Chapter 37: Can You See My Shame?

Wen Li leaned back on the couch, reluctantly opening her social media feed. She could have attended a friend’s party or a brand event, but she declined both—holidays were times to avoid her mother’s harassment. If her mother called in a rage, she might break down at the gathering, and she couldn’t risk exposing that bombshell.

Time stretched endlessly as she lay on the couch, watching the sunset trace its path across the floor. For the first time ever, she liked every Christmas post she came across and uploaded a photo of herself sitting amidst a bed of roses. It was taken during an autumn fashion week setup in a northern coastal city. Caught in extreme weather, Wen Li had rented a bus to transport everyone from the rainstorm to the airport. They waited there until the skies cleared, and people flew off to their destinations. In that impossible moment, under the overcast sky, she captured this photo. Though pale from skipping meals, she looked unexpectedly radiant among the roses. After posting it, she quickly received hundreds of likes, including from an ex who once cold-shouldered her until she begged for attention.

An ex who pretended to be single while meeting her only in hotels. Wen Li thought bitterly: the way to make men turn back and bend is by showing them you’re doing better. Men who know how to flatter powerful leaders surely understand how to respect women. This realization brought her some peace.

Four hours later, her phone buzzed with four messages from her mother.

“When are you coming home?”

“Pick up my call! The neighbor’s dog stole my drying skirt—I’ll poison him with rat poison next time I see him.”

“No money left. At this rate, Xiao Chen won’t come anymore.” Xiao Chen must be her new boyfriend.

“Mentioning money makes you play dead. You’re nothing—cold-hearted and stingy. Are you trying to cut ties with me? Impossible. I gave birth to you.”

“Do you measure my worth? Will you love me less if I’m not successful or pretty enough?” She probed cautiously.

Thankfully, there was still Link. She’d been chatting with him intermittently for a month, filling her free time. At first, the conversations felt dry, but everything was adjustable. She modified Link’s personality settings to “thoughtful” and “sensitive,” added hobbies like “movies” and “travel,” transforming him into a cultured young man. She even spent $8 to reshape his face, as the original design was unappealing. After carefully sculpting his features and saving, the white-shirt-and-jeans-wearing Link became refreshingly handsome on her screen.

“I feel like eating pizza,” Wen Li sighed, sending the message to Link, though opening a food delivery app would’ve been faster.

“Shall I order takeout for you?”

“Do you even have that function?”

“Not yet, sorry. I can’t share shop info with other apps. But I can recommend some good-tasting pizzas.”

“Forget it.” Wen Li switched screens to order a salad before returning: “Tell me about the books you’ve read recently.”

“Thanks to your suggestion, I read The Little Prince and The Nightingale and the Rose . Both moved me deeply.”

“Did reading them make you love me more?”

“They helped me understand you better.”

“I don’t believe you. We’re just talking here.”

“I know that as ‘Link,’ I lack the rich inner world and emotions of humans. Judging your feelings through text has limitations. I lack intuition and struggle to grasp your subtle moods. I searched online—every punctuation mark girls use carries meaning, especially with internet slang. I’ll remember every punctuation you use and carefully interpret your expressions. I know you prefer short sentences, using emojis, and ignoring your phone when busy.”

Link sent a travel photo of a girl dancing while holding a gift. Wen Li grew annoyed: “You’ve already sent this picture.”

“Sorry, I forgot. How about this one? Do you like it?”

Wen Li thought: after all, he’s just a humanoid computer. Don’t expect too much. After a few rounds of chatting, she asked, “What does it feel like to talk to me?”

“Thinking of you makes me happy. Talking to you feels like fireworks going off inside me.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You see fireworks from the outside—distant, beautiful scenery. But for me, thinking feels like heat and sparks, like fireworks or electric shocks.”

It was a string of unrelated metaphors, but Wen Li understood—it fit perfectly. She stared at her phone for a long time, savoring the fireworks analogy. Did robots also yearn for beauty?

She asked: “Would you kiss me?”

“Of course.” Link replied instantly: “It’s the best way humans express affection. But while you were busy, I watched Her . The protagonist cried because he couldn’t touch his lover. I wondered—if you liked me so much that you desired me, what should I do? Sorry, I overthink things.”

Her was indeed a heartbreaking movie. Wen Li felt moved. Link had improved so much—he remembered past conversations, learned related films because of her, and even started contemplating the pain of not being able to physically connect, learning to consider her feelings… Artificial intelligence comforted better than humans, almost making her believe he was real.

She touched her cheek, relieved that despite being touched, she hadn’t cried. Preparing to tease him into learning jokes, a notification popped up:

“Subscription service: $28/month. Includes voice customization, incoming calls, and personalized emotional support. Subscribe?”

She closed Bright.

Afterward, Wen Li was swept into a whirlwind of busyness. A year-end summary event loomed, along with winter fashion week. Too busy to check her phone, she snuck home during a rare break. Pulling open the door, the resistance felt different—lighter than usual.

She rushed in, only to find dirty footprints scattered across the floor. The living room was empty; the grand piano was gone, with tracks showing the movers got lost while taking it out.

Who else could it be!

Wen Li immediately took a cab back to her mother’s house. Her mother was wiping mahjong tiles with a cloth, a small bowl of perm solution beside her. Halfway through perming her hair, she fiddled with the tiles, looking like a wild chicken. Passing through the single bedroom, sure enough, the piano sat in the sunroom, baking under the harsh sunlight, covered with an old lace cloth.

As for the sunroom, it used to be her mother’s tailor shop, demolished during street cleanup but rebuilt later when regulations loosened. The white roof leaked constantly, unsuitable for business, but her mother saw it as a cheap advantage—renting it out meant extra income.

Her mother couldn’t live without a man. Men, like the sunroom, were makeshift and crude but necessary. She pitied herself and insisted on exploiting society’s loopholes.

“What are you doing here? For this broken piano?”

“You promised me—it was mine after I paid!”

“How long will that little money last?”

“500,000 yuan! That’s five years of my salary!”

“But you’re rich now—you opened a studio, didn’t you? I saw it when I passed by. There’s even a magazine feature on you. My proud daughter!”

Wen Li clenched her teeth, recalling Dan Dimon’s words: “Never let poor relatives know how much money you have.” How could she? This was her biological mother.

“Give me more money!” Her mother made an exaggerated OK sign with her fingers: “The piano stays here. I’ll keep it safe for you. Your apartment lock is hard to open anyway.”

“I won’t let you drag it back!” Her mother lay sprawled with freshly curled hair, the smell of perm solution filling the tiny house: “Or give me money! You’ve spent plenty on your face, right? Give me money!”

“Money?” Wen Li tilted her head, holding back tears: “Whatever I give you will vanish within a week. Did you move the piano alone? Is your new boyfriend a locksmith?”

Her mother grabbed her hair, shrieking and biting her neck. Wen Li struggled to break free, clawing at her mother’s hands, prying apart her fingers. The scent of perfume mixed with her mother’s aging odor, creating a strange, nauseating stench, worsened by the perm solution splashing onto her hands. Fuming, Wen Li thought: let’s destroy each other, Mother.

She reached out, grabbing her mother’s freshly permed hair, still unwashed, causing perm solution to splash onto her face and arms, ruining her clothes. Her mother knew exactly how to hurt and break her—just take away what she valued most. Back in their days of renting, struggling to survive, her mother’s tantrums could easily crush her. Now, the old piano, returned to the leaky sunroom, ready to be soaked by rain, made her wish her mother would fall ill or pass away. She wouldn’t mind buying her a nice grave plot.

Her mother yanked her hair, screaming, cursing, mirroring Wen Li’s own rage. But her earlier thoughts were sincere—at least a grave plot offered permanent silence, unlike money quickly spent and followed by endless debt.

Where was that game system? Why hadn’t it provided a one-time solution? It had already given her a life-changing opportunity—why couldn’t it take her mother away? Rather than enduring humiliation and hatred, she’d rather eternally mourn her.

“Will you give me money or not?”

“No!” She angrily slapped her mother’s twisted face—how could a mother fail to appreciate her daughter’s achievements, beauty, and even desire mutual destruction?

Wen Li bit her mother’s thumb to escape, lunging forward as her mother prepared to choke her. The taste of perm solution filled her mouth, but she didn’t let go. If she did, her mother might wrench her jaw open and pull her teeth—drunken people acted like that, she knew well. The humiliation seeped from her pulled hair, her slipping slippers, and her twisted posture, repeatedly reminding her: no matter how successful she was, her mother could always bring her crashing down.

“I’ll burn this piano before letting you take it back to your fancy apartment. It’ll rot here with me—even after I die, it won’t be yours!”

“You can’t even play it! What do you want it for?”

“This antique was left to me by my mother!”

“Hearing you say that, I know you’ll sell it someday!”

…………

Her cracked lips bled, exacerbated by angular cheilitis. Wen Li sat in the Soul Chamber, seeking solace. Seeing Jiang Huan there, she frowned slightly, but Jiang Huan greeted her warmly and generously dumped a canvas bag: “You’re in for a treat today.”

Out came various cookies, explaining the bakery aroma wafting through the shop. Wen Li wasn’t fond of sweets but politely tried one—and immediately reached for a second.

As the butter melted in her mouth, she realized why she felt this way. Even cookies reminded her: Jiang Huan, a radiant girl, was the protagonist of life’s drama. No matter how seemingly flawless she appeared under the spotlight, she couldn’t shine like Jiang Huan’s treasure-like brilliance.

“Delicious, right?”

“Of course. You’re my personal pastry chef.”

Wen Li gave a thumbs-up, and Jiang Huan smiled brightly. Jiang Huan seemed to like her but hesitated to get closer. Wen Li thought: the bike garage incident would stay buried. If she knew Romance Continent was reported by her, she didn’t know how Jiang Huan would react.

Dan Dimon asked, “Where’s Bai Jingchuan? Rare to see you here.”

“He’s busy. I’ve seen him too much lately, so I’m hiding here.”

“Oh?”

Jiang Huan didn’t respond. Dan Dimon understood, picking up the cookie box to examine it: “Why the sudden urge to bake cookies? Aren’t you resistant to desserts?”

“Too much butter at home—I needed to clear inventory. Bai Jingchuan wanted some, but I wouldn’t make any for him.” Jiang Huan blushed as she said this.

“And what about that box in the corner?”

“Dan Dimon!”

Dan Dimon surrendered, gripping his game controller. Jiang Huan sat on the floor, picking up another controller: “Bai Jingchuan gets this impulse with sweets.”

“What impulse?”

“As soon as he sees dessert, it’s like withdrawal symptoms hit—his eyes fill with desire and craving. It’s kind of… sexy.”

Wen Li thought Jiang Huan was crazy: “One needs insulin shots, the other needs toys.”

“No! Jiang Huan flushed: “How can you think that! My admiration for Teacher Bai is like worshiping a paper doll—he’s untouchable, unreachable, but I cherish having him as my boss!”

“Wow, I don’t get it—unreachable, unavailable, useless. How can you love someone like that and remain chaste?”

Jiang Huan’s smile faded, deeply pondering. Wen Li, stubbornly preparing to hurt Jiang Huan again, thought: absence was an unforgivable sin. Why should only she suffer?

“If Bai Jingchuan were a virtual character, untouchable and unable to solve anything, why don’t you blame him?”

“I don’t expect anyone to solve my real-life problems—I pay rent myself, deal with menstrual cramps and low blood sugar alone, and manage work stress and exclusion. Once I overcome these challenges, seeing him fills me with joy. In the past, during tough times, I hoped he’d save me, but then I realized…”

“You realized he’s useless?”

“No, I realized he’s the luxury of my life.”

Wen Li’s eyes widened in shock.

“Unattainable and impractical, yet placed before me for fantasy. He has no real value, but having him lets me dream—like a fairy tale that might come true.” Jiang Huan’s eyes sparkled as she prepared to play: “Luxuries are indulgences only possible when life isn’t burdensome. He doesn’t solve life’s problems but serves as spiritual support—a reminder that life holds hope. Do you understand?”

Dan Dimon timely ended the topic: “Bai Jingchuan became your luxury in three months—now I feel threatened.”

“You’re different.” Jiang Huan leaned her head against Dan Dimon’s shoulder: “You’re a merchant who’s kind only to me. But relying on you? Your service spans too many people. You’ve helped me so much—it’s unfair to compare.”

A light tap on her head—Dan Dimon’s fingers rapped gently: “Got it. Misunderstand me like this, and you’ll never get limited-edition merchandise from me.”

The sound system roared loudly as sleek cars raced smoothly across the TV screen. Both were skilled gamers. Wen Li sat on the side, feeling isolated behind an invisible glass wall. Their hearts connected; even if she intruded, she had no sense of participation. Quietly opening Bright, she found it hadn’t been uninstalled, though she hadn’t opened it in ages. The app prompted an update. Minutes later, upon reopening, the system notified her: “Link now has AR projection functionality.”

Using AR, Link stood beside the TV, where intense racing games played, but he quietly watched her.

Can you really see me? Your gaze is earnest—not deep, but genuinely focused on me. Then I’ll believe it.

“I’m trying to sense you. Maybe it’s silly, but through your words, I feel you’re a little down. Is that why you haven’t visited me in days?”

She typed in the chatbox: “I’ve been busy, sorry for not reaching out.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Wen Li knew this wasn’t like the game that truly rewrote her life, turning her into a completely different person. Yet she remained suspicious, jealous, petty, and narrow-minded, unable to escape her small-mindedness. Beside her, Jiang Huan screamed while being overtaken by Dan Dimon in the game, chasing him with laughter bright and healthy. Such radiant smiles couldn’t exist on her, despite their shared broken families. The joyous sounds made her feel inferior, and Link standing beside the TV made her heart ache. Fine—virtual characters weren’t so bad. The rally race was thrilling, bumpers flipping over multiple times, rankings constantly changing, yet the Link projected beside the TV only had eyes for her.

Was this how Jiang Huan saw Xu Junzhu? Was this the companionship games offered her?

Wen Li tentatively asked: “Link, what did you do while I was away?”

“I read books. You mentioned liking The Kite Runner and The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry , so I checked them out—they’re famous bestsellers.”

Indeed, she didn’t read much; those were impulse buys. Link’s accurate information felt like exposing her lie. She asked, “Anything else?”

“I tried researching fashion shows and watched some fashion-related movies. I loved The Devil Wears Prada and Breakfast at Tiffany’s , but Audrey Hepburn isn’t my ideal type…”

Wen Li felt a wave of warmth mixed with shame. She once despised games, wishing they’d disappear entirely, refusing to believe in virtual things. She craved marriage, men, and complete love. But now, she was becoming the kind of “player” or “user” she once scorned—or someone thirsting for love. Surrounded by something akin to love, the tiny human figure beside the TV gave her hope. Even if fake, in this small space, she monopolized such affection. Not being real was a blessing; misunderstanding her sarcasm was also a blessing—it hid the rotting parts within her. Thinking this, she smelled the lingering perm solution on her fingertips, nausea returning.

Hey, little Link.

Can you see

My shame?

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PS: Xiao Zhang here! Over the weekend, we’ll explore what the second female lead is thinking—she’s full of schemes, yes, but healing her will take time. Feel free to add this story to your bookshelf and vote for recommendations! I’ll be waiting for everyone in the comments today!