#113: With Me Behind You, It’s Okay to Succeed a Little Later

“I guess I haven’t succeeded… but I have come back, albeit a little late. Are you still willing to love me?”

Raising the next round of financing for Day & Night wasn’t going to be easy, but being acquired by a larger company was far from impossible. Jian Zhaowen went around negotiating one-on-one, avoiding his former employer who had been trying to acquire Day & Night for some time. He traveled to Hangzhou and then Shanghai, where companies showed more interest in the app’s previous matching chat and plaza features. The era of live-streaming shows had already peaked, while e-commerce livestreams were thriving. The concept of matchmaking livestreams sounded novel, but it would be hard to penetrate the lowest rungs of the pyramid—those audiences were more captivated by televised dating shows and local matchmakers. Jian thought to himself: “Success and failure often stem from the same source. At worst, I’ll keep going. In two years, we’ll either go public or go bankrupt. No big deal.”

When a major short-video conglomerate approached Jian, he was quietly surprised. Despite their immediate openness and evident sincerity during discussions, Jian couldn’t fathom why a company with over 300 million daily active users on its short-video platform—and already owning a long-form video channel and acquiring film IPs—would want to acquire Day & Night. Only after hours of conversation, stretching from midday into the evening, did Jian finally understand. Short videos were generating enormous profits for them, and beyond acquiring promising apps, they were aggressively stockpiling talent—even if their new ventures wouldn’t see breakthroughs within three years. In short—they had money to burn.

Compared to most startups that ended without results, Jian truly felt favored by fate.

On the day he decided to leave Day & Night, Jian still hadn’t fully grasped the meaning of “financial freedom.” After distributing stock options to the initial team members, Jian cashed out close to nine figures. As for the employees who treated him like a cog in the machine, Jian let them fend for themselves. There was no point in helping those who coasted through work with money—it wasn’t necessary. With only a month left before his departure, there were plenty of skeptics questioning him on Day & Night’s anonymous section and Weibo. But Jian, hardened by experience, learned to ignore them. There was no need to pity people who weren’t putting in effort yet complained endlessly.

He now seemingly had everything—except Yu Zhimei hadn’t returned.

Yu Zhimei, who initially wanted to keep all her clients, eventually organized all the contact information into an Excel file and sent it to Xing Ge, then formally submitted her resignation. When Xing Ge saw the meticulously prepared table, he was genuinely surprised. Yu Zhimei had always been diligent, but not to this extent. And in the car industry, it was common practice to take clients when leaving. She even openly discussed Xiao Wu’s studio with Xing Ge—their focus on different car models meant there was no competition. Both were signed under Yue Dong Media; perhaps one day they could collaborate dreamily.

Yu Zhimei herself was also surprised. Once someone who held grudges tightly, she had learned kindness. Xing Ge happened to be overwhelmed at home with his wife’s pregnancy and work stress—he didn’t have time for much else. Leaving at this moment would feel like adding insult to injury. Hiring new editors and directors wasn’t difficult, and splitting Yu Zhimei’s salary into two parts was sufficient. Over the years, Xing Ge had been kind enough to her.

“Meijie is returning to Shanghai because of Jian Zhaowen, right? That makes sense.”

“In part, yes—but…” Yu Zhimei smiled. “I also feel like I haven’t grown much. I thought coming to Beijing would advance my career, but after months of hustling, I realized this isn’t what I want… Instead of working for others, I need to stop and think about what I should do.”

Xing Ge stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, stirred it a few times, and dumped it into the trash. “Finding someone as capable as you isn’t easy. It’s truly regrettable. But Meijie, you’re like a younger sister to me. Don’t push yourself too hard. I’m not disrespecting your ambition, but this industry is male-dominated. Working too hard won’t necessarily get you anywhere.”

She knew all of this well. In the eyes of male audiences, women appearing in programs were often objects of the male gaze. Look at how women were positioned: car models, mascots, fixed hosts for raffles, or occasionally the “cool big sister” who knew cars and drove them. Being too assertive invited pressure, humor was deemed unrefined, and even poor looks or subpar body shapes drew criticism… Everything seemed to place women in roles akin to spouses—or worse. The audience for cars was predominantly male, and changing this mindset wouldn’t happen overnight. Yu Zhimei hadn’t figured out how to make herself memorable in such an industry.

“Meijie, help me for one more month. Once I find skilled editors and directors and they’re up to speed, I’ll let you go immediately.”

After a moment of hesitation, Yu Zhimei decided to see it through. “I’ll find them as soon as possible. But Xing Ge, no farewell dinner—last time I got sick from drinking. And—I really need to return quickly. If I delay any longer, Jian Zhaowen might break up with me.”

At Xiao Wu’s studio, Yu Zhimei found a more professional editor. After posting videos across all platforms, Xiao Wu was soon signed by Yue Dong Media, with ads and events in other cities pouring in. Xiao Wu, unlike Monkey Brother, wasn’t content staying with one boss. A young man with family wealth, he used his hobby to offer another perspective on life, garnering flowers and applause before returning to his family business.

Perhaps in this world, there’s no correct standard for measuring “ability.” How much of an adult’s success stems from family background? How much comes from unavoidable favoritism in competition? How much involves manipulation and deceit? And how much is sheer luck? After succeeding, all these factors are conveniently labeled as “ability.” Reflecting on it, Monkey Brother was only a year older than Xiao Wu. Monkey Brother had spent over a decade navigating society, often hitting walls, while Xiao Wu entered the scene with vigor, easily taking everything Monkey Brother had using politeness and wit. Beyond effort, so many variables remained unclear. Compared to Xing Ge, Xiao Wu seemed more reluctant to let Yu Zhimei go. “Without Meijie, I’ll have to plan my topics myself. I’m planning a trip to Korea with my girlfriend—to film luxury cars in Gangnam. Then it’s the Wuhan Auto Show arranged by Meijie. Things are falling into place.”

“I really believe you can do it.”

“Just playing around for a couple of years while I’m young.”

By mid-July, Yu Zhimei had completed her resignation and moved out of Tiantongyuan. She met Xiao Wu to shoot content for the last car—the Toyota 86. Thanks to the popularity of Initial D and its immense potential for modification, the 86 consistently commanded high prices in the second-hand market, with excellent user loyalty. Finding a pristine, unmodified 86 in the secondary market could cost up to 300,000 yuan. Accustomed to seeing Xiao Wu pull out keys to luxury cars, simply producing the key to the 86 made Yu Zhimei’s heart skip a beat—it was that familiar sound, the roar of the engine before the opening theme of Initial D …

Yu Zhimei’s eyes welled up with tears. This was probably the second car, after the M2, and the only one that made her wild with excitement. Finding one was incredibly difficult, and such pristine condition was precious—words like “moved” couldn’t capture it.

Yu Zhimei held back her excitement and gave a thumbs-up: “Xiao Wu, you’re amazing.”

After finishing the shoot, her premonition came true. Xiao Wu grinned and dangled the car keys in front of her: “Meijie, the 86 I promised to help you find. Exactly 300,000 yuan. Are you willing to take it? If not, I’ll keep it for myself.”

“Of course. But...” Yu Zhimei scratched her head. “You might have to wait a few days while I gather the money from my bank account...”

Xiao Wu smiled and replied, “No rush.”

Before Yu Zhimei could express her gratitude, Xing Ge called. Xing Ge and Monkey Brother weren’t about to let Yu Zhimei go easily—three years of working together had turned them into family-like bonds. A table full of men coaxed Yu Zhimei into drinking beer. Snowflake, Jian Dao, and Wusu flowed freely, and with each sip, her stomach gurgled noisily. She heard Xing Ge say, “Meijie, when you’re working, you’re Meijie, but otherwise, I see you as a daughter. If you’re unhappy, I’m the first one who won’t stand for it!”

“That’s right! I’m the second!” Monkey Brother smirked, reminding Yu Zhimei a bit of Ma Minmin.

Tears welled up in Yu Zhimei’s eyes as she laughed. “Stop, or I’ll start crying!”

“When you return to Shanghai, don’t forget to treat us! Otherwise, we’ll post that video of you drunk at the year-end party, sprawled across the shop entrance singing ‘Dying for Love!’“

Yu Zhimei, too drunk to walk straight, was carried home. Only then did Xing Ge and Monkey Brother notice a black Toyota 86 parked under her building. The two drunkenly leaned her against the roadside and started inspecting the 86: “Yu Zhimei, you bought an 86 without filming a single episode? What’s wrong with you?”

Leaning against a tree, Yu Zhimei had no idea where she was. “Am I home?”

“Stay three more days and film an episode for Car Talk !”

“Get lost! If I stay any longer, my family will fall apart, and my boyfriend will dump me—you believe me, right?”

“If you really cared about your boyfriend, you wouldn’t have come to Beijing!” Xing Ge, also drunk and without his usual composure, shouted, “Yu Zhimei, one day, you must come back and visit us in this 86. You owe us an episode, got it?”

It wasn’t until the afternoon of the next day that Yu Zhimei woke up. After transferring 100,000 yuan to Xiao Wu as a deposit, she grabbed a quick bowl of noodles from a roadside stall, packed her belongings into the trunk, secured the cats in their carriers on the backseat, and hit the Jinghu Expressway. Compared to cars in the same price range, the 86 had no interior luxury to speak of, and its exterior wasn’t striking to the untrained eye. But for those who knew cars, the mere mention of “86” was enough to ignite uncontrollable excitement. Gripping the steering wheel and shifting gears, it felt like a silent movie of her youth playing before her eyes. She had always dreamed of owning an 86. As a teenager, watching Fujiwara Takumi drift on Akina Mountain with the “Fujiwara Tofu Shop” sticker on his car, she had watched every episode countless times, growing from knowing nothing about cars to becoming a racing enthusiast. The most unforgettable moment was in the second part when Takumi, seeing Natsuki with the Benz guy, realized the girl he liked was involved in compensated dating. In his impulsiveness, he rashly agreed to race Sudo Keisuke’s Evo, only to push the engine to smoking. Young Yu Zhimei had been shocked by Takumi’s recklessness. Now, recalling the scene, it felt like a kind of transformation—a shattering of illusions and cherished beliefs, growing up overnight.

The turning point in her heart probably began with her father and Bai Yi’s story. Later, Zhang Yao’s abrupt departure after falling in love left her adrift in a tiny rented apartment, adding complex strokes to her life’s canvas. And now, Jian Zhaowen almost became a stranger, another form of life’s departures. Initially, even breathing hurt, but after some time, she learned to live with the pain. The elasticity of adulthood stretched a little further. Still… she wouldn’t love anyone so deeply again. So for the time ahead, even if she didn’t succeed, Yu Zhimei wanted to return to him.

Jian Zhaowen, too, was dragged by Day & Night employees for a farewell drink. A few glasses in, Jian was already tipsy. Kou Xiao and Huai En remained with Day & Night, and Jian clutched Kou’s hand, entrusting him with responsibilities, as if this drunken night were his last day—despite not yet finding an algorithm engineer to replace himself. Huai En leaned close to Kou and whispered, “Is he straight or gay?”

Kou simply smiled indifferently: “Who knows?”

Dragging his weary body upstairs to shower and sleep, Jian’s mind still wandered, wondering where his melatonin and sleeping pills were. Suddenly, Ma Minmin popped his head out, grinning mischievously: “Brother Zhao, guess who’s back upstairs?”

For a split second, Jian froze, then dashed upstairs in three quick steps. The room was filled with large boxes, the two cats still in their carriers. Yu Zhimei, hair tied up, wiped her sweaty cheeks with a wet wipe. Seeing Jian, she licked her lips: “I guess I haven’t succeeded… but I’ve indeed returned, a bit late. Are you still willing to love me?”

Walking past the boxes, Jian didn’t realize he was crying. He hugged Yu Zhimei tightly, unable to utter a word, sobbing into her embrace. Yu Zhimei stood rooted, tears filling her eyes as Jian’s choked sobs reverberated through her body, igniting a fierce heartbeat that burned her ears. She was back; she was home. Her journey hadn’t been spectacular, but she still had a home—Jian Zhaowen was her home. For the first time, Ma Minmin didn’t barge in noisily but quietly retreated downstairs.

That night, Jian fell into a deep sleep, oblivious to Yu Zhimei patting his face, tickling him, or tugging at his hair. It was as if he hadn’t slept for centuries, clutching the edge of her shirt all night.

When he woke up, it was already afternoon. Rolling over in bed, his gray T-shirt lifted to his chest, he instinctively pulled it down, only to find the two cats perched on either side of his pillow, clearly having forgotten who he was. Glancing left and right, he declared arrogantly: “Behave yourselves—I’m your dad.”

At the bedside, Yu Zhimei was focused on her phone. Jian noticed her furrowed brows and grew curious: “What’s worrying you so early in the morning?”

“Xiao Wu helped me get an incredible car, a Toyota 86, but I’m still short 200,000 yuan. I’m trying to figure out how to cover it without touching the 50,000 yuan in my savings. If I hadn’t gone to Beijing, I wouldn’t have wasted 80,000 yuan on rent and living expenses.”

This made Jian laugh: “Is that all?”

“Yes. The price of pursuing dreams. Though I don’t think much about age, after thirty, it’s better not to chase dreams blindly. When you take the wrong path, the first thing you hurt is money.”

“Bullshit, what’s hurt is my feelings.” Jian stretched lazily, cradling the cat in his arms. “It’s just 200,000 yuan—I’ll pay it for you.”

“Jian Zhaowen, you sound like a nouveau riche.”

“I do have some money... I cashed out from Day & Night, just like Lei Zheng.”

“Oh, I know. I saw the news.”

“Don’t you want to know how much I got?” Jian’s heart raced—it was time to show off a little, asserting his dignity as a man.

“No. Your earnings are none of my business. Even if we’re dating, or married, I won’t be curious about your assets—it might affect my future plans and leave me a way out. My failure in Beijing doesn’t mean I’ve surrendered to life.”

Jian chuckled—”You, huh.”

The humidifier lightly sprayed a mist by the bedside. Half the curtains on the small loft balcony were drawn, sunlight slanting onto the bed. Through the gaps in his fingers, Jian looked out. This wasn’t an illusion of satisfaction, nor a luxurious encounter in a dream. Yu Zhimei sat beside him, worrying about livelihoods—it felt more real than reality itself. With that thought, he cheerfully suggested: “How about this—the money counts as a loan. When your career takes off and you earn it, you can pay me back.”

After a few seconds of contemplation, Yu Zhimei grinned and hooked her pinky with Jian’s: “Deal.”