This director is vindictive.

Chapter 450 The entire internet is helping their ex-boyfriend come back to life.

Chen Mo's publicity campaign for the "13-year promise" has completely ignited people's nostalgic memories.

In this life, there are some things that are hard to forget.

Especially when it comes to love.

Meanwhile, the song "Ten Years" suddenly became popular again because of this event.

Countless netizens have posted their movie ticket stubs from back then online. In fact, many tickets are no longer available, but quite a few people still managed to save the photos.

As the topic of Chen Mo's "thirteen-year promise" continued to gain traction, two long-dormant emotional landmarks were suddenly awakened by a surge of traffic—the servers of Love Bank and Museum of Broken Relationships crashed simultaneously at 3 a.m.

The "Love Bank" and "Museum of Broken Relationships" set up across the country thirteen years ago to promote the movie "Love is Not Blind" have reappeared during the Spring Festival.

Many people were impressed, saying that Chen Mo was still the same Chen Mo, and his style from back then had actually continued to this day.

In an office building in Shanghai, 32-year-old lawyer Lin is still single, and her family has been urging her to go on blind dates every year.

She has been on several dates, but because she still has her feelings for her ex from back then, nothing has come of it yet.

The parents' hair turned white with worry.

Upon seeing Chen Mo's "thirteen-year promise," she was suddenly reminded of what had happened back then.

She opened the official website of "Love Bank" and suddenly choked up while looking at the computer screen.

Because she had just unlocked the "Love Safe" she had deposited on November 11, 2011, using facial recognition, a short, blurry video popped up in the holographic projection—her college boyfriend was holding up a ticket stub for the movie "Love is Not Blind" and shouting at her: "When we get married, we're going to buy this paper shredder that's the same one Huang Xiaoxian has!"

视频下方静静躺着份电子凭证，显示她当年存入的“1314元爱情基金”已按复合利率增值至5201.31元。最让她颤抖的是备注栏里那行小字：“2024年11月11日可提取，建议用于马尔代夫双人游。”

She couldn't help but recall the time they broke up. That phone number had actually been in her phone all these years. But every Valentine's Day, Qixi Festival, Singles' Day, and other special occasions, she would always find herself flipping through her contacts, but each time she couldn't muster the courage to dial that number.

She didn't know if he was single like her, but suddenly she mustered up the courage to dial that number she used to know so well.

But instead, all I heard was a mechanical voice announcing: "Sorry, the number you dialed is not in service! Please..."

Tears streamed down her face.

She opened Weibo and couldn't help but post a message: "Seven years after the breakup, I finally mustered the courage to dial that long-lost number, but it's not in service!"

She thought it was all over, but unexpectedly, things took a turn for the worse when it was time to leave work.

The phone suddenly rang.

The number was unfamiliar.

She hesitated for a moment, then answered the call.

The call was connected, but there was no sound from the other end for a long time.

But she trembled slightly, because her intuition told her that it was him on the other end of the phone!
Her voice trembled as she asked, "Is it you?"

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone, a faint static crackling coming from the receiver. A voice she hadn't heard in seven years suddenly rang in her ears, as if traveling through a time tunnel: "Yes, it's me."

Outside the office's floor-to-ceiling windows, twilight was swallowing the last rays of the setting sun. She saw her reflection in the glass—her lipstick had been smudged during the afternoon meeting, and her mascara was smudged from her earlier tears. The elite facade she had cultivated over years in the workplace was now cracking inch by inch.

Her throat tightened: "Why, why did you call?"

The rustling sound of papers turning over came from the other end of the phone, just like the background noise she heard when he stayed up all night writing proposals back then, lying on her dormitory bed.

"Love Bank just sent me a message. Oh, and I saw your Weibo post too."

His voice carried a slight distortion from electronic transmission: "That number... was deregistered three years ago during the company's restructuring."

The coffee machine in the break room suddenly beeped, startling her so much she almost dropped her phone. In a daze, she remembered the day they broke up; it was a winter evening like this, the Starbucks downstairs was playing "Ten Years," and he had put her mug, which she'd left at the office, into a cardboard box; the bottom of the mug still had unwashed coffee stains.

I've changed jobs four times.

His voice suddenly became clear: "But I've always been using XX email address."

This was the prefix of their shared email address from back then. Her fingernails unconsciously scratched faint white marks on the desk. Ms. Li from the administration department walked by carrying documents, glancing in surprise at the usually decisive and efficient lawyer Lin, whose eyes were now red-rimmed.

Suddenly, the airport announcement for boarding came over the phone. "Going on a business trip?" she blurted out, then bit her lip. This familiar concern was too dangerous, like peeling off a band-aid from a scabbed wound.

“Yes, to Shenzhen.” After a brief silence, he suddenly said, “Actually, I passed by your company building last week.”

She saw her reflection in the glass and suddenly sat up straight.

The voice on the other end of the phone continued, "That bubble tea shop is still there, with your favorite taro boba." The words faded into the static, but exploded like fireworks in her heart. Seven years is enough for a bubble tea shop to change hands three times. How could he know? Unless, unless he had checked, like she had secretly searched his LinkedIn profile.

"Um... I'm boarding." The sound of suitcase wheels rolling in the background faded into the distance.

Just when she thought the call was about to end, a very soft voice came through the receiver: "I sent you a private message on Weibo."

Amidst the busy tone of the call ending, she frantically opened the notification bar—it contained two screenshots of movie tickets from years ago for "Love is Not Blind" and two photos from "Ocean Wedding."

She suddenly burst into tears of joy!

Similar stories are unfolding across the country.

Some were happy while others were sad. Some people were brought back together because of this event, while others silently looked at old photos, searching for lost memories. And then there were others.
The Museum of Broken Relationships has also seen a surge in popularity.

In Beijing's 798 Art District, curator Xiao Wang, who was working overtime overnight, was directing workers to move exhibits that had suddenly become overstocked. In the glass display case, next to the "key to open the heart," a new message card from a donor has been added: "I learned in 2024 that he left his property to me in his will before he passed away. It turns out that the heart never needs a key."

The most eye-catching addition is the new "13-year comparison zone":
Next to the box of "gifts I couldn't bear to throw away" from 2011, there was a newly sent wedding photo from the owner: "Today I finally emptied the storage room and found that the most important thing to keep was the decluttering guide my current partner gave me."
The elderly woman who used to heal her heartbreak by listening to vinyl records sent a photo of herself and her first love at a nursing home: "I'll donate the records to you, but please return my hearing aid."

The most heartbreaking thing is the "Missing Persons Notice Wall".

Countless people are searching here for the stranger who donated exhibits at the same time as them thirteen years ago: "The girl who donated the blue sweater at 3 pm on November 11, 2011, I saw you crying so hard on the surveillance camera that I put a pack of tissues in the donation box—have you learned to love yourself now?"

"I'm looking for the guy who stole my exhibit (half a pack of cigarettes) from the Museum of Broken Relationships back then. I kept the note inside the cigarette pack that said 'I'm borrowing your heartbreak' for thirteen years. I only recently realized that the pinyin abbreviations were your phone number after I successfully quit smoking!"

Meanwhile, many netizens are also sharing their own stories online.

It's even more exciting than a movie script!
Under the hashtag #ThirteenYearsOfLoveDiary# initiated by Chen Mo, various life scripts are being updated at a rate of thousands per minute.

Some are comedic, some are downright hilarious: "My best friend and I made a bet back then that whoever found a boyfriend first would cover the other's wedding drinks. Yesterday, we both posted our marriage certificates online, only to discover that the groom was the same person!" (Attached are photos of the bet from 2011 and a photo of the three of us together in 2024)
"What does this mean? I recognize each character individually, but I can't understand the meaning when they're put together?"

"The groom is the same person? This plot is something even movies wouldn't dare to film!"

Even more outrageous: "After watching the movie in 2011, I vowed to become a sarcastic gay best friend like Wang Xiaojian. In 2024, during a gynecological exam, I discovered that the attending physician was none other than my childhood friend whom I had 'straightened out'" (with pictures: comparison of two movie tickets and a marriage certificate).

Of course, tragedies are more common.

After all, with a span of thirteen years, some people may already have many partners.

"I feel like a joke. In the past thirteen years, I have been a bridesmaid for the same man four times in different capacities!"

"He used to embarrass my colleague by imitating Wang Xiaojian, and now he's the opposing lawyer in my divorce case." (Attached is a photo of the courtroom audience)

“2011年11月11日，我们在《失恋33天》的电影院认识的，2013年11月11日我们结婚了，2018年12月，他永远离开了我！呜呜呜！”

Meanwhile, missing person notices on the internet have inexplicably become popular.

When even big data is helpless, humanity begins to use the most primitive method: searching for a needle in a haystack.
"Looking for the guy in seat 9, row 6, theater 3 of Rongcheng Cinema on Singles' Day in 2011, the novel you wrote on the tissue you borrowed from me has been published, and I'll give you half of the royalties!"

"The girl who secretly photographed me at the Museum of Broken Relationships in Shanghai back then, the smudged makeup I wore in your photo has now become a popular makeup tutorial online. Please contact me to pay for the use of my image rights!"

"Looking for the lady on duty at the Beijing Love Bank, the eye roll you gave me when you said, 'Deposit for ten years and you can redeem true love,' cured my love-obsessed mind!"

This wave of nostalgia has completely ignited the discussion.

What's baffling is that a certain second-hand trading platform suddenly saw a large number of "original tickets to 'Love is Not Blind'", priced from 999 to 6666.

A netizen posted a screenshot of the conversation, in which the seller confidently guaranteed: "Absolutely the original 2011 theatrical release, it even has my tear stains from back then!"

Buyer: "Then why are you still selling it?"

Seller: "The woman I watched a movie with back then is now a mother of three, but I'm not their father!"

Buyer: "6!"

Seller: "Then why do you want to buy it?"

Buyer: "Because I found her again, but unfortunately I lost the ticket stub from back then!"

Seller: "6! (Emoji: crying!)"

Buyer: "Can you make it cheaper?"

Seller: "."

(End of this chapter)