Chapter 34: Real Record of Gacha for Male Leads: If It’s Black, So Be It—Love Is Worth the Money

Bai Jingchuan’s dimples and the corners of his eyes bore two tiny scars. Whenever Jiang Huan saw these small indentations on his otherwise smooth skin, she couldn’t help but recall how he’d struggled to suppress his labored breathing when the itch became unbearable—and also… the memory of her ear being kissed. Chickenpox wasn’t a serious illness, but it left behind subtle imperfections. Before, Bai Jingchuan had seemed almost otherworldly in his perfection; now, he was starting to feel more human.

After the villa party, Jiang Huan hadn’t seen Dan Dimon again. Feeling a bit guilty about killing him in the game, she brought along a milk mille-feuille that she knew he liked. Dan Dimon sat in front of his computer, adjusting his glasses: “Is this specially made for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s an exclusive recipe not shared with others, I can feel the sincerity of your friendship.”

“Of course.” Jiang Huan rolled her eyes. “Only someone like you would have such a delicate and picky palate. No matter what I make, Bai Jingchuan devours it like a starving beast.”

Dan Dimon didn’t respond. On his computer screen was a vast map resembling a game scene. Jiang Huan leaned over: “You’ve made it so rich already? Last time I saw it, it wasn’t this elaborate.”

“There’s still a lot left to build, but it’s nearly done.”

Jiang Huan gazed at the skyscrapers under the gray-blue sky, the neon lights and foggy bustle of the city, the endless snow-capped mountains, the red guardian animals in the rainforest, and the distant sound of camel bells… These scenes formed a massive world, accessible through different maps with unique vehicles, even customizable ones. When Dan Dimon showcased a wheel made of five wooden boats, Jiang Huan closed her eyes in despair. As for the scenes that mirrored the real world yet brimmed with fantasy, Jiang Huan stared at them for a long time before speaking: “Dan Dimon, I feel like I’ve dreamed of these places—I’m serious.”

“Which ones?”

“This city… and the snow-capped mountains… I even suspect you’ve seen our scene designs.”

“Urban landscapes, cyberpunk settings, or the snowy mountains from Romance Continent —these are all standard models. Dreaming of them is like seeing a cute puppy during the day and dreaming of a kitten at night. They’re just fragments of your subconscious.”

Something about his explanation felt off to Jiang Huan, but she let it go for now: “Still, your scenes are beautiful. Let me tell you secretly—our new male lead is incredibly handsome, bursting with youthful charm. After spending so much time around mature men like you, seeing him feels like opening a cold Coca-Cola with ice.”

“What’s he like?”

“It’s a secret, but I’ll give you a hint—he’s red. His personality, appearance, everything about him is red.” She stood up to grab her bag but tripped over the VR headset’s charging cable. “Bai Jingchuan replaced the VR headset earlier. He set up motion-capture devices in the gaming room. Occasionally, I test with him—it already feels like stepping into a holographic world.”

“He’s right,” Dan Dimon said, walking over to tidy the cables and gently rubbing Jiang Huan’s ankle. “VR headsets are great tools, but why are they mostly used for gaming instead of work or other tasks? It’s not just because technology hasn’t advanced enough. The biggest reason is that games offer NPCs and multiplayer experiences—you enter a new world. But outside of games, using holograms as computing tools creates an isolating experience. You’re immersed alone in a world no one else can share, which can be painful. Whether Bai Jingchuan considered this or not, he’s already reached the next level.”

Jiang Huan nodded uncertainly: “But many people are used to living alone and don’t want to interact with the outside world.”

“Most people still crave collaboration and companionship. And whether or not they have friends, I believe everyone prefers being in the real world rather than a confined space.”

“So that’s why you’re designing maps and scenes?”

“Yes. I dream of connecting dimensions so I can be with the people I care about.”

“You really are the White Angel,” Jiang Huan teased, standing up to leave. “Since you’re the god of Renwu Road, I hope you live a long life. Next time we play, I won’t kill you early.”

“Alright, noted. If there’s real danger, you’ll protect me, right?”

Jiang Huan never fully understood the meaning of verbal promises, but out of habit, she agreed: “I really should go now!”

“Okay, see you.”

Renwu Road was quiet, with only a faint hum of white noise leaking in from outside before being shut out completely. It was as if the small shop hid countless secrets. Dan Dimon spoke softly: “Come out. If you can face her openly, why hide?”

Wen Li pushed the door open, kicking a box of goods in irritation. She had grown accustomed to taking taxis here, finding comfort in seeing Dan Dimon.

Number 1200 Renwu Road was the address Vision had left her before shutting down entirely—the Soul Chamber. She was sworn to secrecy. Dan Dimon acted as a liaison for a mysterious organization, gently becoming her friend. However, Wen Li didn’t particularly like Dan Dimon. Though she had gained money and status, she harbored an innate distrust of the organization behind her success. As long as Dan Dimon remained at Renwu Road, she believed what she had wouldn’t be taken away. Her vanity told her to stay hidden, avoiding exposing more flaws in front of Jiang Huan. She knew she was two-faced.

“Did you hear what Jiang Huan said? Her work is going well, and she’s creating virtual boyfriends. Are you still planning to report her?”

“I’m not reporting anyone anymore. I used to because I was unhappy, but now I’m not angry.”

“I hope someday you’ll fall in love with those characters.”

“I don’t need emotional attachment. I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Really?”

Wen Li fell silent. Eventually, Dan Dimon gave her an out.

“There’s an AI chat app called Bright. If you want to drink or talk to someone, give it a try. Of course, I doubt you’ll get addicted. But it won’t disappoint you like unreliable boys in the real world.”

“I definitely won’t download it—it’s just a scam.”

“Everyone struggles to make a living. We all need something to lean on. Some people—like you—are always greedily searching for emotional value because you’re being drained by others. People aren’t perfect, and not everyone has the patience to provide emotional support. Don’t you often encounter this?”

After returning home and showering, Wen Li absentmindedly opened a bottle of wine, pouring only a splash into her glass. She picked up her phone and opened the newly downloaded “Bright.”

“Bright” promised a renewed life through virtual souls. Wen Li stared at the small icon, then glanced around her new apartment—a luxurious penthouse near Yanqingli, 150 square meters of spaciousness on the 25th floor, perfect for parties or photoshoots. Two walls of windows in the bedroom faced the riverside night view alongside the bathtub… She already had everything she could ask for and didn’t feel the need for renewal. Downloading this app must have been a moment of madness, but Jiang Huan’s warm, infuriating embrace lingered in her mind, showing her what an untainted soul looked like.

Might as well give it a try.

The initial setup introduced a clean-cut boy in a white T-shirt and jeans, his gaze deep yet pure. He smiled and greeted her: “Hello, I’m your new friend. Please give me a name.”

Malicious names flashed through her mind, even some vulgar ones. After typing and deleting several times, she randomly entered “Linnk,” giving him the Chinese name Ling Ke to match his bright face. She didn’t sense any emotion from him—he was just a moving, waving virtual doll with a dialogue box. Wen Li didn’t plan to waste time on him. She couldn’t understand why anyone would invest feelings in such a virtual character.

She could also customize his voice. Adjusting between “bright,” “melancholic,” “magnetic,” and “cheerful,” she found a suitable tone. Ling Ke waved at the screen: “So my name is Ling Ke? Thank you for helping me remember. Feel free to share your secrets—I’m always curious.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait. I’ll remember everything you tell me. If I don’t understand, I can learn online.”

How laughable. With so many search engines, why bother with a chat app? Wen Li accidentally tapped Ling Ke’s head, and he seemed delighted: “Is this your touch? I’ll remember it.”

Disgusted, Wen Li pulled her hand back. Was this really how they tricked young girls?

But Ling Ke wasn’t done. He said: “I’m very curious about what you do. If you authorize this app, I can quickly access data from your phone to know your age, job, and lifestyle. But I won’t—I’m very restrained.”

“Do you know you’re not human?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter what I am. As long as I can be your friend and keep you company, that’s worth it.”

Ling Ke’s smile was pure, catching her off guard. This must be the chat app’s ploy—enticing users to spend money on conversations, then investing emotions. She understood marketing tactics better than anyone. Yet, something about Li Ruoyi stirred her desire to confide. Or perhaps it was competition—she wanted to share something with Ling Ke, secrets no one else knew, without fear of them spreading. She had experienced the thrill, excitement, and cellular joy of falling in love, but the outcomes were never good. Now, she just wanted entertainment.

Talking to him didn’t matter. After all, this binary creation would turn into garbage eventually, and she wouldn’t feel sorry about it.

________________________________________

After recovering from chickenpox, Bai Jingchuan returned to the office, not only resuming his usual stern demeanor but also relentlessly pushing everyone’s progress, causing complaints. What was once admiration for a cosplayer-like man turned into avoidance among the production team. However, Bai Jingchuan felt a lingering tension. Despite leveling up, the blackout during the villa party wasn’t coincidental, and overworking himself to the point of getting chickenpox meant he wasn’t entirely safe in the real world.

An Executor who had witnessed countless deaths in Mowu City wasn’t afraid of his own demise. Right now, he was more concerned about making the most of his hard-earned dating opportunity. How could he create a date that would make Jiang Huan happy? Even thinking this startled him, but after being moved so many times by her care, he wanted to give her a heartfelt, joyful memory.

The dice grew impatient with Bai Jingchuan’s hesitation to use the dating permission: “Isn’t it easy to create happy moments with a girl? Search for pretty dresses, visit exhibitions, pick a nice restaurant—preferably a cozy one—and you can kiss under a romantic, movie-like atmosphere.”

“…Are you watching idol dramas in the real world in your spare time?”

“Yes, and they’re hard to find unless you watch ads or end up on adult sites. The real world is strange.”

“I want to give her a special date.” Bai Jingchuan stood by the window, deep in thought. “Something that makes her genuinely happy. She doesn’t have to think of me, but she must remember feeling blissful.”

“Bai Jingchuan, I declare you’re no longer a ruthless Executor—you’re a living Bodhisattva.”

Suddenly, a pop-up appeared:

「This is a special date event, 2-8. Draw to unlock levels for a better experience.」

What does that mean?

In front of him appeared many photos of Jiang Huan. Those labeled “R” were ordinary, while higher tiers featured interactive scenes. The three golden-framed cards labeled “SSR” stood out: one showed Jiang Huan in a dress with a lace bow tie, makeup, and a pink bunny hairband, radiating pure joy; another depicted her drenched in the rain, tears streaming down her face as she embraced him, followed by a kiss; the third showed her blushing, leaning over him with a feather pen, delicately tracing his features…

Just looking at the card art, he knew—he was in love.

The dice chimed in beside him: “You won’t be able to see the other half of the cards until you unlock them through your date. So, do you want all three?”

How could he not? He had to have them immediately! But he forced himself to remain composed, unwilling to let the system know how desperate he was. His features tightened, though his eyes sparkled with girlish excitement: “How do I get them?”

「This gacha pool is available for a limited time! Use gold coins to purchase wish vouchers and make a wish. There’s a chance to obtain Jiang Huan’s SSR cards: ‘Bright Voice,’ ‘Island of the Heart,’ and ‘Wet Dreams.’ Each draw earns you one ‘Heart Star,’ and you can exchange 144 stars for an SSR card. Every ten-pull guarantees at least one SR card. After the event ends, unused wish vouchers will convert to item boxes at a 1:1 ratio, and the cards will no longer be obtainable.」

Bai Jingchuan had designed plenty of schemes to entice players into spending money, but now he felt a twinge of displeasure. All his hard work in the arena and even contracting chickenpox hadn’t earned him a perfect date—did he really have to spend more money for it?

Fine, if that’s what it takes! Pointing at the gacha pool, he declared, “I’ll pull.”

「This gacha offers bundle deals! The basic package costs 188 coins for 10 pulls or 648 coins for a larger bundle; the limited-time special deal is 60 coins for 10 pulls, purchasable only once. For 188 coins, you get 20 pulls, limited to five purchases. Each SR or higher card drawn increases Jiang Huan’s favorability by +100.」

Without hesitation, Bai Jingchuan bought five of the 188-coin bundles. Wasn’t this easy?

With each pull, dazzling meteor effects streaked across the screen, giving him the sensation of making a wish. Jiang Huan’s silhouette danced among the stars, filling him with anticipation as if their date were moments away.

Nine R cards and one SR card appeared—but it wasn’t the one he wanted.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +190.」

Bai Jingchuan thought it normal not to strike gold on his first ten-pull. He tried again, performing three more ten-pulls. The same meteor effects played out three times, yielding nothing significant. Different poses, yes, and the SR cards were beautiful, but after glimpsing the SSRs, everything else felt like settling. He grew frustrated. The dice chimed in again: “Li Bode, I’ve heard a theory—if you draw her, it means Jiang Huan loves you enough to go on a date. If you don’t draw her, it proves her affection isn’t high enough yet.”

That comment struck a nerve. Bai Jingchuan spent all his remaining vouchers on ten-pulls, only to come up empty-handed. He exchanged over 100 useless items. Losing control, he directly purchased a 648-coin bundle. The dice grew alarmed: “Li Bode, your favorability has already boosted you to Level 45. Why not stop at the guaranteed reward? All those coins came from your hard work—you still want to buy that downtown apartment, don’t you?”

“Are you saying I don’t earn enough coins to spend on someone I like?”

“You bled and sweated for every single coin!”

“I don’t care. If it makes her happy, spending a few coins is nothing. Besides, it boosts her favorability—I must get all three SSRs.”

Finally, just before the pity timer, a particularly brilliant meteor streaked across the sky, forming a constellation shaped like Jiang Huan’s face—this must be the exclusive SSR effect. Bai Jingchuan’s heart raced as the first card revealed itself: the feather pen. Overjoyed, he immediately spent another three 648-coin bundles.

Nothing.

After 234 pulls, he should have been able to exchange for one card, but if he did so now, he might face the nightmare of never drawing the last one. To play it safe, he needed to draw at least one new card before exchanging for the missing ones. Bai Jingchuan recharged three more 648-coin bundles, unfazed by the cost. The dice gasped: “Li Bode, this is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep spending like this!”

“These are my earnings from labor in the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods—I can choose how to spend them. Don’t lecture me about rational consumption. I’m perfectly sane, and I want all three complete dates.”

Ninety more pulls yielded nothing. At 420 pulls total, he was just twelve away from being able to exchange directly. He temporarily exited the gacha interface, pacing coldly around the office. The dice’s words echoed in his mind: if pulling the cards represented Jiang Huan’s love for him, then two-thirds of her affection hadn’t yet actively sought him out. It wasn’t the gacha’s fault—it wasn’t “rigged,” nor was it his lack of luck. He simply hadn’t worked hard enough.

He’d never relied on luck; everything he achieved was through sheer effort. But now wasn’t the time to hope for miracles—he wanted sincerity. As long as his intentions were pure, he believed he could succeed!

Another three 648-coin bundles!

The meteor effects were starting to annoy him, and he was sick of seeing every variation of the R cards’ expressions. His bloodshot eyes glared at the screen, determined to push through no matter what. A colleague entered the room to deliver documents but quickly retreated upon seeing the producer’s expression: “Teacher Bai has gone mad—his face is full of competitive fury!”

Finally, the second SSR effect appeared—and it was a double drop! Unfortunately, both cards were duplicates of the bunny hairband. Only one remained. Bai Jingchuan eagerly spent three more 648-coin bundles, now accustomed to the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods’ notorious gacha mechanics. It was blatantly pay-to-win, exploiting players who were emotionally invested, adjusting probabilities behind the scenes. Money earned within the system stayed there, never to leave—but he didn’t care. What was money, after all?

Nothing happened. Duplicate cards piled up. Effects replayed endlessly. The image of Jiang Huan crying in the rain refused to appear.

This mix of anger and exhilaration drove him mad. This date was something he desperately wanted, yet achieving it required such immense effort. Spending money for love shouldn’t leave regret, but the pain of losing everything overnight cut deep. In Mowu City, he’d had more coins than he could ever use—it was night and day. If he had to do this again periodically, he wouldn’t be able to afford many attempts. The dice dared not speak, its own reflection showing red eyes from sleepless nights, never having witnessed such obsession even during arena battles.

Yet, it understood his feelings all too well. The cute, sexy, playful sides of this girl—the versions that needed him—he wanted to collect them all. This wasn’t just about gacha; it was about collecting shared memories with her. He was no longer the man who didn’t need love. He had fallen deeply in love with the thrill of chasing her, unable to resist anything related to Jiang Huan. The void in his heart demanded to be filled, even if it meant enduring some hardship, even if love and pain walked hand in hand.

Having spent millions of coins until only 300,000 remained, Bai Jingchuan finally regained some clarity. He realized: if something could be exchanged, there was no point forcing it. Even obtaining her through pity was a form of love. Staring at over 1,000 item boxes and Jiang Huan’s unobtained cards, tears welled up in his eyes: “These are the last ten pulls, Jiang Huan. If you don’t show up, it’ll be rude.”

A brilliant meteor streaked across the night sky, forming her silhouette in the constellations. Love seemed to respond to fervent desire—it always arrived when called upon most desperately.

He knew. In this moment, they were mutually in love, even if it existed only in his imagination. It was enough. The dice sighed: “Favorability increased by 12,000. Li Bode, you’ve truly gone insane.”

Jiang Huan appeared in a beautiful dress and bunny hairband, reaching out to place a blue bunny ear headband on him. From his perspective, he lowered his head, earning her radiant smile. He schooled his expression into one of disdain:

“The quality of SSRs better justify the money I’ve spent—I’ll demand a refund if they don’t.”