Hi there:
First, a belated happy western and lunar new year to all. I hope this message finds you and loved ones enjoying sound mental and physical health.
Please bear with me as I ease my way back into the newsletter after an extended break. My first task is to clear a small backlog of two stories I had promised to translate before I went on leave. This is the first one. The source material was published in Chinese by The Livings on July 3.
A quick note on terminology. While there is certainly a pecking order for universities in other countries, in China, it is embedded by government policy. Thus the tier system for classifying colleges frequently referenced in this story and others. "985" and "211" also refer to elite schools designated as key institutions of higher learning and research.
Lastly, all names mentioned in the story are pseudonyms. Locations within the story have also been changed.
Take care and see you soon.
—ML
At a Dating Service for Shanghai's "Elite" Singles, Everything But Love Is on the Table
By May
Edited by Luo Shiru
1.
It was a workday in October 2020. I was battling the urge to doze off when good friend Liu Can sent me a message on WeChat that included the signup sheet for a singles mixer. She asked if I was interested.
I wanted to refuse, but then I remembered the many calls from Mom urging me to marry quick, so I hesitated. I was a few months shy of 30. Even though marriage didn't figure prominently on my agenda, I was saddled with guilt over the anxiety and disappointment my parents channeled my way every time I went home.
So I typed reluctantly: "Sure."
Liu Can responded with a cheering emoji and urged me to fill out the application form ASAP. She made point of saying: "In the education section, make sure you put down the school you got your master's degree from."
"I did my master's part-time. Should I specify?" I asked.
"Definitely not. Prestigious education credentials are a must for a high-quality dating service like this," Liu Can said. On that note, she sent me the flyer for the mixer, which said that participants had to tick at least two of the following boxes: 1. hold degree from a prestigious university 2. hold degree from a foreign university 3. employed at a prestigious company 4. men must earn an annual income of at least 300,000 yuan (US$47,328); women 200,000 yuan 5. homeowner 6. men must work in either IT or finance; women must be teachers, doctors or civil servants.
I filled out my application and submitted it without a great deal of confidence. I expected the vetting to take some time, but I received approval and a request for payment less than 3 minutes later.
Still skeptical, I paid the 130 yuan entrance fee and added a staff member for the event on WeChat as instructed.
**
On the day of the event, Liu Can and I arrived at the venue—a downtown coffee shop—punctually.
On the second floor, a barely 100-square-meter space was crammed with nearly 100 people. The lighting was dim, which made for a suffocating feeling. Liu Can and I signed in and picked up our name plates. Apart from our assigned numbers, they were inscribed with our ages, jobs, hometowns and education credentials.
After brief introductory remarks from the host, we kicked off a series of 8-minute "dating sessions." To save time, the format paired two men with two women at the same time. After 8 minutes, the two men moved onto the next table, name plates in tow. The women stayed put.
Liu Can and I were assigned to adjacent tables. My tablemate was a young women with pretty features. Liu Can pursed her lips, leaned toward me and whispered: "You're screwed. This girl is exactly the type men like. You're going to end up as window dressing most of the time."
Lo and behold, my first few rounds followed the same pattern. The men who visited our table would spend a few minutes studying our name plates before asking me a few pointed questions. Then they would unanimously shift their attention to my tablemate.
From my tablemate's conversations with the men who joined us, I learned her basic profile. She was 28, graduated from a "211" school, a primary school teacher, 1.65 meters tall and weighed less than 50 kilograms. She seemed at ease with functions like this, even assenting with a gracious smile when a male participant asked her to stand to verify her height. When she added someone on WeChat, she made a point of taking a picture of his name plate.
About halfway into the event, after several dozen rounds, everyone seemed tired and the conversation dwindled. When I started to yawn, my tablemate tapped my shoulder and initiated dialogue.
She said her name was Dong Jun and her hometown is Jinhua, Zhejiang Province. I asked her if she was able to get along with the many men she added on WeChat. Dong Jun puckered her lips and responded: "Of course not! That's why I take pictures of their name plates. I do a round of initial screening first. Look, I take notes on every person." I cozied up to her phone and saw that she had written in one of the men's notes section on WeChat: "Looks 4, job 5, low on emotional intelligence, no car and no home. Rejected."
"Why do you add these men on WeChat if they don't strike your fancy?" I asked.
"Now here's a trade secret. Even though these men underperform on the day, they may be potential blue chips." Dong Jun proceeded to tell me the story of a female colleague who had unearthed a hidden gem of a boyfriend from singles mixers. He was a programmer at a prestigious company. The twists and turns of the story blew me away.
I asked Dong Jun if she took part in singles mixers frequently.
"About once a month? But I use different dating services. As you probably know, there are so many in Shanghai these days," she said. Dong Jun showed me the dozen or so dating services she followed on WeChat. Even though they had different names, they all used the same keywords: "top-notch," "high-end," "elite" and the like.
"Don't you get tired of attending all these mixers?" I asked.
"What choice do I have? Do you know what the high-quality male-female ratio in Shanghai is? 3 to 7! There are so few high-quality single men in Shanghai. If you don't land one before 30, the better men won't even bother throwing a glance your way after 30," Dong Jun said with furrowed brows.
As I took in her comment and considered my own age, panic rushed to my head.
I finally made it to the end of the event, but Liu Can was still engrossed in conversation with a man called Zhou Yang, so I stepped out first. A light drizzle started. The slivers of rain that beat on my shoulders as I stood under an awning offered a much-needed sense of release.
2.
After waiting for about 10 minutes, Liu Can and Zhou Yang descended to the first floor side-by-side. Not wanting to be the third wheel, I said I had a prior commitment. Yet Liu Can tugged my arm, saying it was OK and inviting me to join them for dinner.
We ended up at a tastefully decorated Japanese restaurant. After placing an order like a regular, Zhou Yang asked how Liu Can and I knew each other.
"May and I used to work together. May also got her master's from a '985' school." Liu Can's introduction sent me blushing. I felt the flourish was unnecessary.
"So a stellar student befriends other stellar students!" Zhou Yang said in an exaggerated tone.
Zhou Yang and Liu Can continued down the same line of conversation. Zhou Yang's parents are teachers who ingrained in him when he was a kid that he should only hang out with other children who also have good grades. Zhou Yang kept stressing that he likes women who were highly educated, saying marrying such women was conducive to raising children.
Out of the blue, Zhou Yang asked Liu Can: "Did you also get your bachelor's from Jiaotong University?" My chest tightened. Liu Can's first degree was taboo. It's why she broke up with her ex.
Liu Can and her ex also met at singles mixer. Quite the standout, he got both his bachelor's and master's from the same school of national renown. Shortly after the two of them became an item, the couple attended one of his classmates' gatherings. As conversation drifted to the record-high number of students sitting for the graduate school entrance exam, one of his classmates said in a condescending tone: "The type I can't stand the most are the people who went to lowly universities and got into our graduate school by rote memorization. They love flaunting our name wherever they go." Others seconded the opinion, with another guest telling the story of a classmate who was rejected by a major company because he didn't get his undergraduate degree from a famous university. Liu Can avoided the conversation by sticking to her meal.
On the way home, Liu Can's ex suddenly asked her if she got both her degrees from the same institution. When she answered no, he pressed for the name of her undergraduate school. Liu Can responded vaguely: "Just an ordinary school—not as good as yours."
"Not a second-tier university though, right?" the ex blurted.
By then Liu Can's face was burning. All she could manage was a nasal sound in the affirmative. She felt she was about to break down in tears. The ex froze and the conversation died.
After the revelation, the ex became less affectionate toward Liu Can and stopped inviting her to his classmates' gatherings. Soon the two broke up.
As the exact same scenario replayed itself, I looked at Liu Can with concern. Yet she responded confidently that she also got her bachelor's degree from Jiaotong University.
**
On the way home from dinner, I realized I was added to a new WeChat group comprising participants in the singles mixer. Activity picked up in the group quickly. Many of the members offered formal introductions again. Without exception, they either graduated from a prominent Chinese university or studied abroad. They all held presentable jobs that paid generously. Everyone was from a well-off family they didn't have to support financially. Even their hobbies were uniform. The women universally enjoyed reading, traveling or baking and the men preferred sports, traveling and cooking.
One of the men in the group sent me the following private message: "Hi! Lovely to meet you. This is my profile."
The message was followed by a detailed four-page document that included a list of his family members and qualities he desired in his partner.
Before I could study the document, the next message popped up: "I hope you can prepare a similar profile and send it over. Thanks!"
I went blank and never ended up sending the "OK" I had typed.
The WeChat group stayed lively over the next few days. The creator of the group periodically shared articles about the plight of older singles in big cities and promoted the dating service's upcoming events. It appeared as if even the news apps on my phone had picked up on my singlehood "predicament," pushing stories with titles like Why Men Dislike High-quality Leftover Women and After 30, Single Women Lose the Initiative in Dating.
Just as I was pondering whether to sign up for the dating service's next event, I got a message from one of their employees. He said he noticed that I put down "new media" as my profession and was wondering if I wanted to work part-time for the dating company.
I said yes immediately, thinking the workload would be minimal.
3.
That Saturday, using the GPS function on my phone, I found my way to the offices of the dating service, which was located in a residential compound. I met Jiang Tian, the founder of the service, and Yang Yang, his only full-time employee.
Jiang Tian graduated from a "985" school. He started running the dating service full-time after quitting his previous job in 2019. The service was confined to alums from this alma mater only before expanding to all "high-quality" singles in Shanghai. In just a year, the service had netted some 10,000 members and total revenue surpassed 1 million yuan.
Take their most recent event, which Liu Can and I attended, for example. Entrance fees alone generated just over 10,000 yuan. Apart from the rent for the event space, the dating service incurred few other major expenses. And the service held events like that at least twice a week on average.
Jiang Tian said an increasing number of entrepreneurs were zeroing in on the potential of online dating since the pandemic and they unanimously set their sights on highly-educated young singles with plumb jobs. Competition between services was fierce, with businesses constantly updating their event formats and upgrading their featured guests.
To stand out, dating services were also staging niche events that catered exclusively to groups like Shanghai natives, Jiangsu, Zhejiang and Shanghai natives, foreign-educated singles and IT and finance workers. This is what industry insiders call "surgical matching," Jiang Tian said.
Another way of drawing clients is highlighting star guests at events. These were my marching orders from Jiang Tian: "Your main job to write promotional copy for our events and to advertise our featured guests. I'm sure you'll do just fine on the promotional copy for events, but make sure you spend time on the copy touting our featured guests. You need to figure out how to accentuate our exacting standards and outdo the other services."
I turned in my first copy the same night. Jiang Tian responded immediately: "Not good enough."
"But the copy is drawn from biographical information you provided," I wrote back.
"Simply stating the facts doesn't work. You need to learn how to package our clients," Jiang Tian said. He proceeded to send me a few model articles, all from a prominent dating service. Every piece had more than 10,000 views. But I was still clueless after studying the copy, apart from being blown away by the fact that even these rarefied studs and ladies had trouble landing partners.
Eventually, it was a comment from Yang Yang that got through to me. "The emphasis is on packaging. Can't you just exaggerate their school credentials and income just a bit, or brag about their jobs? If that doesn't work, just tinker with the copy from other services and switch in our photos," she wrote.
Only then did it dawn on me that my job wasn't to describe "elite" singles—but to fabricate them.
"What else did you think our business is about? Folks who look like Daniel Wu or Angelababy pulling in up to 1 million yuan in annual income and living in luxury homes don't need matchmaking services, " Yang Yang wrote me with a stuck-out-tongue emoji.
Now that I was enlightened, after mimicking the copy of other services, Jiang Tian signed off. After some time on the job, I figured out a few keys to good copy. For female guests, I had to highlight their good looks, personality and educational credentials, as well as stressing they traveled in frugal social circles and came from intact families. As for the men, the emphasis was on height, high income and high academic achievement. They also had to be independent, funny, gentle and considerate.
**
After getting to know Jiang Tian better, I also started to freelance as a staff member at mixers, helping out on site at their Sunday events. Liu Can also began to attend these events more frequently after learning that I was part-timing for the dating service.
"You can serve as a gatekeeper for me," Liu Can said. She was still in touch with Zhou Yang, although neither had made the next move. "Dating is like job-hunting. Everyone is pursuing multiple options so they can land the cream of the crop."
The next time I saw Dong Jun was at an event called High-earning Men vs. Leggy Women. Male guests had to earn more than 500,000 a year, own a home in Shanghai and hold at least a bachelor's degree. The women had to be no older than 28, at least 1.65 meters tall, weigh less than 50 kilograms and hold a degree from a "211" or "985" school.
The event was held at an extremely chic bar that offered a selection of liquor and had a bird's eye view of the Shanghai skyline. Naturally the entrance fee was higher than our average event.
I scanned the guest list when I was helping Yang Yang at the sign-in desk. I noticed a good chunk of guests were headhunters, financial consultants, client managers and the like. "These folks are probably here to fish for clients, not life partners, right?" I whispered to Yang Yang.
"Not probably. That's exactly why they're here. We end up with a bunch of these types at every event," Yang Yang responded nonchalantly.
"Then why let them in?"
"Why should we turn them away if they've paid the entrance fee? Who says they can't be mixing personal needs and business? There are up to 100 events like this in Shanghai each week. We even have to call in favors to stage a proper turnout. There is no such thing as too many guests."
"Favors?"
Yang Yang furtively pointed to a few guests. "These few were especially brought in for the event. Don't they look yummy indeed?"
I stuck my head out to get a closer look. The men and women Yang Yang identified were indeed good-looking and seemed quite sociable. Every single one was surrounded by several members of the opposite sex. "It's the same reason you embellish our featured clients," Yang Yang said. "Clients don't care about the venue or service. All they're concerned about is the depth of your talent. The better our human resources, the more likely they'll keep signing up for our events."
4.
The event was unstructured, so after it got underway, Jiang Tian and Yang Yang found a corner to kick back, drinks in hand. I wandered. When I noticed that Dong Jun was alone, I approached to say hi.
"The girls keep getting younger and younger," she lamented, as she took in the figures of several young women standing near her.
"You're not old," I said, in an attempt to comfort.
"I'm the oldest auntie on site. Next year I'll be overage," Dong Jun said self-mockingly.
Only then did I remember that the event was limited to women 28 or younger. No wonder she was wallowing in self-pity. Plus, the women attending the event were all quite pretty and on the younger side. A few looked like fresh graduates. In that context, Dong Jun naturally didn't stand out as much.
"You've added so many men on WeChat. You don't fancy a single one?" I asked.
"There are one or two, but they have better options. In Shanghai, there are plenty of local girls from good families who know how to dress up. When men get practical, they're even more calculating than women."
"What kind of a man are you exactly looking for?"
"I can't be specific, but my colleagues' boyfriends are all locals, work at major companies and make 200,000 or 300,000 yuan a year. I don't want an inferior boyfriend."
I could see where Dong Jun was coming from. Comparing boyfriends was a common topic of conversation among female colleagues at my own workplace. Whoever came up short always felt shortchanged.
During our conversation, a young man sat down across the table. After exchanging pleasantries, he politely asked if he could ask me on WeChat. I was so flattered I thought I had misheard him. After he added me, we chitchatted a bit more before he excused himself.
Then Dong Jun shot me a concerned glance. "This guy doesn't look that young. I'm guessing he's in a hurry to get married."
**
The man who approached me sent me a message the same night. He said I seemed down-to-earth and wanted to get to know me better. He said he was born in 1984 and worked in technical management. Then he started firing questions at me, leaving no stone unturned from my parents' occupations to my current salary. The questioning became more relentless when he found out I have a younger brother.
After a half-hour interrogation, he surmised: "Even though you're from a small village and have a younger brother, the good thing is that he's married, so you shouldn't have to send too much financial aid his way from now on. Overall, I'm quite happy about your background. The most important thing is that you seem content with settling down, unlike some women these days. Just because they think they are hot stuff, they get big heads and become picky when it comes to men, demanding this and that."
I interrupted his tirade about the pitfalls of modern women to ask: "What makes you think I'm ready to settle down?"
"Of all the women at the event, you were dressed the most modestly. You also weren't wearing any makeup. You also seem the quiet and simple type."
Before I could respond, he continued: "I don't know what's wrong with women these days. They're all so materialistic. The little money they earn they blow on food, drink and cosmetics and they cycle through boyfriends. When they get old, they settle down with a reliable man."
He was outraged, which led me to wonder whether he was biased in some way. So I asked him about prior relationships. Lo and behold, he said that his ex broke up with him when he was less well off. That prompted him to focus on increasing his income. He finally earned enough to afford his own home in Shanghai last year. His annual salary also stabilized at over 500,000 yuan. Only then did he start to entertain the possibility of marriage. His goal was to get married in six months and have a kid in a year. "My parents are getting old, after all. Their only wish is to see me get married and have children."
"I'm not going to waste my time on some vague, fleeting romance. There's no point. You just said you're about to turn 30. You're getting old too. It's time to start thinking about marriage. After all, it's harder for women to bear children after 30."
I didn't respond, instead switching channels to bitch about him to Dong Jun, who wasn't surprised. "I wanted to warn you at the time. You have to be careful with older men. They are all emotionally wounded to some extent. They stopped believing in love a long time ago. If they didn't want to have children, they probably wouldn't consider marriage in the first place."
Even though I thought Dong Jun was being a bit harsh, she had a point.
5.
Yet even the worldly Dong Jun suffered a setback on the dating scene. On the last weekend of December, Yang Yang got a message from Dong Jun saying a man she met at the High-earning Men vs. Leggy Women mixer swindled 100,000 yuan from her. She wanted the dating service to cover her losses.
Yang Yang reached out to Jiang Tian immediately and made plans to meet up with Dong Jun that evening. I asked to join the meeting because I helped out at the event as well.
When I laid eyes on Dong Jun at the coffee shop, I almost couldn't recognize the pale, haggard-looking woman before me. Dong Jun angrily described to us how the man pretended to be a finance executive who earned 1 million a year and wooed her, eventually conning 100,000 yuan from her under the pretext of an investment opportunity.
I vaguely remember Dong Jun engaged in conversation with a man that evening. Donning a black windbreaker, he was tall and handsome, channeling the presence of a confident CEO. The couple left the event together.
To be honest, this was hardly a sophisticated con. I was surprised that someone as cunning as Dong Jun had let her guard down. In her defense, Dong Jun offered: "He showed me his staff ID and pay slips. He even took me to his office."
"Staff IDs and pay slips can be forged. Did you witness him physically enter his office?" Jiang Tian asked.
Dong Jun shook her head. "He said most financial firms are off-limits to outsiders. He only showed me his office building."
"How could you so easily entrust your money with a stranger?" I asked.
"How was he a stranger? My friends and colleagues met him. Everyone thought he was a great catch." Dong Jun was still defiant.
Jiang Tian didn't want to argue, suggesting they report the matter to the police. Dong Jun started waving frantically. She said that would be too embarrassing. She didn't want her friends and colleagues to find out.
"Then what do you suggest? Surely you can't hold the dating service accountable for your own lack of judgment," Jiang Tian said.
Dong Jun refused to back down either, responding: "This person signed up for the event through your service. Didn't you vet the information he provided?"
The fact is I had long realized any vetting the dating service performed was cursory. Perhaps the only real thing this con man submitted was his entrance fee. Everything else was fake. Jiang Tian and Yang Yang exchanged somewhat guilty glances and said: "How about this? Let's report the matter to the police first. We'll take care of the follow-up, so this incident doesn't disrupt your daily life."
Investigating the fraud was a tall order because all the personal information the con man supplied was false. The police asked us to wait for an update. Fearing that Dong Jun was going to stir up a ruckus, Jiang Tian agreed to pay her 60,000 yuan first. They would decide on the remaining sum when the fraudster was located.
The incident prompted Jiang Tian to upgrade the dating service's online interface. Applicants are now required to upload pictures of their ID card and diplomas. He also added the following disclaimer to their promotional copy: "Our dating service cannot fully vouch for the authenticity of the information supplied by our participants. Please exercise caution."
Meanwhile, Dong Jun stopped attending matchmaking events. Jiang Tian even checked with some of his competitors. No one had seen her. Dong Jun used to actively update her WeChat status, meticulously cultivating a personal image. After being conned, she shut down her status update function altogether.
6.
As lunar new year approached, Jiang Tian seized the timing to launch a VIP "high-end" one-on-one matching service. Patrons who bought the VIP card were entitled to individual dates tailored to their requirements. The VIP card came in three tiers, ranging from 10,000 to 30,000 yuan. The price went up according to selectivity.
The first VIP customer was a woman called Zhou Hui. She got both her bachelor's and master's degrees from a "985" institution and worked in middle-management at a listed Internet company, earning 600,000 yuan a year. All the more impressive is the fact that Zhou Hui hails from a rural village.
Focused on her career, Zhou Hui had never paid much attention to her love life, to the point where she had hit 36 without having been in a single relationship. Her relationship with her parents had hit rock bottom because of her single status. They basically argued whenever they got together.
I was assigned to write Zhou Hui's profile, so I sat in when Jiang Tian and Yang Yang met with her. Perhaps because of lack of maintenance due to the demands of her job, Zhou Hui was a bit chubby and her eyes were surrounded by rather deep wrinkles. But it was clear from her speech and demeanor that this was an extremely competent and rational professional.
Zhou Hui's requirements for a partner were straightforward: an above-average looking man 40 or under who had graduated from a "211" institution. He must have a stable job and be willing to get married in a year.
I instantly thought of the man who approached me at the mixer. He wanted to get married in six months and was similar in age to Zhou Hui. Yang Yang asked me to put out a feeler. Yet as soon as I mentioned Zhou Hui's age, the man responded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "For real?" You actually had the nerve to introduce me to an old hag who's 36? What were you thinking?" To express his outrage, he deleted me on WeChat immediately.
Luckily Yang Yang managed to locate another male client who didn't mind Zhou Hui's age, although he did ask to see a picture of her first. Jiang Tian had anticipated the request and had asked me to spruce up Zhou Hui's photo ahead of time. Smoothening her wrinkles and adding a filter made Zhou Hui look much younger.
Yet when the couple finally met, the male client ditched Zhou Hui at the coffee shop under the pretense of a pressing matter after less than half an hour. By the time Yang Yang and I picked her up, Zhou Hui had been sitting alone for more than an hour, the steam from her coffee having long evaporated.
Wearing a downtrodden expression, Zhou Hui said: "Sometimes I wonder what the point is for a girl to work so hard. I might as well have been like other girls and learned how to doll up when I was young and landed a husband when I was 24 or 25."
Yang Yang and I exchanged awkward looks, unsure how to console her. The fact is if Zhou Hui were a man, given her background, she would have been a hot commodity, regardless of age. Such was the harshness of reality.
At that point Zhou Hui's phone rang. It was her mother, asking how the date went. An argument broke out mere sentences into the conversation. Even though I sat across the table from Zhou Hui, I could hear her mother shout: "Is there something wrong with you? Is that why you don't get married? If you're sick, then get treated ASAP. Don't let us lose face along with you!"
After hanging up, Zhou Hui flashed an embarrassed smile our way. She said she hadn't been back to her hometown in two years—because all her neighbors and relatives knew she was unmarried at 36. This was a major source of shame for her parents.
While Zhou Hui struggled with her love life, her career also wasn't as glamorous as it seemed. She said she had barely consolidated her position as the only woman in senior management at a company dominated by men, only by working overtime day after day, as female colleagues were marginalized after getting pregnant and having children. She said she was a perfectionist who couldn't afford to relax—to the point where colleagues referred to her in private as "the old spinster."
Yang Yang and I had tremendous empathy for Zhou Hui, which made us work even harder in finding a right match for her. Yet all the eligible men frowned on Zhou Hui's age, while Zhou Hui balked at the less eligible choices. Just as we were running out of ideas, a male client reached out, asking about possible dates for a friend in a rush to get married.
The friend was quite compatible with Zhou Hui in terms of job position, income and education. Even though he was already 38, he looked much younger. More importantly, he was impressed with Zhou Hui's profile.
Elated, we set up a meeting immediately. The entire process went extremely smoothly. The couple agreed to start dating with an eye toward marriage.
Jiang Tian was quite proud that his first VIP account was a success, while Yang Yang and I were genuinely happy for Zhou Hui.
**
Little did we expect Zhou Hui to contact us shortly after Lunar New Year to say there was an issue with her match.
During the Lunar New Year break, the man took Zhou Hui to his hometown to meet his parents. The man's parents urged the couple to get married soon. Zhou Hui felt rushed, but she agreed because she thought she had finally landed a good match. Yet when the couple started to plan their wedding, the man suggested they maintain separate homes after the wedding and get together only when they visited his parents. Also, citing their ages, he said he didn't want to have children.
Zhou Hui was surrounded by many "weekend couples." She enjoyed the freedom of the arrangement and was thus open to it. But she didn't see the point to getting married if they didn't plan on having children. "What's the meaning of a childless marriage?" she asked.
The couple ended up parting. Zhou Hui didn't ask for a refund, nor did she ask for more dates. Instead, she started looking into getting her embryos frozen abroad, so she could have a child later on.
Yang Yang felt Zhou Hui had suffered an injustice. She speculated the man had a secret illness or was simply gay. Jiang Tian said Zhou Hui's motivations weren't pure either—more than a legally binding husband, her real goal was a blood-related child.
But it was abundantly clear to us that whatever they were seeking in a marriage, love wasn't one of those qualities.
7.
After several months of shopping around, Liu Can and Zhou Yang decided to become a couple. Liu Can was fully aware that Zhou Yang decided on her after weighing all his options. Her graduate degree from a prestigious university played a major role in his decision.
"Education level is the equivalent of intelligence and intelligence is mainly passed on through the mother," Liu Can quoted Zhou Yang as saying, unable to get through the sentence with a straight face.
I diplomatically asked her if she ended up coming clean to Zhou Yang about her first degree. She shook her head, adding in a casual tone: "It doesn't matter anymore. If he finds out down the road and can't stomach the fact, then we'll break up. I lent too much weight to the halo effect of his education and job credentials. Only after we got together did I realize that the ultimate test is whether we can share a meal or conversation. Credentials are just window dressing for outsiders."
**
Hoping to increase profit, Jiang Tian wanted to expand his dating service and broaden his client base. At the same time, he was worried that lowering standards would dilute his "elite" branding. He tested the idea with some of his clients, who opposed the expansion overwhelmingly. The plan was dropped.
The twice-weekly mixers continued, as did the influx of newcomers. The VIP packages also had takers on and off. The featured guests at the mixers became increasingly outstanding. There was the surprisingly young CEO, the sweet face that had drawn more than 1 million followers online and the client whose parents ran a hotel chain. I stopped caring about the veracity of these profiles. In any case, Shanghai is overflowing with these "elite" types who leave the rest of us biting dust.
A 36-year-old male client had made nearly 10 million yuan in 2020 playing the stock market. All that was missing was a quality wife to complete the picture.
He bought the most expensive VIP card and met with just short of 40 women in a week. But as attractive as the women were, he could still find fault in them—be it a flaw in the face, a questionable personality or an off-handed comment that became evidence of a gold digger. He said he deserved the perfect partner, although he struggle to articulate what that entailed.
During a break between dates, he shared his relationship history with us. His most memorable relationship was his first.
He and his girlfriend were fresh graduates living in a tiny rental apartment just over 10 square meters in size. Chinese cabbage and tofu made up most of their diet. Meat was a rarity. On one occasion, fresh from receiving a paycheck, he decided to splurge on KFC, ordering a chicken burger each for himself and his girlfriend. They ate so quickly they ended up with a bad case of burping, which persisted the entire journey home. He and his girlfriend alternated burps, drawing concerned gazes from other pedestrians.
But our client then quickly snapped back from a gentle tone to his usual cynicism. "But if you take a girl to KFC on a date these days, you'll probably get dumped instantly," he said.
8.
In mid-April, Yang Yang announced suddenly she was going to resign so she could move to the city where her boyfriend was based. Up until then, she had never revealed she had a boyfriend. Jiang Tian had offered to set her up and she didn't refuse.
She explained: "I was never content with my boyfriend. I didn't think he was outstanding enough. I felt I deserved better. Working for our company was also strategic. I had the chance to meet many quality guys. I wanted to see if there were better options. But the way our clients approach marriage like a business deal turned me off. My boyfriend and I have a three-year history. Our marriage will be a loving one."
Yang Yang left, but at least she figured out what she wanted, while many others remained confused.
Once I noticed a client showing off the deed to a Shanghai apartment on his WeChat status update along with the sentence: "The three most important things in life are picking the right major after your university entrance exams, picking the right time to buy your home and picking the right spouse."
Yet I suspected he was clueless as to what made for a right choice.
**
Yang Yang's replacement was an imminent university graduate, a young woman born in the 2000s. When she attended her first singles mixer, she marveled: "Do all singles born in the 80s and 90s need to work so hard to get married?
"If we don't, then we'll end up as leftover men and women," I responded with a smile.
My new colleague responded dismissively: "What's wrong with that? There are so many fun things to do in the world. Why be so close-minded as to force yourself to get married?"
Taking in the confident, naive look on her face and contrasting it with the nervous, guarded guests at the event, I had trouble deciding which side was more in tune with reality.