Against the Algorithm

Chapter 16: Countermeasures

Sicheng continued. "I also know you probably don't understand why I do it."

Still, she said nothing, but her expression shifted—lips pressing into a thin line, a subtle frown forming, the quiet kind that meant she was trying to understand even though she didn't like the answer she was expecting.

"It's not because I think it makes me look cool. Not because I like the taste." His voice was calm, smooth. No edge. Just honesty. "It's a habit. One I picked up a long time ago. One I never really had a reason to stop."

Yao's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms beneath the hoodie, sleeves hiding her hands. "That's not a good reason," she said quietly.

"I didn't say it was." That response—plain, without defense—made her pause again. Because she expected him to argue. To justify. But he didn't. And that, somehow, made it harder to stay angry. Before she could say anything else, her phone lit up on the table beside her.

Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.

Her name flashing over and over on the screen.

Jinyang.

Sicheng's eyes flicked toward the phone, watching as her expression soured immediately.

Yao stared at it for a moment, visibly torn. Then, with a soft breath, she reached out and silenced it. Just like that. No anger. No frustration. Just quiet, tired resignation.

"You're going to pay for that later," Sicheng muttered.

"I know." She rubbed at her temple, the exhaustion in her voice making it clear she already knew what was coming.

Sicheng tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you still did it."

Another small sigh. "I just... don't want to deal with her right now."

That caught him. Because Yao didn't avoid people. She didn't dodge hard conversations. She confronted things—even when it made her anxious. So the fact that she was silencing Jinyang... meant something. And he could tell—it wasn't just about the phone call. It was everything. The pressure. The setup. The relentless pushing from people who claimed to care but refused to listen. And she was tired.

So he said the only thing that made sense. "We'll deal with that later." And that was a promise. He let out another breath, his gaze still lingering on the phone before flicking back to her. And then—he said it. "I'm going to stop."
"...Stop?" Yao blinked, clearly caught off guard.

"Smoking. I'll stop." His tone was steady. Certain. Final.

Yao stood still, her eyes searching his face—looking for a crack, a sign that this was performative, that he was just saying it to end the conversation. But she found none. "You don't have to say that just because—"

"I'm not saying it for you."

That stopped her cold.

"I'm saying it because I've been meaning to stop anyway." A pause. His eyes softened just slightly. "You just gave me the reason I needed."

Yao felt her chest tighten. That warmth—that heavy, confusing, frustrating warmth—settled somewhere beneath her ribs, curling in on itself in ways she didn't know how to process. Because she hadn't expected this. Not from him. "Are you really going to?"

"I said I would."

She hesitated. "...But what if you don't?"

And then he smirked. Just barely. Just enough to shift the weight in the room. "Are you going to punish me, Xiǎo Tùzǐ?"