Chapter 2: A Tempting Photo
Lin Zhengmo's life is simple.
After work, she strolls home, sometimes with takeout ordered by "AhAhAh." When cooking, she potters in the kitchen, accompanied by her Ragdoll cat, PaoPao, named for its fluffy fur. Socially, she's slow to warm up—polite but awkward, struggling to refuse others. Colleagues often try to set her up, so she avoids gatherings to dodge the well-meaning but unwanted matchups.
Most of her life revolves around "AhAhAh," a accidental encounter in a civil service exam group chat. Drawn by rumors of AhAhAh's academic prowess, Lin Zhengmo added them, never expecting to fall for a stranger online. As a 28-year-old deep in the closet, this online romance is her first love.
She'd only heard AhAhAh's voice—curt but familiar, though she can't place where.
"Takeout was good, but too much," Lin Zhengmo sends a voice message, adding, "Don't order so much. Wasteful."
AhAhAh texts back: Next time, half-portion.
Show me the cat.
Lin Zhengmo calls PaoPao over, snaps a photo, and sends it.
PaoPao's cuter than ever, comes the reply.
"You always want cat pics," she types, then cringes at her tone.
Would it be rude if I said I'd rather see you?
Lin Zhengmo's heart skips. How can dry text on a screen feel so intimate?
"Ah," she replies, a single syllable loaded with chaos.
No pressure, AhAhAh replies instantly.
They've dated three months without seeing each other. Lin Zhengmo doesn't mind sharing a photo—it's the first time AhAhAh asked.
Can I see you too? she types.
I'm not good-looking.
You know I don't care.
Not ready yet.
"Okay," she says, then snaps a photo—no filters, slightly petty—and sends it.
Jian Yue is at the team dinner, sandwiched between chatting colleagues. When Lin Zhengmo's photo pops up, the food loses all appeal.
"Director Jian's glued to her phone," someone teases.
"Work," she replies, zooming in on Lin Zhengmo in a white tee, eyes clear, expression neutral yet captivating.
Jian Yue drafts Beautiful, deletes it as too bland. You actually sent a photo? No—what if she stops?
"Fire safety documents," she mumbles, scrolling. Finally, she types: Your complexion is amazing. Skin so fair and bright.
Oh, guess I was born lucky, Lin Zhengmo replies.
The table turns to Lin Zhengmo.
"Such a beauty, still single!" Ms. Zhang gushes.
"People chase her, but she's picky," another says.
Jian Yue cuts in: "Busy working."
Ms. Zhang gapes: "You too? With your looks—"
"Too lazy," Jian Yue interrupts. "Introduce someone to me first, then worry about Lin Laoshi."
The table stares—Jian Yue never jokes. Only Ms. Zhang nods: "Deal!"
At home, Lin Zhengmo gets a belated reply: Just got in. You're beautiful, too.
Show me you, she insists.
Minutes later, a photo arrives—tempting, not overt. AhAhAh lounges in a wicker chair, gray tank top hugging a toned, athletic figure. The angle is artfully casual.
Lin Zhengmo zooms in: slender arms, defined collarbones, a taut waist.
"You sent a stock photo," she accuses.
That's me, AhAhAh protests.
"Your body's nice," she admits, then backtracks: Next time, send your photo before asking for PaoPao's.
Jian Yue smiles, warmth pooling in her chest. The moon rises as they chat, Lin Zhengmo's voice like vodka—deceptively soft, intoxicating.
"When can we meet?" Lin Zhengmo murmurs sleepily.
"Soon," Jian Yue says, eyes closed. "I just... worry you'll be scared."
"Of what?"
"Your job, colleagues... I don't want to invade your life."
"But you're not—" Lin Zhengmo huffs. "When can I see you?"
Jian Yue imagines Lin Zhengmo's pout, her own cheeks heating.
"June," she whispers. "Just wait a bit longer."