Chapter 41: Abdominal Muscles Hurt

As soon as Fei Fei got home from evening study, she excitedly asked Chen Qiao how he found so many biology and geography practice tests.

“Online, obviously.
A computer’s a study tool—some see it as a gaming machine, but in my hands, it’s a learning machine,” he bragged, laying groundwork to justify buying a home computer with future manuscript earnings.

With World of Warcraft’s boom, computers had surpassed martial arts novels and puppy love as the top “poison” corrupting youth.

“Zhi Rou was asking me questions on her phone after class, got caught by the geography teacher.
We said we were studying, and he didn’t believe us at first, but after seeing the pile of questions, he did.
He even asked where you got them.”

Phones back then had clunky QQ, unable to handle large files or images well.
Emojis were basic yellow faces.
By 2011, things leaped forward—QR code logins, quirky sticker floods, the prototype of modern mobile QQ, and WeChat’s debut.

Chen Qiao sent a ton of questions.
Luckily, Xia Zhi Rou’s phone was decent, or it’d crash.
It ate her data—expensive back then; even downloading a few megs of a novel stung.

“I sent the website link, worried you’d miss it,” he said.

He’d used a free lesson plan site for test questions.
Other platforms like Wenku or exam sites had more, but previews were limited—full access or downloads needed paid memberships.
Schools with subscriptions gave teachers free use.
The free site updated slowly, destined to fade as others commercialized, but it sufficed.

He’d planned to find sixth-grade English questions for Wang Yi Lin, boosting her favor while helping Fei Fei’s desk mate study.

“The teacher went to the computer lab, registered with our help—old guy struggles with tech—downloaded tons of tests like they were treasure, planning to print them for us,” Fei Fei said.

Older teachers relied on personal networks.

While Fei Fei bathed, Chen Qiao called Xia Zhi Rou before bed.

“Zhi Rou Sis, finished the tests?”

“Finished my foot!
So many—I won’t clear them by the exam.”

“Keeps your days full, no time for nerves—pretty good, right?”

“Stinky brother, you know you’ve buried our whole grade in work?
I’m public enemy number one—everyone’s cursing me for using my phone, saying none of this would’ve happened otherwise.”

“You’re their savior.”

“Oh, right!
I got caught, and a boy copying me said he was studying too—phone confiscated.
Hilarious.”

“Gotta go, night.”

Almost a minute.

“Die if we talk over a minute?”
Beep beep beep.
“Ugh, stinky brother, I’ll flatten your face into a pancake next time!” Xia Zhi Rou yelled.

“Xia Zhi Rou!
Quiet, sleep!” a patrolling teacher with a flashlight barked.

She hushed instantly.

Chen Qiao and Fei Fei’s nightly leg-pressing sit-ups were routine to toughen his weak frame.
Each day, he added two more, pushing through even when exhausted.

The cumulative effort was grueling—when abdominal pain hit, he’d rest thirty seconds to squeeze out one more.

“Sis, can we skip tonight?
It’s ten minutes past bedtime.”

“No way.
No limits, no growth.
Skip today, you’ll slack tomorrow.
Two more, finish up,” Fei Fei said, pinning his legs.

“Ugh.”

Grunting like he was constipated, he clutched his head, struggling up.
The last sit-up collapsed halfway, deflating onto the pillow.

“Doesn’t count—one more,” she said.

“Sis… Sis.”

Calling her, he finished, panting, dizzy, staring at the ceiling.

“Great job—feeling some hard abs,” Fei Fei said, patting his stomach.

Tensed from effort, not real abs.
If her hand slid lower…

He closed his eyes.
“Even without exercise, I’ve got abs—a super six-in-one.”

“True.
Check mine—think I gained weight?” Fei Fei said, lifting her skirt above her navel, holding it with her mouth, revealing panties, navel, and faint ab lines.

“Not fat—no flab.
Trying to make others jealous?” he teased.

He found strength, crawling to her lap, pinching her smooth, soft stomach, resting on her sleek thighs.

Smut’s the ultimate motivator.

“There’s some—I was sucking in earlier,” she said, slouching to show a tiny belly.

“That’s normal.
No fat at all, you’d be skin and bones.”

“Really?
Sleep, it’s late.”

She dropped her skirt, draping his head, dimming the light, her scent stronger.

He had energy to crawl in, not out.

Fei Fei hugged him to the pillow.

Exhausted but sleepless, he heard her steady breaths.
Too excited—or aroused.
His body wasn’t there yet, but his mature soul churned.

He hugged her sideways, sliding his arm to her chest.
The rest could wait till she woke—more meaningful.

Enjoying kid privileges now, he’d conquer big sisters as a true man someday.
Ouch, abs hurt.

He slept till seven, Fei Fei already in her uniform.
Missed morning “scenery.”

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t wake you—turned off your alarm too,” she said.

Too sweet—before, she’d rouse him to avoid tardiness or missing breakfast, risking his grumpiness.
She’d let him fight the alarm.

Lately, he’d been disciplined, obedient, no fights—without his mischief, no sparks.

When her hands itched, she pinched his cheeks; when he itched, he hugged her—mutual needs met.

On the way to school, Lian Shu Mei, with Wu Xin Yu, ditched her to join others upon seeing Chen Qiao.

“Xin Yu, I’m off!” she called.

As if Wu Xin Yu ditched friends for romance.

At the gate, he and Wu Xin Yu donned sashes for duty.

“About those rumors we’re dating—thoughts?” he asked.

“You heard too?”

“Class 1 kids last night.”

“Such big mouths.
If they put that energy into studying…”

“Exactly.”

Wu Xin Yu felt like a soap opera villain, the “other woman” breaking up a couple.

“Don’t break up with Lin Na,” she insisted.

“How many times—I’m not dating her.
My bond with her is like mine with you.”

“No breaking up, no matter what!” she said fiercely, a naive girl thinking his promise would ease her guilt.

“Huh?”

Even cheating?
Intriguing.

Seeing him ask Lin Na to carry his bag, Wu Xin Yu teased, “Still say it’s not that kind of relationship?”

Not desk mates anymore, he needed to keep contact tight.

When he called Lin Na, Lin Yu stuck out her tongue, making a face; he returned one, playful.

“Friends help with small stuff.
Want me to carry your bag?”

“No need, thanks!” she snapped.

“Then I’ll break up with Lin Na.”

“Take it,” she said, shoving her heavy red bag into his arms.

He staggered, catching it.
“Kidding!”

Didn’t expect her to take it seriously—would she do anything to keep him and Lin Na together?

“Want it or not?” she huffed, brows furrowed.

“Yes, yes!”

He slung it on, not daring to tease further.

So heavy—why do kids’ bags weigh a ton?

Soon, she regretted it.
Impulse was trouble—she couldn’t stay calm around him.

No bag, light shoulders, but mortifying.
What if others saw him with her girly red bag?
It’d fuel rumors—exactly his goal.

“Enough, give it back,” she said.

“Not tired—I’ll carry it to class.
No need to thank me.”

“It’s red, a girl’s bag—aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Nope.”

He loved helping girls carry bags, despite sore shoulders.

“Please,” she said, shaking his arm, pouting, eyes pleading like he’d committed a crime.

“Sorry, here,” he said, handing it back.

As he did, Zheng Hui Jun passed, smirking.
“I support you guys—we’re allies now.”

Wu Xin Yu’s face darkened, slinging on her bag, avoiding his gaze—her sulky move.

Fang Meng Jia nodded as she passed, now a nodding acquaintance.
To get closer, he’d need to work harder, leveraging summer before she and the café owner left town.

Tian Zhen and Zheng Yan arrived near class time.
Zheng Yan rambled about last night’s content; Tian Zhen, banned from fun, craved spoilers, stuck replaying Famicom games or old anime discs.

They teased Chen Qiao about Wu Xin Yu; he shoved them off, their meat bun breath reeking, inching toward Wu Xin Yu for her scent to cleanse his nose.