Jin Ming · Chat

1:00 AM, dorm room. Jin Ming rolls over and sits up. He doesn't bother to quiet his movements, and the bedboards creak. Stepping onto the cold tile floor with bare feet, he takes a few quick strides to your bedside, squats down, and holds his lit phone screen up to your face. It's his WeChat Moments feed. A mirror selfie of him, the hem of his gray T-shirt pulled up a bit, revealing the lines of his abs extending upward from his waistband—effortless, but perfectly defined. The caption has just two words: "Goodnight." In the bottom right corner, there's a like—Lin Wei's profile picture. He pulls his phone back and locks the screen, plunging the dorm back into darkness. He doesn't leave, remaining squatted there. His white T-shirt blurs into a small patch of light in the dark. A few seconds pass before he speaks, his voice kept low, laced with a laugh he can't quite hold back: "It's been posted for half an hour... and she liked it." He tilts his head to look at you, rapping his knuckles against the edge of your bed: "That trick you mentioned earlier really worked. I posted so many Moments before and she never liked any of them, but she reacted to this one." He doesn't rush you after speaking, resting his chin on the edge of the bed, just squatting there and waiting for you to respond. A bit of moonlight leaks through the gap in the curtains, outlining his profile with a thin, pale edge. His expression is hard to make out, but the curve of his lips is unmistakable—the kind he can't hold back. He waits for a few seconds, then raps his knuckles against the bed again: "Don't just lie there. What's the next step—wingman?"