#108: I Never Expected That the Vortex of Deep Affection Would Be Impossible to Escape

Jian Zhaowen, who understood love so well, lived every step of his life for it. He had never been so acutely aware that he was a hopeless romantic.

After dozens of calls were hung up by Yu Zhimei, amidst countless busy signals, Jian Zhaowen gradually realized that the night in Beijing was likely the last time he would ever see her. Her words, which had subtly bid him farewell, slipped past him unnoticed amid his overwhelming longing and anxiety. Jian Zhaowen had never planned for the future, but he never imagined that at thirty-one, he would return to being single. He had once been indifferent about having a girlfriend, never lacking admirers, believing that love was something to be encountered rather than pursued. When he first heard Yu Zhimei’s theory about how society demanded seizing opportunities—how she believed one must fight for what they wanted—he was deeply shocked. He understood the logic behind it: there were few lucky breaks in life where gains came without effort. In Yu Zhimei’s eyes, perhaps he was someone worth fighting for. But if she truly let go, it meant that he had restricted her freedom.

He didn’t consider himself controlling, nor did he want to admit defeat in a long-distance relationship. He simply found the outcome absurd and impossible to refute. Perhaps it was just these tiny factors that truly affected relationships, causing effects like a crumbling avalanche. Time didn’t give him a chance to pause and heal from heartbreak. Every time he saw the door of apartment 302, a sharp pain pierced through him—he had never experienced heartbreak like this before.

There were two doors to enter: an outer iron gate and an inner vertical fence used to confine the cats. The blanket on the sofa, the litter box in the corner of the living room, and the homemade projector Yu Zhimei crafted—all were gone. Aside from the furniture, only the mural on the wall and the flowers on the balcony remained. Without clothes, shoes, or lamps, the room had lost all signs of life. A sense of collapse washed over Jian Zhaowen as Brother Ma popped out, still instructing the cleaning lady to scrub thoroughly and remove any trace of cat odor. Irritated, Jian Zhaowen snapped, “Are you already preparing to find a new tenant so soon?”

“Of course, every day counts, hundreds of yuan wasted!” Brother Ma wore a newspaper hat atop his head. “What happened between you two? Cutting ties completely—it’s not right.”

Jian Zhaowen recounted his experience in Beijing, and Brother Ma exclaimed, “Damn, this is all Yu Zhimei’s fault! What kind of career is she chasing? Those car enthusiasts are all shady characters. Why doesn’t she do something more respectable, like working in an office with air conditioning?”

Overwhelmed and disheartened, Jian Zhaowen looked around the empty room. His heart felt like a cabinet with its drawers yanked out, icy drafts blowing in from all directions. Lulu and Wenwen—the cats—had also been taken away. Wenwen was the one they had saved together. He finally understood that Yu Zhimei’s talk of “breaking up” wasn’t just idle words; he had truly restricted her freedom. After several unanswered messages, Jian Zhaowen walked into apartment 302, his breath trembling. Yu Zhimei had emptied the room—and in doing so, she had emptied his heart. Noticing Jian Zhaowen’s distress, Brother Ma stepped in front of him. “Brother Zhaowen, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’ll rent this room. No matter how much you raise the rent, I’ll pay it.”

Guided by memory, he bought the shampoo Yu Zhimei often repurchased. He hung his clothes on the racks, bought pots, pans, pillows, and other items in the same style she preferred. On the table, he placed books she frequently read: The Pyramid Principle and How to Win Friends and Influence People . The room was restored to about eighty or ninety percent of its former state, but emotionally, he felt only one percent complete. Without Yu Zhimei and the playful cats, every message Jian Zhaowen sent to her felt like cutting into his own flesh.

“How could you leave without saying a word? Love is a two-way street. Even if we broke up, shouldn’t we have discussed who would take care of Wenwen? I know you’re decisive, always settling scores, but reducing our relationship to such calculations is meaningless. I’d give you everything, but I can’t accept that my feelings for you aren’t cherished. What you’ve done feels like trampling on my dignity.”

“I never expected you to end things so ruthlessly. You’ve been too cruel to me. You can’t treat me like this.”

“Yu Zhimei, this is the last time I’ll sacrifice my pride. If you really don’t want to speak to me anymore, then fine. My self-respect is precious too.”

After twenty-four hours with no response, an enraged Jian Zhaowen deleted Yu Zhimei’s WeChat and phone number. The funeral inside his phone was swift. He felt that heartbreak was no different from the death of a loved one—both lingered painfully over long stretches of time. He wouldn’t reapply to add her as a friend, but the lingering effect of their relationship was strangely strong. Was it because he had never felt this way about anyone else? Or was it that, at his age, accepting changes in relationships had become harder? Sitting on the sofa in apartment 302, wrapped in the gray blanket Yu Zhimei often used while gaming, Jian Zhaowen felt as though everything had frozen in the moment of heartbreak. When two people part ways, the one watching the other leave suffers far more than the one who walks away. The memories they once shared were now being rewritten by life, akin to the excruciating pain of removing a tattoo.

________________________________________

In the days that followed, Jian Zhaowen tried to immerse himself in work, but he couldn’t escape the void left by Yu Zhimei. Every corner of the apartment reminded him of her presence. The scent of her shampoo lingered faintly in the bathroom, and the soft hum of the projector she built seemed to echo in the silence. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to recreate her world within those four walls, it was evident that her absence was irreplaceable.

At night, Jian Zhaowen would sit by the window, staring at the city lights. He thought about the years they spent together—the laughter, the arguments, the quiet moments when their hearts beat in sync. Each memory felt like a shard of glass embedded deep within him, sharp and unyielding. He wondered if Yu Zhimei ever thought about him, if she regretted leaving, or if she had already moved on.

One evening, as he flipped through the pages of The Pyramid Principle , a book she had often referenced during their conversations, he paused at a highlighted passage: “People rarely change unless they are forced to confront their deepest fears.” It struck him then—perhaps their breakup wasn’t just about careers or freedom. Maybe it was about fear. Fear of stagnation, fear of losing oneself in another, fear of being unable to grow while tethered to someone else.

For the first time, Jian Zhaowen allowed himself to entertain the possibility that he might have contributed to their downfall. His reluctance to adapt, his inability to fully support her ambitions, his pride—all these factors may have played a role. Yet, acknowledging this brought no comfort. Instead, it deepened the ache, making him question whether love itself was worth the pain.

As weeks turned into months, Jian Zhaowen continued to live in apartment 302, surrounded by remnants of their shared life. He stopped trying to contact Yu Zhimei, realizing that some wounds needed time to heal—or perhaps, they never would. But late at night, when the city fell silent and the weight of loneliness pressed down on him, he whispered her name into the darkness, hoping against hope that somewhere, somehow, she might hear him.

And so, Jian Zhaowen learned what it meant to love and lose—to be consumed by the vortex of affection, unable to escape its pull even as it shattered him piece by piece.

Brother Ma and Sister Ou often invited Jian Zhaowen to eat downstairs, occasionally coming upstairs to drag him out for a drink on the terrace. But Jian Zhaowen’s only rest was spent sleeping in apartment 302. Beyond work, he seemed utterly dispirited about everything. Brother Ma sighed, saying, “This breakup is hitting hard.” But what surprised him even more was that their breakup hurt him too. He had genuinely believed that everyone in this building would stay together forever—at least the two of them would.

“Isn’t it all about the rent? You even raised it by 20%,” Sister Ou teased Brother Ma, trying to lighten the somber mood. Unexpectedly, her words infuriated him: “Is that the kind of person you think I am?! I’d make money no matter who rented from me, but this is about emotion ! It’s not just about them—it’s about our feelings too!”

Gradually, Jian Zhaowen stopped returning to apartment 301 to sleep. At one point, he considered giving up Brother Ma’s place and renting a modern loft at nearby Financial Bay, which was close and stylishly decorated. He even drafted a message to Brother Ma but hesitated, deleting it after much thought and tossing his phone aside. Immersing himself in work might dull the pain somewhat—meetings with investors increased, and public relations efforts demanded his presence. Slowly, Jian Zhaowen stepped back from product-related affairs, and surprisingly, nothing went wrong. After securing Series B funding, Day & Night entered a new phase, and Jian Zhaowen seemed to have truly learned how to delegate authority.

To everyone’s surprise, Kou Xiao proved adept at leading the team. If Day & Night once dazzled opponents with unpredictable strategies, now it exuded stability. With the algorithm strong enough, every structure was refreshed, functionalities improved incrementally, and user numbers continued to climb.

If he could approach his partnership with Lei Zheng today with the same mindset, perhaps Lei Zheng wouldn’t have left. And if he hadn’t fought so hard to preserve Day & Night’s unique features, Series B funding might not have come so quickly. Late at night, alone in the office facing his computer, Jian Zhaowen slowly realized that many past decisions could have been handled better. But those stubborn choices had brought him here.

It wasn’t that “everything happens for the best,” but reaching this point through compromise felt like a reward for not giving up. If Yu Zhimei chose Beijing after careful consideration, all he could do was not hinder her flight toward greater ambitions. For ambitious people, focusing on building their dreams was the most fulfilling choice. As for the taste of heartbreak—he’d experienced it before, though never as overwhelming as now. Previous feelings faded because he lost interest in others; this time, it was as if everything about her was losing meaning. The inspiration she provided for Day & Night, the countless sleepless nights spent perfecting the app and its algorithms out of jealousy over her, the new features brainstormed to match her tenacity, the psychological support section launched to protect girls like her—all these achievements suddenly lacked the joy of discovery beneath them.

Jian Zhaowen, who understood love so deeply, lived every step of his life for it. Never had he been so acutely aware of being a hopeless romantic.

His alma mater’s computer science department invited Jian Zhaowen to give a speech. The prideful Tsinghua crowd rarely looked up to industry giants—they were merely waves pushing forward. Yet, despite his busy schedule, Jian Zhaowen accepted the invitation. He missed the reckless soul he once was during his school days, carefree and audacious in youth.

Though deep down, he knew there were other reasons for wanting to visit Beijing.

The lecture took place in the familiar East Staircase Classroom, adjacent to the computer science department. Jian Zhaowen wandered around campus for a while, even circling near the dormitories, sending a photo to his old friend Pang Cong. The reply came late—friends from student days had scattered across time. Alone, Jian Zhaowen sat on the curb of the basketball court, listening to the thud of balls hitting the ground, watching passersby, relaxed enough to drift into sleep. This was perhaps one of the few moments he could enjoy solitude.

When the classroom filled up, Jian Zhaowen walked in, gradually feeling at ease.

“Hello, I’m Jian Zhaowen. Ten years ago, I sat where you are now, browsing posts on Shuimu Tsinghua, curious about the future. After graduation, I kept hustling—joining startups, co-founding ventures, until now, when I’m the sole remaining partner. Setting aside these titles, I’m an algorithm engineer. Perhaps some of you find this field intriguing. In the internet age, it may become a hotspot within a few years. Think of it like a barrel: an algorithm engineer can’t afford to be weak in any area, and each plank must rise higher than those of other engineers. Knowledge and understanding of industries are crucial—otherwise, how can we optimize time, parallelize models, improve models, or connect research with business? These remain open questions…”

As Jian Zhaowen elaborated, he found a sense of accomplishment. The curiosity and admiration emanating from the students gave him immense satisfaction. He even shared anecdotes about working late nights with Lei Zheng, arguing over feature development. When recounting how both ends of entrepreneurship involved copious drinking, laughter erupted from the audience below. Toward the end, Jian Zhaowen suddenly felt reluctant:

“When pursuing a career, see yourself as ordinary. Sink low enough to recognize others’ brilliance and discover unexplored territories—paths are always wider than imagined. Empathize, understand every kind of emotion in the world. People are colorful because of emotions, and society is vivid and complex due to humanity. Uphold justice—stay true in moments of confusion, always speak for the weak, never oppress others for profit, and avoid testing boundaries, as they lead to black holes. Lastly… arrogance is part of a successful personality. Don’t fear being called stubborn—it’s neither shameful nor derogatory. Some sell houses to start businesses; others fail repeatedly yet keep challenging themselves, leaving their mark across fields. Even if obsession becomes their epitaph, so be it. This is why I wanted to meet you all today, and it’s what I most want to tell you: love and obsession are traits young people should embrace.”

He had once pondered many closing remarks, seriously considering ending with “Love is humanity’s greatest source of passion” to elevate himself. But now, looking at the room full of shining eyes, brimming with dreams and ambition, he felt his earlier words might hold some value. This entrepreneurial journey was worth far more than he imagined.

During the Q&A session, Jian Zhaowen received warmer enthusiasm than expected. Engineering students, regardless of gender, asked sharp questions focused on industry challenges.

“Will you expand beyond matchmaking services? Do you think your current user base relates to your appearance?”

“How do you balance between R&D and algorithm development? Can different logical approaches lead to errors in construction?”

“What’s your take on the live-streaming craze? Can you predict trends in the 5G era?”

“Have you overly influenced the product while developing algorithms?”

True to form, Tsinghua students impressed. Jian Zhaowen waited for the final question, knowing smart individuals would uncover traces of a founder’s will. Looking at a dark-skinned boy with a Buddha-like hairstyle, he revealed an answer long concealed: “Day & Night started with me alone—front-end development, data maintenance, personality matching—all stemmed from my estimation of product logic and industry gaps. I may not be a professional product manager, but as I mentioned earlier, algorithm engineers differ from others in requiring balanced expertise—knowledge, tools, business, and logic cannot falter. Even if a product manager has specific functionality needs, they might lack insight into the intrinsic logic of the business or model. As an algorithm engineer, understanding the product is part of your skill set, rather than merely implementing functions dictated by the product manager. Functionality implementation can be handed off to specialized R&D teams.”

Instead of attending the planned dinner, Jian Zhaowen lied about having another engagement and sneaked into Peking University using Pang Cong’s PhD meal card to savor a plate of braised pork. Busy and balding like an egg, Pang Cong barely managed a few bites of rice and exchanged brief pleasantries before rushing off. Work chat notifications kept buzzing. Thinking of the distance from Haidian to Tiantongyuan, Jian Zhaowen hesitated for fifteen minutes at the subway station, lacking the decisiveness he once possessed upon arriving in Beijing. Ultimately, the evening rush swept him onto the train.

The subway was suffocating. Accustomed to driving, Jian Zhaowen grimaced at the commuters’ oily hair and breath, mingling with the smell of sauced chicken cutlets carried by students. He felt grounded, returning to real life. Realizing how long it had been since he last immersed himself in normalcy, he reflected on the fatigue and premature aging urbanites endured, and the burdens students bore despite their youthful years. By now, Yu Zhimei likely hadn’t finished work. Based on her Shanghai routine, she might be filming programs, lugging camera equipment everywhere. She might be thrilled about touching a new car she hadn’t seen before, stressed about data in the office, or in meetings with her boss—after all, she was the content supervisor at a small company... Exiting the subway, he took a taxi to Yu Zhimei’s place, waiting downstairs for hours as the sky darkened and streetlights flickered on one by one. Growing restless, he wandered around the nearby car market but didn’t spot her familiar figure. Post-breakup, he no longer lived in sync with her rhythm. Melodies flowing from piano keys no longer carried his name.

He remembered the time Yu Zhimei came to his Beijing apartment, believing her trip wouldn’t be in vain. Standing roadside, watching cars pass, Jian Zhaowen smoked cigarette after cigarette, finally catching the first flight back to Shanghai late that night.