Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
Living alone for a long time, when you suddenly meet someone you click with, your first instinct is often to be friends—romance is uncertain, marriage is exhausting, but friendship lasts forever.
Jian Zhaowen scanned the street, dodging clotheslines hung with shirts and cotton thermal underwear, watching sports cars and motorcycles race across the road. As the two vehicles disappeared from sight, he found himself standing in front of an adult novelty store. The small, low-rise storefront barely spanned three stories, its facade no larger than five square meters, yet the words “Adult Novelties” stood out conspicuously. Jian Zhaowen stepped back to the curb to observe the shop—it was the smallest storefront on the block, yet its threshold appeared the most worn.
This feeling of déjà vu seemed oddly familiar. After circling the neighborhood a few times, Jian Zhaowen realized he had returned to a place he’d already passed, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the shop he’d visited before—it was as if his memory had gone haywire. Skyscrapers loomed in every direction, their shapes shifting depending on the angle. After walking for forty minutes with a growling stomach, Jian finally turned on his navigation app and made his way home, stopping at a fruit store along the way.
“How much are these kiwis? The ones in the 20-piece box.”
“600 yuan.”
“Wrap me a box.” Jian glanced up at the building where he lived. On the neighboring balcony, someone appeared to be moving about among the flowers. He smirked, feeling as though he had finally found someone he could share meals with.
________________________________________
Yu Zhimei was just about to sleep when a rhythmic knock on the door startled her awake. In this old building, the elderly residents on the first floor insisted that the door code remain confidential, so all deliveries and takeout required her to go downstairs. Peering through the peephole, she saw a young man in a loose white T-shirt standing outside—it was Jian Zhaowen. Ruru, fiercely territorial, sniffed at the door for a while before hissing. Jian didn’t attempt to enter, only asking: “Do you know any good places to eat around here?”
“You could… order takeout…?”
“I don’t like it. Eating takeout alone and then sleeping right after—it’s no different from force-feeding myself. Have you had dinner yet? Let’s go out to eat—I’ll treat.”
“…Oh.”
Heading left out of the residential complex and crossing two streets led to two shopping malls. Jian’s expression grew increasingly strained—he was clearly starving. Yu Zhimei calmly remarked: “Everywhere is packed right now. It’ll take over an hour just to get seated.”
“You’ve lived here so long—don’t you know any spots where we can eat immediately?”
Seeing Jian’s desperate face, Yu Zhimei paused at the intersection for a moment: “There’s a pig intestine noodle shop nearby. Want to try it?”
“I don’t eat offal.”
“Then there’s nothing else. All the small noodle shops around here only serve pig intestine noodles this late.”
“Can you cook something for me? I’ll pay you.”
“No.”
“…Then take me there.”
The pig intestine noodle shop was next door to the adult novelty store and didn’t exclusively serve pig intestine noodles. A chalkboard on the wall listed options like spicy meat noodles, eel noodles, abalone and clam noodles, liver noodles… and finally, pig intestine noodles. The walls were spotted with mold, and the floor was slick with grease, but the diners didn’t seem to care. Someone even squeezed past them, searching for a seat. Jian grabbed handfuls of cheap napkins from the table, scrubbing the surface furiously until it was level with his head: “With so many noodle options, why does everyone only remember the pig intestine noodles? I almost ended up with nothing to eat.” When he looked up again, a line of ten people had formed outside the shop. He was baffled: “People actually queue for this place? Isn’t it just a roadside stall?”
“This is downtown. Besides, it’s a legit ‘internet-famous’ shop. See that whiteboard over there?” Yu Zhimei pointed to a nearby wall: “Those are celebrity signatures. Any star you can name who’s been to Shanghai has eaten this bowl of pig intestine noodles.”
“The whole wall is covered in writing? I thought it was graffiti by the owner’s kid.”
Before Yu Zhimei could retort, the noodles arrived. Jian picked up his bowl of spicy meat noodles and devoured them until only a thin layer remained at the bottom, gradually slowing down. Yu Zhimei watched him: “Good?”
“No.”
Yu Zhimei could tell he was being insincere. She wasn’t offended, only asked: “Did you skip eating all day?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you working overtime?”
“No, I was sleeping.”
“…Do you know how to cook?”
“A little. I’m great at boiling instant noodles and dumplings.”
“That doesn’t count as cooking—just boiling water. How can you sleep without eating? Don’t you wake up hungry?”
“No.”
“Want to try my pig intestine noodles?”
“No.”
“The smell isn’t that strong, trust me.”
“I won’t fall for it.”
His stubborn expression amused Yu Zhimei: “If you take one bite, I’ll join you for every meal from now on.”
To her surprise, Jian picked up his chopsticks, hesitantly taking a bite with a look of disgust. His expression changed instantly, and he proceeded to devour every piece of pig intestine in her bowl. Yu Zhimei grinned: “Do you know they have a signature dish here?”
“What?”
“Raw pig intestine sashimi. Want to try it?”
“…Your taste is too extreme.” Jian frowned, lowering his voice: “Eating here today is my limit. Next time, I’ll arrive an hour early to queue at a restaurant in the mall.”
________________________________________
The next day, Jian knocked on her door at the same time: “Want to go eat pig intestine noodles again?”
A well-fed Jian Zhaowen was a completely different person from a hungry one. When he came knocking on an empty stomach, he was irritable and prone to exaggeration; once fed, he transformed into a polite and charming young man. Walking alongside her, he kept Yu Zhimei firmly protected on the inside, shielding her with his arm whenever cars passed. Yu Zhimei hadn’t felt this way in a long time—the sensation of being courted. Looking at Jian’s fluffy hair from behind, she found herself slightly smitten, wishing she could take him out to eat every day. Moreover, Jian seemed obsessed with pig intestine noodles. Whenever they went out to eat, he headed straight for the small shop, ignoring all other suggestions. The mere sight of the words “pig intestine” lit up his eyes. After several days of dining together, Jian showed up at her door with half a box of kiwis: “For you.”
These kiwis were so sour they made her head spin. Even after ten days, when Jian handed them to her, they were still rock-hard. Yu Zhimei grimaced: “Where did you buy these?”
“Downstairs.”
“Aren’t they too sour?”
“They weren’t cheap—600 yuan a box.”
“What?” Yu Zhimei covered her mouth, wincing from the sourness: “Six hundred for twenty kiwis? From the convenience store next door, right?”
Jian nodded: “How did you know?”
Yu Zhimei simply stared at him, lips pursed.
“It’s my second time buying them. Isn’t this the normal markup for downtown?”
Yu Zhimei sighed: “Even imported supermarkets aren’t this expensive. Do you have any life experience?”
“No. I don’t put much thought into daily life.”
“Never mind. When I first moved here, I got scammed too—these old houses around here, the neighbors all know each other. If they see someone unfamiliar who doesn’t speak Shanghainese, they probably assume you’re a tourist. If this happens again, just go to the police station two streets over and have the cops come out right away.”
“Why bother the police for something money can solve? Besides, these kiwis aren’t sour.”
“How are they not sour? My teeth are already aching.”
“Then eat mine.” Jian Zhaowen handed over a peeled kiwi across Ruru. The cat stood up, sniffed it, frowned, and ran away. Yu Zhimei hesitated for a second when she saw the bite marks on it, but Jian shoved the kiwi into her mouth: “What’s there to be afraid of? I’ve already eaten your noodles. Want to play a game?”
“...Sure.” The sourness of the kiwi brought tears to her eyes—did he have no sense of taste?
Finally, Jian Zhaowen, the algorithm expert, found something he was good at. In card games, certain cards would repeat after a while, and no matter how many times you drew, you couldn’t get them. Late at night, he personally wrote a cheat program and told Yu Zhimei they could collect all the cards in minutes. Yu Zhimei stared intently at the screen: “No way, I can’t give up.”
“Damn. It’s just a single-player game—why take it so seriously…?”
“It’s not about single-player or multiplayer—it’s about effort leading to results.”
“…”
By the time Yu Zhimei grew tired of playing, she noticed Jian quietly reading beside her. His round head, the elegant dip between his brow bone and nose, his curled lashes and lips, and his sharp profile looked camera-ready. His focused expression as he read was captivating. It had been a long time since she’d seen someone in her room, someone she could chat and play with—it felt strange yet oddly comforting. But living alone for so long, when you suddenly meet someone you click with, your first instinct is often to be friends—romance is uncertain, marriage is exhausting, but friendship lasts forever. When Jian finally looked up, his face was only a few centimeters from her shoulder. The rapid beating of her heart reminded Yu Zhimei that this wasn’t friendship at all—she liked Jian Zhaowen. She coughed awkwardly and moved away: “Are you not working lately?”
“Not really going well.”
“Then… why did you knock on my door?”
“I don’t have any friends in Shanghai. I saw you and thought you might be around my age, so I gave it a shot. I didn’t expect you’d take me to eat pig intestine noodles.”
“How old are you?”
“29. You?”
“28.”
“I thought you were in your thirties—you always act like you’re so old.”
“What’s old about me?”
“That pair of 40-year-old leather pants doesn’t count?”
“…Fine, let me put it this way, little brother. How can you stop working just because things aren’t going well?”
While waiting for Jian to respond, Yu Zhimei grabbed some ginger ale and vodka, mixed them, and placed the drink in front of him. Watching him down it in one gulp, she said nothing and poured him another glass. After a few moments of silence, Jian finally spoke: “I don’t know how to keep working—I can’t go on anymore.”
“Then quit.”
“I’m the founder. How can I lack responsibility?” Jian downed the second drink: “There’s another guy I started the software company with—we built it from scratch. Over the past two years, we’ve had a lot of problems, too many disagreements, and unclear divisions of responsibilities. Back in the day, brothers made promises to go through fire and water together, like in Young and Dangerous , you know? A few days ago, I went out drinking and saw him talking about new business with someone else—behind my back. That’s not what a brother should do. If he wanted to do something else when we got funding, I could’ve found someone else then. It wouldn’t hurt as much as it does now.”
“Who are the shareholders?”
“He’s the majority shareholder.”
“Then… you’re in trouble.”
Jian’s pupils widened: “No way. We’re brothers.”
“Brotherhood is the easiest thing to fall apart. Before, people would talk about feelings and drink to solve problems, but unresolved issues pile up as hidden dangers. On the other hand, people with a sense of contract do their jobs every day, and accountability is clear when things go wrong. Work is work—it has no feelings.”
“How can you be so cold-hearted?”
“It’s you who can’t separate work from emotions.”
By the time Ruru finished licking his food tin and lay down to sleep, the two were still debating. Jian grabbed Yu Zhimei: “Our differences can’t be resolved—he wants to profit at every step, while I can’t let go of my ideals. So he calls me an artist, and I think he’s vain. Without talking about feelings, we wouldn’t have lasted this long.”
“How can a company operate without profits?”
“But without my ideals, how vulgar would this company be?”
Yu Zhimei turned around and bent down to play with the cat: “Forget it. Once a partnership breaks down, holding onto the other person won’t help—cut your losses early.” Looking at Jian’s hostile eyes, Yu Zhimei clinked her glass against his: “The company I work for is also a startup. My boss once had a falling-out with a buddy he worked hard with. He always talks about cutting losses early—neither people nor companies can withstand being dragged down. But every time he brings it up, it’s like talking about a breakup. I think you’ve both poured too much emotion into the company and lost sight of the fact that work should separate personal feelings from professional responsibilities.”
Jian looked at Yu Zhimei: “You don’t understand how crushing it feels to fail at something you’ve dedicated your life to.”
Yu Zhimei gave a bitter smile: “After all these years out in the world, I’ve hit rock bottom too. But listen, little brother—life is about happiness above all else. Got it?”
“I want to save the world. Heroes have to endure pain.”
“I believe you.” Yu Zhimei wiggled her fingers in front of Jian: “But this isn’t the era of sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall anymore. Even heroes need to be happy to last long-term. Don’t rush to find a destination. If your employees see you so exhausted and weighed down, they won’t want to follow you either.”
Jian leaned closer, his sharp eyes trying to dig out a secret from her heart. Yu Zhimei extended two fingers, lightly tracing an arc along his lips and nose, finally resting at his brow before gently pushing him away: “Keep this up, and I’ll call it seduction.”
Google Sites
Report abuse