◎ Hi, are you there? Look at the abs. ◎

X’s Xiaofanshu^[1]Xiaofanshu (小番薯) is a Chinese social media platform. It is an app that allows users to share content like short videos, photos, and updates, similar to platforms like Instagram or TikTok. account was recommended to me by my fitness coach, hoping that I would take him as a role model, feel ashamed, and then strive to improve.

It was just an ordinary evening. As an equally ordinary corporate worker, I was crushing it in Excel while simultaneously getting crushed in Outlook.

A short, crisp ding sounded, and my phone vibrated slightly on the desk. At that moment, I had no idea this notification would completely alter my hormonal balance for the rest of my life. I picked up my phone, annoyed as usual, wondering what fresh hell the universe had devised to torment yet another exhausted office worker.

Luckily, the notification wasn’t a work disaster. It was from my long-absent fitness trainer:

“Sister, do you want to work out tonight? I know you’re busy, so I saved a slot for you before closing—10:30. You in?”

My wrist, sore from excessive mouse usage, trembled slightly. Even typing felt like a struggle.

“Can’t make it. Working overtime.”

My trainer had heard this excuse too many times. Perhaps they had been deceived by too many trainees before, so they responded with professional skepticism:

“Overtime again? Be honest with me. Are you lying?”

“Why would I curse myself like that?”

I attached a crying-my-eyes-out emoji, perfectly capturing my raw, unfiltered despair.

After a brief two-minute silence, my trainer sent me a photo—my very own fitness goals, boldly listed on paper from when I first signed up for a gym membership.

I had always been naturally slim. If I wanted to be a little self-indulgent, I could say I checked off pale and slender from the pale, slender, youthful beauty standard. But I had always longed for that sun-kissed, strong, and toned physique.

I even remember attaching a photo of a well-known Western female fitness influencer to my goals. The sheer power her muscles exuded had left me in awe, and I once made a grand declaration in the gym that I wouldn’t stop until I achieved that look.

Now, with dark circles under my eyes, I zoomed in on that photo. Wow. One punch from her could probably knock out three of my sleep-deprived selves.

A rapid series of dings rang out from my phone. I quickly switched it to silent mode. My trainer had sent me several links to fitness influencers, claiming:

“Check these out when you have time. Maybe it’ll inspire you.”

I skimmed through them. They were all fitness bloggers—men and women alike—whose sculpted bodies were enviable enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Then another message popped up.

“Oh, I just found a new one. Even better. The perfect role model.”

My phone was still in my left hand, and the vibration traveled from my palm up my arm, straight to my heart. I lowered my head to check.

[Link] Shared @X’s personal profile

It was a completely anonymous account. Brand new. Only five followers. Before I could look further, a colleague called for me from the hallway.

“Coming!”

I turned my head to respond, instinctively hit “Follow” on X’s profile, then put my phone down and rushed back to work.

By the time I finally looked up from my tasks again, I had already forgotten about the other fitness influencers my trainer had sent me.

Just like that, I became X’s sixth follower.

For the next week, X’s account sat quietly in my following list, completely unnoticed. I had been thrown into a new project, drowning in work. Before I started this job, I imagined myself as a glamorous urban career woman. After I started, I realized I was nothing more than a glorified construction worker—laboring day and night, losing track of time.

After enduring a week of brutal business trips that blurred the lines between men, women, and livestock, I finally collapsed in the backseat of a taxi, hugging my bag like a lifeline. Half-asleep from exhaustion, I absentmindedly opened my long-neglected social media app.

The first update on my feed was from X.

In just one week, X’s follower count had grown to over a hundred.

I was a little surprised. For someone who didn’t chase trends, post videos, or even reveal their face, that was impressive growth.

Curiosity got the best of me. I clicked into X’s profile for a closer look.

It seemed they had no intention of becoming a professional fitness influencer. The account was more of a personal workout log—just tracking exercises, sets, weights, and daily meals.

From what I remembered from my college fitness days, X’s workout routines and meal plans were structured and well-designed. If someone wanted a solid fitness guide, X’s page was basically a ready-made textbook. Their discipline was admirable—no wonder they were gaining followers.

Staring at X’s latest post—buckwheat noodles with spinach and beef—I hesitated, my chopsticks hovering over my takeout. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt.

Since starting this project, the stress had been overwhelming. If I forced myself to eat clean, I feared I’d spiral into depression. So, I found my comfort elsewhere—indulging in high-fat, high-carb, and ridiculously flavorful guilty pleasures.

From that day on, checking X’s profile became a small habit of mine. If I couldn’t change myself, at least I could find solace in watching a stranger live a disciplined life. Before devouring my sinful takeout meals, I would scroll through X’s clean-eating posts—just to feel a tiny bit of shame.

Everything should have continued on this dull, uneventful path.

Until one late night.

I was having an inappropriate dream—releasing all my stress in the most delightful way—when I was jolted awake by a phone call from my manager.

“Are you there?”

I was barely conscious, but my voice was as crisp as if I had just taken a polar plunge in Antarctica.

“Yes, Manager. I’m here.”

Her tone was sharp and firm, but I knew there was a fellow overworked soul hidden behind it.

“Your report has been reviewed by the boss. I just forwarded it to you. Revise it according to the feedback. I’ll be pulling an all-nighter, so send it to me once you’re done.”

1:45 AM.

Half-asleep, I groggily grabbed my laptop from the nightstand. Though I felt like dying inside, I remained strong on the surface and replied with a firm, “Received.”

“Book a meeting room for 10:30 AM tomorrow. A bigger one.”

“Received.”

The moment I tossed my phone aside, my fingers began typing furiously on the keyboard. Perhaps because I hadn’t turned on the bedroom light, the dim glow of the screen made me feel like an elderly person struggling with blurry vision ahead of retirement.

The tiny numbers on the screen blurred into a swarm of ants before my eyes. My chest tightened, and I felt short of breath. I realized I couldn’t go on like this. If I didn’t inject myself with some adrenaline soon, I might just die young.

I reached for my phone and opened X’s profile, purely to remind myself that somewhere in this world, someone was living a bright, positive, and healthy life.

The moment my screen refreshed, a sudden spike in his follower count startled me. In just half a day, his followers had shot up to over eight hundred. And in the mere two seconds it took for me to exit and re-enter his page, the number had already increased by two.

What was going on?

Had someone else also discovered this hidden gem?

For days, I’d been checking his updates like clockwork, forming an inexplicable emotional attachment. It felt like the treasure I had carefully hidden away was finally being recognized by the world. I was happy for him, yet I couldn’t deny the faint sense of loss creeping in.

Still, it was no big deal. My rationality was intact, and I quickly adjusted my mindset before scrolling through his page.

The answer wasn’t hard to find. At first glance, everything on his profile seemed the same as before.

The only difference?

About four hours ago, he—yes, I could now confirm it was a “he”—had posted a new update.

The title was simple: “3.17 Evening Workout Log.”

The content was the same as always—his workout routine. A 15-minute jog for warm-up, followed by back exercises, mainly machine rows.

I was all too familiar with these details.

But this time, there was one major difference—he had posted a post-workout photo.

Under the dim yellow lighting, his reflection appeared in the floor-to-ceiling window. He wore a black athletic T-shirt that fit perfectly—not too tight, not too loose. It happened to be my favorite sportswear brand. His shoulders and back, still slightly flushed from exertion, peeked out just a little at the neckline. From there, his arm extended downward, veins subtly visible, radiating an electrifying sense of strength.

He still didn’t show his face.

And to be honest, the composition and angle of the photo were painfully “straight guy.”

Yet despite that, this one photo was enough to make me hold my breath behind the screen. Without realizing it, the corners of my mouth had already lifted to my temples.

With a swipe to the right, I expected to see a well-defined set of abs. After all, most fitness enthusiasts weren’t shy about showing off the results of their hard work. It was only fair that sweat and dedication be rewarded with admiration.

But—

That was it?

Just one photo?

It seemed like he really was just logging his workout.

Just like that?

How could he stop there?!

Unwilling to give up, I scrolled through the comments, hoping to find some trace of him interacting with his followers. But there was nothing. Unlike the usual sparse discussions about fitness, this time, the comment section was shockingly unified.

Everyone was saying the same thing—

“Hi, are you there? Look at the abs.”

I burst out laughing, completely understanding the sentiment behind those comments. A mix of disappointment and impatience, yet still lighthearted and playful.

Still laughing, I tossed my phone onto the bed. But the culprit behind this chaos had already buried himself deep under my blanket, while the lingering impact of that photo refused to fade. My scalp tingled as the aftershock coursed through me.

It was strange.

It was just a partial back shot, yet it had made my heart race in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. The steady thump-thump-thump echoing through the late-night silence made me briefly worry if I was on the verge of sudden cardiac arrest.

But it was fine.

As a single adult woman, it was perfectly reasonable to take a little risk for the sake of gathering dream fuel.

Fine, I admit it—I was totally thirsting.

But so what?

Appreciating beauty was human nature. I often scrolled through pictures of gorgeous men and women online, admiring sculpted deltoids, firm abs, and powerful legs. That kind of confidence and health exuding from within had an incredibly uplifting effect on my mentally exhausted self.

That said, I usually kept my admiration to simple likes.

Feeling the urge to actually leave a comment… that was a first.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, debating whether this was a bit too creepy.

But then again—who cares?

The brave ones get to enjoy life first.

Among the flood of playful comments, I boldly slid into his DMs and knocked on his door—

“Hi, are you there? Look at the abs.”

°.✩┈┈∘*┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈*∘┈┈✩.°

[📢 Author’s Note]

The project next door got too depressing, so I’m just letting loose for a bit, hahaha.