Chapter 5: Miaolin Dessert Shop

“For most people, marriage is like getting tired of swimming, climbing onto a boat, and thinking you’ve found stability—but you still end up choking on water. Too lazy to swim again, they choose not to abandon the ship, even if it means drowning in the end.”

Since moving to the area, Yu Zhimei had discovered a hidden gem for relaxation: Miaolin Dessert Shop. It was less than 300 meters away in a straight line from her place, nestled beside protected buildings and guesthouses. By day, it served sugary treats; by night, it transformed into a bar. She’d visited the extravagant, dreamy clubs in nearby neighborhoods but always felt out of place there—her hairstyle often drew unwanted attention from police who wanted to check her hair for drugs. At Miaolin, however, drinking was peaceful and leisurely.

The shop’s owner, He Jie, was a short-haired, sharp woman who maintained a weight of exactly 96 pounds. In the backyard sat a BMW motorcycle that once accidentally collided with a Didi car, damaging its side mirror—a replacement costlier than both doors of the Didi combined. When Yu Zhimei first met He Jie two years ago, she was working part-time as a drifting instructor at a drift center, driving a silver-gray M4. He Jie would often invite Yu Zhimei to practice drifting, sometimes arriving before the track was even watered. Though still a novice, she didn’t mind burning rubber—it was all for fun. Wealth had no limits, but He Jie wasn’t particularly skilled at the games of the rich. Instead, she ran her dessert shop, practiced drifting (though not very well), and played video games. Believing Yu Zhimei should live like a true metropolitan woman, He Jie proactively helped her contact real estate agents, even bringing in two to negotiate lower rents on her behalf. But unable to afford rent over 10,000 yuan, Yu Zhimei politely declined.

He Jie exuded a mix of street-smart charm and chivalrous spirit, though she disliked being described this way, finding it too old-fashioned. Age mattered deeply to her; she always wore heavy makeup, ensuring every detail—from head to toe—was impeccable. If a nail chipped, she’d rush to fix it immediately. Occasionally, when Yu Zhimei drank too much, she’d gaze at He Jie and feel as though she were wearing a semi-permanent mask.

Miaolin Dessert Shop closed Tuesday afternoons and evenings, but otherwise, business wasn’t terrible, though tables rarely turned over. The menu was infamous: cream-topped noodles, beef candy stir-fry, spicy bell pepper durian dishes. There weren’t many cocktail options, but pure spirits were recommended. He Jie seemed indifferent to turnover, preferring instead to chat with patrons. She loved hearing their stories—blind dates, business deals, or elderly couples rekindling romance. Regulars adored unloading their troubles here and kept coming back. Conversations with Yu Zhimei allowed He Jie to relax; she dropped her polite smiles and spoke blunt truths.

Yu Zhimei knew He Jie took meticulous care of herself, but whenever the late afternoon sun streamed through the courtyard and windows, He Jie would retreat to the shadows, claiming sensitivity to sunlight—or perhaps deliberately living in the shade. Recently, noticing Yu Zhimei’s radiant smile, He Jie insisted she must be in love. Yu Zhimei thought about Jian Zhaowen—their daily meals of pig intestine noodles and gaming sessions—but dismissed the idea. No kissing, no holding hands—it didn’t count. After all, modern urban romance prioritized chemistry at first sight. Real affection went beyond mere eating and gaming.

Unresolved matters were best left unspoken.

He Jie, ever curious about appearances, pressed on: “How handsome is he?”

“The kind of handsome that makes every girl take a second glance—and… he’s exactly my type.”

“Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who fits your ‘type’?”

“First, I don’t trust statistics—they can be manipulated. Second, liking him while he also likes me is what’s truly rare. One-sided attraction is far too easy.”

“You’ve been single for four years without dating, and now you’re talking probabilities? Have you lost your mind?”

“Stop lecturing me.”

“Remember when we first met last year? You were all about true love then. Now you act like you don’t believe in it. What’s your plan with this boy? Jian Zhaowen, right? Maybe he’s been to my shop.”

“Doubtful. He doesn’t even know what shops are around here. I have to take him everywhere.”

“If he doesn’t live here, how can he call himself your neighbor?”

“Exactly. He’s lived here for three years, but probably hasn’t stayed more than two months total. He likely has another place—or maybe already has a girlfriend. He might just be sharing updates. Don’t overthink it.”

He Jie mimicked Yu Zhimei’s tone: “First, you said you liked him, so I followed up. Second, stop pretending you don’t believe in love, or you’ll never find a new boyfriend.” Under the umbrella in the afternoon sun, He Jie sipped slowly from a bottle of Cointreau: “Take advantage of your prime years to date. Once you hit thirty, you’ll feel abandoned by the world. Don’t think I’m exaggerating—thirty is the age advertisers exploit until they discard you. Society will forget you soon after.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. People unconsciously judge you through tinted lenses. Over time, you start seeing yourself that way too—more flaws, more dissatisfaction. Age brings experience, but it also brings heaviness. Everyone starts looking bitter and resentful.”

“What about your BMW in the backyard? It doesn’t complain.”

“That’s my treasure. Yu Zhimei, trust me—cherish these years when you can freely fall in love. You’ve got two more years, right? Keep going, put effort into dating, but don’t get married. The best state is walking out the door and having members of the opposite sex want to pursue you because they see you as desirable and available. That’s real youth. Take good care of yourself—don’t go outdoors shooting photos all the time. Look at those sunspots on your face. Once men see you as a ‘yellow-faced housewife’ or a ‘great mother,’ your youth is officially over.”

“Got it. And yet, you’re married and still advising me against marriage. How hypocritical.”

“He Jie rolled her eyes. “I only give advice because I see potential in you. If you get married, don’t step foot in my shop—I won’t bother entertaining you. Marriage means endless chores and gossip, boring stuff. Plus, if you bring your husband along, I’ll end up as your emotional punching bag, accused of ruining your family. Am I crazy?”

Yu Zhimei groaned: “Speak Mandarin—I can’t understand your Shanghainese.”

“I never doubt that love is the most beautiful thing in the world. Look at you—since falling for someone, you’re glowing, happier, right?”

Yu Zhimei yawned: “You’re always glowing…”

“My glow comes from money, not love. Are you even listening? This Jian Zhaowen sounds tough to chase—you need to use your brain. Just like mastering financial laws helps you make money, understanding emotional patterns helps you succeed in relationships. Same principle, get it? Remember the girl downstairs? Shi Rui—she has no clue what she wants, just follows her mom’s demands. In her twenties, she acts like she’s in her thirties. Every time she comes here, she looks exhausted. She won’t find happiness in marriage either. Those who passively wait for true love or stubbornly insist on being themselves in relationships won’t thrive—whether in work or love, they’re useless.”

Yu Zhimei looked at He Jie, decked out in luxury goods, and couldn’t help but ask: “Do you really insist that I date but not marry? Is marriage really that bad?”

He Jie smiled: “It’s not terrible if you marry the right person—1 + 1 can be greater than 2, and life won’t feel strained. For girls like you and Shi Rui, at least you’ll have enough to eat. But for most women, marriage doesn’t bring happiness—love does. Most people get married because they’re tired of swimming and think they’ve found stability on a boat, only to end up choking on water. Too lazy to swim again, they choose not to abandon the ship, even as it sinks.”

On her way home, He Jie’s words lingered in Yu Zhimei’s mind. Since their first meeting, He Jie’s words had always felt like a slap across the face, delivered with an air of certainty—a reflection of her social class, perhaps. The things Shanghainese value most—houses and assets—she already possessed. Having studied abroad, she was educated, sharp-minded, and had a keen eye for investments. Young people from outside Shanghai worked themselves to the bone just to scrape together a living in the big city, while speculators schemed endlessly to seize resources, yet few could afford to become her neighbor. Meanwhile, she leisurely searched for her next investment property, seeking locations with potential for appreciation, square layouts, and livable designs. Other customers once mentioned that He Jie was her husband’s first love, and he doted on her deeply. Yet beneath the shade of her umbrella, the sadness in He Jie’s eyes when talking about marriage left Yu Zhimei puzzled—perhaps… she wasn’t as happy as she seemed.

As Yu Zhimei opened the building door, she ran into Shi Rui and felt a pang of guilt. She had never expected He Jie to speak so harshly about Shi Rui, especially since He Jie always praised her during their chats at the dessert shop, saying she was constantly growing. In the months Yu Zhimei had known her, Shi Rui had been endlessly attending blind dates.

“Going out to play?”

“Yeah, meeting a guy.” Shi Rui had dimples, and her smile was sweet.

“Have fun. Let’s do afternoon tea sometime.”

Yu Zhimei watched Shi Rui leave the compound. Her waist-length hair swayed gently as she walked, slightly plump, wearing jeans, canvas shoes, and a red-and-white striped shirt, carrying a sports bag—apparently heading out to play tennis. The bag looked heavy, and before she even left the compound, Shi Rui squatted down to rearrange its contents. She pulled out several glass food containers of various sizes, each filled with homemade dishes in different colors, seemingly prepared for the boy she was meeting. Though Shi Rui wasn’t particularly athletic and often complained about wanting to lose weight, Yu Zhimei thought it possible she had learned tennis specifically for this boy. He Jie’s cutting remarks still lingered in her mind, and Yu Zhimei began to feel brainwashed. What growth? Society conditioned women to grow, but those who followed this path were merely being harvested for marriage, destined to serve husbands and raise children.

Overthinking relationship issues made her restless. Standing on the stairs, Yu Zhimei shook her head. All she wanted was to live happily.

“Hey, want to go eat noodles?”

Climbing to the third floor, she saw Jian Zhaowen leaning against the railing by his door. Her heart raced—how could someone so picky eat noodles without getting tired of them?

More importantly, if one day he did grow tired of them, would he still come looking for her?