#101: It’s Written in His Eyes, But He Dares Not Admit It (Part 1)

In a peaceful life without war, even the slightest tremors feel like major disasters. Separation feels like falling apart, arguments resemble clashing swords, and fights are akin to bloodshed. But in reality, it’s just a fleeting moment. Yet, for the rest of their lives, people will always carry that weight with them—a ritual of survival in this new era.

Whenever Xing Ge’s work was boring and monotonous, Yu Zhimei would look forward to seeing Little Wu on the weekends. Both of their shoots were scheduled on weekends. Little Wu’s first car was a Rolls-Royce Phantom—he didn’t need a script or any packaging. Little Wu himself was naturally sharp-witted, eloquent, and quick-thinking. Pulling out his car keys was one of his signature moves. After three videos together, Little Wu would always end with a sigh, saying, “Ah, I wonder what it feels like to sit in such an amazing car.” Then, as if on cue, he’d pull out his keys and open the car door.

Yu Zhimei couldn’t help but envy the reckless freedom of the wealthy.

One weekend, Little Wu suddenly asked Yu Zhimei for help. They had just finished filming, and there was still an hour before boarding time. He needed to rush to the airport. Yu Zhimei found herself driving Little Wu’s Bentley Continental GT, so moved she almost shed tears—this was a Bentley Continental GT after all!

Still, she had to put on a front and pretend she was used to such luxuries. Navigating through the evening rush-hour traffic towards the airport, she constantly weaved between cars. In a situation where most drivers couldn’t afford the insurance payouts, the Continental GT acted as a golden ticket on the road. Even when switching lanes, as long as Yu Zhimei signaled, other cars would yield without hesitation. From the back seat, Little Wu casually played on his phone and said, “Sister Mei, no need to rush.”

“With only forty minutes left, how can I not be worried? Does being in first-class VIP mean you can do whatever you want?” Yu Zhimei replied with an air of authority, glancing at Little Wu over her shoulder, “Even though this is a comfortable convertible, I’ll show you what it’s like to race.”

The road to the airport wasn’t empty, and weaving through traffic in a Bentley made her feel slightly inappropriate. But in order to save time, she sped through and arrived at the airport in half an hour. Yu Zhimei helped Little Wu carry two suitcases down the VIP lane to the boarding gate, only to see two ground staff respectfully take the luggage from them, saying, “You’re here, Mr. Wu has already arrived. We’re ready for takeoff.”

Little Wu turned around and smiled as he bid farewell, adding humorously, “Sister Mei, see you in two weeks. My car’s ride back to the city relies on you.”

Stunned like she’d been struck by lightning, Yu Zhimei finally understood—it wasn’t about first-class or VIP status; the plane waited for Little Wu before taking off—it was a private jet.

Watching Little Wu wave goodbye with a smile, Yu Zhimei felt utterly foolish. On the drive back to the city, she couldn’t resist connecting her phone via Bluetooth to play some music but soon turned it off because the Continental GT’s engine roar was too tempting. Each rev sounded like the rustling of banknotes, pure bliss.

This kind of joy couldn’t be shared with Jian Zhaowen. The old sourpuss Jian Zhaowen had already learned about Little Wu’s existence and hadn’t returned to Shanghai for half a month. Their chat history hadn’t exceeded a single screen. Yu Zhimei knew they were both busy, but late at night, whenever she wanted to talk to Jian Zhaowen, he always hung up on her. Searching recent news day and night, she realized they were once again in the critical phase of fundraising. Remembering what Jian Zhaowen had said at Villa Mahler, he truly lived up to his words. The less he responded, the more anxious she became. Yu Zhimei planned to return to Shanghai soon to see Jian Zhaowen, but before that, she needed to quickly hire HR for Xing Ge—because the company was too far away, no one wanted to commute to their desolate office in Tiantongyuan. New employees awaited social security registration, and several outsourcing companies had been in talks. But with Xing Ge constantly out on shoots and unable to sign documents, Yu Zhimei found herself juggling multiple roles, running to the social security center several times a month.

Her only remaining joy now was touching luxury cars on the weekends. The happiness Little Wu brought her stemmed purely from her love for toys—the older you get, the more expensive the toys become. Even toys you can’t afford feel satisfying just to touch. Besides, the gimbal in the company was broken and held together with duct tape, and batteries needed constant recharging. In contrast, using Little Wu’s full set of equipment felt incredibly smooth. Amidst these stark contrasts, Yu Zhimei began to understand the importance of what the older generation meant by “marrying someone wealthy.” Waiting for Little Wu under the SKP building, she heard the roar of an engine from afar, sending shivers down her spine…

Little Wu waved at her from a green McLaren 600LT. It felt as if she had landed a top-tier rich boyfriend… inflated with pride. Initially, spotting a Lotus Exige from afar was enough to satisfy her, but sitting inside the McLaren, she sighed deeply in her heart—British sports cars were truly something else!

Counting the cars she considered stylish—Jaguar, Lotus, Aston Martin, McLaren… even the Mini, loved by gays and girls alike, was originally British. Little Wu seemed particularly fond of these brands too. When discussing Lotus in the car, he chuckled and responded, “That was my first sports car during university when I didn’t have much money, so I bought a Lotus. But the girl I liked preferred Porsches. After going through heartbreak, I went through various luxury models and started playing only with the expensive ones, not necessarily the right ones.”

His way of retaliating against past pain confused her.

“But later, I became more indifferent. Now, I simply love cars; each has its own merits. Sister Mei, I feel like you don’t treat me like a rich person, which makes you very approachable. Occasionally, there are girls around me who are extremely vain, standing before me to gain some advantage or hoping something happens between us. But being with you feels so relaxed.”

In her heart, Yu Zhimei thought, It’s because the car is too expensive—I can’t reach such heights. Outwardly, she politely replied to Little Wu, “It’s all part of the job. Stay calm.”

“If there’s anything unsatisfactory about the current videos, please bear with it.”

“There really isn’t anything wrong. I think you don’t even need me—just find a good photographer and editor.”

“If I really wanted to form a team, I could recruit people. But doing fun things with fun people isn’t that easy to achieve. Sister Mei, you’re truly charming. I’m serious.” Little Wu drove the car to Wudaokou and shyly added, “You’re different from the people in my girlfriend’s circle. With you, I can find the kind of fun I have with boys. So… I just want to spend more time with you.”

These words held no ambiguous meaning, and Yu Zhimei felt genuinely delighted upon hearing them: “Rest assured. For the sake of these cars alone, our friendship will last forever.”

On Lei Zheng’s last day, Yu Zhimei sat in Xing Ge’s office, listening to the fierce howling of sand outside the door. The desolate yellow earth gave her the illusion of solitary smoke rising over a vast desert. Just as Jian Zhaowen hadn’t expected Lei Zheng to leave, Yu Zhimei also felt unsettled. Memories of gatherings at the dessert shop and bumping into Little Xi in the office that night kept replaying in her mind. Yu Zhimei struggled to accept saying goodbye to someone she had weathered storms with. In a peaceful life without war, even minor tremors felt like major disasters. Separation equated to falling apart, arguments resembled clashing swords, and fights were akin to bloodshed. But in reality, it was all just a fleeting moment. Yet for the rest of their lives, people would always carry that weight with them—a ritual of survival in this new era.

Hou Ge had arrived in Beijing before the New Year because after Xiao Long resigned, there was no new partner for “Car Talk,” and user numbers and page views had stagnated. Additionally, the boss hadn’t given Hou Ge a raise, leaving him feeling somewhat dispirited. The sound of Xing Ge’s tea echoed like aged wine: “I can’t fire those who came with me, but now I need to give him some motivation to work harder.”

“When I was at the bank, everyone from the same batch got along well. We trained together, did team-building activities, then dispersed into various groups doing similar tasks, with leaders taking responsibility when things went wrong. But the downside was extremely low efficiency; once they finished their tasks, everyone disappeared. Later, after a month of training in Japan, it became one-on-one mentoring—older employees mentoring new ones—and each team’s performance was compared, with bonuses for the highest performers mid-year. Strangely, after that, no one gathered anymore, and secrets were rarely shared during chance meetings. From what I remember, our performance doubled. Splitting five people into competition brought out greater determination.”

“So, are you suggesting I create such competition among employees?”

“Of course not. Our company only has a few people. What I’m saying is, when someone is responsible for their own profits and losses, they work hardest. If someone like Hou Ge had his own ads and traffic, with part of his income determined by data, wouldn’t he work harder?”

“He definitely would. He’s always lacked that final push, and his year-end summary is always the most sincere. But can he pull it off?”

“How will we know if we don’t try? Tell Hou Ge to become an officially contracted blogger. His salary remains unchanged, but profits and losses will be reflected in his performance. Ad revenue will be split. Let’s see if he’ll put in more effort.”

“I don’t quite understand your point.”

“Our company has quite a few advertisers now, but the content is too monotonous, relying solely on your show and Hou Ge’s. Our thinking is still limited. After receiving investment, we’re sure to attract more clients. If we introduce a new car video channel, ad placements could happen faster. I’ve observed several video bloggers; around ten thousand followers seem sufficient to start monetizing. But their acting skills aren’t as good as Hou Ge’s—it’s a win-win situation.”

“I understand your transformation strategy, but every step involves money. One misstep and we’re done.”

“That’s why I’m suggesting starting with our own people. Pushing Hou Ge would be cost-effective. At worst, we’d just continue paying his salary.”

Xing Ge raised a toast to Yu Zhimei with a hiss: “You’re much craftier than I imagined. I thought you two were good friends.”

“Of course we are. He doesn’t have a girlfriend yet, and I’m thinking about his future.” Yu Zhimei said with a hint of irritation: “In our company, colleagues are more than just colleagues. Life is full of dilemmas. We’re all friends. Helping him is also helping myself.”

“Little Mei, you’ve worked hard recently. Haven’t been back to Shanghai for half a month, right?”

“Yeah. Something came up, so I need to go back. I won’t be in Beijing this weekend.”

“Alright. Lately, there’s been a remarkable person named Little Wu, showcasing top-tier supercars. Have you noticed?”

Yu Zhimei, sitting with her back to Xing Ge, strained to understand his meaning: “I know. His cars are impressive.”

“The momentum is incredible. Each video gains tens of thousands of followers. I wonder who’s on his team. If we really want to venture into MCN, signing someone like him would be great. His team’s editing style is quite similar to yours.”

Pretending to tie her shoelaces, Yu Zhimei didn’t look up: “Such wealthy individuals coming under our MCN wing? Xing Ge, you’re too naive. I’m heading back to Shanghai tonight. See you Monday.”

The news about Lei Zheng’s departure broke before his last day: DayNight completed its equity change. Partner Lei Zheng exited DayNight, leaving a significant gap in the product department. Industry experts speculated whether this early cash-out signaled internal discord and a deviation from the expected development path. However, it was certain that DayNight’s future without Lei Zheng appeared less optimistic.

After new investors injected funds, decision-making power would increasingly dilute. Some investors wanted to directly acquire Lei Zheng’s shares. Jian Zhaowen spent a day considering and politely declined. After days of negotiations, he managed to raise funds to buy out all of Lei Zheng’s shares, ensuring he still held the largest stake in DayNight. Naturally, the media didn’t miss this detail, highlighting internal discord and exclusion, fabricating numerous sensational stories. Lei Zheng was portrayed as a profit-driven opportunist, while Jian Zhaowen was depicted as an authoritarian entrepreneur. Their split marked a turning point signaling DayNight’s potential decline.

Lei Zheng handed over all product models and content department data from his computer to Jian Zhaowen. His equity transfer signature was neat and vibrant. As he placed his ID badge on Jian Zhaowen’s desk, Jian sucked in a breath, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. Trembling, he said to Lei Zheng, “Don’t do this.”

“Keep it. It means nothing to me.”

“Revenge?”

“What revenge? We have no grudges. I’m just resigning and handing over responsibilities.”

“Being so ruthless will bring retribution.”

Lei Zheng laughed: “What retribution? Dating you? You’re insane.”

Teasing Jian Zhaowen had always been his greatest joy.

Chatting with young interns in the office, their laughter carried into Jian Zhaowen’s nearby office. Jian’s blood pressure rose as he continuously arranged meeting times with investors on the phone. This separation felt entirely different from when he left LoveDate. Back then, despite feeling down, he remained full of fighting spirit, his youthful mindset ready to bounce back. Now, however, he felt overwhelmed, the humiliation of betrayal swelling within him. Without finding a way to retaliate against Lei Zheng, he feared he might collapse tonight.

Naturally, parting ways with Lei Zheng wouldn’t end quietly. After they finalized the separation, Jian Zhaowen proactively suggested visiting Lei Zheng’s new bar to celebrate, sponsoring Boss Lei’s bar performance. Lei Zheng’s pricing was exorbitant, but Jian didn’t care. He only wanted one last enjoyable time with Lei Zheng. Neither Yu Zhimei nor Little Xi were present. They each drove their cars—Jaguar and Audi—calmly trailing one another. The F-Type’s exhaust roared intermittently, echoing Jian’s throbbing chest.

With over ten employees, they booked a private booth. Drinks in hand, everyone toasted Lei Zheng, avoiding eye contact with Jian Zhaowen, who sat silently in the middle—his expression grim. The atmosphere resembled an awkward team-building event gone wrong, the air thick with tension as everyone clutched their glasses, glancing around uneasily. Ou Jinghe and Zheng Ze arrived, witnessing the socially awkward scene without taking seats. Ou Jinghe pointed around the circle: “Goodness, this is a bar! Why are you all behaving like it’s a solemn pledge ceremony?”

After a few drinks, the employees loosened up, encouraging everyone to play Truth or Dare. Though Lei Zheng no longer had his boss status, his authoritative presence remained. Jian Zhaowen, face tense, focused on his phone. Initially, conversations revolved around work. After Lei Zheng instructed the bartender to change the music, the booth’s atmosphere grew increasingly bizarre. A young intern broke the ice, starting discussions about the DayNight app. Some colleagues confessed to having crushes on beautiful female users, while a female intern revealed being “in the closet.” Others cried, overwhelmed by stress, seeking solace anonymously on DayNight. Sitting opposite Lei Zheng, Jian listened intently, phone in hand. Noticing Lei staring at him with an enigmatic gaze made him angry—just like when he first persuaded him to join, disdainful yet intrigued, and insincere all the same.

Jian snapped his fingers. Lei Zheng sensed something amiss, but it was too late when he realized—the waiter approached with a familiar demeanor. Soon, the coffee table filled up. A 10x10 array of shot glasses shimmered under the lights. Jian picked up one and handed it to Lei Zheng, then grabbed another to clink against Lei’s glass: “This hundred-shot depth charge is my farewell gift to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m repaying you exactly as you once provoked me.”