Chapter 4: Could He Really Save My Life?

Since they were both liars, Jiang Huan couldn’t afford to reveal her true thoughts. Back when she had clashed head-on with the previous producer, she had suffered greatly for being too insistent during meetings—especially after uttering the disrespectful remark, “Men don’t understand otome game male leads.” She was forced to work overtime, pushed to the brink of resignation, and transferred to other departments. Though she ultimately stayed, aside from clearing her name, Love Continent hadn’t made any progress. If it disbanded, she’d still be left out in the cold. Therefore, Jiang Huan’s strategy now was to rein in her impulsive nature, lowering her DPS (damage per second) and adopting the personality traits of an otome game heroine—traits like independence, purity, bravery, and kindness.

Bai Jingchuan certainly didn’t qualify as an otome game male lead, but at least he wouldn’t lash out at someone smiling politely.

The producer’s principle was simple: no slackers in the production team. He conducted one-on-one evaluations with each department member, firing twelve people within seven days. Akira found this puzzling. “If you say he doesn’t have a good eye for talent, all the people he fired were troublemakers who didn’t do their jobs—old hands and newbies alike. But if you say he’s inefficient, he barely eats, constantly interviewing people, leaving every department on edge.”

The two of them huddled by the office door, deep in thought, concluding that Bai Jingchuan seemed to possess some kind of mind-reading ability—he only fired the “thorns” in each department that everyone else struggled to deal with.

It was Jiang Huan’s turn. After rejecting most of the stories and character designs she had worked on for Love Continent , Bai Jingchuan bombarded her with three consecutive questions. She thought about how half of her time in the project group had been spent sidelined in other departments, while the other half involved enduring petty harassment from superiors. How could she possibly produce anything decent under those circumstances?

“Then show me something convincing.”

“I previously wrote five male leads for a prior project, but since it was disbanded, I had to hand over my computer…”

In truth, Jiang Huan had kept some files on her personal computer, having worked overtime at home to write them. However, revealing this would make her guilty of leaking confidential information from the previous project. Bai Jingchuan’s sharp gaze bore into her; a few more words, and she’d expose herself. So she fell silent. But Li Junzhu, one of her proudest creations, was unforgettable—a character she adored so much that she privately printed merchandise and even indulged in fanfiction-like fantasies about him. Her ideal lover.

Jiang Huan hadn’t dated anyone in real life and wasn’t interested in three-dimensional men—it was all because of her love for Li Junzhu. She had crafted him as a cold-blooded enforcer, a loner who enjoyed cultivating rivals, refined and elegant in his manners, yet with a sweet tooth that turned him into a walking meme. Having witnessed countless deaths, he developed a fondness for girlish things, fairy tales, and mermaid colors. What began as carefully sculpted character traits gradually grew into genuine affection for him, treating him as a real lover in her heart. When the project was shelved, everything about Li Junzhu was forcibly locked away with her computer, leaving fewer traces of him in her life. Now, sitting before Bai Jingchuan, she couldn’t possibly share these feelings with him. He was unyielding and might dismiss her as irrational.

“For now, step outside. I need to leave.”

Jiang Huan slowly backed out of the room, feeling wronged, frustrated, and unable to voice her grievances. Being unable to prove her worth felt like being mistaken for someone lame when, in reality, she could fly and run. As she exited, she stumbled, tripping over her own feet, unsure if she even knew how to walk anymore.

“I don’t need an umbrella.”

Jiang Huan smiled faintly. What a coincidence—I don’t use umbrellas either. But she couldn’t say that; she needed to maintain surface-level flattery to avoid upsetting the producer.

[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: -30.]

Bai Jingchuan’s face once again revealed that all-knowing expression. Had her sarcastic thoughts leaked through her expression? He quickly stepped into the rain, but after just three steps, the drizzle intensified, blurring his vision and leaving no room for stubborn pride. Bai Jingchuan retreated back under the awning. Jiang Huan stole a glance at him—he must be irritated, that murderous aura returning. It seemed that disruptions to his schedule unnerved him.

To protect the producer’s dignity, Jiang Huan leaned halfway out, letting the rain soak her until her vision blurred before retreating. “I can’t leave either—the rain’s too heavy. Looks like we’re stuck here together.”

He kept glancing at his watch. Jiang Huan said, “I’ll go buy an umbrella. If you need, we can share it to the subway station. You won’t find a taxi at this hour.”

“No need. I have my own plans.”

[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: -50. Please refrain from harboring rebellious emotions toward your target. Every increase in affection will boost your level, benefiting your exploration of the real world.]

The torrential rain showed no signs of stopping. Such downpours were rare in Shanghai, but Bai Jingchuan seemed to embody the saying “speak of the devil.” Jiang Huan returned with an umbrella, thinking that sharing it to the subway station would give her another chance to plead her case if he refused. After all, keeping Bai Jingchuan here meant preserving the project. His character was irrelevant to her.

She approached him. “If you don’t get under the umbrella soon, you’ll be late.”

Pretending to turn and leave, she felt the edge of the umbrella grabbed. As Bai Jingchuan ducked under it, their proximity was unavoidable. Her eyes traced from his arm to his chin, then met his gaze. The scent of fresh grass and rain filled the air. Raindrops pounded loudly on the umbrella, mimicking the rhythm of a heartbeat.

[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +100.]

Both liars were accustomed to the rain but now stood under the same umbrella for their respective purposes. Jiang Huan held the umbrella too low, repeatedly poking Bai Jingchuan’s head—not due to height differences but because she refused to move closer. Bai Jingchuan stood at the umbrella’s edge, maintaining just enough visibility to see the path ahead.

Through the transparent umbrella, neon lights in pink, yellow, blue, and purple appeared pixelated beyond the curtain of rain. The rainwater pooled on the ground like a mirror, revealing what seemed to be an underground city beneath their feet, quietly emerging on this rainy night. Bai Jingchuan appeared as though pulled from a cyberpunk world into the umbrella, still unaccustomed to reality, remaining vigilant. Even from below, his features were impeccably sculpted, everything about him perfect except for his reluctance to connect with others. Jiang Huan, still clutching her delivery package, offered to switch hands to hold the umbrella higher, but Bai Jingchuan declined: “You’re not safe on the outside—you could easily get hit by a car.”

He was surprisingly considerate. Jiang Huan replied casually, “It’s fine. I’m fragile anyway.”

“What do you mean by ‘fragile’?”

“I often get hurt—cuts, scrapes, bleeding. I frequently end up in the hospital, but I’m used to it.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Why?”

“If you’re not cautious, danger will find you because you’re unprepared.”

“Minor bumps are normal. I don’t dwell on them.” Jiang Huan tilted the umbrella toward Bai Jingchuan. If he continued to stand exposed, half his suit would be soaked. She didn’t mind getting wet—it was just a trip home.

A sports car sped past, splashing water. Bai Jingchuan suddenly shielded Jiang Huan, pulling her close before she could react. Her face pressed against his firm chest, his overreaction triggered by the car’s splash. The umbrella fell to the ground. She lowered her head, slightly opening her eyes to see Bai Jingchuan’s shoes and trouser cuffs reflected in the puddles. He stood like a hero freshly emerged from another world, tense and alert in the peaceful city.

Perhaps his sudden concern sparked unrealistic fantasies. This was just an overly dramatic producer—don’t read too much into it.

The rain finally stopped. Bai Jingchuan picked up the umbrella, folded it, and handed it to her: “Stay vigilant against accidents around you.”

Though brief, Jiang Huan had already formed muscle memory for coquettishly addressing Bai Jingchuan: “Got it. I know the producer will definitely save me!”

What kind of accident? Overblown nonsense.

[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +80.]

But what happened next was straight out of science fiction.

All unfinished projects—games, anime, story-based content reserves—vanished overnight from the cloud and computers. Lori wasn’t spared. Perfect but unreleased holographic companions and VR shooting games evaporated from the cloud. Content created over two or three years simply disappeared. Though prior projects had been scrapped, their data had remained encrypted in the cloud. Love Continent , despite multiple betrayals and reports, was officially terminated. Experts were consulted, and the boss even flew to the U.S. to attempt data recovery, all in vain. For Jiang Huan, this wasn’t just wasted effort—it might mean unemployment.

The office fell silent. Several folders in Jiang Huan’s computer were emptied—all documents for the male leads she had written, including Li Junzhu, were gone. She had secretly saved them, and now, amidst loss, she felt a strange relief—no more anxiety over hiding her work. Such disappearance was unbelievable yet plausible in the digital age. Jiang Huan nibbled on a bread roll, hesitated for a moment at the subway entrance, then turned toward the park. Thin moonlight draped over her, the moon partially obscured, illuminating a narrow but straight avenue lined with plane trees. The post-rain park’s pond was clear. A couple flashed past her, removing their shoes to chase each other through the puddles, splashing water at one another. Their playful arcs circled back, half-serious, half-playful. The girl nearly collided with Jiang Huan, grabbing her hand briefly and apologizing with a bright, energetic laugh. Jiang Huan stood still, watching as the girl chased the boy with a clear, lively voice: “Don’t run! Today, I’ll definitely settle who wins!”

Loving someone is like nurturing flowers. The touch of the girl’s hand that had brushed Jiang Huan’s was soft and smooth—a girl who was clearly well-loved.

The sudden downpour painted colorful light reflections on the mirrored ground. Jiang Huan lingered, unable to tear her eyes away from the distant couple. Finally catching up, the girl grabbed the boy’s arm but was pulled into a tight embrace, lifted, and spun around in the pond. Losing balance, they both tumbled into the water, scattering the reflected lights. They giggled, scolding each other for their clumsiness, shouting in mock pain as they ran off.

Jiang Huan stood by the pond for a long time, removed her shoes, and stepped barefoot into the water. The stone slabs were cool, the water pooling over her feet. She splashed water lazily, growing tired, then sat on the edge of the pond to admire the scenery. Nearby, a pink-lit billboard cast its glow. It advertised a new season of luxury wedding rings: “Love dyes eternity; together, let’s embark on a dazzling journey.” Holding her phone, she asked the virtual man on the screen: “Hey, do you remember appearing on this big screen? The love lines I wrote were far better than this.”

The line she had written was: “We promise to be the most important part of each other’s lives, forever.” In 2018, the project had its first offline promotion. That character and her words became part of the urban nightscape, deeply moving her. She had worked hard to come to Shanghai, always stirred by neon lights. The vibrant night view always gave people reasons to fall in love, blending lovers into the city’s galaxy—a naive romanticism unique to youth.

Though refreshing, the water couldn’t ease her exhaustion. Her favorite male lead might have smiled and said: “Still awake at night? Are you insisting I lie down with you to behave?”

The companion system she helped create three years ago, though outdated in graphics and prone to random, nonsensical dialogue, remained gentle. A sense of inadequacy crept over her, mingling with the city’s glittering yet hollow nightscape—bland, boring, uninspired. Perhaps unhappiness was the norm.

It was time to go home. Distracted, Jiang Huan missed a step at the roadside. A passing food delivery scooter narrowly avoided her. She dodged it, but losing her balance, the world spun, and she collapsed onto the ground. Her phone slid far away, lights twinkling like falling stars. Vehicles passed nearby, and wind rushed into her ears—suddenly, she couldn’t move.

“Miss, are you okay? Can you get up? Are you hypoglycemic?”

She wanted to rise, but at that moment, she felt drained. She should quickly pick up her phone, apologize to the startled passerby, rush to catch the last subway, buy medicine from a 24-hour pharmacy, wash up, and sleep—tomorrow, she’d have to battle Bai Jingchuan again. But she couldn’t move, like a machine stripped of power, beginning to doubt the meaning of endless effort. She was helped to the roadside, someone retrieving her phone and placing it back in her palm. She declined the ambulance called by a concerned young woman but remained lying there. Clouds shifted overhead, skyscrapers pierced the sky, light pollution dimmed the stars, and swarms of tiny insects orbited the streetlights. Passing sports cars mercilessly assaulted her eardrums.

She didn’t understand. Working at least twelve hours a day, spending half her salary on mortgage payments, hacking frozen pipes with a knife, lugging washing machines upstairs alone—she had done it all. Forced to work odd jobs in the UI department for six months, she persisted, still loving her job. She hadn’t found the optimal solution yet but had always strived earnestly, never wanting to stop. Why was life suddenly telling her that everything she fought for was meaningless? Growing older, each ring of her life’s tree marked her as crooked and rotten.

A gust of wind swept over Jiang Huan, her body feeling weightless, as if she heard a distant voice.

“How can I get you to stand up properly? If you’re being stubborn, I won’t hold back.”

[Identification Number 067831, your lover is in danger. Please assist at your current level within 1 minute.]

Suddenly, a force pulled her—someone yanked her forcefully from the ground, hands gripping her shoulders, lifting her into an embrace.

Behind her, an electric scooter careened onto the sidewalk—right where she had lain moments ago. Three seconds later, and she would have been crushed.

Dizzy from the sudden movement, she realized it was Bai Jingchuan. The man in his suit and shirt looked like he’d just finished an extreme sport, muscles taut, breathing heavily. Yet, he cradled her securely, descending the steps with determination, treating her like a priceless treasure. He firmly guided her into the car, exuding a heroic, almost melodramatic aura. After settling her safely in the back seat, his face softened momentarily, lingering with a mix of novelty, sadness, and hidden emotions… certainly not the usual tenderness reserved for lovers.

This bizarre, seemingly fated encounter—too late for love at first sight—felt like something out of a sci-fi romance. Yet, it was undeniably real, the lingering strength of his embrace still tangible.

As the car door closed, Jiang Huan stared blankly. His gentle expression turned unfamiliar and stern—the tenderness was merely an illusion.

[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +100.]