Chapter 39: “He’s Always Been Thoughtful with Me, Except He Won’t Admit He Likes Me”

Everything seemed normal, except Bai Jingchuan had moved out of Jiang Huan’s neighboring apartment and was forced to go on a business trip for a few days. The consequences of “Misfortune” struck swiftly—Bai Jingchuan and his boss were sent to Beijing to attend a neural research summit. There, patients with disabilities controlled prosthetic limbs through brain cortex stimulation, enabling them to pick up utensils and feed themselves autonomously. In Mowu City, Bai Jingchuan often encountered people using prosthetics as if they were fashionable accessories, but this was his first time seeing it in the real world. His boss took the event seriously—it was another step closer to the fantasy world of Ready Player One .

Receiving Jiang Huan’s text, Bai Jingchuan smiled and asked his boss: “Do you think I’ll be needed at the presentation? Can I return a day earlier?”

The boss chuckled: “Of course. You’re our golden ticket.”

But he didn’t reply to her immediately—his phone had died. This too was part of the “Misfortune” cycle, designed to lower Jiang Huan’s favorability. However, when he returned just in time for the presentation, Jiang Huan’s eyes lit up. From afar, she waved excitedly, jumping to greet him. At 10 AM, sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating her like an energetic elf greeting royalty.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +500.」

Why was her favorability so high? Had Jiang Huan “gone bad”?

Jiang Huan didn’t feel particularly close to Bai Jingchuan, but she noticed that anyone at the company who wanted Bai Jingchuan’s help usually went through her. Indeed, while Bai Jingchuan kept others at arm’s length, any unreasonable request made by her was granted without hesitation. Akira said this was Bai Jingchuan’s privilege for her, but Jiang Huan disagreed—it was an art of communication. When HR privately messaged her about sending someone for a recruitment talk, Jiang Huan confidently said: “Leave it to me.”

“You want me to step into the spotlight and give this talk?” Bai Jingchuan asked.

“If it were any other Lory game, the lecture hall would be packed. After all, the last game hit 1.4 billion in its opening month… But we’re talking about Romance Continent , a female-oriented title that struggles to ‘get a seat at the table.’ If this keeps up, we’ll have to invite Dan Dimon—he’s a star on Renwu Road, a young and accomplished professor. Even though he’s not one of us, his presence alone could fill the hall.”

“Oh?” Bai Jingchuan adjusted his glasses: “You need outsiders for Romance Continent ? Add my name—I’ll do it myself.”

An Executor’s pride couldn’t be challenged. Still in Beijing, he’d been practically “tricked” back by Jiang Huan.

After posting posters featuring Bai Jingchuan’s photo, the school upgraded the venue to a larger auditorium. HR subtly gave Jiang Huan a thumbs-up: “No wonder you’re our golden ticket.”

Undergraduates and graduate students poured in. Bai Jingchuan stood on stage, introducing each of the company’s games with eloquence and humor, leaving the audience in awe. Students from a nearby smaller lecture hall gradually flocked over, mistaking him for a celebrity. A 184-cm-tall man with a small head, narrow waist, and perfect proportions drew stealthy photos from the crowd. Some recognized him as the mysterious cosplayer from a convention—turns out, he was the producer, a hidden gem! One overly excited girl in the front row turned on her camera’s flash, filling the hall with laughter. Bai Jingchuan didn’t blink; instead, his perfectly angled jawline unintentionally exuded deadly charm.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +500.」

The promotional materials were simple yet impactful, especially the line: “Independent Game Tide of Love Producer, Winner of Best Narrative at TGA 2018…” One person, one team—enough to showcase excellence. Jiang Huan leaned against the wall, wearing a staff badge. Through the glass door beside her, she caught her reflection—ordinary, the most unremarkable employee in the room. Exhausted from consecutive sleepless nights, her hair half-yellowed, she felt like she belonged to a different world than the radiant figure on stage. A girl stood up to ask: “Producer, I’ve seen your cosplay at conventions. Today, meeting you in person is just as impressive—you exude both sensuality and intellect. But will your characters be as captivating as you? With such a large player base, there are only a few male characters. How can you ensure they appeal to different players?”

Bai Jingchuan paused thoughtfully. The entire hall fell silent, waiting for him to praise their game. Instead, he humbly held the microphone: “Our team, aside from me, is all women. Their idealized vision of men forms one part, but the more important part comes from the players’ love. The true value of these characters lies in what they inspire after launch—the ability to build a larger consciousness and universe of love, motivating players to become better versions of themselves. That’s the greatest value our position can offer.”

Charming, indeed.

But Bai Jingchuan himself wasn’t sure how to answer. He was, after all, a so-called 2D character, but he hadn’t been loved by so many people. Romance Continent hadn’t launched yet, and he hadn’t witnessed the power of its players.

Bombarded by questions from job seekers and live-stream chatrooms until his throat was parched, Bai Jingchuan nearly spilled his three vital stats. The first thing he did afterward was find Jiang Huan. Exiting the lecture hall, he saw her still lingering near the classroom window, hands gesturing animatedly. Beside her stood—rarely seen wearing a trench coat and dark green scarf, clutching a textbook—Dan Dimon. Jiang Huan reached out to pat Dan Dimon’s head, and he leaned forward, gently cooperating, even removing his scarf to drape around her neck. Nearby, plum blossoms bloomed out of season, completing the picturesque scene. Even Bai Jingchuan had to admit it looked like something out of a Japanese movie. No wonder students stopped to secretly take photos, whispering about the famous Professor Dan.

Bai Jingchuan’s jealousy flared.

“You could’ve called me. My class ended at 9:50—I had plenty of time.”

“How could I not use our own company leader and bother Boss Dan instead? Not to mention, how would I explain this to our superior? And what kind of compensation could I afford?”

“Oh, so I’m an outsider now?”

“Stop teasing me!”

“Alright, I won’t.” Dan Dimon, following Jiang Huan’s gaze, spotted Bai Jingchuan. Reaching out, he grasped Jiang Huan’s wrist, pulling it to his chest in an intimate gesture. Jiang Huan’s cheeks flushed instantly. If Dan Dimon had previously been somewhat ambiguous without crossing boundaries, this move in front of Bai Jingchuan clearly carried a possessive undertone. Was she really that important?

Bai Jingchuan merely greeted them, but his arrival turned the scene into a veritable battlefield. Seeing students stopping to secretly photograph them, Jiang Huan yanked her hand free and bolted out of the building with the remaining materials.

Bai Jingchuan thought Dan Dimon was quite the tactician—calm, detached, with grayish-white hair, exuding an air of having seen through everything. Nothing seemed to stir his emotions, yet he excelled at unsettling others. Right now, Bai Jingchuan wanted nothing more than to use a prop to teleport him ten thousand miles away, never to return. Jiang Huan waved dismissively: “Why did you come out here? What about the students surrounding you?”

“It’s lunchtime—they should leave. Since you specially summoned me back, aren’t you treating me to a meal?”

This was Bai Jingchuan’s first time playfully insisting on Jiang Huan’s attention. The implicit meaning was clear: he was brought back by her, a direct superior in the same company. Even if Jiang Huan didn’t like office romances, he was at least a significant figure in her life—a destined endpoint. As for Renwu Road’s boss? Just a geographical checkpoint.

Jiang Huan scratched her head: “Let’s eat at the cafeteria then. Dan Dimon has a faculty card. Our school has great food—you must try it, Bai Jingchuan.”

Dan Dimon calmly added: “You’re welcome.”

The tone of a gracious host only fueled Bai Jingchuan’s frustration. Were Renwu Road and the school now Dan Dimon’s backyard? Swallowing his anger, Bai Jingchuan recalled the suspicious photo of Dan Dimon and Jiang Huan he’d seen in Mowu City. There had to be clues in the Soul Chamber.

Bai Jingchuan realized the surface-level misfortune was moving house, but the real misfortune was—Dan Dimon, who neither admitted to being a rival nor hid his blatant provocations.

The three chatted about strange occurrences near the school. In a nearby high-rise apartment, an elevator malfunction had claimed the life of a male student renting there. Coincidentally, an online account notorious for posting cat abuse videos, claiming no law could stop him, had gone silent. Its final post was a blurry photo of a terrified face pleading for help inside an elevator.

“Lately, the news has been filled with bizarre calamities. A robbery convict awaiting imprisonment also died from electrocution. To most, he was unforgivable, yet his sentence was surprisingly lenient—it feels like a vigilante appeared.”

These were likely cases Bai Jingchuan hadn’t judged yet. Looking up, he locked eyes with Dan Dimon, who smiled and asked: “Perhaps someone is secretly passing judgment?”

Jiang Huan’s gaze shifted to him. Bai Jingchuan remained composed: “Why are you looking at me? I’m not omnipotent.”

The air bristled with tension. Jiang Huan sensed hidden meanings in their words—daily reports of strange events had long convinced her the world was mad. Yet these two disliked each other so intensely that even discussing trivial matters sparked fireworks… Was their clash of auras that severe? She quickly changed the subject: “What about Wen Li? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Heartbroken. She’s probably suffering lately.”

“Who’s she dating now?”

“Bright. Her companion is probably named Link.”

Jiang Huan nearly spat out her tea: “She’s using a virtual boyfriend app?? Didn’t she despise virtual boyfriends?”

“A form of emotional anchor?” Dan Dimon, busy as ever, replied: “She seems pretty absorbed. She used to visit me often, but not lately. She’s quietest when in love; otherwise, she either overworks or comes to bother me.”

“But Bright recently leaked user data—many deleted the app. After all, AI can easily extract character models during conversations and tirelessly accompany users 24/7. But what’s the point of extracting those models? What can they be used for?”

Bai Jingchuan stood silently, his expression serious. Smiling, Dan Dimon patted Jiang Huan’s shoulder: “Such virtual characters aren’t yet alive. But if technology advances further, what if ‘Link’ fears losing the person he loves and tries to replicate them to keep them in his world? Wouldn’t that make sense?”

“Did Wen Li break up because of this?” Jiang Huan shook her head: “She wouldn’t fall in love with Link. She’d only feel deceived.”

“Such people only love themselves.” Bai Jingchuan’s words were harsh: “Few can truly love her. Whether it’s Link, new virtual characters, or real-life men, they’re all tools for her self-pity. Someone who hasn’t learned to love can’t give love—no amount of Links matters. Don’t hope she’ll experience Romance Continent . She needs a psychologist.”

Jiang Huan was momentarily stunned. It was the first time she’d heard such a penetrating insight. Bai Jingchuan understood human relationships thoroughly, yet remained childishly naive only in her presence.

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +500. Lv 55 achieved. Earned 50,000 gold coins, 5 item boxes.」

The Soul Chamber had two sections. The inner room was a treasure trove of manga—Taiwanese and Japanese editions—a paradise for otakus. Jiang Huan wandered inside, spotting folders of manga manuscripts on the top shelf. She randomly pulled one down to flip through: “Dan Dimon, I just realized I’ve never seen the ones on the top shelf.”

Dan Dimon rushed in, snatching the folder from her hands: “You can’t just browse these.”

“Why not? Let me see—they look so much like me.”

“No, this antique is for collection only. It’s off-limits.”

“Well, why keep it in the shop then? Let me see… Stop grabbing it, or I’ll tear it!”

“Be careful—you’ll fall.”

“Then let go!”

The two tiptoed, wrestling over the manuscript. One stumbled, falling onto the other. Dan Dimon agilely twisted mid-air to avoid injuring Jiang Huan. The folder hit the hanging lamp, casting flickering shadows. Bai Jingchuan lifted the curtain to witness the scene. His face shifted with the light—half-shadowed, half-green—not a pleasant sight. The more ambiguous the atmosphere, the more superfluous the bystander. But in the Executor’s world, he could only be the protagonist.

He approached Jiang Huan, extending his hand. She felt awkward—no more battlefields, please. She was just an ordinary person, unable to handle being pursued by two male leads. What was this situation? Stop fighting, or take it to the dance studio if you must!

Bai Jingchuan’s jealousy erupted: “Am I just part of your game?”

Jiang Huan snapped: “Shut up!”

Dan Dimon quietly retrieved the folder, returning it to the top shelf—all under Bai Jingchuan’s watchful eye. Staring at Dan Dimon, Bai Jingchuan addressed Jiang Huan: “By the way, I accidentally saw a group photo of you two hugging affectionately. Whose birthday was it?”

“What?” Jiang Huan frowned: “Where did you see it? I don’t remember celebrating anyone’s birthday with Dan Dimon.”

“Maybe he dreamed it.” Dan Dimon put on sunglasses and tied an apron, preparing to cook noodles in the next room: “People nowadays often confuse dreams with reality, just like they’re desensitized to absurd news.”

Jiang Huan struggled to recall: “My hug with Brother Dimon during a birthday… How could I forget that? Bai Jingchuan, did you dream it?”

The store grew quiet, the wind chimes at the entrance tinkling like teenage heartbeats. Surrounded by warm yellow lights, handheld consoles, game cartridges, and manga, Bai Jingchuan picked up a pair of sunglasses. The surroundings dimmed, reminiscent of the dimly lit room in Mowu City, storing old comics and Polaroids. Jiang Huan remained oblivious, but Bai Jingchuan vaguely sensed this was one of the interfaces connecting the Soul Chamber to Mowu City.

No wonder he’d been sent here when his phone died!

A shadow—or rather, Jiang Huan—suddenly appeared before him, asking earnestly: “Where did you see the group photo?”

“I must’ve been mistaken, or perhaps you forgot. Which do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.” Jiang Huan sank into thought: “He’s always been thoughtful with me, just refusing to admit he likes me. Once, I was short 60,000 yuan for a down payment on a house, and Dan Dimon lent it to me without hesitation. I can’t hide my feelings—I did like him once. He explicitly rejected a romantic relationship, saying his heart belonged to someone impossible… I can’t quite remember the details.”

“Is it the figurine on the wall he likes?”

“Yes, probably. That’s why he’s been waiting for Romance Continent to feature customizable avatars—he wants to meet the person he loves in the same dimension.”

So he was just an otaku. Bai Jingchuan relaxed slightly, feeling the world lighten: “Have you thought about the date I asked you for?”

“Didn’t we already go to the amusement park?”

“That doesn’t count—it was my SSR.”

“Bai Jingchuan, what are you talking about? Are you sleep-deprived?”

Silence. Jiang Huan softened: “We can go on a date, but I want it to be here.”

She pointed to a mall downtown. On the 8th floor was a Ferris wheel with an advertising screen, facing a building covered entirely in LED panels. Bai Jingchuan had passed by before, seeing luxury brand promotions.

“Do you know what the Ferris wheel screen represents? If a game protagonist’s birthday appears on that screen, the game remains popular forever. This Ferris wheel is magical too—couples who kiss beneath it stay together.”

“You want to advertise Xuan Mu’s game?”

“No, a certain protagonist’s birthday is coming up. I want you to feel the players’ enthusiasm…”

Jiang Huan pulled out her phone to search, suddenly falling silent. The dice flew over, glanced at her screen, and returned: “Li Bode, she’s very upset.”

Bai Jingchuan peeked at Jiang Huan’s phone screen—it was pre-release hype for Xuan Mu, with comments flooding in from players of a competing game. Their “blessings” included edited images of Xuan Mu’s obituary, grayed-out and captioned with phrases like “Die upon release.” These players, wives of their respective paper-thin protagonists, organized meticulously, flooding the comments with black profile pictures resembling funeral banners, mourning Xuan Mu’s death. Their own game’s player base wasn’t small either, and the two sides clashed fiercely, escalating to personal attacks on fictional characters.

“Why does an old game still buy big screens? Does anyone even watch them?”

“Your protagonist is still alive, isn’t he? Our new game is coming soon—sorry.”

“The obituary edits are ready. Consider it a farewell gift. Next time you provoke us, it won’t be so simple…”

Bai Jingchuan understood—the argument stemmed from veteran players defending their beloved protagonist, fearing Romance Continent would overshadow their waning popularity. Xuan Mu barely had a red outfit and a short backstory, and his iconic catchphrase hadn’t even been finalized. Yet, due to advanced technology and intense attention, promoting him during another protagonist’s birthday celebration was perceived as “piggybacking” and “malicious competition.” The birthday venue? The Ferris wheel on the 8th floor.

Whether as an Executor or a producer, Bai Jingchuan cared little for online rumors or attacks, let alone curses on Xuan Mu’s death. But Jiang Huan’s face turned ashen, her anger mounting. With a muttered “How dare they,” she stormed out.

Unable to conceal her emotions, he stood up, quickly catching Jiang Huan and ushering her into a taxi. Sitting in the front seat, the car’s atmosphere was suffocating. They took the elevator to the 8th floor, heading straight for the Ferris wheel—the birthday celebration site.

But what awaited them next was something Bai Jingchuan hadn’t seen—or imagined.