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For gamers, nightmares after playing games aren’t just about demons, ghosts, underworlds, or mechanical wars—they’re also about social death.
Jiang Huan sat on her bed, covering her face, unwilling to relive such a nightmare again. She dreamed she was an amnesiac heroine searching for her lost home, guarded by the male lead who wanted to help her recover her memories. Four men claimed she was their beloved girl. The worst part? She woke up in an oversized T-shirt, no bra, barefoot, and without makeup, embarrassingly conspicuous on the street. Every few steps triggered a new storyline with a male lead gazing at her earnestly, praising her, caring for her. And the kicker—every single one of the four male leads… despite different outfits, all had Bai Jingchuan’s face. Awkwardly hunched over, she darted through the streets, avoiding any spot that might trigger another plotline. She tried to pay via her phone for underwear, shoes, maybe even eyeliner and lipstick, but traffic lights blocked her path, and dense crowds surrounded her. Finally, she rushed into an underwear shop, only to find the store owner—aka the fifth male lead—was also Bai Jingchuan. Smiling, he said, “I’ve been waiting for you. You’re not as disheveled as you think; actually, you’re quite adorable. But I’m greedy—I want this side of you all to myself.”
No!
She knew it was a dream, desperately trying to wake up, but she was trapped, unable to escape. Neon lights flashed, every step triggering sound effects, every corner revealing Bai Jingchuan. Laughing bitterly, a voice told her, “You must complete all tasks to leave.”
So I have to wander around half-dressed, bumping into Bai Jingchuan everywhere?
Jiang Huan screamed, rolled over forcefully in bed, and woke up.
Before leaving, she triple-checked her bra clasp. Still feeling unsafe, she changed into a padded camisole—no worries about hooks. Whatever happened in the dream absolutely could not happen again. Absolutely.
“Jiang Huan’s affection for you +100.”
________________________________________
Shan Di Meng was invited to give a lecture at the affiliated high school of a music conservatory. The venue was romantically chosen—the rooftop of the library on the third floor of the dormitory area. The person who arranged the lecture was a regular customer of Shan Di Meng’s store. Jiang Huan almost forgot that Shan Di Meng was a professional erhu player and had contributed to many game and anime musical scores. Rarely, he posted on his social media: “Feeling humanity.”
The video showed clips of middle school students in uniforms holding romantic instruments, exchanging ideas while their Teacher Dan listened to their performances under the setting sun. He encouraged improvisation. Adolescents with acne, growing bodies still awkwardly adjusting, played passionately, infecting everyone just through the screen. Shan Di Meng was immersed in the music, his clothes billowing in the wind, silver hair dyed orange-red by the sunset. The dust of the world hadn’t dulled his enthusiasm. Effortlessly, he exchanged the charm of music with youthful souls. Various instruments blended harmoniously. With him carrying his erhu, the young students didn’t preset sorrow or melancholy, eagerly awaiting his performance as twilight fell. It seemed like a carefree soul ascending to immortality. What would he showcase at this moment? As evening lingered, with only a sliver of light remaining, he played “Live It Up Once.”
It was an old song. Jiang Huan, of course, knew the lyrics: Red dust rolls, deep love entwines, gatherings and departures have their time. Stay half-awake, stay half-drunk; at least in dreams, you’ll follow me.
I stake my youth on tomorrow, you trade true feelings for this life.
Completely different from the Shan Di Meng she usually saw, Jiang Huan felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if she’d met him long ago—not with the world-weary sadness he sometimes exuded, but with the same vibrant energy he displayed with the young students in the video. This feeling had emerged recently. Before, she’d only thought of Shan Di Meng as the god of Renwu Road, a kind shopkeeper she’d known for years.
Shan Di Meng’s call came just then: “You haven’t visited in a long time. Are you planning to skip out on paying for that tape you ordered?”
“Of course I’m coming!”
That street was where she’d embarrassed herself in the dream. Jiang Huan double-checked her camisole before opening the shop door. The shop smelled of ink. Holding the tape, she suddenly asked, “Hey, Shan Di Meng.”
“Yes?”
“When did we first meet?”
“Seven years ago. I lived on the top floor of Renwu Road and helped the boss cook a bowl of noodles one day. You thought it was delicious, so I figured it could become a business.”
“Was the Soul Room selling comics before?”
“It used to lend out comics, but after I took over, most were cleared out—they didn’t make much money.”
“What are the chances that something from a dream will manifest in reality?”
“Zero.” Shan Di Meng wasn’t surprised. “You’ve asked me this more than once.”
Jiang Huan fell silent, the only sound being the kettle clicking off as it boiled. Shan Di Meng patted her head gently. “Young lady, lack of sleep can be dangerous. This is just an ordinary shop—are you treating me like some dimensional portal?”
Suddenly, the system notification popped up, startling him just as he closed the door. Predictably, things fell over again, hitting his leg.
System Alert: Level increased to Lv60. Physical and talent caps can now be raised to 60% of original abilities using props. Permission granted to return to Mowu City for 3 hours per visit.
________________________________________
Bai Jingchuan had returned at dawn, unsurprisingly electrocuted yet again, his body trembling as he collapsed into an exhausted hour-long nap. Thankfully, the cotton blanket Jiang Huan gifted him had become a sanctuary for his weary mind and body.
He was gradually getting used to life in the real world. He’d deliberately ride old buses to buy red bean paste-filled cakes (refusing anything salty) and take the subway. He loved being close to people—watching elderly folks carry backpacks to secure seats for their grandchildren, young couples haggling at roadside stalls, and old men playing chess in parks. These behaviors puzzled him at first but gradually felt familiar. They suited his quiet, introspective nature.
Still, he felt uneasy. Though he could now investigate The Realm of Ten Thousand Gods in Mowu City, he sensed there were unresolved mysteries in the real world. Mowu City’s borders…
He suspected the key lay with Shan Di Meng.
Stepping out of the office, Jiang Huan, who had arrived early, looked unhappy, especially when she saw him and turned to leave, sparking his curiosity.
“Frowning? If you’re facing work issues, feel free to ask for help.”
“I dreamed about you last night.”
“Oh?” Bai Jingchuan tried hard not to show excitement. “I’m curious—what did you dream about?”
“You becoming the male lead in an otome game.”
The die appeared promptly to watch the drama unfold. Bai Jingchuan froze in his seat, eyes gleaming—typical Jiang Huan, sensitive and perceptive enough to notice even without signals. Excitement and anticipation surged within him. Was a reunion and embrace scene about to play out? He wasn’t ready.
“But there were five male leads in the game…” Jiang Huan blushed, clearly troubled. “Never mind, I’ll go.”
After she left the meeting room, Bai Jingchuan was left clueless about the dream’s contents. His face darkened. The die emitted a purple glow, spinning several times mockingly: “What a difference between games and reality! In the game, the heroine truly loves you, but in reality, Jiang Huan doesn’t seem to love only you. She probably dreamed of other male leads too—it seems she doesn’t love only you, haha!”
“Other… male leads?”
“There were originally seven male leads in your game, though only five made it to release. So, the other four… enjoy while you can.”
Bai Jingchuan stared at the door, his expression grim. “Are the other four also in the real world?”
“How petty, not even allowing her to dream? Summoning them requires specific conditions.”
“So… does her deep affection summon the others too?”
The die spun lightly, deciding to tease him further: “Well, as a writer, she can’t focus on just one character. All five male leads need attention, though she might favor one. But duty demands balance—you’re not a player who can exclusively support one or obsessively hate others.”
The die vanished quickly, sensing Bai Jingchuan’s murderous aura.
Shouldn’t the main quest pop up now, reminding him to boost Jiang Huan’s affection and triumph in the harem battle?
Seeing the blood donation van downstairs, Bai Jingchuan immediately rushed down.
Main Quest 3-1: Defend Affection. Maintain your affection level at Lv60.
Could it drop back? If it did, all his painstakingly earned affection points would plummet, and his exploration permissions in Mowu City would reset.
Bai Jingchuan never swore, but in the elevator, he bit his lip hard in frustration.
________________________________________
One of Lorry’s flagship games, dubbed the “Straight Man Bleeding Center,” was Dawn Battle Maiden, a top-grossing otome shooter since its launch in 2016. Its fanbase was fiercely loyal, directly fueling the success of newer titles. Recently, they collaborated with a blood donation center, fully embracing the “Straight Man Bleeding Center” nickname. Donation stations were set up at both the company and local blood centers. Out-of-town fans—lawyers, executives—rushed to contribute, returning to work immediately after donating. True dedication. A doctor from the blood center gave a lecture at the company, bombarded with questions during the Q&A session. Office ailments were varied, and no one was healthy. The 185-cm-tall general practitioner was optimistic and cheerful, radiating approachability when answering female colleagues’ questions and exuding righteousness when scrutinizing medical records. Famous for appearing in national documentaries and volunteering in war zones, the female staff sighed in admiration—this TV男神 was perfect, even surpassing their own male leads.
Indeed, when Jiang Huan sat down, the doctor leaned over to inquire about her discomfort, carefully reading her health report before asking about her habits—chronic sleep deprivation, preference for cold drinks, working overtime till exhaustion…
The die popped up briefly before disappearing. Bai Jingchuan, of course, knew what it implied. The doctor bore a striking resemblance to Shen Xiu, with a similar 8:2 hair part and slightly brown hair. Jiang Huan’s teasing made him laugh heartily, audible throughout the floor. Bai Jingchuan hadn’t seen the earlier project details, only noting from Jiang Huan’s PPT that the character was a doctor—a hero in a post-apocalyptic world, protecting the city with remedies. A righteous warrior with a scar on the back of his head from saving the heroine—a detail likely in the initial setup.
Jiang Huan was visibly startled upon seeing the doctor downstairs and circled behind him. Bai Jingchuan noticed and quietly stood behind the doctor—no scar visible, though it might be hidden. Vigilance remained crucial.
When the doctor kept blinking, Jiang Huan pointed it out and reached to pluck cat hair from his closed eyes. Both laughed, their shared moment accompanied by the sound of grinding molars nearby. From rapid heartbeats to pet ownership, the conversation flowed naturally. The doctor chuckled, “I had similar experiences as a child—dogs bit me, but I still love animals. Allergies and stray hairs are worth enduring.”
The afternoon sunlight bathed the walls and the doctor’s face pleasantly. A tall shadow loomed over them. Bai Jingchuan sat down, his face shadowed, his mood shifting: “If I’d known my employees liked excellent doctors so much, I should’ve requested more events like this from HR.”
“Yes, I didn’t expect to meet so many brilliant women here—it’s delightful. But only she noticed my eye discomfort today. Turns out she’s my junior by four years—I should’ve met her back when I was in my fifth year of med school!”
Cheerful and oblivious, the doctor didn’t notice Bai Jingchuan clenching his fists. Interrupting further conversation, Bai Jingchuan stepped between them: “She needs to return to a meeting.”
“What? Is there a meeting this afternoon? Didn’t we finish the main quest meeting yesterday?”
“You didn’t read your emails carefully. I sent it specifically to you. Next time, I’ll have to think of some punishment.”
“Jiang Huan’s affection for you +30.”
The die chimed in: “Wow, Li Bode, just 30? Weren’t you previously getting 1000? This doctor is moving fast.”
The doctor, curious, asked: “Is she your employee?”
“Yes, a proud subordinate in my writing team.”
“Very talented?”
“Yes, her imagination is exceptional, and she’s deeply passionate about the project. She’s irreplaceable—I’ve grown accustomed to having her around.”
“No wonder, she’s special.”
A prolonged silence followed. Everyone nearby seemed frozen. After a while, someone whispered, “Is this an idol drama filming set?”
Embarrassed, Jiang Huan shot up from her seat: “I’m leaving. My health report shows no major issues.”
“This junior sister needs to take better care of her rapid heartbeat condition. Tell me about this virtual community game next time—I rarely play games, but what you described sounds fascinating…”
As the words “rapid heartbeat” left his mouth, Jiang Huan caught Bai Jingchuan staring at her. Quickly rushing up the stairs, she couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu—had she accidentally repeated dialogue from an old project? Could “I’ve grown accustomed to having her around” be said casually? But he was just reminding employees to return to work, right? Not singling her out? Glancing sideways, she saw Bai Jingchuan enter the elevator, ignoring the bustling crowd around the donation station.
What’s gotten into him…
Not long after reaching the upper floor, news of Bai Jingchuan praising the writing team spread. By then, Bai Jingchuan had already entered the meeting room. Several girls surrounded Jiang Huan, verifying details. Jiang Huan hid her reddened ears under her hair: “Yes, he praised us all, saying our imaginations are outstanding, and he can’t do without us!”
“Oh my god, how gentle has he become? Praising us in front of outsiders—is this still the sharp-tongued Bai Jingchuan from before?”
I’d like to know too, especially where his cheesy switch is. Stop showering us with affection in front of so many people.
As for Bai Jingchuan himself, he went the extra mile, finding an opportunity to touch the back of the doctor’s head during his lunch break—no scar, perfectly intact. Minutes later, news of Bai Jingchuan touching the doctor’s head spread anonymously online, complete with photos. Akira frowned: “I think I’ve found why he’s so perfect—his sexual orientation isn’t toward women, is it?”
Jiang Huan choked on her water: “Impossible, he’s definitely straight. Let me put it this way—if Hugh Grant starred in Brokeback Mountain, would that fit his image?”
“Jiang Huan’s affection for you -500.”
________________________________________
Just after lunch, the entire building buzzed—a sudden “celebrity sweep” had arrived. Return to Meteor Paradise, a newly launched game tied to this year’s hit TV drama, invited its star to host a meet-and-greet at the company, promoting the new album and drama posters. Employees crowded the corridors, eager to catch a glimpse. Jiang Huan wasn’t one for crowds, but the actor was indeed scandal-free, highly intelligent, and stylish, making his meteoric rise to fame unsurprising. Navigating the congested hallways was challenging. Jiang Huan moved against the flow—everyone else chased the star for photos, but she hurried to meet colleagues for a field trip. With only one route to the elevator, dispersing the crowd would take time. Colleagues, hearing she might miss the celebrity, messaged her to snap a photo. From afar, Jiang Huan spotted the star—small face, pale skin, effortlessly standing out. Opening her camera, she squeezed through the crowd, her逆行 movement drawing attention. Approaching him, she caught his gaze. Startled, Jiang Huan hesitated as the star flipped her phone to selfie mode, his calm smile contrasting with her bewilderment. Perhaps dazzled by stardom, she momentarily forgot his name, managing only: “Why specifically take my phone…?”
“You were the only one moving against the flow. Even though you approached me first, it feels like I picked you.”
“But we don’t need a photo together—I was just taking pictures of you. Aren’t you worried about rumors?”
“How about it? Unwilling to be my rumored girlfriend?”
“Hahaha, forget it…” The last version she heard was Wen Li’s. She wasn’t interested in male stars, finding them increasingly peculiar.
“No problem, doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re special.”
Tsundere, sharp-tongued, charismatic—but his tone wasn’t arrogant, as if teasing a friend. Jiang Huan’s mind filled with question marks. If this were recorded, wouldn’t it count as unprofessional? Could celebrities really speak like this?
Only paper-thin characters could talk like this. Remembering her morning dream, she subtly checked her chest and back—camisole, safe.
But the air felt thin, the crowd suffocating…
Stuck amidst the throng, failing to move against the flow, the star noticed her gradually pale face and promptly steadied her shoulders. Without hesitation or fear of rumors, he naturally pulled her close. Jiang Huan intended to say she was fine—perhaps lunch hadn’t agreed with her, and she’d only had coffee for breakfast—but he didn’t give her a chance, guiding her to lean on him.
She could only close her eyes tightly.
You have successfully purchased and used the prop “Displacement Obsidian.”
Jiang Huan mentally braced herself—this was bad. Headlines would surely scream “Celebrity Sweep Saves Beauty.” With so many phones capturing the moment, it would definitely go viral. But when she opened her eyes, she found herself leaning against Bai Jingchuan, his hand supporting her waist politely, standing right in front of the star. The celebrity seemed momentarily confused too: “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine… but…”
The star nodded vaguely and walked into the elevator to visit other departments. As the crowd dispersed, Jiang Huan regained her balance. Bai Jingchuan’s polite hand barely counted as a touch, let alone an embrace. Smiling warmly, he said, “Be careful walking next time.”
“How did I…?”
“You seemed to stumble and leaned toward me.”
“But I didn’t…”
“What?”
Jiang Huan steadied herself, watching the crowd flow away with the star: “Such a pity. That was a huge celebrity!”
“Yes,” Bai Jingchuan watched Jiang Huan’s retreating figure, his gentleness masking a hint of menace: “Such a pity indeed.”
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