#106: “He Doesn’t Really Like You” is a False Proposition—Hitting the Bullseye of Love is a Rare Luxury

The movie He’s Just Not That Into You is a false proposition. Women often blame men for not giving enough when relationships falter, but they fail to realize that perfectly hitting each other’s emotional bullseye is a rare luxury in life. Perhaps Jian Zhaowen’s soul-matching algorithm could create the most beautiful beginning, but life together is so long, and no algorithm can account for the twists and turns of life.

When two overly busy people fall in love, it’s like two planets in parallel universes sending signals to each other—one fails to send, the other fails to receive.

Yu Zhimei, living in the suburbs, had almost no personal life. Her work efficiency was astonishingly high. She filmed three short videos a day, recorded episodes of Talk About Cars every three days, helped her boss prepare for live streams and prize draws, and her five-day workweek was over. On weekends, she accompanied Xiao Wu to film luxury cars, sneaked into club parking lots and high-end malls to shoot garages, explained cars, and revealed the secrets of upper-class life. Every day, she was surrounded by cars. Without her cat by her side, loneliness crept in. To avoid hearing engine noises when opening or closing her eyes, she bought a speaker online. In Shanghai, she listened to lyrical jazz; in Beijing, it became folk and rock. Every morning, she woke up to the loud, chaotic sound of Gamblers singing, “Leo, Leo, Leo, holding your hand again, but you feel nothing, like touching your left hand with your right.”

Jian Zhaowen returned from his farewell dinner with a heavy heart. Yu Zhimei stayed in Shanghai for two days. After sobering up, Jian Zhaowen sent her to the airport and rushed back to the company to arrange work. He needed to quickly finalize Q2 plans, hire a product manager, and deal with investors. Even from his brief description, it was clear Jian Zhaowen was overwhelmed. Even if he stayed in Shanghai, there would be no chance to meet. Her moving to Beijing actually reduced some household matters for him. Still, she noticed that Jian Zhaowen looked gloomy, less sharp than before, and more subdued when occasionally venting to her. Yu Zhimei found it strange. When she deliberately locked eyes with him, he avoided her gaze, looking uneasy and shy, as if he had done something to betray her.

Even stranger was that Sister Ou had disappeared from her life. The four-person group chat on WeChat had sunk to the bottom. Only Brother Ma occasionally sent photos of girls he was introduced to, asking if Yu Zhimei thought they were pretty enough for him. When Brother Ma sent a video of Zheng Zeyan, Yu Zhimei thought she misread it. By the end of the video, it felt like she had foreseen the conclusion of a story. In the voice message, Brother Ma sighed, “What is this thing called love, that makes people pledge life and death to each other? If the deceased was Zheng Zeyan’s ex-girlfriend, then Sister Ou and Zheng Zeyan are doomed. Married women get kicked out of their homes, divorced women fall in love with hopeless romantics, and you? You run off to Beijing for a long-distance relationship. Madness, pure madness!”

Brother Ma’s words couldn’t be taken seriously, but Yu Zhimei knew bits about Zheng Zeyan and his first love. The image of the first love she encountered in the hotel lobby wasn’t the same as the one in the video. In the hotel, she appeared wild, full-bodied, and seductive; in the photo, she was emaciated, hollow-eyed, and devoid of vitality. Remembering Zheng Zeyan mentioning in the car how, while studying abroad in Israel, he heard about her messy entanglements with her ex-boyfriend, yet he still bought a diamond ring to propose. With such a deep connection, it was impossible for him to view her death lightly as just another friend’s loss.

When Yu Zhimei returned to Shanghai, she didn’t see Jian Zhaowen—he had taken his subordinates to Hangzhou to discuss live streaming collaborations with big tech companies and scout for a product manager. After cleaning the litter box and feeding the cats canned food, the two cats wandered around the room, refusing to come near her. Yu Zhimei understood—it was because she hadn’t been home for so long, and Jian Zhaowen had hired a housekeeper to clean. Without Miaolin Dessert Shop, she had no place to drink with friends. Adult workweeks and weekends were packed, leaving no time for unexpected visitors. Standing in her own home felt foreign. Unwilling to disturb her friends, Yu Zhimei quietly spent the weekend alone and returned to Beijing. On the high-speed train, she thought, If I stay in Beijing for a while longer, I’ll find a weekend to bring the cats with me.

By Tuesday, buried in work, Yu Zhimei received a WeChat message from Zheng Zeyan—he was in town on business and wanted to meet her for drinks that night. Having not seen a familiar friend in a long time, Yu Zhimei readily agreed. As she drove, she remembered the bar Xiao Wu once took her to—a rooftop with a rugged charm, adorned with a large MARTINI neon sign, like a scene from the TV show Californication . The bar Zheng Zeyan found, named “Sirius,” was a stylish speakeasy. The soft carpet felt like walking on clouds, and on the table sat an entire bottle of Watanabe Miki. Zheng Zeyan arrived with baggage, and Yu Zhimei thought, Driving here was a mistake. Zheng Zeyan didn’t mention his troubles immediately, instead using Jian Zhaowen as the conversation starter: “The partner is gone, and keeping things afloat won’t be easy. He held sixty percent of the shares, wielding immense power. The board will try to balance his influence to steer Day & Night according to their wishes, but Jian Zhaowen was the one who single-handedly launched it. He won’t comply easily. From now on, he’ll be busier than you imagine.”

“You came to Beijing specifically to drink with me, yet all you talk about is Jian Zhaowen. What exactly happened with your first love?”

“It’s just like the news you saw—she committed suicide. Before she died, I met her outside Jian Zhaowen’s farewell dinner. At that time… she wasn’t stable.” Zheng Zeyan smiled bitterly. “Maybe I’m just unlucky. The entanglement felt like a game interface I couldn’t exit. When I was young, I pursued her relentlessly, and she believed I’d always be hers. In the end, she clung to me as her last lifeline.”

“That’s terrible. How can you still say such things?”

“Believe me or not, it’s up to you. After meeting Ou Jinghe, I made it clear we were over. I tried to help her when she struggled mentally, even took her to the hospital. But… even as a friend, I never expected her to leave so soon.”

Yu Zhimei poured more wine. “It’s okay. You can talk freely. Tonight, it’s just you and me here. I promise whatever you say stays here.”

After a few drinks, Zheng Zeyan’s facade began to crumble. Guilt surfaced, and his emotions became harder to control. The dimly lit bar had its unique advantages, drawing people into the depths of their souls. The background music played De Yong Akio, gently scraping emotions from within. Zheng Zeyan spoke earnestly, enunciating each word to Yu Zhimei: “Yu Zhimei, you know, I’m not a particularly charming person. In school, I was gloomy and antisocial, thinking girls were shallow, except for you. The signals I sent, you didn’t notice. Years later, when I learned to express myself clearly, I did so disrespectfully. Though I pursued Ou Jinghe fiercely, I’ve finally realized that true love isn’t about finding someone special. It’s about having the innate ability to cherish a partner. I feel regret for myself and must admit… I lack the capacity to truly love.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I want to make Ou Jinghe happy, but perhaps I’ve finally seen myself clearly. The love I give her is instinctual, desire, passion—an irreplaceable need. But I don’t have the ‘ability’ to give her fulfillment in life. If she needs money, she doesn’t need me. The little things she wants, which bring joy, I can’t provide. I isolate myself and castrate others. I used to see women as insignificant—I never realized how cruel that was. Now that my first love is dead, I’m terrified that Ou Jinghe will become the second woman I torment over time. I don’t want that… I really don’t…”

Zheng Zeyan rested his forehead on his palms, fingers buried in his hair. Under the dim light, his fingers looked like trees starved of sunlight. Yu Zhimei could see Zheng Zeyan’s red-rimmed eyes and the teenage version of him in his expression: silently angry when he couldn’t grab rebounds in basketball, invisible during group discussions, sitting apart from the noise, his heart growing barren from years of unequal love. He’s Just Not That Into You is a false proposition. Women often blame men for not giving enough in relationships, but hitting the bullseye of love is a rare luxury. Jian Zhaowen’s soul-matching algorithm might create the most beautiful beginning, but life together is so long, and no algorithm can predict the twists and turns of life.

Most of the Watanabe Miki was gone, and exhaustion and anxiety poured out with the alcohol. A night of venting wouldn’t change the dilemma they faced. Yu Zhimei’s stomach burned from the alcohol. She pulled out a cigarette from her pocket, hesitated for a few seconds, and put it back. “Did anything happen during that farewell dinner? I know Jian Zhaowen is busy, but my intuition tells me he’s avoiding something.”

Ou Jinghe had forced him to swear to keep what he saw that night to himself. Even if they were friends before, this alliance was still with his fiancée. Zheng Zeyan picked up his glass, regaining clarity and composure. “Jian Zhaowen isn’t as good as he seems, and neither am I. Men’s desires in love are more selfish, which only confuses women. But it’s not your fault.”

“There’s something hidden in your words.”

Behind the high-proof liquid, his expression was hard to read. “Our situations are different. You and Jian Zhaowen understand true love better than I do. You also know independence matters more than love. Jian Zhaowen… precisely understands this too well.”

After securing 50 million in funding, Day & Night rapidly expanded its team. Jian Zhaowen spent the week personally recruiting talent. The HR specialist he poached from a major tech company was clever, targeting employees within large internet firms, and helped recruit a capable product manager. Before starting, Jian Zhaowen gave the new product manager two options: a 600,000 yuan annual salary plus stock options, or a flat 1 million yuan salary. Beyond having their own insights, Jian Zhaowen’s implicit requirement was obedience—they didn’t need to achieve greatness but had to follow his direction.

The new product manager chose the latter, showing no interest in stock options. His straightforward WeChat name, OXOX, annoyed Jian Zhaowen. His real name was Kou Xiao. On their first meeting, he had just shaved his head, his delicate features contrasting with his masculine frame. He reminded Jian Zhaowen of a distinctive model—Tina Chow. Kou Xiao had previously worked as a product manager for a famous LGBTQ+ vertical community, far more subdued than Lei Zheng. His demeanor was calm, never clashing with Jian Zhaowen, only completing assigned tasks. The office girls adored him, and messages in the group chat flowed like a waterfall. Jian Zhaowen felt those flirtatious eyes on him, often peeking through the office door.

Busy with work, Jian Zhaowen wasn’t interested in these dynamics. With Yu Zhimei not in Shanghai, his work habits shifted to nocturnal. At night, he held meetings with Kou Xiao. Investors were dissatisfied with Day & Night’s refusal to add live streaming and wanted Jian Zhaowen to create a separate live streaming app as a new business line, while also raising demands for Day & Night’s profit and daily active users. Late at night, Jian Zhaowen proposed cutting the paid membership matching service entirely, unsurprised to see Kou Xiao’s smile. Jian Zhaowen remained expressionless. “Any issues?”

Kou Xiao merely raised an eyebrow. “None.”

“This matching service has reached saturation. From hundreds of thousands to millions of users, the incoming user base is younger with lower purchasing power. We need a new paid package.”

“I’ll meet with you tomorrow.”

“Think about it now.”

Slightly surprised, Kou Xiao appeared alluring under the light. “Fine. Then just sit next to me and wait.”

Jian Zhaowen indeed sat nearby, scrutinizing the data. He never disturbed employees after work hours, but with a product manager like Kou Xiao, he urgently needed to assess his competence. If he wasn’t good enough, they could part ways sooner. After waiting three hours with no progress, Jian Zhaowen thought angrily, Damn, is this guy capable or not?

On Kou Xiao’s laptop, a nearly completed product model appeared. He looked exhausted but didn’t show it. “Two methods: one is charging for facial features, clothing, and backgrounds like Tencent’s Red Diamond membership. The other is a one-click cartoon selfie service where users can beautify their avatars.”

“What else can we do besides avatars? Many people use selfies directly—it’s simpler.”

“For video calls, if users don’t want to show their faces, they can use these avatars. However, you’ll need to approve funding for development.”

Jian Zhaowen’s eyes lit up. “That’s good. Dynamic expressions can enhance anonymity in chats. There will always be people with voice and text-based needs.” Looking up, he saw Kou Xiao gazing provocatively at him. That look told Jian Zhaowen that this handsome man wasn’t just a pretty face—he knew exactly what he was doing.

Jian Zhaowen wished this quiet man would yell at him on the spot. Staying up late and arguing had become his work habit. Many things, like breakups, required time to slowly replace and heal.

Before leaving, Kou Xiao touched the edge of Jian Zhaowen’s screen. His slender fingertips seemed to wave goodbye. Seeing those delicate fingers, Jian Zhaowen’s first thought was, Just by looking at his fingers and face, you can tell he’s sharp. It reminded him of Lei Zheng’s vulgar remarks after drinking. Jian Zhaowen nodded, signaling goodbye—he wasn’t used to saying more.

Leaning against the door, Kou Xiao said, “I know why Lei Zheng resigned.”

“Don’t mention Lei Zheng. If you’re unhappy, you can resign too. Our environment is open.”

“I won’t. A million yuan salary—I’m here for the money.” Kou Xiao smiled casually. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll hold a meeting with a few product managers, and in the afternoon, I’ll send you all the requirements.”

After two weeks of work, Jian Zhaowen realized Kou Xiao was simply indifferent—a kind of indifference toward everything, quietly doing his job as if it were innate.

Occasionally, it drove him mad. Used to colleagues arguing in the office, meetings igniting tempers, and people transforming after drinking, Jian Zhaowen struggled to adapt to the sudden silence in the office after Lei Zheng left. The atmosphere became lifeless, and Jian Zhaowen couldn’t muster a smile. Walking through the hallways with a stern face, colleagues avoided him.

Former interns used to gather around him and Lei Zheng, laughing and joking. After a month of nonstop work, Jian Zhaowen realized he hadn’t seen Yu Zhimei in a month.