Chapter 14: You Seem Like a Chosen Script—We Must Accumulate Experience and Be Tempered by Hardship to Meet You

“Huh?”

This was the first time Jiang Huan had heard such a cheesy line delivered so directly, especially from her extraordinarily handsome superior—Bai Jingchuan. The man who created the indie game Emotional Tide, who was perceptive and logical about everything, and whom people called a “love expert.” She stood frozen, thinking he had ignored her for three whole days because of some prejudice. Now, here he was pleading with her—could it be that he truly fell in love with her?

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +100.]

She had never seen eyes filled with such emotion before. After working on holographic virtual characters for so long, she had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of eyes—but none as clear and heartfelt as these. Awkward, unable to hide, yet eager to confirm…

Not even in her dreams!

She tugged her hand free from Bai Jingchuan’s grip once, then again. The emotions in those eyes instantly turned into disappointment and hurt. With great effort, she tied her scarf into a knot, tightly binding those sorrowful eyes and his cheesy words together: “Even joking with your subordinate like this—do you really think I can’t write dialogue? The last train is almost here. I’m leaving.”

“What do you mean, ‘cutting my rope’?” Bai Jingchuan was genuinely anxious. The die paused, stunned. “Li Bode, are you really asking her this? What if she rejects you? Then you’ll lose your chance!”

“Is that how you interpret it?”

His exhaled breath rose and disappeared into the pitch-black night. Too much explanation would invite verbal curses; adults had to keep their secrets.

No increase or decrease in affection, no extra words. Jiang Huan ran into the subway station, leaving the scarf still draped over his head. If this was a riddle, the producer of Emotional Tide surely knew how to solve it. If it was bait, someone as astute as Hugh Grant’s romantic con artist would know when to bite and when to escape.

Love needed visuals, and she had created countless ones. None gave her as much satisfaction as this moment.

Back in the standby space, Bai Jingchuan took another cold shower. This time, he was experienced—quickly rinsing off the foam from his head first, then blasting his chest and back with hot water until his body warmed up. The chill from being drenched by the waves at the seaside had made him shiver uncontrollably, but he didn’t care, even giving up the chance to dry his hair in favor of the scarf. The scarf was soft and warm, easy to dry, and its design was simple… Her taste was impeccable.

“Li Bode, it’s just a scarf. Any stall in Magu City has better craftsmanship. Holding it like that makes you look foolish.”

“It was lent to me. Out of courtesy, I need to wash it and return it.”

“In Magu City, you would have thrown it away.”

“All data there is fake—it doesn’t matter to discard it.” Bai Jingchuan neatly folded the scarf and placed it beside his shirt. “But this belongs to someone else.”

“You still haven’t slept in a bed. Maybe you should think about where to stay first.”

The standby space had nothing—just silver alloy plates, neither aesthetically pleasing nor comfortable. Li Bode, previously indifferent to physical discomfort, hadn’t cared—he hardly slept. Now, he felt a slight desire—for the first time, he thought this cold, metallic space didn’t suit the red woolen scarf.

Though he still didn’t understand what she meant by “Is that how you interpret it,” looking at the scarf stirred a sense of competitiveness within him. Jiang Huan sat at the other end of a chessboard, inviting him to play.

An enforcer never admitted defeat.

[Your emotional value has increased significantly. Lv 18 upgraded to Lv 20. Additional reward obtained: Prop “Data Erasure,” which can completely delete electronic data in life, such as text messages, videos, etc., forming memories. Use carefully as it involves others’ lives. Task 1-7 unlocked: Gain Jiang Huan’s pity within 48 hours. Note: Completing five consecutive tasks grants the right to purchase a house. This is the fourth task in the series. Please repair your damaged body soon to avoid accidental death.]

Bai Jingchuan stared at the “Data Erasure” prop, muttering inwardly: What use is this? I have no interest in altering others’ perceptions.

“...Trigger the task quickly. Don’t you want to fall in love with Jiang Huan? Once your affection level rises enough, you’ll become boyfriend and girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be the fastest way to experience love? Your body isn’t 100% pure human—you’re not afraid of suddenly dying, are you?”

“I don’t have that intention.”

“What?” The die spun a few times and landed on Bai Jingchuan’s head. “Do you want to recall what you said to her by the sea?”

“Deliberately approaching someone with ulterior motives is very impolite, especially if Jiang Huan is just a random test subject sent by the system. Wouldn’t that make me incredibly rude? She has the freedom to like anyone, and I’m here to explore this world and continue making impartial judgments when needed.”

“What if she’s your destined lover? Don’t you want to start dating her sooner?”

“That would be irresponsible and disrespectful to her. Besides, the system wouldn’t present such coincidences to me. My persona says I’ll fall in love, but does that mean I must treat whoever’s bound to me now as a test subject? I’ll find a way to remove that trait. When I upgrade to a certain level, you’ll give me that option. Until then, let me focus on completing tasks.”

The die fell silent. This man was truly stubborn. It rolled out a “6” on the table: “Let’s see how you’ll gain Jiang Huan’s pity without pleasing her.”

________________________________________

The next day at the company, Bai Jingchuan appeared spirited, completely unfazed by the earlier flirtation with Jiang Huan. During a sharing session, he discussed the latest industry news—his learning ability and eloquence were impressive, living up to his reputation as a producer who gained fame upon joining Lori. Sunlight streamed through several-meter-high windows, illuminating Bai Jingchuan’s face. His features resembled meticulous brushstrokes in traditional Chinese painting—clean lines, deep-set yet not overly heavy eyes, all brought to life by his expressive gaze. Coupled with the light enveloping his entire body, erudition and seductive charm were written across his face simultaneously for the first time.

“A Stanford research team used ChatGPT to create a pixel game called ‘Small Ville.’ They set initial character personalities, and the townsfolk interacted daily based on different moods. Conversations were recorded as memories, and the characters crafted their own stories autonomously. Some might spend a quiet day, while others might develop relationships. This signals that an era of fully open-ended games may not be far off. Games will no longer be confined to developers’ frameworks—the story progression won’t be under our control, and the ending could be unpredictable. It shows that gaming is no longer limited to male or female players. People can truly live in virtual worlds and write their own endings. Everyone’s story can be rewritten according to their wishes—a vision that aligns with our company’s dream. So, the aspirations people share in this world are universal. The distance between love is constantly shrinking.”

Jiang Huan stood frozen on the stairs, afraid to disturb this precious concept. Pushed to the door, she listened from afar as people came and went around her. She stayed rooted, as if entering a layered spacetime tunnel, gazing at distant stars. The boss sat in the front row, deeply appreciating the concept. His expression was difficult to read, but there was a mutual understanding with Bai Jingchuan. Such a brilliant person was hard for anyone to resist admiring. Interns secretly filmed and uploaded clips to X (Twitter), hashtagging “#NonHimNoMarry.” After the session ended, Jiang Huan avoided the crowd and took the stairs alone, coincidentally encountering the smoking boss. Bai Jingchuan accompanied him, declining the offered cigarette. To Jiang Huan’s surprise, he wore the same suit jacket again—the ugly one he lent to the outsourced girl. Hadn’t he bought any other clothes?

The boss remarked, “2028 might still be too early. I thought holographic worlds would be achievable by then, but it seems unrealistic. Our funding chain is tight. Reluctance to cut you doesn’t mean I have money.”

Jiang Huan peeked out cautiously, like a rabbit. Bai Jingchuan glanced at her lightly, his arrogance returning: “The female market hasn’t been fully tapped. Their purchasing power and fantasies about fictional romance are beyond imagination. This time, I’ve experienced it firsthand. Technology advances so rapidly—why not give various types of games a chance?”

This was the first time Jiang Huan clearly noticed Bai Jingchuan’s emotional shift. When their eyes met, his gentle expression seemed to recognize her footsteps already.

“You seem to like that writer in your team a lot—Jiang Huan? It feels like you’re intentionally mentoring her.”

“I’ll favor talented individuals—I admit that.” Bai Jingchuan denied calmly: “But being accused of bias due to personal feelings while taking work seriously is unprofessional. I hope you recognize her for her talent, not because of me—no one in my team should lose visibility because of their producer.”

Jiang Huan’s heart thumped.

Bai Jingchuan actually gave the outsourced girl an access card. Despite HR rejecting multiple requests, the producer resolved it with a single word, even creating a position for her. But his expression remained stern: “If you’re capable, stay. There are others willing to take on outsourced content. As for who to choose—the decision is yours.”

This slightly changed Jiang Huan’s impression of Bai Jingchuan—not entirely heartless, flexible, generous, and rigorous. No wonder interns were smitten...

But she wouldn’t be—she had clear ambitions.

After working overtime until eleven, Akira and Jiang Huan finished turning off the lights. All three reached the elevator. Akira checked her watch: “Teacher Bai, drinks?”

“I don’t drink.” Both spoke simultaneously, glancing at each other afterward, seemingly competing.

Akira looked at Jiang Huan: “Fine, you don’t drink. Teacher Bai, why don’t you either?”

“No need. Only the weak drink.” He wasn’t wrong—in Magu City’s arena, challengers with insufficient strength drank before matches. In courtrooms, drunken crimes were common. In his view, they were all incompetent.

“So pretentious.” Jiang Huan muttered softly: “Let’s go, Akira. Leave him.”

[Accept your colleague’s invitation. This is an opportunity to collect emotional data on human friendship and boost Jiang Huan’s affection.]

Reluctantly, Bai Jingchuan nodded.

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +30.]

…Girls’ hearts are hard to understand.

Renwu Road was a ten-minute walk from the company, a natural after-hours garden for overworked employees. The two girls walked ahead, Bai Jingchuan silently following behind. Akira glanced back, nudged Jiang Huan with her elbow: “I think something’s off between you two.”

“What do you mean?”

“One side is curious and wants to get closer but acts like befriending them would kill them. The other side admires but thinks the other has personality issues and a flawed soul. It’s just a superior-subordinate relationship, but if you both had guns, you’d shoot each other. Yet outwardly, you’re polite and even show goodwill—it’s weird.”

“Nonsense.” Seeing the bustling crowd, Jiang Huan knew Renwu Road came alive at night. Every shop was at least half-full. Akira would definitely stay until she was drunk. Her younger brother, who worked as a barista, was sick with a fever and couldn’t get out of bed—she needed someone to vent to. After downing a cocktail, Akira had already recounted most of the previous producer’s scandals, even bringing up Jiang Huan’s misfortunes. Bai Jingchuan sat across from them, occasionally glancing at her. Even fleeting eye contact made her heartbeat race…

E-people’s output weapon was introverts.

Jiang Huan stole glances at Bai Jingchuan. This man looked like he’d never sat outdoors drinking before. He didn’t like cocktails either, wrinkling his brow after every sip as if allergic to sweetness. Instead, his attention was entirely on her, making her glance a few times before she couldn’t dare look anymore.

Bai Jingchuan observed the two girls before him, voicing a long-held curiosity: “You seem to have unique insights into real-life romance.”

“In our field, marriage isn’t a necessity anymore. After seeing so many men profiled on matchmaking apps and PDFs on WeChat, we react negatively—it stifles creativity.” Jiang Huan spoke as if wearing a mask of pain.

“Really.” Bai Jingchuan looked at her, finding her perspective novel.

“Men view marriage as the ultimate goal for women at every age, like a trophy. Naturally, they see themselves as the ones handing out the award. Once you accept this prize, your creativity, willpower, and execution revolve around it. You give more and more, but your name no longer has anything to do with this trophy.”

“I agree, but Jiang Huan’s wounds run deeper.” Akira, tipsy after two drinks, continued: “It’s not just marriage. In the workplace, we women are often devoured. Let me tell you, our previous producer was an industry scammer.”

“Oh?”

“He worked at various companies, dabbling in famous games during investment booms—wuxia IPs, moe shooters, projects built from scratch—but none succeeded. Back then, he recruited a trusted writer, god knows from where, and sidelined Jiang Huan to UI grunt work to force her resignation. That script left us speechless—it was like something from Madou Densetsu.”

Jiang Huan nearly spat out her water: “Show some restraint.”

Bai Jingchuan quickly searched unfamiliar terms on his visor, piecing it together. Though the neighboring tables tried to stifle laughter, he found it far from amusing. Following such a vulgar former producer, it was remarkable Love Continent survived this long.

“Still not letting me talk? Being forced to UI for six months and nearly quitting deserves mention, right? The writing team quit until only Jiang Huan remained. She painstakingly wrote so many character designs, only for him to steal credit and butcher them. Coincidentally, her family faced a crisis and needed money—his misogyny knew no bounds. Luckily, the former producer got fired, or she wouldn’t be back.” Akira eyed Bai Jingchuan’s calm face: “No reaction? If I were Jiang Huan back then, I’d have jumped off a building.”

Bai Jingchuan suppressed a laugh: “How painful was it?”

“If I say it, you’re buying the next round.” Akira emptied her glass: “Industry insiders say Love Continent survives because its worldview is blessed by gods. Indeed, when we started, it felt like playing Werewolf—every day guessing who the wolf was, only to realize it was the producer. That this project survives to this day is nothing short of a miracle.”

Sensing the mood, Jiang Huan excused herself to order drinks. Curious, Bai Jingchuan asked Akira: “Why did the former producer target Jiang Huan?”

“Because Jiang Huan refused to change the male lead settings, deliberately opposing him. A clueless male producer with decision-making power is the worst. He made all seven male leads greasy. Jiang Huan’s stubborn nature clashed with everyone. We told her to let it go—to survive, you know? When her family faced issues, the producer refused her leave. Upon returning, she chose to grind in UI rather than give in, determined to drive him away and restore the male leads. She’s strong-willed—exploiting contract loopholes to stay in the project despite criticism.”

Jiang Huan returned, and Akira tactfully changed the topic.

“Not all producers are excellent. So having someone like you, with actual works we respect, means a lot. Jiang Huan especially loves Emotional Tide . She defended it fiercely online, battling male trolls for a week. She was doxxed, luckily renting a place, and we helped her move. But old projects get abruptly shut down, and successive producers for new projects are absurd. It’s like a chosen script—we must accumulate experience and be tempered by hardship to meet you.”

After downing a bottle of soju, Akira held nothing back. Across the table, Jiang Huan sipped her cocktail slowly, seemingly intent on staying sober—her producer had asked her to teach him about love by the sea. If he wasn’t drunk, then the wind must have muddled his brain. It was absurd, overly humble, and even a bit cunning.

Alcohol catalyzed chemical reactions, but she couldn’t let that happen. The midnight glow of Renwu Road relied entirely on lampposts, their light filtered through tree shadows. Any lingering gaze could lead to misunderstandings. Under the cover of night, Bai Jingchuan observed the two women—they had survived the workplace; neither were gentle whales. He asked about how the previous producer was fired.

“His chaotic private life got exposed when his wife sent a PDF to the company email. But that wasn’t all—he stole a lot of this project’s content. Foolish, right?”

Akira’s phone rang, completely oblivious to the subtle tension between the other two: “You’re picking me up? Waiting at the apartment gate doesn’t count. What? You miss me? Fine, I’ll see you at the gate in twenty minutes. Better come out onto the road to show some sincerity.”

After hanging up, Akira looked smug. “My little brother’s flu is finally better. I’m leaving—you two chat.”

“What? You set this up and now you’re abandoning us? Is your brother more important than us?” Jiang Huan panicked—she hadn’t clarified what happened by the sea with Bai Jingchuan yet!

“Of course! My brother’s a man! Though too handsome to last long.”

“Are your mirrors matte?”

“I like it that way! When I adore someone, I feel youthful again! He stays up all night gaming but also makes ginger tea for me. I don’t expect a soulmate anymore—at least I have a fun companion to make work less painful. Teacher Bai, no offense to you or the company, but doing this job day in and day out, 80% of it is pain. I need tangible joy. You’re handsome, but I can’t sleep with you—and you look like a romance scammer. At my age, I can’t afford to fall for that. On the other hand, Jiang Huan is perfect for being deceived—she’s a chosen otome heroine.”

Jiang Huan couldn’t take it anymore: “Just go already.”

One car after another sped past. Leaving at midnight felt so free. Left behind, the two stood silently in the wind. Jiang Huan dreaded Bai Jingchuan bringing up “Teach me” and prepared to say goodbye, but he pressed a hand on her shoulder: “I have something to ask you.”

“Huh?”

“Is Love Continent that important to you?”

“I love paper characters. Those virtual figures have lit up my life countless times. As a child, it was Sweet Valley Twins, Tuxedo Mask, Rukawa Kaede, Lelouch… Growing older, it was NANA, Levi Ackerman… These perfect or imperfect people always filled me with passion. You know otome games, right? There are many famous ones domestically. Everyone has virtual lovers—the power of ‘waifus’ is immense. Lori works on holographic characters—it’s a blessing to develop roles for Love Continent . No matter who tries to drive me away, I won’t leave.” Jiang Huan paused. “I’m glad I waited for you.”

Whether it was alcohol-fueled or genuine, Bai Jingchuan was momentarily moved. After a pause, he asked: “Did the former producer’s departure have anything to do with you?”

Jiang Huan licked her lips with a smile: “I’m not that powerful. I’m just an ordinary story writer.”

“Among the seven male leads you wrote, is there anyone similar to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just curious.”

“You want to know if I’d transfer some of my love for my male leads to you?”

Bai Jingchuan’s figure perfectly cast Jiang Huan in shadow. Even in dim light, his profile remained visible—slim but clean and soft, a stark contrast to his sharpness during the day. He leaned closer, as if about to whisper in her ear. Jiang Huan wanted to push him away but found it hard to resist. Were they intimate enough for this?

At the entrance of the For All Lovers bar, the lights tinted everything with ambiguity—they couldn’t escape it. Jiang Huan’s gaze lingered on Bai Jingchuan’s lips. Romantic scenes were inevitable—there had been others before. This time, she didn’t plan to run.

The next moment, Bai Jingchuan deviated from expectations—collapsing onto an empty table… and falling asleep.

…Huh?

PS: Xiao Zhang is here! Welcome to add this story to your bookshelf and cast recommendation votes. Today, Xiao Zhang waits for everyone to chat!