◎See How Much I Can Like You◎
Actually, Li Xia had never deliberately pondered what the future might hold for her and F.
Perhaps she and her first crush could only maintain this superficial relationship—flirting through prim and proper text messages for fleeting moments of joy—until one of them grew bored. Then it would end abruptly, without warning. That was what Li Xia figured. F never mentioned returning to the country, and Li Xia never asked.
The world obsessed over endings, but Li Xia didn’t care.
On the day of the live-stream fiasco, Li Xia faced her first malicious report since starting her job.
As an editor, she had the task of hosting live streams to sell and discuss books.
The company’s account lacked active fans, and its live-stream traffic was pitifully low. Recently, a colleague in marketing had drummed up some viewership by chatting about books, raising hopes for a viral hit. The pressure landed squarely on Li Xia. She prepared stacks of scripts, striving to make her sessions lively and fun, complete with interactive segments. She even pulled an all-nighter once.
That morning, Li Xia woke up with a stuffy nose and a scratchy throat. She popped some anti-inflammatory pills and powered through a three-hour stream that afternoon.
Viewership started slow, but by the midway point, numbers began to climb. Li Xia was covering a collection of Hesse’s fairy tales. With her sweet looks and voice, she lectured calmly and methodically, mostly sharing her personal takeaways. She fielded every question in the comments with ease.
The chat buzzed with positivity. Viewers called her pretty and authentic, cheering that someone who’d actually read the books was finally selling them.
For titles she hadn’t cracked open yet, Li Xia smiled and promised recommendations after she did. The comments flooded with eager anticipation for her next stream.
More active users fueled a virtuous cycle of good vibes. Li Xia got lucky—even her niche picks sold well. The account’s follower count visibly swelled.
But right before sign-off, a troll slipped in.
The jerk had snagged pirated copies somewhere and started spamming accusations of scams, demanding refunds and riling others to return their orders. Li Xia handled it patiently at first, walking them through customer service steps. But they weren’t having it. They turned vicious, hurling provocations and harassment at her. Li Xia booted them from the stream and had a coworker block the account. The platform’s glitches let the troll keep popping in and out, spewing even nastier bile.
Some commenters urged her to shut it down early.
Li Xia dug in her heels. She refused to let a creep like that win so easily—not when their trash talk could tarnish the company’s name. She toughed it out until quitting time, ending the ugly spectacle on her terms.
She switched off the camera and exhaled deeply. After hours of sitting and talking, her throat was raw. She’d barely sipped water, and her cold felt worse—head pounding, brain foggy.
Glancing at the backend stats, she saw twenty percent of her hard-won sales refunded.
…
In a quiet corner, Li Xia unleashed a string of curses at the troll’s username. She fished mouthwash from her bag, rinsed thoroughly, and vowed to nail it next time.
A coworker soon broke the news: the account had been reported.
Li Xia’s heart skipped.
Luckily, their appeal went through fast—no real damage.
Word reached the boss that day. After getting the rundown, he pulled Li Xia aside. “Your personal feelings got the better of you,” he said. “No sense of the bigger picture.”
“It’s not huge, but not trivial. You earned credit on sales, so no pay dock this time. You kids are all about emotions—watch it going forward. Stay steady, act mature…” Li Xia stayed quiet, so he softened. “You’re the baby of the office. It’ll come with time.”
Bosses had a gift for wiping merits clean while scrutinizing faults under a microscope.
Li Xia’s face remained blank—no guilt, no self-pity. “Don’t get mad,” she said. “It’s bad for your health.”
He perked up a touch. “Sensible now, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” Li Xia replied. “Just saying, don’t let emotions bleed into work.”
He choked, face clouding over in a stiff smile. “Still stewing, huh, girl?”
“Fine. Make it up tomorrow—head to the conference in the next city over.”
That’s when Li Xia learned Chu Xiaowen’s book fair had been delayed. With her pregnancy further along, she couldn’t go. Weekend training meant no overtime pay, plus a Monday rush back to work. Li Xia turned it down. The boss’s expression soured; he waved her out irritably.
Friendly coworkers swarmed with sympathy outside. Comfort came with cautions. Next time a spiteful reporter crashed the party, they advised, kill the stream quick. Don’t let bad actors spew filth that gets you banned and torpedoes everything.
Only then did Li Xia see her mistake—she hadn’t been thinking straight.
Chu Xiaowen chimed in: “See? You turned a win into a near-disaster. Not everything needs a fight. You got your vent, but who cares? Don’t sweat it so much, Xia Xia. Play smarter.”
Live stats had always sucked before—no dramas, no playbook. Caught off guard with the official account on the line, she’d defended the company’s honor. Too stubborn? Not sharp enough?
What if she’d quit on the spot? What spin would they put on it?
Li Xia felt adrift but nodded.
Dodging was cowardly, but it worked.
Right?
Work wrapped past quitting time. Mood soured, Li Xia opted for a breezy walk home.
When dragging negativity indoors wasn’t an option, she strolled.
Walking turned foul moods to damp footprints on the pavement. The longer and farther she went, the fainter they faded.
The prints might linger, weathered by wind, baked dry, evaporated away. All fine.
She paused at the activity plaza, perching alone on a seesaw. The opposite seat hung empty and high; she tucked her legs to the ground. In her sightline, the yellow beam jutted like a shortcut to joy, arrowing toward the cobalt-blue early-summer dusk.
Yet that space gaped vacant.
Mirroring the barren hollows of her eyes.
Li Xia zoned out there awhile.
Two kids wandered up hand-in-hand midway, eyeing the play. They hovered, waiting. Li Xia didn’t budge or yield, so they shuffled off, glancing back, murmuring—
“Sis, Mom says that’s someone with no clue.”
“Yeah, no one wants to play with her.”
“Totally.”
“But grown-ups seem friendless a lot.”
“Do they outgrow friends?”
“Probably still need ’em. Dunno.”
…
Li Xia half-turned, eavesdropping with a pair of dry chuckles. She itched to snag their collars: “Gossiping behind backs? That’s fresh, kids.”
Then: “Adults don’t crave friends—they chase joy. Got it?”
No energy for it, though.
They vanished for good, no more peeks. Li Xia dusted her rear and rose.
Her phone vibrated relentlessly—family group blowing up. Li Dayong announced copper-pot mutton hotpot for dinner, @-ing Li Xia: when’s she home? Everyone waiting. Li Chun fired off a drooling Lazy Sheep emoji first: eat her share, drown the lamb slices in sesame paste, snap a pic. Li Xia grinned at the glutton, thumbing a reply, when F’s message pinged atop the screen.
F: 【Late, Teacher Lizi】
Li Xia jolted—oh right, they’d planned the hot MBTI test for tonight.
They’d guessed types beforehand: she pegged F as INFJ-ish. F insisted she screamed extrovert. Li Xia had laughed.
On the crowded street, quiz mood? Zero.
Li Xia typed sorry right away: 【Might be off tonight—results could skew】
F stayed chill, no pressure: 【Skip then. No biggie】
Li Xia: 【Mm】
He followed up: 【Mood messes with scores?】
Li Xia: 【Duh】
Joking came easy; she riffed: 【What if my alt personality’s your dream girl】
F: 【That’s the worry?】
Li Xia: 【Yup. Mystery’s safer】
F: 【Scared I’ll devour you?】
Li Xia: 【Scared you’ll like me too much】
Sent sans filter, she cringed inside—eek.
He zigged when she zagged.
F: 【Test it, then】
Li Xia: 【???】
F: 【See how much I can like you】
…
Head down, people-blind, a passing girl’s bag clipped her. Li Xia blinked awake. Not heart-flutters from F’s line—flirting just melted stress. She’d lost track of distance, ignored the bustle, blanked the afternoon mess. A third of the way home already.
She never saw F’s call coming.
He asked politely: 【Mind if I call?】
Ringer erupted before she processed, hijacking her brain.
Instinct screamed dodge.
Their voice chats? Always her show. Endless chatter, endless questions—curiosity carried it.
This time, Li Xia had absolutely no intention of calling him. She didn’t even feel like chatting in her current mood, worried it would turn awkward or fall flat.
The pedestrian light switched from green to red, forcing her to stop in her tracks.
And in that very second, Li Xia suddenly wanted to test something:
Without her taking the initiative or bringing the energy, how would F steer their relationship?
Li Xia had always been the type to share the good news but keep the bad to herself. She’d embellish happy things until they bloomed like flowers in her telling, and for the rough stuff, she’d cherry-pick the least awful bits.
So that little hiccup at work that afternoon? She had no plans to tell F about it.
No need—nobody had to carry her baggage, especially not some online friend she couldn’t even see or touch. Truth be told, Li Xia couldn’t quite put it into words anyway. She’d stood up to her boss, pushed back on chat trolls, and her stream’s rep and sales were solid enough.
It was just this nameless, formless slump after clocking out.
Nothing major, but it sapped her drive.
The call didn’t go down quite as smoothly as she’d imagined. Li Xia dialed with a twinge of nerves.
She felt like she had something to prove to the guy she liked—wanted to put her best foot forward. So once it connected, she cleared her throat, aiming for light and breezy to keep the vibe upbeat.
But F beat her to it, asking right off the bat, “Feeling off today because of work?”
“…”
His voice was warm, laced with genuine concern.
Li Xia hesitated for two seconds before admitting, “Sort of.”
She figured he’d pry into what happened, and “I don’t want to talk about it” was already on the tip of her tongue.
Instead, he asked, “Not home yet?”
Walking the path under the sycamore trees, Li Xia blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”
F played coy, letting out a soft chuckle. “Director’s intuition.”
Li Xia’s lips quirked, but she held back. Then it hit her—he couldn’t see her smile—so she hurried to say something.
But F spoke first. “Kidding. I hear cars around you.”
“Oh.”
Li Xia’s eyes followed the golden stream of traffic, and only then did she notice how lively her surroundings were—college kids hawking flowers, balloons, and handmade crafts; the spicy steam rising from the hot pot stall across the street; and just a few steps on, a girl in a camping chair slinging mulled wine right on the curb, boiling it up with effortless, elegant flair that stood out amid the bustle.
Like everyone else, Li Xia found herself glancing back over her shoulder.
Distracted for a moment, she missed whatever F said next.
Snapping back, she caught his gentle probe: “Bad mood?”