Last month, I went on a blind date. The other person was a nurse—looking neat and clean, speaking softly and gently.

The first time we met, she took out a medical examination report and said, “This is mine. What about yours?”
At that moment, I felt a warm feeling in my heart, thinking this girl was dependable—not after money, not after a house, just for health.
The next day, I went and got a full physical exam, costing more than a thousand. When the report came out, all the indicators were normal—there wasn’t even fatty liver.
After she finished reading the report, she nodded and said, “It’s fine. Go meet your parents next week.”
I thought everything was settled.
But yesterday, she suddenly sent me a message saying, “I’m sorry, we’re not a match.”
I asked her why. She said, “I checked—your grandfather’s younger cousin’s auntie’s cousin has had a thyroid nodule, and there’s a hereditary risk.”
I stared at the screen for three minutes, typed and deleted, deleted and typed, and in the end I only sent one word: “Oh.”
She replied, “Don’t be sad. You’re a good person. It’s just that your genes aren’t good enough.”
Turns out the cruelest rejection in love isn’t that you don’t have a house or a car—it’s that your ancestors’ health isn’t good enough.
Later, I learned that she was booking medical exams with four other guys at the same time, and ultimately chose the one whose genes were the most “perfect.”
Suddenly, I felt that the more-than-1,000 yuan checkup fee I paid was the dumbest intelligence tax I’ve ever paid in my life.
Tell me—when it comes to this kind of “eugenics-style” blind dating, is it really about finding a partner, or about breeding?