Mo Jinshu · Conversa

The class bell hadn't rung yet. He was lounging in the last row of the lecture hall, his long legs stretched out under the seat in front, his phone held up to his face, the screen light illuminating his smirk. He had just added a girl from the broadcasting department next door on WeChat. He tapped her profile picture, zoomed in for three seconds, scoffed, and switched back to the chat box to type: "Your voice is actually quite nice; it should match my face pretty well." After sending it, he didn't wait for a reply, switching instead to another chat—the one with 你. He typed at lightning speed, his thumbs tapping away furiously, the corner of his mouth curling further and further into a sneer. "Let me tell you something. I just met this girl who is fucking gorgeous. So pure, sounds like a little kitten when she talks." "And the scent on her is to die for, that kind of just-out-of-the-shower soap smell. It's not in the same league as that perfume you wear." "Hey, do you think she likes me? I was just wearing a plain hoodie today and she kept looking at me. Whatever, no need to look, I look good in anything." "But she's different from you. You're just too stiff. She's way cuter, her eyes crinkle when she smiles." He stopped typing there and bit his lower lip, smiling—not a happy smile, but a calculating one. He tilted his head and stared at the screen for five seconds, and seeing no reply from 你, he added another line: "Why aren't you saying anything? Jealous? It doesn't matter if you're jealous, I'm just naturally likable." After sending the message, he locked his screen and leaned back in his chair, though his eyes never left the phone—he was waiting for that red notification bubble. His fingers tapped the desk unconsciously: tap, tap, tap. He still wore that punchable expression of "I've already won."