course, it was because of her temperamental boyfriend.

Advertising cars wasn’t difficult. With ready-made vehicles and ample shooting time, they could film freely. Once filming for Volvo ended, there’d be no car left to shoot, requiring another rental. Pressured by fixed return times, Yu Zhimei wrote scripts on the road and filmed directly on-site. Coincidentally, all her colleagues had taken leave today, so she drove back alone, carrying a car full of equipment. Jian smelled gasoline and complained: “What kind of car is this? It reeks!”

“It’s an old car—it’s bound to smell. No matter how much you loved cars as a child, the smell of gasoline gives you headaches as you grow older.”

Seeing Yu Zhimei hunched over in the car, massaging her lower back, her fingers red from the cold, she tucked her hands into her pockets at a traffic light. Jian grabbed her hand and rubbed it between his palms. After a few rubs, Yu Zhimei stiffened and shifted an inch toward the car door. Yu Zhimei had a boyfriend—damn it, that black guy again. With a boyfriend, her boundaries grew thicker. Jian, feeling suffocated, said: “Working so hard lately isn’t like you.”

“The car media industry isn’t just us. Too many ads make the audience think we’ve hit rock bottom. We need to figure out how to keep doing meaningful projects.”

“A person without principles, focused solely on making money through ads, when did you start caring so much? Besides, haven’t you learned how to handle sponsorships? Volvo was a big ad.”

“Lately, I feel like continuing like this will get me replaced. One day, if I can’t take ads anymore, I’ll either teach driving lessons or edit videos for others. I entered this industry because I love cars, but I’ve never thought about the future—it’s troubling.”

“If you have a chance, bring me to see your company. I was once a founder myself—I can offer some guidance.” To cheer Yu Zhimei up, Jian actively started a conversation: “Look, how cool that Aston Martin is.”

“That’s a Ford… Mondeo. You really don’t know cars, do you?”

“Oh. What about the biracial boy from He Jie’s party last time? Did he cause any more trouble afterward?”

“Apparently, he was detained at the police station for ten days. But last time, he wasn’t targeting He Jie. She mentioned he was a money-loving boy, often mingling with married women at parties and extorting those who were wealthy. Last time, it seemed he fell in love for real. He Jie also said that he gave up on himself because he realized her dessert shop was all show and no substance.”

After spilling so many words, Jian was naturally thrilled and couldn’t resist pushing further: “So, you didn’t call Dou Yu but called me instead. Doesn’t that mean I hold a more important place in your heart?”

“He Jie’s situation—you’re more familiar with it.”

Her response was so clean-cut that Jian felt displeased: “Is it that hard to say you trust me? You and Dou Yu have been dating for three months, and your first instinct was to call me. Doesn’t that prove your relationship isn’t going smoothly?”

Yu Zhimei fell silent again. People with low spirits often have unresolved issues. No matter how much they try to talk around the subject, the other person always seems distracted, and hitting the sore spot only leads to evasion. Jian Zhaowen naturally knew the problem lay with Dou Yu, but how could he possibly compare to that jerk. After pondering for a while, Jian asked: “Want to grab some braised intestine noodles?”

“Dou Yu is coming over for dinner.”

“Why does he keep coming? Doesn’t he have a place to live?”

“Yes. There’s no particular reason—he sees you as a rival.”

Jian was busy unloading cameras and lampshades when he heard this, freezing in place. Suddenly, he turned serious: “Alright, fair competition.” After saying this, he unexpectedly placed his hand on Yu Zhimei’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, the pressure ambiguous and flirtatious.

“Jian Zhaowen, are you that confident? I’m not that easy to pursue—I have a boyfriend, remember.”

“Of course, I’m confident. It proves my rival is only one, and he’s out in the open. Isn’t it easier than guessing in the shadows? Besides, I live nearby—I have a ‘buff.’ Let’s see if he dares to move in.”

Yu Zhimei leaned halfway into the trunk: “Jian Zhaowen, you once pushed me straight into the role of the third party. After sleeping with you, if I hadn’t secretly checked your Weibo, I might have thought I found true love and braved all obstacles for a long-distance relationship. How do you plan to compensate for that ‘debuff’?”