◎ Hi, I have a friend who wants to see some abs ◎

As expected, the message I sent vanished into the void.

Not that I had much hope for a response anyway.

Setting my phone aside, I got back to work. By the time I finally sent out my emails near dawn, I collapsed into bed, utterly drained.

That night, I had a dream filled with nothing but rated-18 material—too explicit to describe in detail. I wouldn’t want to get censored.

The last and most vivid scene burned into my memory:

My legs were draped over broad, muscular shoulders. My ankles rested in strong hands, veins bulging slightly beneath his skin. Beyond his unseen face was an entire floor-to-ceiling mirror. Struggling to get a clearer look, I turned my head, only to see the sharp contours of his shoulders and arms moving steadily, every line taut and defined.

I was completely satisfied.

Thanks to X, when my alarm went off, I didn’t feel the usual post-all-nighter exhaustion.

Instead, I felt refreshed—practically reborn.

Still groggy, I ran my fingers through my hair and stumbled into the bathroom. Just as I squeezed toothpaste onto my electric toothbrush, a sudden chill between my legs made me pause.

Surprised and delighted, I checked to confirm—

Sure enough, my period had finally arrived.

After six months of absence, my long-lost period had returned.

It felt like I had just come back to life.

The doctor said I lacked estrogen and suggested that I get into a relationship. I firmly refused. As a compromise, the doctor advised me to watch idol dramas, play otome games, or at the very least, follow some attractive male celebrities.

I tried them all, but I was too busy. Spending thirty to forty minutes at a time felt like an extravagant waste.

In the end, mental escapism was more convenient—after all, I had to sleep anyway, so I might as well dream a little.

Overnight, my admiration for X evolved from mere respect to a one-sided infatuation. I gradually got used to checking his profile whenever I had a spare moment.

Due to the messaging restrictions on Xiaofanshu, I could only send him one text message every twenty-four hours unless he followed me back or replied first. So, my private messages weren’t as frequent as I thought about him. If I remembered before bed, I would just copy and paste, “Hi, are you there? Look at the abs.” If I forgot, then so be it.

It didn’t matter. I was certain my messages would be lost in the vast sea of DMs he received.

X, who had recently gained a surge of followers, didn’t respond to the overwhelming attention nor did he react to the occasional envious criticisms.

I figured he must have felt a quiet sense of pride about all the buzz surrounding his physique, which was why he kept posting workout photos after every gym session.

He always dressed appropriately, with no suggestive undertones. Compared to other fitness influencers who posed in revealing angles or stripped down, he lacked that overwhelming “greasy” vibe. Instead, he exuded a subtle yet undeniable masculine charm.

Of course, there was also another possibility—he was simply someone more focused on self-discipline rather than seeking external validation, calmly documenting his fitness journey without any distractions.

Things remained at a standstill for a while.

One late night during a brainstorming session, I collapsed onto the table. To cover for the brain cells that had just perished under intense discussion and hadn’t yet revived, I decided to lighten the mood. “I’ve suffered a huge blow,” I declared.

It was past midnight, and my coworkers were equally drained. They mustered weak smiles. “What happened?”

Feigning distress, I said, “I tried to ask a handsome guy on Xiaofanshu to show me his abs, and I got ignored.”

Their tired smiles instantly turned genuine, and the discussion became livelier.

“Whoa! You’re bold!”

“How did you even ask?”

I laughed and admitted, “I just said, ‘Hi, are you there? Look at the abs.’”

My coworkers nearly fell over laughing. “You used such a corny line! There’s no way he’d actually respond.”

Someone even gave me a ridiculous suggestion. “Why don’t you offer to exchange photos? You’re so pretty—if he refuses, he must be gay.”

I nodded and shrugged, pretending to sigh. “Right, right. I’ll let him admire my dark circles first, then showcase my eye redness. By the time he’s too dazed to react, I’ll just lift my shirt, take a quick look at his abs, and run.”

The room burst into laughter. The previously tense atmosphere finally lightened up—until a female coworker leaned in and asked, “Which account? Let me check it out. I might follow him too.”

My hand had already reached into my cardigan pocket, fingers brushing against my phone, when a thought suddenly struck me.

My Xiaofanshu account had never followed anyone I knew in real life.

Even the registered phone number was a backup I got from an internet plan—one I had never actually used. I didn’t want my account to get pushed to people in my contact list through big data.

I froze mid-action, quickly coming up with a work-related excuse to change the subject.

You can’t blame me. I just desperately wanted a space online where I could be completely unfiltered.

At that moment, another realization hit me—if my alternate account was entirely separate from my real life, didn’t that mean I could say whatever I wanted?

With that thought in mind, I transformed into an unrestrained little gremlin, treating X’s comment section like my personal playground.

When X posted about cardio, I commented:

“Hi, I have a friend who wants to see some abs.”

When X uploaded a back workout photo, I wrote:

“Don’t be afraid, I’m just a pure-hearted girl who wants to see abs.”

When X shared a chest day update, I said:

“Are you new here? I don’t remember seeing you before. Show me your abs.”

And I even attached a grinning Grandpa meme for extra effect.

Honestly, even I cringed at myself while typing these out. But compared to the wild comments flooding his posts from other fangirls and fanboys, my messages actually seemed pretty tame.

Tonight, I got off work early and managed to catch the last train home. Enjoying the luxury of an empty subway car, I picked the best seat and pulled out my phone.

Just then, Xiaofanshu sent me a notification.

Oh, X had trained his legs today.

Maybe because he never went overboard with his workouts, his muscle tone and definition carried a youthful energy.

I could already imagine how chaotic his inbox must be at this moment, so I confidently opened our chat and sent:

“Hi, male Bodhisattva. Are you there? I have something to say, and no matter if it’s appropriate or not, I’m going to say it.”

Then, a new message popped up.

X: “……”

I froze, thinking I was seeing things. I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

No mistake—his profile picture was there, and the little green dot under his name was lit, signaling that he was online.

What did those six dots mean? Speechless? Helpless? Hopeless?

Oh well, who cares! This was just online banter. Nobody knew each other in real life anyway. As long as I was having fun, that was all that mattered.

Lowering my moral compass just a little, I quickly typed and sent another message:

“Since you didn’t object, I’ll go ahead and say it.”

Despite acting carefree, I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. I stared at the chat for a few minutes, but there was no response.

Half-expecting this outcome, I closed the app, slightly disappointed but not too surprised.

Just as I was about to put my phone away—

Ding!

A notification popped up at the top of my screen, and my heart pounded.

My breath hitched as I opened the chat window. It was strange—although I had never heard X’s voice before, I felt like I could hear his helplessness, to the point of striking back, just from those few words.

“Is it abs again?”

X asked.