Chapter 74: If You Insist on Pushing Through the Ruins, Don’t Blame Me for Dragging You into Hell

Turning toward the mirror, Ou Jinghe gazed at her reflection. Her smile still radiated a hundred charms, her once pale face now flushed with color—alive, vibrant, and full of emotion. She, Ou Jinghe, was a living, breathing person.

Ou Jinghe packed her belongings, dismissed the housekeeper, and began preparing earnestly for the divorce proceedings. She kept only a few work-appropriate outfits, selling the rest for cash. The first step in severing ties with Gao Yuan was moving out of Bi Hu Tian Di. While their separation had long been a reality, this time she was determined to cut herself off completely from her past, suffocating life. It was a necessary distinction to make. Though her new apartment was an old, run-down elevator building in Xintiandi, the modestly decorated eighty-square-meter two-bedroom still cost twelve thousand yuan a month. Ou Jinghe struggled to accept how far her life had fallen, but at least it was still in the city’s golden center. Despite the damp walls and peeling floors, there was some solace in its prime location.

Gao Yuan, of course, wouldn’t cooperate with a mutual agreement for divorce. The settlement proposal sank like a stone, and early one morning, he sent seasonal fruits and pastries to the sugar-water shop. This sly fox delivered fruit every quarter, not only to falsify accounts but also to create the illusion of a harmonious marriage and shared business. For five years, she had played along. How could Gao Yuan possibly agree easily? Even if he did consent to the divorce, he would likely produce a mountain of evidence of her infidelity in court, forcing her to leave empty-handed. Before using Lovedate and DayNight, she might have been considered a “perfect victim,” but divorce was unthinkable. And if not for DayNight, how would she have met Zheng Zeyan?

It was all fate. If so, then let the court issue a summons. Thinking of Zheng Zeyan’s gaze at the Sichuan restaurant, Ou Jinghe smiled faintly at the bookshelf as she unpacked—her first act after moving was buying a large bookcase.

Ou Jinghe’s goal was clear: obtain a divorce decree and divide marital property according to the law. Long before, she had gathered ample evidence: copies of Gao Yuan’s diagnosis of azoospermia, three years’ worth of call logs and chat records, proof of their separation, testimonies from the housekeeper and company employees, and her own medical diagnosis of abdominal adhesions and moderate depression. The judge acknowledged that the physical damage from in vitro fertilization attempts was a sacrifice made for the sake of continuing the family line. Although Ou Jinghe’s body was impaired, it didn’t qualify as a disability, and there was no conclusive evidence linking her depression to Gao Yuan’s emotional neglect. The anguish of marriage couldn’t be quantified into evidence.

On the other hand, Gao Yuan argued that their relationship wasn’t irreparably broken. Each piece of evidence he presented was damning: the houses they bought together, the consistently profitable companies (which Ou Jinghe had repeatedly tried to rename but failed due to Gao Yuan’s lack of cooperation), last year’s birthday party at Bi Hu Tian Di, and photos of them smiling together while celebrating his birthday—all served as proof of their intact relationship. During his testimony, Gao Yuan even shed tears: “Our biggest problem is the lack of children. Failing to protect my wife is my responsibility. If given the chance, I’ll make it up to her in the second half of my life. I’m even open to surrogacy. My wife couldn’t bear the idea of a child without blood ties—it’s all my fault…”

The entire verdict took an hour. The decision came too easily: there was no evidence of irreparable breakdown in their marriage. The first battle in court was lost. Standing by the entrance waiting for her car, Gao Yuan rolled down the window of his new Alphard: “Need a ride?”

“Go to hell.”

“So ungracious?”

“You’re keeping a mistress in Shenzhen and still dragging me out for birthdays—I should’ve stopped playing this charade with you ages ago.”

“Women are so foolish. Wasting energy on meaningless things, getting themselves all worked up. And for what? Everyone’s after my money, and now they’re all making a fuss—it’s all about this, isn’t it?”

“All making a fuss.” Ou Jinghe filed these words away in her mind, replying expressionlessly: “If you don’t drive off soon, you’ll get a ticket.”

“Ou Jinghe, don’t think so highly of yourself. We’ve both been playing our own games. Now, pretending to be some celestial goddess coming down to earth—isn’t that just ridiculous? You can walk away with nothing, but your little drama here—it’s all about the money.”

Half a month later, Ou Jinghe stumbled upon the written judgment of her first trial on a legal website. Out of curiosity, she browsed through other cases of alleged irreconcilable differences, bitterly chuckling as she read for half an hour. Domestic violence victims who hadn’t promptly reported injuries or sought medical evaluations couldn’t provide sufficient evidence. People fought over coffee machines and gold bars in court, dividing assets. A man whose wife’s father died during demolition sued the third party after his death, seeking to claim part of the estate… Marriage exaggerated the meaning of love, binding couples with morality and conscience but deceiving them into believing that love could forgive everything. Once greater temptations arose, marriage couldn’t override human nature—attacks and betrayals were always just around the corner.

She had no intention of backing down. Knowing Gao Yuan as well as she did, she understood that he would gather incriminating evidence against her faster than she could. Spouses know each other best, and when love fades, they wield their knives like skilled butchers. Divorcing someone like Gao Yuan was a battle of wits—the thicker the façade, the thinner the substance. It was time to ignite the smoldering embers of his ruin.

Thanks to Lei Zheng, Jian Zhaowen discovered DayNight’s download availability on the App Store on Children’s Day. Overjoyed, he announced the news on Weibo and directly unveiled the features of the new version. No one was more cunning than Lei Zheng, the consummate merchant. Of the four matching zones, not all were freely accessible. With only thirty thousand users, he immediately introduced a paid subscription model, boasting the most precise urban dating algorithm on the internet. He also employed a scarcity marketing strategy: 99 yuan for the first month, 199 for the second, and 299 for the third. After three months, purchasing would close, leaving this batch of core users with permanent access to the algorithm.

Jian Zhaowen himself didn’t know this zone would be shut down. Lei Zheng spoke arrogantly as he typed on his computer: “Are we running a charity, giving high-quality stuff to ordinary people? The pricier it is, the better the daily active users and retention metrics look. Later, I’ll implement differentiated marketing to drain these paying users’ wallets. They’re all white-collar workers in big cities, all single. PUA courses cost tens of thousands—selling premium memberships isn’t much, is it?”

Though it eerily echoed Philip’s old playbook, Jian Zhaowen had to admit Lei Zheng’s product strategy was ruthlessly clear. Most importantly, if their daily active users and revenue numbers were impressive enough in the next three months, they could secure formal Series A funding. On the first day of the paid feature launch, the app generated three hundred thousand yuan in revenue. Jian Zhaowen was stunned: “People actually believe this?”

“To be surprised by this shows you’re still naïve. What kind of small-time business were you running when you worked under Philip? Such short-sightedness.”

Their main disagreement wasn’t here. Lei Zheng’s boldest move was embedding a refined self-serving value system within the app. He instructed Jian Zhaowen to promote users who posted stylish men’s fashion photos and clever personas while suppressing those who shared weary, midlife musings. As a result, the homepage was dominated by eloquent, attractive men and women, occasionally interspersed with tales of romantic failure—but framed as though love was always just around the corner. This infuriated Jian Zhaowen—DayNight was originally created to allow users to express themselves freely. Now, with the new version barely launched, they were covertly manipulating content, turning the app into a curated persona of elitism. He and Lei Zheng locked themselves in the office, arguing fiercely. The ashtray filled with cigarette butts; neither would yield. Jian Zhaowen advocated for freedom and equality, allowing all posts except harassment and nudity. Lei Zheng insisted on establishing a strong persona from the outset. An app focused on matchmaking had to subtly raise entry barriers, ensuring successful men and women found love discreetly while the failures watched live streams or gaming videos—a logical user classification.

“Think about your target audience, Jian Zhaowen. From those living in high-end modern apartments to those sharing beds in cramped rentals—what do they expect to see? Hard work yields rewards, leading to life’s peak—that’s what inspires people. Who wants to open the app and see acne, hemorrhoids, and athlete’s foot? Or stories of unemployment and rejection? Haven’t they endured enough criticism at work?”

“But melancholy is the mainstream among young people. Embracing diverse users and content creates an ‘ecosystem.’”

“Please—have you been watching too many Japanese dramas? Understand psychology, okay? Even if I buy your ecosystem theory, we need funding now. Let’s simplify: if we’re scamming for money, shouldn’t we put on a good show?”

“This isn’t a show—it’s the emotional needs of millions.”

Lei Zheng slammed the whiteboard marker on the table: “I’m done talking. I’m going out for coffee. Jian Zhaowen, this is my final warning: understand your customers and the industry ecosystem to maximize results. Don’t assume or get sentimental—products are about sales, not charity. Without investors, all your dreams are nonsense. Right now, it’s fifty-fifty between us. I won’t back down on this—it has to be done my way. You thought Philip was unreliable and left, but you can’t leave now. Think carefully.”

As expected, Lei Zheng emerged victorious. Jian Zhaowen sat in the meeting room, silently enduring the stares of employees through the glass. He smoked the last cigarette in the pack, gradually calming down. Philip’s earlier product strategies were weaker than Lei Zheng’s, but they aligned somewhat with Lei Zheng’s views—when investors entered, the product had to look “good enough.” Lei Zheng excelled at activating users and generating quick profits, which DayNight desperately needed. Reflecting on the app’s previous struggles—underreported and flagged—Jian Zhaowen gritted his teeth. This change was nothing compared to their past challenges.

After DayNight resumed downloads, Ou Jinghe’s first action was to search for her chat history. Sure enough, after reinstalling, all her chat records had vanished. Hundreds of screens of conversations with Zheng Zeyan felt like a dream. Though she’d anticipated this outcome, she couldn’t help but open a bottle of wine and stare blankly at the screen. The Night Zone had once been her haven of freedom, where she confided secrets amid the anonymity of random matches. The randomness ensured zero chance of recognizing anyone. Ou Jinghe consoled herself—it was as if no evidence remained, sparing her from giving Gao Yuan leverage and securing a larger share of the assets. Indeed, aside from DayNight, her WeChat blacklist had been cleared, and her chat history contained only drunken karaoke recordings of herself singing off-key.

Ou Jinghe carefully applied makeup and took a photo to post on the Night Zone, captioning it: “Farewell to the past. Tonight, my life begins anew.” Her smile in the photo was bright, free of crow’s feet or nasolabial folds—though tinged with a hint of… regret.

She waited for likes and comments. Within three minutes, she received a private message from the system: “Your photo has been reported and deleted.” Furious, Ou Jinghe called Jian Zhaowen: “What’s going on? Selfies are being reported? I didn’t even show anything below my neck! Losing my chat history was bad enough, but reporting selfies? What kind of app is this?”

“Why are you calling me about this?” Jian Zhaowen tapped briskly on his keyboard. “For appeals, contact customer support. Isn’t calling the boss overstepping?”

“Stop wasting time. Just fix it!”

Too lazy to deal with trouble, Jian Zhaowen opened the work log and scrolled for a minute before suddenly laughing. Ou Jinghe, fuming and ready to unleash her wrath, heard him say: “Guess who reported you?”

“What scumbag did this? I’ll bash his head in.”

“Zheng Zeyan.”

Ou Jinghe froze: “What reason?”

“He probably clicked randomly. It says here… suspected dissemination of obscene content.”

Before Jian Zhaowen could say another word, Ou Jinghe hung up. Zheng Zeyan’s profile picture hadn’t changed, but his Moments cover was now Wang Fei’s album—Because You Are Faye, So Am I. The song Years was included in it. That night, the contours of Zheng Zeyan’s face reappeared under this lamp she had bought to commemorate their beautiful memories. His ascetic yet passionate lips, his unreasonable expressions, his mischievous teasing… Turning back to the mirror, Ou Jinghe gazed at her reflection. Her smile still held a hundred charms, her once pale face now flushed with life. She was alive, flesh and blood, brimming with emotion.

She knew he looked down on her, but if she could move him now, perhaps she could win his heart. If she was willing to burn her bridges, maybe she could find true love. If you don’t want me, stop playing with me. If you disdain me, stop caring about me. If you insist on pushing through the ruins, don’t blame me for dragging you into hell. With that thought, she fired a message to Zheng Zeyan: “Mr. Zheng, if you love me, confess sincerely. Hiding and concealing—what kind of cowardice is this?”