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Bai Jingchuan woke up stiff as a board on the flat bed, his body feeling as though it had been trampled by an elephant. In theory, he had spent the night watching documentaries and movies on his computer before finally lying down, not expecting to actually fall asleep. The empty house lacked even a mattress for the bed; despite being thoroughly cleaned and spotless, it still didn’t feel like home. Previously, all it took was pressing a button to have a complete bed set ready. He didn’t favor soft mattresses, always choosing bedding that would make him as uncomfortable as possible—sleeping too much dulled his ambition, and he needed to stay sharp. Now, with every muscle in his body aching and almost immobile, he couldn’t help but think how much human bodies required maintenance—it was pitiful.
There was a peculiar fragrance in the room. With the wariness and observational skills of an enforcer trained in Magu City, this scent didn’t belong to him or the room itself. Quietly rising, he followed the smell inch by inch, bending down—it was… the pristine white blanket. He opened his visor to search, confirming it wasn’t a dehumidifier or perfume but rather… a scent emanating from the body. Was it shampoo? Just pondering it for a few extra seconds caused his body to react subtly.
Human bodies were truly pathetic!
[Congratulations! You’ve completed the first phase of all tasks and successfully obtained your house. Please gradually furnish your home in real life to experience authentic living. The second phase of tasks will now begin.
Task 2-1: Find 10 dropped fragments. These fragments are small events related to Jiang Huan. Collecting all ten will allow you to synthesize a formal date with her. Time limit: 12 hours, starting now.]
The die lay lazily on the soft pillow, its six square faces more human-like in repose than Bai Jingchuan ever felt. He suppressed the urge to flick the die away, stood up to wash up, and prepared to head to the standby space to change into a new suit—only to discover—the standby space’s rest channel was closed.
So they weren’t giving him the chance to freshen up?
The die finally spoke slowly: “Li Bode, don’t tell me you’re still thinking of going to the standby space to change clothes after getting a house?”
“There’s nothing here.”
“Living next to Jiang Huan, what do you think? It’s really not me criticizing you—these are opportunities, don’t be so unromantic!”
“No, I don’t need to connect with her.”
“It’s part of life’s charm. Just as you’d specially buy butter and an oven for your love of desserts, spending time on life, getting tied up with people because of trouble—you’ll find joy in those bonds.”
This reminded Bai Jingchuan of the butter. It hadn’t gone bad at room temperature, and the room was indeed cold enough. After searching the entire house, he realized there was no refrigerator. Frowning, he said: “Should I be glad you let me have hot water to shower?”
“Forget it, Bai Jingchuan. Without urgency, you might as well drop back to F-level.”
After his hot shower, towel-less Bai Jingchuan stood outside the bathroom door, shivering from the cold. Several sneezes escaped. He never imagined that in a life stripped of personas, with heroism reduced to trivialities, it was the insignificant yet embarrassing mishaps that would trip him up—his halo of invincibility leaking electricity and short-circuiting.
The immediate priority was clearly to buy clothes. But pride wouldn’t let him ask for help, and his cleanliness obsession made him hesitate for a moment before opening the MENU.
[You have chosen to purchase the item “Smooth Texture.”]
This was a tool that could make surfaces smooth. Though overly glossy, it effectively ironed everything instantly, from collar to cuffs, leaving them perfectly pressed. He tied his tie into a large Windsor knot, put on black-framed glasses, and stepped out clean and neat. With a chiseled jawline and angular face, he exuded wisdom and sharpness, drawing attention wherever he went. He often heard office girls talk about intellectual attraction, and now, seeing the gazes drifting toward him, he somewhat understood. Within ten hours, as long as he collected all the dropped fragments and completed the tasks—clothes could be bought casually, just meeting the “intellectual attraction” standards.
The sound of the door opening accompanied him as he left—not meticulously styled without the standby space, his hair sticking to his forehead made him look more obedient. Jiang Huan wore all black with a hat, her ponytail poking out from behind it, the dry ends of her hair noticeable but not detracting from her morning drama heroine energy. She greeted him with a playful demeanor and slipped into the elevator without another word. Only then did Bai Jingchuan realize that Jiang Huan didn’t entirely belong to the office, nor did she fully belong to herself during her free time.
He couldn’t interfere with her freedom, but for the first time, he became aware that his attention had exceeded control—after all, he had things he should be doing.
[You have activated the prop “Observation Planet Positioning.” Would you like to select Jiang Huan as your observation target?]
[Selection failed.]
The slight regret vanished the moment the prop failed. Why had it lost effectiveness? Enforcer instincts immediately sensed something amiss. Jiang Huan wasn’t within the God Realm’s system, so she shouldn’t affect the prop—someone else must be influencing him. He asked the die: “Could someone interfere with my activities in the real world?”
“Sorry, I don’t know either.”
Doubts swirled in Bai Jingchuan’s mind.
Rarely did Jiang Huan seek help from Dan Dimon, but not wanting to interact too much with her neighbor Bai Jingchuan, and genuinely wanting to spend a day with Dan Dimon, she proactively arranged to meet him. Freed from Renwu Road, Dan Dimon lost the divine aura bestowed by three stores and sat basking in the sunlight in the residential area, looking like a quintessential “one-day boyfriend” from afar.
Occasionally, Jiang Huan wanted to see Dan Dimon outside of Renwu Road. When the sunglasses-wearing, manipulative boss waved off work, it was like picking up a girlfriend from downstairs. For some reason, Bai Jingchuan’s face popped into Jiang Huan’s mind, both their faces tagged with “affection level” progress bars. Startled, she shook her head fiercely—they were excellent and normal men in her life, and she absolutely couldn’t fall into romantic thinking.
Moreover, today she came with a mission. The girl who had been reporting Love Continent online lived in this neighborhood, spreading negativity. Jiang Huan wanted to “accidentally” bump into her—even a brief encounter at the convenience store would suffice. Who was this girl harboring such hostility toward Love Continent ? She was so curious. Determined not to let her boss know, she could only bring along Dan Dimon, who had previously helped her use some tricks to remove the previous producer from the project group. Dan Dimon was her “accomplice.”
A life-and-death bond.
Two hours passed, and Dan Dimon heard her stomach growl: “Are we still waiting?”
“You should go back to the shop.” Jiang Huan checked her watch: “I can stay here alone. I brought my laptop, and typing isn’t too hard even when it’s cold.”
Dan Dimon reached out and held Jiang Huan’s fingers: “Really? They’re freezing. Can you even type?”
Nothing escaped Dan Dimon’s eyes. Before Jiang Huan could say anything, he calmly watched a few pigeons fly by: “It’s interesting to see pigeons in this neighborhood—it’s rare in Shanghai. Don’t you think?”
“It’s a very lively neighborhood. People living here shouldn’t have particularly dark mindsets—at least they wake up to birdsong and smell winter osmanthus every day.” Jiang Huan pulled herself out of childhood memories: “You should go. I can handle this alone. She’s just a girl—what’s the worst she can do?”
“It’s fine. I’m willing to wait with you. Or are you trying to push me away?”
Jiang Huan scratched her head. She knew what Dan Dimon would say—pushing him away or not calling him initially would hurt him. Dan Dimon, someone who excelled at using vulnerabilities to gain dependence, always maintained perfect tact, making others want to lean on him more. Occasionally, Jiang Huan felt Dan Dimon gave her many privileges, but she preferred to justify it as camaraderie among fellow sufferers. Romance upset the balance of many things.
A stray cat ran past, and young people began returning from work. Dan Dimon said, “You mentioned having troubles. What exactly happened?”
“My boss, Bai Jingchuan, gives me a… feeling of being pursued.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bai Jingchuan is now my neighbor.” Jiang Huan covered her face: “I’m practically living a real-life otome game.”
Under the warm sunlight, children played cheerfully in the neighborhood, and cats basked near the slides. Dan Dimon stretched lazily: “Isn’t it nice if the Snow Prince is pursuing you?”
“I don’t have such expectations—I just want to become a successful producer for Love Continent .”
“Only those with emotional sense can create romance. If necessary, I can pursue you too, if you need it.”
“No. Though I rely on you a lot, don’t give me this adult scenario where a childhood friend meets a newcomer. I refuse to immerse myself in that.” As soon as she said it, Jiang Huan felt something was off. Sitting in the sunset-drenched neighborhood, the atmosphere turned undeniably ambiguous.
Dan Dimon didn’t prolong the ambiguity, responding frankly: “Come to think of it, we’ve known each other for six years.”
“Has it really been that long? Initially, Boss Dan only had one Soul Room shop, then added a noodle shop, then a record store. Despite the tough economy, you’ve managed to support so many young workers—you’ve practically become the true god of Renwu Road.”
“Because you always came to me hungry, complaining about the terrible music in the company’s production department. Of course, I had to meet customer demands.”
“You protect more than just me. Many young people now come to you for tapes. Only you sell limited-edition goods and make delicious ramen…”
Even Jiang Huan couldn’t quite explain whether Dan Dimon opened the noodle shop for her or if it was truly handed over by a friend abroad, as he claimed. When facing her, Dan Dimon often had explanations that sounded like lies.
“If protecting others is what I can do, then I consider it an honor. Many call me hypocritical, but sustaining hypocrisy requires ability and capital. If I can do it gracefully, it means I’m not entirely terrible. But Jiang Huan, you must believe you’re the best. To persist in this job for so long, you must have unique qualities and immense talent. You’ll always have special favor with me—I’m willing to be troubled by you, so stop finding excuses to push me away.”
“You…”
“Just kidding, did I scare you?”
Not only scared, Jiang Huan sat on the stone steps, her ears and face burning.
“I think princes and knights are no different. Facing brave and strategic girls, they can fight side by side or walk together under the sunset, searching for blooming traces. I’ve always been patient when it comes to waiting for flowers to bloom.”
The security guard approached: “What are you two doing here?”
“We’re waiting for a friend—they rent here.”
“Then wait outside. Why sit here?”
“Our families oppose us, so we’re secretly dating.” Dan Dimon pulled out a box of imported cigarettes: “Good stuff.”
The guard pocketed the box and left. Jiang Huan found it amusing: “Don’t you not smoke?”
“A little magic trick isn’t hard.” He pulled out a silk-burned rosebud from his pocket: “A Christmas gift from the florist.”
Entirely believable—he was, after all, the boss of Renwu Road. Dan Dimon exuded a refined yet casual air, even dressed simply, radiating elegance and approachability. Alone, he carried an aura of romantic softness, which was why Jiang Huan wore all black—if she wore anything else, it would automatically match Dan Dimon’s outfit. Still, Jiang Huan doubted him slightly—too many times, he’d pulled unrelated things from his pockets. Just as she was about to interrogate him, a tall woman dressed entirely in black walked by, stylish and slender, talking on the phone hysterically. Jiang Huan tugged Dan Dimon: “It’s her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, our program cross-referenced addresses and photos—it’s definitely her.”
Dan Dimon asked again: “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I recognize faces quickly.”
The woman in black shouted into the phone: “I’ve already sent you five thousand this month, saying you’d save it for me, but I haven’t seen a penny saved. But I saw my cousin’s new Toyota for his wedding—how could their family afford that? Do you think I’m stupid? Constantly pressuring me to save money while hating my job, posting slander on my company’s public account, forcing me to quit—do you even care about me anymore?”
Her tone reeked of impending collapse. Jiang Huan could sense the gaslighting effect—the other end of the line was likely a controlling mother. Dan Dimon remained silent, waiting for Jiang Huan’s cue. Jiang Huan pressed his hand, pretending to be a couple, leaning closer to Dan Dimon. After hanging up, the distressed woman stood still, calming her breathing before walking deeper into the neighborhood. Jiang Huan pulled Dan Dimon and quietly followed. Dan Dimon said, “Further ahead is the river. Does she live deep inside the neighborhood?”
“This is already an ordinary old apartment building. I used to rent farther away, battling mice in the corridors.”
The woman glanced back. Jiang Huan, pulled by Dan Dimon, pretended to be intimate against the wall. The woman turned around, and Jiang Huan remained gently pressed against him, patting his chest: “Dan Dimon, Brother Dimon, let go.”
“Brother Dimon”—Dan Dimon’s weak spot. Hearing it made him compliant, but his embrace seemed to linger a moment too long. The two followed to the end of the neighborhood, waiting for the woman in black to turn a corner between the last two buildings. Instead, she continued forward, stopping at a two-story parking garage by the riverside to tie her shoelaces before heading up. The garage, meant for bicycles, had no stairs—only slopes for pushing bikes. This was the neighborhood’s bike storage. The woman shoved her hands in her pockets and walked up. Jiang Huan wondered aloud: “Is she riding her bike out so late?”
“Riding a bike suggests it’s not far. If she really needs to ride, we’ll have to figure out how to track her. Shared bikes?”
“Probably not. She won’t come out tonight.”
“How is that possible? Coming to the garage obviously means she’s getting her bike—unless she lives inside…”
A light flickered on in the second-floor skylight—a white incandescent bulb. White walls were visible, accompanied by a baby’s cries. A high school student bypassed them, running inside. The motion-sensitive light at the entrance lit up, revealing a clothesline with uncollected laundry. Adjacent neighborhoods’ ground-floor residents were separated from the garage by a metal plate, flowers sprouting through gaps between the plate and the wall. Under the light, the metal plate bore… urine stains. This was a long, dilapidated two-story parking garage, an urban anthill yet home to many.
“Doesn’t this seem strange to you?”
“Not at all.” Dan Dimon smiled: “Think of it differently—it’s like a cyberpunk city. Behind the dazzling lights and fountains lie dirty wires and drainage pipes. People have to survive somehow.”
Jiang Huan stood below the skylight. The area was surrounded by weeds; stepping carelessly could easily dirty one’s shoes. Unbothered, she paused for a moment and asked Dan Dimon: “Do you hear the ‘tap tap tap’ sound?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a sewing machine.” Jiang Huan sighed bitterly: “I’m familiar with that sound—I’ve heard plenty during dubbing sessions. Looks like she works in the light at night, coming home to be an ant.”
“Your evaluation is harsh,” Dan Dimon said coolly. “Do you still want to go in and talk to her?”
Jiang Huan patted Dan Dimon’s shoulder: “Chasing her now would be impolite.”
Dan Dimon chuckled, as if he had anticipated her reaction.
“Actually… I have a vague impression of her. She seems to have a social media account, often piggybacking on popular posts to gain followers. She once certified herself as an assistant producer at a famous film company, later switching to an aesthetics influencer. Recently, her entire account disappeared… It’s like I forgot. I didn’t intend to follow her here, but I’m so curious about her… Now I understand. It’s hard for a girl to establish herself—she needs a chance to escape the swamp. Why must some girls be destined to live amidst mud and sand? She clearly looks like someone lacking an opportunity.”
“Do you think that if she had a chance, her life would change for the better? Would she transform directly from an impolite reporter into a kind person?”
“I don’t know.” Jiang Huan wiped her eyes, pretending to scratch an itch: “Those who crawl out of the swamp still carry mud… We can’t change her situation.”
The two left the neighborhood. Dan Dimon checked his watch: “Though I’d love to see you home, I have some things to attend to. Let me call you a car.”
After changing into a sleep dress, Jiang Huan returned home just in time for Bai Jingchuan to knock on her door. He appeared shy but managed to voice the words caught on his lips: “Could I borrow some shower gel and shampoo? I’ve been busy all day and forgot to buy them.”
“Of course.”
Jiang Huan turned around, wearing a pink backless nightgown with cute bows at the waist and back. She threw on a jacket and tilted her head through the door crack: “Next time, buy your own. A girl’s things shouldn’t be borrowed carelessly.”
“Is this another rule of male-female relationships?”
“No, I need them too…” Jiang Huan laughed awkwardly. “Are you an alien?”
[Task 2-1 failed. No gold coins or props dropped. Be prepared for the task to reopen at any time.]
Jiang Huan had a strange feeling, as if two male leads were reversed, trying to win over the same female lead. Male protagonists only met during essential main plotlines, and meeting otherwise led to chaos—that was a separate price altogether.
Never. She was so busy with work; she didn’t want to be pursued by two men—romance affected ambition. But it didn’t stop her from doing something to make the male leads toss and turn. She had never had a chance to wear that sleep dress, and since recent premonitions felt odd, she figured she’d better unwrap the packaging soon.
In the dark corners of the city, the woman sewed furiously at her old sewing machine. Misusing the needle, she slammed the table twice, on the verge of collapse. Suddenly, a visor unfolded before her, startling her. Rubbing her eyes, she moved to a spot with better signal in the house and stepped out of the garage.
[You have the chance to rewrite your life. The cost is prepaying some happiness. You will receive the following life changes. Do you agree?]
In the dimming light, the woman laughed loudly, reigniting the motion-sensitive lights. Prepay happiness? Ridiculous—I have no happiness. Such a good opportunity—I can’t possibly refuse!
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