Chapter 48: “I Don’t Have a Nostalgia Complex”

“If you don’t have a nostalgia complex, does that mean once I become ‘old,’ you’ll kick me to the curb?”

The company had just replaced all its computers with new ones. Yu Zhimei was assigned an Apple desktop, but her videos and photos from the Windows system needed to be transferred to an external hard drive. Jokingly, she said to Boss Xing: “Boss, while Apple is great, most external hard drives aren’t compatible. Even with a converter, they’re only readable. Editing videos will be a hassle—can I keep using my old computer?”

Boss Xing’s reply was blunt: “Do you think it looks good for investors to walk in and see our mascot working on an old, blue-screened computer? Take the afternoon to adapt—you need to finish tomorrow’s video.”

Borrowing an external hard drive from Xiaolong, Yu Zhimei began transferring her files—a process that would take the entire afternoon. That evening, He Jie invited everyone to a dessert shop for drinks. Still lugging her heavy laptop to transfer data, Yu Zhimei suddenly found herself caught in a torrential downpour. She arrived soaked, clutching her computer protectively. Sticky and uncomfortable, she sat on the bench, watching Jian Zhaowen enter under a large umbrella. A little envious of his foresight, she muttered something about not bringing an umbrella.

“Really? Didn’t check the weather forecast?” Jian wore a white T-shirt under a denim shirt. He took off the shirt and handed it to her: “Here, change into this—it’s not see-through.”

After changing, Yu Zhimei stuffed her wet T-shirt into a bag. Moments later, Little Ma burst in, drenched and panting. Seeing everyone, he dramatically exclaimed: “A deluge! A torrential downpour! A flood of buckets… Damn, what a rain!” Before anyone could mock him, he quickly shifted the topic to Yu Zhimei: “Did you get a raise? That’s some high-end shirt.”

“It’s Jian Zhaowen’s.”

“What were you two doing before coming here? Why are you wearing Jian Zhaowen’s clothes? Did you rush out together?”

Jian didn’t let him off easily: “And you? You look so refreshed—did you meet up with someone?”

Little Ma smirked: “Two. Met them on Day and Night .”

“Huh?”

“Why waste time sleeping with just one girl in a room? Splitting the hourly cost across two makes more sense. Afterward, I can relax in a bath. Fridays should be spent like this. What’s with that look? Isn’t your app designed for hookups? Stop pretending to be so noble.”

Jian pointed at Little Ma’s nose: “You’ve gone too far. You promised to find true love, but now you’re just chasing hookups every day.”

“I’m an adult—I have needs, okay?” Little Ma blinked, earning only eye rolls in return.

In the middle of their glasses stood a loudly whirring computer, the only thing open being the photo album. Intrigued, Little Ma urged Yu Zhimei: “Come on, open it. Let’s see what you looked like in college.”

Ten years’ worth of neatly categorized photos unfolded a history of awkwardness. In her freshman year, Yu Zhimei sported thick bangs, her hair straightened and stiff against her back—a victim of small-town aesthetics. By the second semester, she revealed her forehead, standing on stage as a backup dancer for the Top Ten Singers competition, playing drums with smoky Avril-inspired makeup. Soon after, her hair turned chestnut brown, her smile sweet as she posed with a “beauty clock” chalkboard on the street. The last photo in June showed her standing courtside with friends—a beautiful girl laughing behind her backpack, a slightly chubby boy beside her, still lively despite his weight. Beyond the basketball court lay a mountain, the cheers fading into a misty green expanse.

“Who’s that? Your boyfriend? And that girl—what a beauty! Introduce me!” Little Ma shook Yu Zhimei’s shoulder, pointing at the photo: “How could you hide such a gem from me?”

He Jie, tending to customers, paused by the computer: “Familiar face… Isn’t that Xu Xuer from a few years ago? Yu Zhimei, do you know Xu Xuer?”

“Didn’t she commit suicide?” Shi Rui scratched her head: “There was quite a bit of news about it.”

“She was my classmate, my best friend in college. Later, she went into acting, and then…” Yu Zhimei closed the laptop, smiling softly at the awkward expressions around her: “It’s been so long—it’s nothing we can’t talk about.”

“So why did she commit suicide? Was it because of industry pressures?”

Jian Zhaowen clamped his hand over Little Ma’s mouth: “Enough. Yu Zhimei, how old were you when this photo was taken?”

“Freshman year.”

“Wow, you really have to trust the evolution of trends. You look so much better now.” He Jie sat down, still commenting on the photos: “Look at Xu Xuer’s features—they transcend trends. She’s a true screen beauty, flawless.”

“That guy looks like he has strong sexual energy. Your tastes sure changed fast.” Little Ma glanced between the photo and Jian Zhaowen: “Compared to him, Brother Jian looks so frail—he’s all bones. Brother Jian, if you want to keep Yu Zhimei, you’d better step up your game. Otherwise, she’ll leave.”

Damn it—no one here knows how to talk. The computer froze on that photo, and Yu Zhimei toasted with everyone, leaving the laptop on the next table. The three strangers in the picture seemed to stare back through time. She hated excessive sentimentality and recalling the past, preferring to live in the present. But this photo always reminded her of a carefree youth. Near the end of her freshman year, stressed about her calculus exam, Xu Xuer lured her from the library to the basketball court. Electrical Engineering versus Civil Engineering—the game was almost over, the crowd cheering wildly. Zhang Yao fought fiercely, dodging defenders to score a three-pointer at the buzzer: 73-72. As the whistle blew, Zhang Yao shouted from the other side of the fence: “Yu Zhimei! I like you! Xu Xuer, you promised to hold her back—don’t let her run!” Cheers turned to catcalls as the sun broke through thick clouds, bathing the scene in golden light. Xu Xuer held her tightly: “Yu Zhimei, Zhang Yao and I planned this for ages. If he won this game, he’d confess. Now you can’t leave—if you run, Zhang Yao will bombard me with calls…”

Curious, Jian Zhaowen searched Xu Xuer online, brought wine to Yu Zhimei’s place, and quietly kept her company as they drank. Lulu sniffed the air, drawn by the scent of milk, only to recoil at the smell of Baileys. They polished off two bottles of Baileys, burping alcohol-scented breaths, then cracked open a bottle of vodka, its sharpness making Jian gasp for air. Finally, the computer sprang back to life. After fixing it and organizing the files, Jian ordered a new external hard drive for her. Unable to resist, he eventually asked: “The boy in that photo—is he your first love?”

“Just the boyfriend I dated the longest. First loves usually happen in middle school, right? I’ve printed that photo countless times—for my dorm computer, graduation album, even the photo wall in my rented apartment. I thought I’d print it forever. But no one carries a ten-year-old promise into the present unless they’ve made no progress in life.”

“Not necessarily. People always have nostalgia.”

Yu Zhimei hung her freshly washed clothes, her waistline subtly visible under her nightgown: “Coming from someone whose feelings disappear at any moment, that sounds strange. First love complexes and nostalgia are both illusions—I don’t have them. Without this photo, I might’ve forgotten I even had an ex-boyfriend. Instead, I often think of Xu Xuer.”

“Because she committed suicide…?”

“No, simply because of the days we spent together in college. You might not understand—compared to romance, friendships between girls are harder to forget.”

“I understand completely. Unpleasant romances make you wish you could delete them from your memory with one click.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Too close now, whether from hearing each other’s breathing or drinking too much, their bodies grew hotter. When Yu Zhimei met Jian Zhaowen’s gaze again, his pupils were dangerously near. Drunk, she forgot to close her eyes. But before Jian could kiss her, her phone buzzed. Zheng Zeyan had called late at night, inviting her to play tennis over the weekend. His voice was polite yet insistent: “A friend booked the court but can’t make it, so they gave me the slot. We took the same PE class in college—I’d love to see you. Please say yes.”

Embarrassed, Yu Zhimei accepted. Hanging up, she saw Jian’s face darken.

“What’s wrong?”

“The mood was perfect—didn’t you see I was about to sweep you off your feet? Yu Zhimei, are you treating me like a hookup while riding a donkey to look for a horse?”

What kind of phrasing was that? Spending too much time with Little Ma had corrupted Jian’s vocabulary. Yu Zhimei licked her lips: “He called directly, bombarding me with questions—I couldn’t refuse.”

“I’m warning you, Yu Zhimei. Don’t entertain any fickle thoughts. You live next door—I’ll tie you to my house if I have to. No more dating others.”

“Huh?”

“If you don’t have a nostalgia complex, does that mean once I become ‘old,’ you’ll kick me to the curb?”

“Really?” Yu Zhimei crossed her arms: “If you’re so worried about keeping an eye on me, come play tennis too.”

When the day came, Yu Zhimei dressed and stepped out, finding Jian waiting with a tennis racket. Dressed in brand-new gear and expensive jewelry, he looked overdressed for a casual match. Yu Zhimei thought, “We’re just playing tennis—not competing in a beauty pageant.” Shi Rui also joined, claiming she didn’t want to waste her own racket. Earlier, Yu Zhimei had called He Jie, but she was still asleep after a late-night chat. Hearing “tennis,” she hung up, mocking Yu Zhimei’s poor judgment: bringing two handsome men to play tennis with Shi Rui was practically sabotaging her own romantic prospects.

Though Shi Rui had a boyfriend, she dressed in a “marriage-ready” style, never mentioning him. Walking under the scorching sun, Yu Zhimei felt stifled. At the tennis court entrance stood Zheng Zeyan, tall and muscular in a black athletic T-shirt and pants. Even from afar, his physique was striking, drawing glances from passing women. Shi Rui whispered: “Yu Zhimei, that muscular man—is he really just a friend? Why, when you claim not to be dating, do you attract such outstanding men? So jealous.”

Seeing the trio approach, Zheng Zeyan greeted them politely. Hostile, Jian stood half a head shorter, glaring at Zheng Zeyan’s muscles. Yu Zhimei had secretly told He Jie she liked his type, yet here she was answering late-night calls from another. What did it mean? Did she prefer muscle? Or did she find him stronger? Jian had felt superior until he passed a mirror in the locker room—half a head shorter and significantly smaller. When Yu Zhimei emerged in shorts and a tank top, Jian’s frustration boiled over. Playing tennis with men dressed like that? He wanted to grab the curtains and wrap her up to take home.

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P.S.: Late again, but still here~ This section subtly explores different perspectives on intimate relationships. If you enjoy The First Word , please vote, add it to your bookshelf, and join the chat today!