#114: My Engagement Ring is a Battle-Damaged Toyota 86

“Original factory paint, never been in an accident, no modifications—this 86 gets totaled before I even had time to get insurance. How unlucky can I be?”

“Dad, this is original paint! The A-pillar and B-pillar are intact, barely any modifications, only two years old with just over 20,000 kilometers on it. Do you know what a steal this was? A friend from Beijing helped me find it—I should thank his ancestors for eight generations...” Yu Zhimei continued scrolling through photos on her phone, gesturing animatedly. “Such a perfect 86. Too bad the model has already been discontinued; otherwise, I could’ve painted ‘Fujiwara Tofu Shop’ on it. And the pop-up headlights can’t be modified either—what a shame...”

Over time, Yu Zhimei’s conversations with her father had become less formal. When they looked at cars together, their perspectives differed. Yu Zhimei saw the nostalgia and driving performance of the 86, while her father scoffed at the idea of paying 300,000 yuan for a second-hand car. Especially after learning that Jian Zhaowen had gifted this car to Yu Zhimei, he gave Jian a light punch on the head: “You fool, spoiling her like crazy? She acts reckless, and now you’re joining in? Running a small business isn’t easy, and you’re buying her something so overpriced?”

“Dad, don’t worry about his money—he’s got plenty.”

“You shut up.” The punch wasn’t hard, but it left Jian slightly dazed. There was no way he could explain cashing out tens of millions to his father, who’d spent his life running a driving school—it would sound like fraud. Jian sat at a distance, watching Yu Zhimei argue with her father across the car door. Around them, driving students were being scolded by their instructors. He remembered teenage Yu Zhimei, tanned from teaching people how to drive under the sun. Now, after three days back in her hometown, her skin had turned from pale white in Shanghai to a healthy wheat tone. Home truly was a magical place.

Jian hadn’t fully adjusted to life after leaving Day & Night. Memories of those intense working hours often surfaced late at night, and he’d wake up momentarily forgetting he’d already resigned. As Yu Zhimei slept beside him, he’d stare at her soft profile bathed in moonlight until sleep eventually caught up with him again. Occasionally, he’d dream of arguing in the office with shadowy yet familiar figures, jabbing the whiteboard with pens, blue dots scattered everywhere, all while taking off his hat to curse himself for smoking too much. Late at night, leaning against the headboard, Jian suddenly missed those blood-and-guts battle days. His WeChat was flooded with invitations for new startup projects and friend requests from girls sending flirtatious photos. Jian finally understood why financially free people loved traveling to Tibet or Xinjiang—to escape the noise, peace was most precious.

Thus, this small northern town where Yu Zhimei’s family lived felt like an unexpected retreat into a paradise far from worldly troubles. Her parents were refreshingly unconventional—they didn’t pressure her about marriage or relationships. Whether Yu Zhimei had warned them beforehand or they simply didn’t care, Jian initially felt awkward staying there. But after a week of shamelessly indulging in food and playing drifts on the driving school grounds, he grew accustomed to it, even gaining a little belly. Time flew by without the competitive drive that only existed in big cities.

They agreed to delay meeting Jian’s parents. Meeting his parents meant arranging introductions between both sets of parents, planning weddings, and dealing with marriage pressures—a process that spiraled endlessly like a game of Snake. Urban couples who disliked celebratory banquets, dowries, and marriage rituals stayed up late guessing games and playfully hitting each other’s heads in the dark. Both agreed that Yu Zhimei’s parents possessed a rare tolerance among parents. At thirty, still unmarried and obsessed with cars, their attitude might seem outrageous to others their age. Yu Zhimei’s father, in particular, was “unreliable.” Upon hearing she planned to spend her savings helping him modify a used Santana, he lit up with joy: “I don’t care if you get married or not—just hurry up and bring the car here so I can start modifying it.”

Late at night, however, Yu Zhimei overheard Jian secretly discussing engagement rings with her father. Though Yu Zhimei cared little for material desires, she knew Jian was picky. Disliking formulaic proposal processes, she teased him by searching for diamond rings on his phone behind his back: “Cartier, hexagonal, wedding band…”

Sharp-witted Jian immediately understood upon seeing the search history and rolled his eyes at her: “You’ve changed—now you’re using keyword searches to grab my attention. I never saw you so brand-conscious before.”

“What did I do?”

Jian saw through her antics but didn’t call her out: “Nothing. I noticed you’ve been browsing toothbrushes lately.”

Returning to Shanghai, Yu Zhimei and Jian drove the 86 toward Beijing to visit Xing Ge and Xiao Wu. Just before reaching Beijing, the car suffered a blowout. Hearing a loud bang, Yu Zhimei sensed something was wrong as the car began tilting left. Despite quickly swerving to avoid the vehicle ahead, they still collided with a small truck, while a Volkswagen behind them rammed open the trunk. Their clothes were packed in suitcases, which now lay scattered and damaged. Stumbling out of the car, they found the front completely mangled—the hood bent into three curves, both headlights shattered, engine oil fortunately not leaking but still steaming hot, let alone the twisted rear trunk lid...

Yu Zhimei felt her blood pressure skyrocketing. Jian held her steady, turning her around three times: “Are you okay?”

The airbags had protected them from serious injury, but Yu Zhimei stood frozen by the roadside before breaking into uncontrollable sobs: “Original factory paint, never been in an accident, no modifications—this 86 gets totaled before I even had time to get insurance. How unlucky can I be?”

Jian had never seen Yu Zhimei cry so heartbrokenly. While he remained unscathed, she wept as if mourning a spouse: “This is an 86—an 86!”

The car was indeed brought to Beijing—on a tow truck directly to Lin Ge’s repair shop. Xing Ge arrived immediately with his cameraman. Seeing the heavily damaged 86 and Yu Zhimei’s red, swollen eyes, he couldn’t help but sigh repeatedly: “Damn, Yu Zhimei, ruining a 90% new 86 like this... I said bring the 86 for filming, not like this...”

Jian quickly covered Xing Ge’s mouth. Yu Zhimei leaned against the wall, tears threatening to spill again. Pulling Xing Ge aside, Jian asked: “Can’t we just fix the car? Why is she crying like this?”

Lin Ge and Xing Ge exchanged knowing smiles. A second-hand car with original factory paint and less than 20,000 kilometers was worlds apart in resale value from one severely damaged. Not to mention, this early track-dominating legend wasn’t just significant to Yu Zhimei—even Xing Ge sighed regretfully: “Boss Jian, you don’t understand the difference. Right now, finding another 86—even with 300,000 yuan—is nearly impossible. I suspect her previous car was meticulously sourced as a collector’s item. Now it’s totaled, the frame bent—her reaction is completely normal.”

“So… dismantle it, fix everything—spare no expense.”

“Really fix it? Boss Jian, I advise you to give up on buying another one—it’s not worth it.”

Jian Zhaowen glanced at Yu Zhimei, who stood by the wall staring blankly at the wrecked car. “Let’s fix it. It’s fine.”

The front end of the car was completely disassembled, its parts scattered across the floor. Jian held a lengthy repair quote in his hand but didn’t flinch. “Just fix it,” he said calmly. He didn’t understand Lin Ge’s explanations about original parts versus replacements—all that mattered was restoring this car. No expense was too great. For three days, Yu Zhimei remained silent, sighing every time she looked at the damaged vehicle. On the fourth day, she finally sat up straight in bed and declared with determination: “Damn it, let’s fix it! So what if I owe you another 100,000 yuan? I’ll pay you back! This 86—I’ll sell my soul to restore it for the rest of my life if I have to!”

Jian thought to himself, Why say such brutally honest things so casually?

Not only was the car being repaired, but Xing Ge also had his cameraman document the entire process. Lin Ge’s repair shop was renowned for its meticulous work. Jian bought a camera and gimbal online and started filming every step—from the mangled remains to the gradual restoration. Along the way, he learned about car structures, A-pillars, B-pillars, and how to check if an engine was functioning properly. When they discovered that both the engine and transmission were damaged, Yu Zhimei’s face turned ashen—the repair costs were skyrocketing again. Xing Ge joked while filming, “You could just sell the spare parts for tens of thousands of yuan. But no, you’re really fixing her car. She’s sentimental, and you’re just swimming in money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Engines are expensive. Two 86s’ worth of repairs—you’re basically rebuilding a Toyota 172 now…”

Watching Yu Zhimei’s pained expression, Jian remained unfazed. “Just fix it.”

While startup teams in Shanghai scrambled to poach Jian Zhaowen for their ventures, he spent his days at Lin Ge’s repair shop in Beijing’s suburbs, watching professionals restore a car. He had never realized how many components were hidden inside a one or two-ton vehicle, nor did he know that some parts were interconnected—one faulty piece affecting the whole system. Restoring a car required the effort of over a dozen people, something Jian hadn’t anticipated. When the frame was reassembled, everyone was tense. Yu Zhimei sat in the driver’s seat, nervously gripping the wheel before starting the engine. Hearing the ignition brought tears to her eyes: “My 86! Jian Zhaowen, did you hear that?! It’s alive, it’s alive!”

Jian couldn’t hide his excitement either. “Yu Zhimei, since both the front and rear are already damaged, why not ask Lin Ge to repaint it like AE86?”

Overwhelmed with excitement, Yu Zhimei still retained some rationality. “No, the vehicle inspection bureau won’t approve it. But we can repaint it and add ‘Fujiwara Tofu Shop.’“

It was an audacious idea, but everyone present was thrilled. Only a heavily damaged new 86—produced in 2017 with its rounded design—could inspire such wild customization plans. Once the imported paint arrived, Yu Zhimei negotiated with Lin Ge outside: “The text needs to be small; otherwise, the vehicle inspection bureau won’t approve it…”

Four months passed, from wearing short sleeves to donning down jackets. Finally, the 86 was fully restored. Though not the boxy AE86 Trueno, its black-and-white panda livery gleamed under the sun, evoking the spirit of Fujiwara Takumi’s era in the 1990s. None of the cameras stopped rolling throughout the process. Lin Ge and Xing Ge each gained an episode for their shows, while Jian’s footage was edited into ten one-minute short videos by Yu Zhimei. The final episode, featuring before-and-after crash comparisons set to “Deja Vu” music, garnered two million views… Seeing her new account gain 60,000 followers, Yu Zhimei glanced at the discreet “Fujiwara Tofu Shop” lettering on the passenger side and thought, These four months, filled with emotional highs and lows, weren’t entirely bad.

Before getting into the car, Yu Zhimei asked Jian, “Do you smell anything?”

“Paint fumes?”

“…This is clearly the scent of Deja Vu, Jian Zhaowen! How can you not feel excited after all these months of repairs?!”

On the drive back to Shanghai, Yu Zhimei drove cautiously, keeping her speed below 100 km/h and avoiding large trucks whenever possible. Jian wanted to ask her about her plans for the newly popular short video account, but she anxiously dismissed him: “I’m driving! We’ll talk about it once we get back to Shanghai!”

After a moment, she hesitantly spoke up: “Jian Zhaowen, I don’t want an engagement ring or matching bands anymore. Can we use that money to offset part of the repair costs?”

Jian replied calmly: “Compensate me with your body.”

When Ou Jinghe saw Yu Zhimei and Jian Zhaowen, sunburnt and peeling, she was baffled. “Didn’t you go to fix the car? You look like different people. Your cats are plump, though I doubt they’d recognize you anymore.”

“How’s Ma Minmin doing?”

“Oh, him.” Ou Jinghe smiled, standing in the corridor. “He talked about getting married and renovating his apartment recently, but now he’s disappeared again. Probably heartbroken. Anyway, you two aren’t moving out, right? If you leave, I’d be the only one left here—it’d be too lonely.”

That evening, Yu Zhimei sat in front of editing software, feeling a headache coming on. The hastily named “Crash Breakup Hotline” account had unexpectedly amassed 60,000 followers, but she had no direction or persona for it, nor any ideas for future content. Meanwhile, Xing Ge and Lin Ge’s car repair videos gained popularity, leaving Yu Zhimei’s career path seemingly wide open.

Jian sat on the couch scrolling through outdated documents on his phone. Many startups were reaching out—online education, shared wardrobes, new retail… He already foresaw the outcomes of some projects. These ventures relied on user numbers to raise funds without sustainable revenue models. He didn’t think he’d find joy in them. Rubbing his tired eyes, he asked Yu Zhimei, “Should we… move out?”

“No need. This place is good. Are you still thinking about the old house in the French Concession?”

“We can’t afford it.” Jian chuckled. “And we don’t have residency permits. I agree—this place is nice: convenient transportation, friendly neighbors. The only downside is the distant parking lot.”

“Where we live doesn’t matter.” Yu Zhimei stretched lazily. “I just want to find work quickly or get this video channel running. We can’t keep staring at each other all day. But why did you cash out instead of joining the big company’s Series C round as an executive?”

A cat jumped onto Jian’s stomach, causing him to wince in pain. Before he could answer, he reflected that there was no need to explain the complexity to Yu Zhimei, who was ambitious and eager to build her career. Without sufficient power, even if he became an executive, internal politics would block his ideas. Loyal employees spread rumors and rallied against him when they heard about the acquisition of Day & Night. His envisioned features couldn’t be implemented. In small companies, flat hierarchies worked because bosses centralized control; in large companies, rigid levels fostered Darwinian competition and wolf-like instincts. Despite changing times and evolving products, human relationships remained trapped in ancient power plays. Explaining this to Yu Zhimei served no purpose.

On Saturday, Kou Xiao suddenly invited Jian for a meeting. With hair grown out, Kou looked far more approachable than when he was bald. His thick, soft locks resembled Mitsui Hisashi’s. Kou was thriving at Day & Night, enjoying significant salary hikes and remaining adaptable, willing to try any feature—unlike Jian, who had been rebellious. According to Kou, Day & Night now had abundant ad exposure, with the Night Zone surpassing the Day Zone in popularity. The company planned to remove live streaming and return to the plaza and matching chat format. After saying this, Kou added a rare subjective comment about Jian: “Your algorithm still holds value in this era.”

This made Jian raise an eyebrow. “Now that I’ve resigned, there’s no need to guard yourself around me. I’m genuinely curious… Why do you speak so little? Do you dislike me?” Jian’s question came from the heart. Product managers were expected to excel in communication, yet Kou often remained silent to the point of anxiety.

“It’s mainly unnecessary. I’m not someone who feels the need to share much.”

Jian understood immediately. After all, Yu Zhimei wasn’t fond of talking either. But Kou wasn’t done: “However, I can tell you a story. You’ll owe me a meal for it. And bring your girlfriend along.”

Jian bent down to tie his shoelaces. “Are you still calling my girlfriend? I’m skeptical about your current orientation.”

“Do you want to hear about one of my exes?”

Jian turned his back, searching irritably for his lighter, which someone had borrowed. “Who? Even if you tell me, I wouldn’t know them. Stop messing around.”

“My ex is Xu Xu’er.”

Kou achieved his goal as Jian’s eyes widened to their maximum limit in shock.