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In this room sat countless versions of her, but the present-day Ou Jinghe was the quietest. Each keystroke felt like a greeting to her past selves: How are you? I’m fine. Am I much older now than before? But please don’t be stingy—praise me once: I’m still a woman favored by time.
When Ou Jinghe woke from her dream, she found herself wedged between two narrow windows. This habit had resurfaced after moving into Ma Minmin’s house—a childhood quirk she didn’t care much about anymore. After all, growing up in cramped quarters, navigating tight hallways during adolescence, instinctively pressing her chest against walls only to have some man with perverse curiosity push back—it left a bad taste. Those men who insisted on feeling her through layers of clothing, no matter how thick or soft—her pride wouldn’t allow her to dwell on it. Moving out of the alleyway for university, her roommates complained endlessly about the six-person dorm being too crowded. Meanwhile, she quietly made her bed, even fearing heights as the upper bunk shook violently when someone rolled over too forcefully, sending them crashing to the ground, their insides aching. She worked so hard to earn her master’s degree and secure a chance to study abroad, only to feel cornered again when she met Gao Yuan, as if he were pinning her chest against that same wall.
Gao Yuan used to tell people Ou Jinghe was his first love. After marrying another, she realized the greatness of love—it was like a quilt, warmly wrapping up shameful secrets and painful truths. Six months ago, Zheng Zeyan earnestly told friends she was his fiancée. In the end, she was the one who said, “Let’s stop entangling each other.”
All things considered, she’d evolved quite well over the years.
Running the public account now required more effort than her previous job at Day & Night. The entire company was relocating to Minhang, leaving four months left on the current office lease. Within those four months, she needed to find a suitable space for her six-person team. The account, named “Day & Night App Psychological Counseling Society,” faced increasingly complex issues: metro gropers repeatedly offending women despite serving detention; brainwashed teenagers unable to enter normal romantic relationships; young professionals whose bosses secretly photographed and harassed them, unsure how to defend their rights; occasional pleas from youths regarding elderly relatives swindled out of their life savings, too afraid to tell their children what to do next… Her team wrote educational articles, connected girls needing legal help with lawyers, and organized donations of clothing and feminine products for mountainous regions. Every round of auditing left her with headaches. The only accomplishment she took pride in was the six-month-long “Spring Rain Project.” Her team raised funds to build twenty simple shower rooms and water tanks for rural areas, receiving thick stacks of thank-you letters. Some called her “the prettiest sister,” others “Mom.” She posted these on the public account as achievements, drawing both praise and criticism—some lauded her efforts, while others questioned their finances or insulted her past in private messages. Regardless, she became a woman with stories in many people’s eyes. She’d experienced infamy and the bone-deep pain of separation, but turning off her phone screen allowed her to find joy in life.
She hailed a taxi to her parents’ house. Just as she arrived at the neighborhood entrance, she spotted her mother leading community elders in tai chi at the small square. Dressed in a white robe, her back straight, her mother exuded an almost ethereal aura. Catching sight of her daughter, she merely glanced over, subtly gesturing toward the building with a cloud-hand movement. Her father wasn’t home either. The apartment was filled with cabinets and rosewood tables, the outer red paint peeling like scabs—cheap and unrefined. The newly laid marble tiles were domestic-made, equally tacky. Ou Jinghe frowned. Even if these two lived in a palace, they’d manage to make it look like a slum. Lying across the couch, she noticed the fabric was repurposed old bath towels and recoiled in disgust. When her mother entered, carrying smoked fish and seasoned chicken, she remarked, “It’s convenient being back downtown—the neighborhood’s small, so buying ready-made food is easier. If we lived in Bi Hu Tian Di, we could walk downstairs to Madang Road Market—it’d be even better.”
“Don’t even think about it—I’m barely keeping up with renting that place.”
Her mother, unsurprised by this response, didn’t take offense: “Why the sudden visit?”
“Can’t I miss you? Don’t act like I don’t know you’re using me for bragging rights, telling everyone you’re the parents of a famous online psychological help platform founder—’founder,’ such audacity.”
“My daughter’s accomplished—I can’t even mention her?”
Ou Jinghe didn’t bother arguing. She perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting for dinner. Eventually exhausted, she ignored the ugly towel-couch and dozed off for two hours. Her father’s braised eel was flavorful, and she licked the bowl clean before helping herself to another serving, her stomach swelling before setting down her chopsticks. Her mother eyed her suspiciously: “Are you pregnant?”
“What nonsense. Can’t I eat an extra bowl of rice?”
Her father sighed deeply: “At your age, arguing endlessly—you’ll regret not having kids someday. Think carefully. If you won’t explain your health issues, then find another man to marry. Our daughter isn’t lacking.”
Wiping her mouth, Ou Jinghe muttered noncommittally, deflecting the question. Her mother, slicing fruit beside the sofa, couldn’t resist probing further: “Gao Yuan’s been dodging debts—he called us a few days ago asking if we could reach you.”
“Just say you can’t contact me. P2P scams leave piles of bad debt. He can’t recover loans, so he can’t repay others. Worrying about that old fox won’t help—better focus on your pension.” Ou Jinghe knew Gao Yuan was looking for her and had already blocked his number. Whether he was destitute or thriving now held no relevance to her. Ma Minmin once said she hadn’t shed her ingrained flaws—if she truly wanted to pursue charity work, she should sell the Bi Hu Tian Di property. But what did ingrained flaws matter? Monthly interest payments from mortgaging the house provided a steady stream compared to selling outright and dumping everything into aid. Having lived as a wealthy wife for years, she understood this logic. Besides, she had to learn to separate others’ suffering from her own.
Ou Jinghe indeed felt a bit unwell after exiting the subway, the last few bites of eel leaving her nauseous. With plenty of time to spare, she decided to take a walk around the area. Passing by Miaolin Dessert Shop, she couldn’t resist stepping closer. The old house had now transformed into a bar, its decor far more tasteful than Miaolin’s ever was. Each floor was lined with books, carefully curated, and it seemed the owner cared little for money. The cocktail menu itself was intriguing: Borges, Bolaño, Pulp Fiction , The Flowers of Shanghai , Montmartre Last Will … As Ou flipped through the menu, she recognized fragments of her own story in the titles—she had read all these books. Unable to resist, she asked the server, “Does your boss come here often? If I could meet them someday, I’d really like that.”
“The boss doesn’t show up much. May I ask what you need? I can pass along the message.”
She had intended to say she used to own this place but suddenly choked on the words, glancing instead at the freshly painted walls. Pulling out her laptop to handle emails, she sat quietly typing where she once danced wildly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw organza skirts and kitten heels brushing past calves, velvet slippers swaying ankles in nearby seats, silk backless dresses draped over shoulders as women played with their curls and laughed freely—a laugh so clear and bright yet tinged with hidden sorrow… In this room sat countless versions of her, but the present-day Ou Jinghe was the quietest. Each keystroke felt like greeting a former self: How are you? I’m fine. Am I much older now than before? But please don’t be stingy—praise me once: I’m still a woman favored by time.
As the time approached to meet Yu Zhimei and Jian Zhaowen, Ou took a photo of the menu and bid farewell, walking out of the dessert shop. Glancing back, the entire street had grown far more upscale since the Miaolin days, finally resembling a true downtown internet-famous hotspot. Yet the house now felt foreign. If she visited again, perhaps the memories of herself here would fade beneath new ones. Whoever the owner was, she thought, she likely wouldn’t return to this street.
Yu Zhimei drove Jian Zhaowen to the suburbs, chatting animatedly about interesting accounts they’d recently discovered on short video platforms. Their favorites were the “I Advise You Not To Buy” series and the “Second-Hand Car Cuckolding Realities,” both hilarious and attention-grabbing with strong personas. Jian, always eager to share his insights, began lecturing on how to improve video content, adopting the authoritative tone of a father educating his daughter. Yu dismissed him mentally—what difference was there between this man, who’d watched a few car repair videos over four months and now presumed to give advice, and those investors he’d criticized for blindly offering opinions? It was amusing, though. Jian Zhaowen, who excelled in algorithms and social software, stumbled badly when venturing into another field, completely unaware of how different industries operated. Just how much cash did he have in the bank to swell his ego to such proportions?
Suburban Shanghai was an entirely different world from the city center. Even in winter, vast expanses of green were visible, and on sunny days, the sky stretched blue and cloudless. Dense greens flanked both sides of the road, dispelling any sense of cold. Jian was still talking on the phone in the passenger seat, giving advice to a young entrepreneur in online education: “If you can’t afford ads, buy media space or collaborate with parenting bloggers—they’re highly sticky, and parents consume almost mindlessly. Stop thinking like a bachelor. Are your marketing efforts just eating idle rice? Your product manager is useless too—the interface is a mess; replace them. Can’t find anyone? I’ll help. At this rate, you won’t even make it to Series A—you’ll kill your startup yourself. The situation is dire…”
Hanging up, Jian exhaled deeply. “There are so many startups nowadays. Everyone jumps on trends without building solid products—it’s exhausting.”
“You just said we should let things unfold naturally.”
“How am I supposed to do that? They’re already soaring while I’m still young and emotional!”
Minutes later, Yu drifted into a parking spot off the main road, kicking up dust. Opening the door, Jian got sand in his eyes and immediately teared up.
Wearing sunglasses, Yu was accustomed to the dusty conditions. She knew this suburban area well, having scouted filming locations during her video-making days. After parking, she prepared to film some drifting techniques: narrow parking, entering and exiting curves, 360-degree spins—all cool moves. She hadn’t decided how to fully utilize her 86 yet, but at least the account needed fresh content. Jian walked over with the camera: “I think just doing drifts isn’t enough. You need a gimmick—like a sexy older sister persona or cosplay from Initial D . That might grab more attention.”
After years in the car scene, Yu hated male audiences’ gendered gaze. But she didn’t want to constantly oppose her boyfriend either. Stretching out her leg, she asked, “Isn’t this enough?”
Jian clapped approvingly: “Leather pants get good reviews.”
Placing the sunglasses on his nose and taking the tripod from his hand, she said, “Then stand back for now. I’ll film myself and call you if I need help.”
Jian watched her tie her hair back in the distance, set up the camera, and climb into the car. As she started the engine, she glanced at him, exuding raw, untamed confidence. The dust kicked up by the drifts formed a small universe around Yu—a force cameras couldn’t capture but only he could see. And no doubt, this video would be buried under sand, rendering everything invisible. Why bother being stubborn when she clearly needed his assistance? He wasn’t in a hurry. Letting the woman he loved seek his help gave him a sense of accomplishment far greater than any amount of wealth.
Adjusting his sunglasses, Jian waited patiently. After reviewing footage, Yu adjusted angles and prepared to continue filming, showing no intention of asking for his help. Awkwardly standing afar, he instinctively reached for his cigarette pack—strong-willed people were truly difficult to deal with. Whenever he couldn’t control her, lighting a cigarette always helped.
Just as he lit one, Ma Minmin called: “Where are you guys? I’m back—let’s meet for dinner—I’m lonely!”
At the café, Ma Minmin sported a small mustache, unable to grow thick sideburns, resembling a Japanese general. His dramatic love saga unsurprisingly became the most turbulent autumn season among their group. While Yu Zhimei and Jian Zhaowen spent four months fixing the 86, Ma dumped a gym girl whose conditions didn’t match his standards and met a tattooed girl on a dating app. Standing 175 cm tall with full-arm tattoos and legs covered in ink, she invited Ma to play an escape room game. Despite his usual aversion to horror films, loneliness compelled him to join, nearly losing his life in the process. Surrounded by her friends, Ma’s terrified performance embarrassed her immensely. Undeterred, he confessed his feelings afterward, claiming the escape room was part of his pursuit strategy. Ignoring other potential matches on his phone, he dove headfirst into courting her. Back home, planning his next romantic move, the tattooed girl messaged him, agreeing to marry—not date, but marry. Overjoyed, Ma rushed to the gym and lifted heavy dumbbells 120 times, calculating compatibility. Though Ningbo-born, his father was a Feng Shui master, and despite selling counterfeit luxury goods, his family background matched hers well. Exiting the gym, Ma felt spring had finally arrived, the sweet scent of osmanthus embodying his romance.
“So you rushed to prepare a bridal suite?”
“Exactly. We’ve also booked hotel rooms several times. Tattoos are thrilling—I’m invigorated. She dislikes my old house in Xintiandi, preferring spacious apartments and expensive food—truffles, steak, caviar… I can tolerate all that because I adore her. She’s smart too, having endured several unsuccessful relationships, feeling I treat her well and wanting marriage. I’ve even found a Taobao store for invitations. But…” Ma finished his iced Americano: “Who knows why fate deals such cruel blows. Her father says our zodiacs clash—we absolutely cannot marry. Marrying would harm my fortunes, and I’d die young. What nonsense!”
Ma’s tumultuous courtship added another chapter to his fiery history of heartbreak. Reflecting deeply, he vowed not to pursue love until age thirty. To commemorate his madness, he tattooed a Japanese phrase inside his arm: “Born human, I apologize.” Watching him, Yu patted his shoulder and smiled: “Ma, don’t lose heart. You still have two years till thirty. Love will come.”
“Who knows. Love, my ass.”
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