Like Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang’s pearl and jade soup from the stand-up comedy, if served again today, it would only lead to disillusionment.

A few days later, Ding Zhitong received Gan Yang’s reply. He said Dr. Chen had scheduled an appointment for her, but it was set for late October.

Ding Zhitong reported this to Qin Chang, explaining that she had other projects requiring business trips. She would travel through Beijing, Shanghai, and Quanzhou, conveniently fitting the appointment into her schedule.

Qin Chang reviewed the arrangement and found no issues. Before concluding, he asked, “It’s almost November, and I haven’t seen you apply for annual leave. Did you miss out on the Shanghai Marathon again this year?”

Ding Zhitong laughed and shook her head resignedly. This had become an inside joke between them.

For the past few years, she has been participating in marathons across China. Starting with Hong Kong, then nearby Shenzhen and Guangzhou, as well as Suzhou’s Jinji Lake Marathon. She had even completed the Wuhan Marathon, known for its difficult entry. Yet, the Shanghai Marathon continued to elude her year after year.

With her travel dates set, Song Mingwei approached her to inquire about the follow-up. After hearing the details, Song teased, “Are you mixing business with pleasure?”

Ding Zhitong smiled without answering, thinking to herself that the reality was quite the opposite. She was sacrificing her chance at romance to secure a business deal.

As Song Mingwei had mentioned the “CEO syndrome” before – besides gastric ulcers, it included anxiety, insomnia, never smiling, and being surrounded by deceit. No one had been able to penetrate his inner world for years; only his true love could cure him.

However, this so-called “true love” was also engaged in a game of deception with him. With this realization, any notions of old feelings or pursuits faded away.

If one were to calculate honestly, they had only spent a few months together in their early twenties. The reason it lingered in their memories was due to its abrupt ending.

Especially for Gan Yang, the events of that year marked a complete turning point in his life. What he truly couldn’t forget wasn’t their relationship, but rather his carefree life before everything changed.

Like Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang’s pearl and jade soup from the stand-up comedy, if served again today, it would only lead to disillusionment.

Nevertheless, during those few days, Gan Yang continued to chat with her on WeChat.

After the initial shock, their conversations felt similar to her chats with Wilson on WhatsApp – casual and unburdened. Unlike before, she no longer felt the pressure of someone waiting, urging, or constantly thinking about her. She wondered if this was a result of the emotional intelligence developed through years of business dealings, or perhaps his experience with long-distance relationships with ex-partners.

The only difference was that while Wilson discussed weather and movies with her, Gan Yang talked about food.

For instance, he would ask if she had eaten breakfast. Ding Zhitong would reply with a photo of her milk, scrambled eggs, and toast.

Gan Yang would show her his eggs too, but with a twist – they included green onions. The scrambled eggs had become rustic “green onion fried eggs,” and this sudden shift to a homestyle dish made Ding Zhitong crave the taste of green onions.

That evening after work, she went to the city supermarket but couldn’t find any. She then tried the street market and managed to buy a bunch from the last vegetable vendor who hadn’t closed the shop. Unfortunately, she was about to leave for a business trip and only made green onion fried eggs once. By the time she returned from her travels, the green onions in her fridge had wilted.

She cleaned out her refrigerator, discarding spoiled vegetables and expired milk, just as Gan Yang used to do for her. But now, she could do it herself.

During those days, she also asked Song Mingwei about the “Mo Qi” situation.

Song Mingwei informed her that the cessation of operations had been officially announced, and the decision was final.

When “Mo Qi” first launched, it was only available as a web version. Later, they developed a mobile app, but the latest version available for download in app stores was from three years ago. The app had garnered only about 300 comments, most of which were posted after news of the shutdown spread.

Some users complained: “The app keeps crashing on my new phone. Is there still a maintenance team? Can’t you update it?”

Others pleaded: “Please don’t remove it from the stores! We don’t want to lose years of memories!”

Some had already accepted reality and were mourning: “Ten years of travel logs, movie reviews, and photos – all gone. R.I.P.”

Many suggested a practical solution, urging “Mo Qi” to follow MSN’s example. Even if they couldn’t continue operations, they should at least show some professional ethics and provide users with a way to save their photos and text records.

Even financial news outlets covered the story, with one writer lamenting: “We watched it rise, we watched it flourish, and now we watch it crumble. Witnessing the rise and fall of a generation’s social network. Everything truly can become a ‘Peach Blossom Fan’.”

Some online commenters called it “the tears of an era,” but Song Mingwei just quipped, “This era has too many tears. I’ve become numb to its crying.”

Ding Zhitong felt that this wasn’t something Song Mingwei could simply joke away, but seeing her reaction, she didn’t know how to offer comfort.

Instead, Song Mingwei changed the subject, asking if she had her annual health check-up yet.

“No, isn’t it next month?” Ding Zhitong remembered, of course. This too had become a routine between them, starting from her second year in Hong Kong.

In Hong Kong, her main focus was on overseas listings for Chinese companies. Singapore, London, New York – she spent more than half of each month traveling, flying between hotels and returning to serviced apartments, a seamless transition.

Sometimes, half-asleep in bed, she would forget where she was. Nowhere did she feel at home, so she never felt out of place. She had grown accustomed to the soundproof glass and blackout curtains that were standard in these accommodations.

At just twenty-six, she already suffered from severe sleep issues and chronic insomnia, requiring complete darkness to sleep. Irregular eating habits caused her weight to drop continuously. In New York, she would catch colds as soon as autumn arrived. Hong Kong’s warm weather helped slightly, but any trip to a colder place would worsen her condition. One bout of illness would drag on through the entire winter, seeming never to fully heal.

That year, the company arranged health check-ups. Her results showed fluctuating indicators, suggesting that at her age of twenty-something, she had the physical functions of someone over thirty-five. They also found lobular hyperplasia in one of her breasts.

Later, when she saw a specialist, they advised her to watch her diet, exercise moderately, and have annual check-ups.

When Song Mingwei heard about this, she urged Ding Zhitong to find a boyfriend, asserting that it must be due to hormonal imbalance.

However, after Yuqi was weaned, Song Mingwei went for her check-up and discovered the same issue. The doctor said it was likely due to improper weaning and gave similar advice: watch her diet, exercise moderately, and have annual check-ups.

That day, the two friends commiserated over the phone, ending up in laughter. They realized that these issues would arise regardless of their circumstances.

“Do you think we’ll be like this when we retire?” Ding Zhitong joked. “You’ll ask me about my blood pressure, and I’ll ask if you’ve been diagnosed with the ‘three highs’ this year?”

“Nonsense, I’ll never have the ‘three highs,'” Song Mingwei protested.

Nevertheless, they agreed to remind each other to watch their diets, exercise moderately, and have annual check-ups.

Looking back now, Ding Zhitong couldn’t help but feel that this was another level of growth in their friendship.

The previous milestone had been in New York when they ran to each other’s places in the middle of the night. Ding Zhitong had told Song Mingwei, “Don’t be afraid of him!” while Song Mingwei had asked her, “Are you sure you want to get married?”

They say it becomes harder to open up and make friends as you get older. They were already in their twenties when they met, so their close friendship was truly precious. Her transformation had begun at that time, rather than because of any promise she had made to Gan Yang years ago. She was taking responsibility for herself, and keeping promises to her friends. Compared to these, what significance did a few months of romance in her early twenties hold?

The day to meet Dr. Chen arrived quickly. Ding Zhitong booked a flight to Quanzhou.

Li Jiaxin was in Shanghai at the time, so she arranged for him to meet her at Quanzhou Airport around the same time. Ostensibly, this was to avoid troubling their host with two separate airport pickups, but in reality, she wanted to avoid a one-on-one encounter with Gan Yang at the airport.

The flight was scheduled for the evening. Ding Zhitong, flying from Hong Kong, arrived a bit later than Li Jiaxin. As soon as her plane landed and she turned on her phone, she received a message from Li Jiaxin saying he was waiting for her at a café in the terminal.

She walked in that direction and soon spotted Gan Yang, who had already arrived and was chatting with Li Jiaxin. He was sitting with his back to her, and Li Jiaxin, engrossed in conversation, hadn’t noticed her approach.

For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Ding Zhitong paused for a moment.

Despite the limited view and angle, seeing only his back and a bit of his profile, she once again felt that he had changed. The youthful awkwardness was gone, replaced by maturity and composure. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just different from before.

She remained there until Li Jiaxin spotted her, standing up to wave her over. Only then did she start pulling her suitcase towards them.