◎ I did some calculations—tonight, I’ll finally see those abs.◎

Looking back, I think I was overthinking when I thought X was a little annoyed. It was probably just the visual impact of his pumped-up leg muscles after a workout and the illusion of closeness from our private chat that made me a little giddy.

After that, X never messaged me privately again. He just carried on ignoring—or maybe enjoying—the endless admiration and teasing in his comment section while continuing to be his cold, untouchable self.

I sobered up quickly. Other than occasionally sending him my recycled “Hi, are you there? Look at the abs.” joke, I didn’t make any further attempts to test the waters.

Then, a business trip kept me offline for a week.

On Friday at noon, while waiting for my lunch order, I checked his page. So sneaky—he posted photos of every other workout except abs day, where he only shared a picture of the gym equipment.

Curious, I zoomed in on the photo. Next to the machine, there was a neatly arranged shelf of rolled-up white towels. The gym looked spotless. They provided bottled water, but X still brought his own sports bottle—black and silver, from a premium brand I recognized.

From what I could tell, X was financially well off.

But that had nothing to do with me. I was just a simple girl with a simple love for abs.

I didn’t dig deeper, nor did I save the picture. Instead, while browsing food delivery options, I had a random thought—I ignored the usual crowd favorites and ordered a healthy-style meal: seared beef with broccoli and pumpkin sauce.

The food arrived quickly. Just as I opened the disposable container, my colleague reacted before I could.

“Oh no. This is it. Our team has officially lost its first mentally deranged member. She’s eating grass now.”

Our team lead, a manager who was a total boss at work but adorably dramatic off the clock, took a bite of her burger and gasped in exaggerated horror:

“My dear, don’t do this! You’re our team mascot! If we lose that face of yours, who am I supposed to send up to perform at the company’s year-end party? You can’t die on me!”

For once, I was eating healthy—so healthy I didn’t even get sauce. I snapped a few photos of my meal from different angles, feeling like my veins were coursing with dull, green blood. Chewing my bland meal, I looked pale but felt victorious.

“Relax. I made it all the way to March—dying now would be a waste. If I’m gonna die, I’ll at least wait until after the October off-season.”

“Now that’s the ambition! Keep it up!”

Between the banter, I quickly finished my meal. The rest of the afternoon was spent wrapping up work from the trip. It wasn’t until past ten at night, back in my hotel room, that I finally got around to putting a filter on my lunch photos.

And just like that, my Xiaofanshu account finally had its very first post—an overly pretentious attempt at a healthy meal log.

I didn’t post the note just for the sake of it. Instead, I took the initiative and sent a direct message to X, attaching the link:

“Hi, male Bodhisattva. You don’t follow my account, so I’m guessing you haven’t seen this. No need to be polite.”

X: “?”

Huh…? He wasn’t online just a moment ago.

I quickly dismissed any unnecessary thoughts caused by his instant reply and focused on my next move:

“Can’t you tell? I’m trying my best to cater to your interests.”

X: “I don’t see that. I only see you forcing yourself.”

“That’s true, just a little.”

Understanding the principle of taking five steps forward only to retreat three, I admitted honestly:

“I’m full, but mentally it feels like haven’t eaten.”

The chat remained quiet, but a system notification popped up instead—X liked your note.

The corners of my mouth lifted. “Mocking me while secretly liking my post?”

X: “Well, considering it took you five days to squeeze out a single note, it deserves a like for encouragement.”

Now I was sure—X had been keeping an eye on me.

But I wasn’t going to follow his lead.

If I confronted him directly, he would definitely deny it. Whether I pressed on or feigned disappointment, I would end up in a passive position.

So I pretended not to notice and responded casually, like any other netizen:

“Thank you, Like Knight.”

X didn’t reply, but my follower count changed from 0 to 1. The notification “X has started following you” felt almost symbolic. My grin stretched so wide that I probably looked like a fool.

Pulling him back into our private chat, I asked, “Do I not seem like someone who eats healthy meals?”

X: “Not really.”

At this moment, I should have asked, “Then what do you think I seem like?”

Instead, I tweaked the question slightly: “Then in your mind, what do I seem like?”

I wasn’t sure if he noticed my little trick, but I could tell he didn’t fall for it.

X replied, “Like a seagull snatching fries at the dock.”

Wasn’t that just his way of describing how I kept pestering him for an abs photo?

Rather than feeling frustrated, I chuckled to myself. I figured he understood my intentions but was making it clear that he wasn’t into this kind of playful flirting.

Not into it? This was the clearest sign that he was.

A sense of satisfaction rose in me, and I quickly realized something—

He was much more adept at this than I had imagined. While he seemed to be passively responding, he had actually been leading the pace of our conversation all along.

I fanned my face to cool myself down, then casually steered the topic into more personal territory:

“Are you still a student?”

X: “I wish.”

X: “Why do you ask?”

I sent a crying emoji. “Because you always have time for regular workouts.”

X: “Maybe I just need less sleep than most people.”

So arrogant!

I pouted and laughed, not bothering to question whether he was telling the truth. The internet was a mysterious place—who cared what was really behind the screen?

Keeping my tone light, I typed: “Looks like you and I are the same—both night owls.”

The key was to highlight our similarities and close the distance.

X: “I suppose.”

I hummed in satisfaction and reinforced the idea: “That’s why we’re both still awake. That’s also why we even got to chatting. If you round it up, doesn’t that count as fate?”

X: “Hold it right there. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Ignoring his resistance, I bit my lip, grinning as I typed: “Fate brings people together even across thousands of miles. I did some calculations—tonight, I’ll finally see those abs.”

X seemed momentarily speechless, hesitating for a few seconds before awkwardly changing the subject:

“So why are you still awake?”

I seized the opportunity and corrected his wording: “You should be asking, ‘Why are you still awake? Do you have something on your mind?’”

X must have just copied and pasted:

“Why are you still awake? Do you have something on your mind?”

He acted like he had taken the bait, but his next message immediately cut off my escape route.

X: “Just to be clear, no matter what’s on your mind, I am not sending an abs photo.”

I silently laughed, realizing—ah! It wasn’t me baiting him. It was him using the topic of abs to keep me hooked all along.

I sent a sigh emoji. “What now? My thoughts are asking me what’s on my mind, but I’m not allowed to tell the truth?”

X: “…”

I quickly took control of the situation, acting like I was standing in front of him with my hands on my hips:

“You’re not going to scold me again, are you?”

Then, I dug up an old conversation, cropped out his words, and sent the screenshot back to him—

X: “A little.”

X: “Too much.”

I was sure that, at this moment, he was laughing on the other side of the screen.

After a while, he finally replied with two simple messages—

X: “No.”

X: “Go ahead.”

It was late at night. I stood at the sink, hands full of foamy face wash, yet still managed to poke at my phone with my pinky finger:

“I’ll give you a chance to take that back. Otherwise, I’m taking it seriously.”

X paused for a few seconds, seemingly realizing that any response could be seen as encouraging. Telling me “don’t take it seriously” would sound too heartless.

I basked in my slight upper hand for a moment until his reply came—

X: “Suit yourself.”