Chapter 27: A Rain-Drenched Collapsed Piano and Electronic Birthday Candles

Emerging from the elevator with a coffee cup in hand, Bai Jingchuan seemed to radiate an ethereal aura. His broad, straight shoulders made him a perfect clothes hanger, his legs longer than those of any manga protagonist. His black coat was immaculate, free of wrinkles, while his purple-gray shirt’s collar was buttoned tightly, revealing only a sliver of his long neck and prominent Adam’s apple—undeniably sensual. Combined with his flawless face and neatly styled hair, he stood apart from ordinary people, far too striking to belong in mundane life. Yet there was something unexpectedly childlike about how seriously he hesitated at the reception desk, pondering between a sandwich or corn for breakfast. An intern passing by couldn’t help but remark admiringly, “Teacher Bai, your new outfit looks fantastic.”

Bai Jingchuan smiled warmly. “It’s because the person who picked it has excellent taste.”

Jiang Huan, mid-burp, turned her head away, refusing to meet Bai Jingchuan’s deliberately meaningful gaze.

Akira nudged Jiang Huan’s arm. “Have you seen Wen Li, that designer PR who recently popped up? She started her own PR brand, representing just four labels, all overseas-educated emerging designers. Recently, she styled a celebrity whose photoshoot ended up on a magazine cover—her taste is impeccable. And she’s photogenic too.”

“Hmm. With all the promotion, it’s impossible to miss.”

“But this is the same person who reported us before. After deleting her account, she reinvented herself and now she’s thriving. Why bother reporting us if she’s doing so well? Her latest project involves a 3D virtual model showcase—she created two soulless avatars for fashion week, even hosting offline events. But do you know what she said in an interview? She advised people not to fall in love with non-existent beings. Isn’t that absurd? Sometimes I think this world is surreal. These shiny exteriors hiding dark interiors are like maggots elegantly plated by Michelin chefs. The very people we hoped would disappear are now flourishing—small-minded opportunists.”

Jiang Huan narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Luckily, I heard some gossip. Our programming department has been struggling. Remember when our male lead’s combat animations were mocked online? Producer Bai Jingchuan personally went to the other side of the city and poached the head of another department along with their entire team.” Akira dramatically picked up an electronic candle from the table, flicking it on with a sharp click . “In just a month, it felt like an overnight surrender.”

On the other side of the city was a company renowned for its technical prowess. Jiang Huan’s eyes sparkled under the glow of the electronic candle. “So he must’ve started planning this right after joining?”

“Exactly. That’s why everyone says he’s energetic and strategic. Someone who barely goes home managed to accomplish in two months what took the previous producer two years. The boss adores him. He’s like a cheat code from one of those domineering CEO novels—whatever he does, he succeeds. Aren’t you smitten yet? Though my boyfriend might be heartbroken.”

Jiang Huan snatched the electronic candle and stuffed it into her pocket. “Stop daydreaming.”

Once Akira left, Jiang Huan fiddled with the candle’s switch several times, glancing at the distant projection screen with a smirk. They were fine-tuning the male lead’s appearance—a blend of mature masculinity and piercing longing in the same frame. Jiang Huan thought, some things can only be appreciated through experience, like warm body heat, timely assistance, or comforting hugs during sadness. But that didn’t stop her from being captivated by the man in the distance. After all, she had relied on imagination sparked by a single image or line of text to get through her lowest points. Now, thanks to 3D technology, progress had been made—and Bai Jingchuan had undoubtedly accelerated it. Truly a golden ticket.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +50.」

At that moment, she tapped Bai Jingchuan’s WeChat profile picture. Accidentally double-tapping, it triggered a playful “nudge.” Flustered, she fumbled with her phone, performing an aerial gymnastics routine before finally retrieving it and retracting the nudge. Just as she did so, she noticed—Bai Jingchuan’s leather shoes. Looking up, she saw his long legs, narrow waist (she definitely didn’t pause there for a second), slightly toned chest, and broad shoulders… Bai Jingchuan adjusted his glasses. “Practicing martial arts?”

“…”

“Come over. Time to test the VR.”

The VR simulation depicted a romantic storyline featuring “Y,” a suave character dressed in a suit. Players could experience a day with him—waking up, washing up, having breakfast, and taking photos together. “Y” was a codename; although the boss repeatedly disapproved of names, everyone called him Handsome Justice due to his irresistible charm. In VR, users experienced waking up next to him, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains as Y gently touched their hair. The sound of rustling blankets added warmth to the scene—it was overwhelmingly intimate. Especially since Y’s face was sculpted like a classic mature male beauty, close-up and breathtaking. No wonder they called him Handsome Justice; anyone would be mesmerized…

Jiang Huan had indeed fantasized about such a perfect morning with her dream boyfriend, so the script she wrote oozed romance. It was warm and heartfelt, irresistibly intimate. Yet she shook her head vigorously in the headset. Through her earphones, a colleague teased, “What’s wrong? Feeling dizzy?”

Next came the photo session.

A Polaroid camera sat on the table, and Handsome Justice sat opposite, smiling as Jiang Huan prepared to take pictures. Whether posing for selfies or solo shots, he remained cheerful. Holding the controller, Jiang Huan raised her hand—the virtual camera appeared in her grip, and Handsome Justice followed its movements, adjusting his pose. Sensing her hesitation, he reached out. “Are you okay? Need help?”

Thinking this, Jiang Huan bent down to peek under the table, clearly aiming lower. Everyone around laughed as a hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her upright. Removing her headset, she saw Bai Jingchuan smiling behind her, though his tone was sarcastic. “Does the head writer need to immerse herself this deeply in romance?”

Colleagues nearby burst into laughter, but Jiang Huan was genuinely curious about the modeling details—how refined the pants were, whether the ankles emphasized in the character design looked good. She hadn’t thought anything improper, yet the producer seemed overly concerned.

After removing the VR headset, Akira leaned in. “How was it? Did the romance feel real?”

“Negative review. Couldn’t see the lower half.”

“How could you? That costs extra.” Akira, accustomed to sketching human figures daily, wasn’t shy. Pointing at the producer, she teased, “Didn’t you already check while kneeling earlier?”

This time, Jiang Huan bolted.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +50.」

The dice materialized, speaking softly. “Bai Jingchuan, did you see? Seductive allure is part of increasing favorability. You should ‘charm’ women more often.”

As for the player complaints everyone mentioned, they were obviously directed at Wen Li, the woman running virtual fashion shows while discouraging others from indulging in virtual romance. Indeed, she appeared aloof and clear-headed, yet Jiang Huan couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Not long ago, Wen Li lived in a parking garage, screaming at her mother in the neighborhood. Now, she owned a PR company specializing in promoting emerging designers and styling celebrities for interviews. Dreaming wouldn’t dare conjure such a transformation.

Virtual humans and influencers were likely within her reach, collaborating frequently. Yet online, she openly disliked games, genuinely expressing disdain. Jiang Huan traveled to the event venue and circled Wen Li’s company first. Yanqing Li, a newly developed fashion district along Suzhou River, housed nine renovated white-painted old houses converted into chic offices. At the entrance stood a long café connecting two buildings, lined with single chairs occupied mostly by all-black-clad office workers. Jiang Huan sensed a completely different atmosphere. Where her colleagues were otaku, here she felt stripped of gender and desire. Young people either overfilled themselves or were gaunt-cheeked skeletons.

Without gender distinctions, Jiang Huan momentarily wondered—why would someone in such a harmonious environment hate virtual games? Shouldn’t these young people be the most peaceful and inclusive?

On the first floor exhibition hall, crowds gathered, dressed avant-garde and gender-neutral, exuding an air of detachment.

Wen Li, with short dyed blonde hair, was lean and fashionable, her voice crisp and clean over the phone. Dressed entirely in black, she kept people at arm’s length. Compared to Jiang Huan in flat sneakers scurrying around, Wen Li was exquisite and sharp, her face carrying an aloof arrogance. Yet Jiang Huan instinctively felt a connection—they shared something… unhappy.

Initially, Jiang Huan meant only to observe stealthily. But stepping into the venue, she was swept up by the atmosphere. Young men and women with Western-style makeup queued to experience the VR fashion show. Cold, sophisticated music lent the event an infectious vibe. She’d never attended such an occasion. This was a unique “show,” not confined to traditional elite circles. Attendees could queue for VR experiences while others watched the runway, making high fashion accessible to ordinary people. Jiang Huan wanted to leave but was intrigued by the virtual models in the fashion world—were they similarly aloof and cool, emitting an air of disliking women?

Indeed, the large screens displayed familiar fashion faces—high foreheads, round skulls, wide-set eyes, sharp chins, and unrealistic hair colors. They wore incomprehensible outfits, backed by stark, stereotypical cyberpunk graphics designed specifically for such occasions. When Wen Li stepped onto the stage, Jiang Huan tensed for a few seconds—her presence was formidable, unreachable, and oddly captivating.

“This marks our first collaboration with Muni Magazine. Kang, a dear friend, deserves thanks. Thanks also to HOLO STUDIO for technical support and the brands for lending their digital models…”

Jiang Huan was astonished. What? These crudely detailed fake-faced models were “invited”?

“This year’s show aims to reach more people, showcasing possibilities in everyday wear while conveying a sense of futurism. Relying solely on social connections is insufficient. We aim to communicate brand philosophies through innovative, professional, and avant-garde methods. Virtual models Lunac and Vincent were designed based on brand requirements…”

Hearing Wen Li’s achievements, Jiang Huan silently admired her. So impressive—supporting emerging designers’ packaging and exhibitions while juggling relationships (though she recently broke up). How could someone like this still report their game…?

Jiang Huan squeezed to the front, patiently queuing for an hour before experiencing the animated models. Fashion itself didn’t interest her, and the voice acting was mediocre. However, VR piqued her curiosity. Virtual models showcased clothing interactively, allowing users to touch garments without texture or emotional engagement. Colors exploded chaotically, details blurred beyond recognition…

Compared to her work, this was lacking in every way.

Suppressing her frustration, she wondered—wasn’t it hypocritical to report Romance Continent yet promote virtual projections via VR? Scanning the QR code, she waited an hour for her turn. Donning the headset, she stood in the exhibition hall as a virtual model strutted forward, posture cocky, hair indistinguishable. Predictably, movements were rough—like shadow puppetry. A man holding a coffee cup aimed for casualness, but the liquid remained static, utterly motionless. Akira would’ve laughed herself silly seeing this. Jiang Huan couldn’t bear it anymore. The show was over; it was time to go home.

Stepping off the equipment, Wen Li greeted attendees personally. Approaching Jiang Huan, she asked suddenly, “How was the show? Did you enjoy it?”

“Different fields have different mountains to climb. I wish you success.”

Wen Li scrutinized the girl before her. Normally, she wouldn’t give such interactions much thought, casually greeting as she moved along. But this girl seemed clever, standing aside yet eager to speak. Virtual humans were crucial to this show, and such criticism questioned her PR capabilities. Sensing Jiang Huan’s dissatisfaction, Wen Li probed, “Was something unsatisfactory?”

Her heart raced. Pointing out flaws directly at a professional event required boldness. But recalling the woman collapsing emotionally in the parking garage and her critique of Romance Continent, a wave of disdain rose within Jiang Huan. She couldn’t hold back:

“I understand VR is new and that a few PR articles can boost your fashion credibility, but the details are rough. The character models clip through objects, only the clothes look refined, and honestly, it would be better without them.”

“What?”

“From the start, if it’s treated as just a product, then it’s merely a tool for profit. There won’t be subtle expressions, nuanced emotions, or love.”

As she stepped outside, too agitated, she bent over and collided head-on with something hard—a musical instrument. The impact was jarring, almost rearranging her insides, reverberating loudly. An assistant dressed in an all-black dress with black lipstick approached. “Sorry, are you okay?”

The collision echoed painfully, leaving Jiang Huan speechless and feeling unexpectedly wronged. She had seen truly immersive games. If they could be developed properly, they would surely convince people. Somewhere in this world, there were virtual communities where one could freely and comfortably connect with loved ones.

The assistant in black lipstick rushed out. “It’s Miss Wen’s piano. Sorry about that—it’s raining, so we brought it to the entrance. It’s an antique from an old villa, not yet tuned, but very valuable. Our boss probably had a fight at home, dragged the piano out, and now she’s hosting an event inside while we wait for movers to take it to her place…”

The moving crew, however, grumbled. “You guys should pay more for this kind of thing. Are you expecting me to carry it like some plastic-wrapped rope? I already unloaded it once, and now you say the address is wrong—I have another delivery after this. If you cancel my next job, who’s compensating me? Are you generous or stingy?”

Jiang Huan looked at the vintage piano—it resembled an antique. Its pedals were worn, not meticulously maintained, but its elegant European carvings and engraved poetic phrases on the lid made it unique. At that moment, a familiar sense washed over her. The glamour she’d witnessed earlier felt like an illusion. It was as though a woman who had just come into money hastily displayed her newfound success, while her struggles in the parking garage were like coins spilling from a torn pocket—insignificant yet rolled across the ground far enough to bruise pride. The assistant fretted nearby. “Alright, alright, I’ll pay extra. We’re not short on cash. Don’t let it get wet—I’ll file a complaint otherwise…”

The piano needed to be moved onto the truck first. The movers carelessly threw a layer of plastic wrap over it, tying it with ropes as if handling an old piece of furniture destined for disposal. Wen Li emerged, and the assistant hurried over to explain the situation. Wen Li, calm as ever, said, “I gave the wrong address—it’s fine. No need to blame yourself.”

Jiang Huan understood the underlying reason. The assistant’s order had exposed the parking garage, and Wen Li was growing increasingly anxious.

In the distance, a loud crash echoed. The movers hadn’t anticipated the piano slipping as they lifted it; the rope securing the corner loosened, and the entire instrument slammed into the truck bed. On this gloomy rainy day, the sound boomed, turning heads among passersby. Accompanied by a faint, discordant melody, it seemed to shatter fragments of time and space, bringing back unpleasant, even painful memories. Wen Li leapt onto the truck, shouting without hesitation, “Be careful, will you? This is a piano, not a table or chair!”

“If you really cared, you’d hire someone more expensive instead of arguing with me about money…”

The driver pulled out a metal plate to slide the piano, and Wen Li helped push it in the rain, her high heels slipping on the wet ground. Jiang Huan stepped forward promptly, pushing with steady footing despite her soaked cheeks, undeterred by the rain. Acting the hero, she didn’t hesitate to intervene. Wen Li glanced at Jiang Huan, lips parting but remaining silent. Still, she jumped onto the truck to inspect the damage. Before starting the engine, she shouted again, “Wait! My earring fell in your truck compartment—wait a moment!”

“Hurry up, I’m running late!”

Jiang Huan hopped onto the truck. “Is it important?”

“It’s borrowed from a designer—I need to return it later. Three thousand yuan each, damn it. Pure silver costs two hundred at most…”

Jiang Huan understood now. This sharpness was ingrained in her bones. She recognized it somehow—the painstaking accumulation of every penny, the inability to squander wealth recklessly. It reminded her of Maupassant’s The Necklace . Inside the dark cargo hold, rain pattered continuously against the truck. She crouched on the floor, unbothered by the dirt, feeling around blindly. Wen Li held her phone flashlight, illuminating the area, but neither could find the missing earring. Jiang Huan rummaged through her pockets. “Your light isn’t bright enough. And at times like this, you need to act quickly before someone steps on it and damages it further… Ah, here it is. Round, right?”

Jiang Huan picked up the birthday candle lamp, holding the earring between her fingers. A pearl and tiny diamonds hung from a silver hook. She remarked, “No wonder it fell. It needs to be secured better next time.”

As the rain softened, it became a gentle nocturne, blending seamlessly with the bustling cityscape. The dense curtain of rain obscured others’ views, leaving only the glow of a steady flame inside the departing truck. Under the yellow lamplight, their eyes met briefly before shifting to lock gazes. Jiang Huan spoke with feigned indifference, “Take it quickly—it’s worth three thousand. I might keep it if you don’t.”

Wen Li grasped Jiang Huan’s fingers as she took the earring, momentarily unused to such unconditional kindness. Still, she maintained the composure expected of a boss. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to repay you properly when the opportunity arises. What’s your name?”

“You can find me at Sandimon’s shop on Renwu Road. I’m Jiang Huan.” Jiang Huan jumped off the truck. “Make sure you remember this favor—I want to see you again.”

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PS: Xiao Zhang is here! Welcome to add this story to your bookshelf and vote for recommendations. Today marks the debut of our second female lead—feel free to join the discussion in the comments section. I’ll catch up on replies to unanswered reviews shortly!