Chapter 50: I’m a Man Too; Stop Testing My Patience

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

Jiang Huan slipped past Bai Jingchuan’s arm and opened the door behind him. Instinctively, Bai tried to stop her, but the gust of wind from behind nearly stopped his heart. Turning around, the unlit room emitted a similar smell. Stacks of artbooks and setting collections lay on the floor, blankets still in the state they were left in. A twin-tailed doll sat beside the lamp, its hair casting messy shadows on the wall. Duanmu Xuan awkwardly came over to close the door: “I told you this is where I sleep. The windows don’t have curtains drawn. You just had to invade my sanctuary.”

“So how did he come out of this room? Are you two that close?”

“We’re both men.” Duanmu Xuan remained unusually calm: “If he stays up all night and doesn’t go home, I let him crash here. Simple as that. This is the resting pod for overworked men—no girls allowed.”

Jiang Huan pouted. Bai and Duanmu exchanged glances—they shared secrets, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. A nocturne played softly in the room, its gentle melody blending with the wind chimes by the window, creating a quiet, benevolent lie. Bai forgot his pain from the tension, only to be punched by Jiang Huan, leaving him speechless. She was irritated: “Do you know how many people couldn’t reach you? The voice actor contracts are waiting for your signature, and business affairs are going crazy.”

“Sorry, I slept too long.”

Her expression froze at his words: “It’s not like you’ve given up or anything—you’re just tired. But why do you look so exhausted? Is Duanmu Xuan’s rest area really that uncomfortable?”

“Let’s go handle things.” Bai turned heroically, only to collide with the hanging lamp with a loud “clang.” The glass lampshade shattered from the impact, and Bai crouched down, wearing a mask of pain. Jiang Huan, forgetting about the room behind the door, laughed and cried at the same time: “Teacher Bai, have you noticed that every time you try to play the hero, you mess up the next second…”

Duanmu Xuan simply clapped his hands: “Rest well and hurry off—I need to cook noodles.”

“Cheapskate!”

Bai thought something major had happened in the Realm of Gods, but upon returning to the company, he learned that one of the male lead voice actors had been criticized again for bad behavior. After a long-term relationship and marriage, he was caught booking rooms with young women, and their chat records were scattered everywhere. He had voiced many popular male characters, and now the fandoms were in chaos. Casting him in love games tainted the project’s reputation—if he wasn’t replaced, it would mean a significant drop in credibility. Romantic Continent hadn’t released any material yet, so there was still some leeway. Bai, calm and composed, said: “Right now, the third male lead has no name or voice. If we can’t find a voice actor soon, we could try using this silent introduction method. The video can pair visuals with non-human sounds to complete the introduction. His style won’t be a problem. If the voice actor ‘collapses,’ we’ll just find another one.”

The employees exchanged amused glances—Bai’s return reassured the production team.

Unaware of the tie he’d sent earlier, Bai continued thinking rapidly in the meeting room: “Fortunately, he has a music-loving setting, just like how Du Mu Xuan’s flute playing was done by our own people—it worked well. Returning to nature is also part of the third male lead’s character design. We never expected to use it like this. Whether it’s human voices, rain, snow, birdsong, or foam… as long as what reaches the ears feels comfortable, sound can heal emotions. Let’s go for it—it’s fine, be bold.”

Bai indeed had confidence because he knew this project wouldn’t last long.

Akira awkwardly asked: “So does this mean a mute male lead? Will that work?”

“No problem. Being mute doesn’t matter as long as he can meet everyone. If it doesn’t work, we’ll change his name to Guanqi—’A true gentleman remains silent while observing the game.’”

Everyone laughed at Bai’s joke, but he didn’t smile, calmly watching the computer screen: “We’ll handle whatever comes our way. You’ve dealt with these kinds of issues plenty of times. Confidential testing is coming up soon, and you don’t have much time.”

The team quieted down and returned to their workstations with high efficiency. Bai took the business team directly to the partner dubbing studio. As soon as he got into the car, a new task popped up:

Task 3-2: Get confessed to by Jiang Huan once. Simply triggering keywords like “like,” “love,” or “willing” or reaching a heart rate of 140+ does not count as completing the task. Cheating using star conditions is not allowed. Plan accordingly.

Tasks could still be issued, but Bai remained expressionless, not intending to respond. The dice offered neutral advice: “Bai Jingchuan, completing tasks increases favorability and levels. It’s really dangerous, but at least it gives you more chances to protect Jiang Huan.”

“I can manage right now. But if I lose my job and my dreams, how long do you think her favorability toward me will last?”

He lacked confidence.

The Gufeng Bird Studio was located in another corner of Shanghai, with a commercial district under construction nearby. Every day, passing by revealed sparks flying. The sunset cast through the unsealed walls, resembling an apocalyptic fantasy world. The entire team was focused on one task, making Bai’s situation even more difficult. The more detailed the urban areas and male leads became, the more complete the continent incorporated into Mowu City would be. These girls’ efforts would vanish directly, leaving them as drifting employees, their dreams crushed.

He seemed capable of doing everything, yet unable to stop anything. With the new actor confirmed, work immediately resumed. Just as Bai was about to leave, he coincidentally encountered a chubby man entering the building. The accompanying girl introduced them: “This is Teacher Du Lei. He often collaborates with Rui Luo—he’s an old-school otaku soul party member.”

They shook hands. The chubby man was very kind but puzzled: “Your voice sounds a lot like mine.”

“How could that be?” Bai replied, then froze—his voice was almost identical.

“You even look a bit alike. That abandoned project from your company—I voiced Li Junzhu. Wow, your image suits his aura perfectly. No wonder the little sisters at the company say you’re famous…”

Bai didn’t elaborate further, politely excusing himself. The chubby man watched him leave, his gaze meaningful. He considered pulling out his phone to message “Little Jiang” in his contact list but hesitated for a few seconds before putting it back in his pocket.

From afternoon until evening, Bai followed the business team back to the company. Along the way, he saw elementary school students playing games in a schoolyard. A boy wore an eagle headpiece, chasing the last child in line while a string of children held onto each other’s clothes, dodging the eagle’s capture. Bai asked the business person: “What is this?”

“Oh, Eagle Catches the Chickens. It was super popular when we were kids. Everyone was terrified of being caught—the hen had to protect the chicks. It was thrilling. I didn’t expect kids today still play it.”

Bai didn’t respond. The business person remarked, “Spring rarely clears up—more rain is coming.”

So a city could simultaneously be bright and sunny yet gloomy and damp, possessing moods like a person.

At night, Bai returned to the office absent-mindedly. The content was well-prepared, awaiting approval from the boss for a private test. Recruitment applications could be released soon, but Bai was extremely nervous—perhaps the day players saw it would be the day the Romantic Continent sector was taken away.

After the employees left, the office grew quiet. Jiang Huan stood at the recording studio door, calling out to Bai, who hadn’t left yet: “Come in.”

“What for?”

“Secret base—let’s play.”

The recording studio was quiet, rarely entered by anyone except the voice director. The sound booth housed various props: grass, blankets, high heels, small bells, and sometimes celery for bone fractures or thin bamboo strips for peeling eggs. Jiang Huan often came to hang out. Besides the voice director and voice actors, she visited the most. Over time, she became familiar with the dubbing process, simulating sound clips and adding her favorite music, listening to various samples. This was her secret paradise, unknown to others. She was obsessed with all kinds of sounds, finding joy in audio resources and tinkering with dubbing props.

Bai watched Jiang Huan, who didn’t turn on the lights, project the footage onto the wall. Her practiced demeanor suggested she was a regular offender. Pretending to tease, he said:

“Do you often sneak into the recording studio? I’ve seen you a few times, sneaking in when the director isn’t around or laughing with them inside.”

“It’s so fun! Let me show you!”

Jiang Huan switched the footage—it was an already completed, undubbed animation from Romantic Continent . The female protagonist ran through the streets. Jiang Huan stomped with two hard-soled shoes, struggling to keep up with the sound. She removed her shoes and stepped into heavy hiking boots, trying to run lightly. The scene changed to the girl walking on smooth stone surfaces. Jiang Huan hastily removed her shoes, barefoot on the ground, making slapping sounds. Pulling up her loose pants, her slender ankles were misted over by the projection, overlaid with a sunset.

In the interactive dream sequence, the male protagonist lay down, turning over with pillow and blanket sounds. On-screen, the male lead looked at the camera and extended his hand. Jiang Huan pulled over a down comforter from a bag, following the protagonist’s gesture to create sounds, rolling over as the male lead furrowed his brow. Jiang Huan leaned against the blanket, her ankle brushing Bai Jingchuan’s, signaling him to add the sound. Bai was inexplicably kicked, and with no one else in the room, the rolling sound must be… a moan. The dice urgently whispered in his ear: “Li Junzhu, hurry and cooperate with her! Let her hear your sexy sigh!”

Of course, Bai pretended not to hear, sitting on the floor as she rubbed the blanket, her hands caressing its softness, leaning her head against it. Every frame perfectly matched her actions—she clearly had experience. Her hair accidentally brushed her nose, and Jiang Huan squinted, about to sneeze, but suppressed it by holding her breath. After finishing, Jiang Huan sighed in relief: “How was that, producer? I can handle two roles—give me a raise.”

This made Bai laugh: “And what about this interactive segment? Should it be dubbed like this too?”

“That requires male-female interaction—I can’t do it alone.”

“If I cooperate with you, it’ll be a real romantic scene.”

“What? I’d love someone to pair with—I just didn’t think you’d know how.”

“I’m quite skilled. Really, pairing white noise together would be when you should be scared.”

Jiang Huan blew her bangs, her mouth twisting in disdain: “Oh yeah? Let me see how skilled you are.”

Bai wasn’t afraid. Blushing and heart-pounding moments were part of his persona. By now, he believed he was quite adept.

With his hand pointing to the screen, it showed the girl’s perspective, holding the male protagonist’s hand and falling backward onto a soft bed, sinking into pillows. Jiang Huan mentally prepared herself—it was just an intimate scene. Bai was just the producer. Today, she’d give him a boundary-pushing shock to show him the power of adult women.

The footage on the wall continued. She actively pulled Bai’s hand, dragging him into the quilt. In that instant, she felt like she’d fallen into a beautiful dream. A hand supported her head from behind, warmth enveloping her. Wearing headphones, her senses amplified, and the heartbeat echoed through her eardrums—thump, thump.

The script’s description was highly ambiguous—a close-up encounter after being pinned down, requiring the sound of a heartbeat. Jiang Huan froze, unable to meet Bai’s eyes. His shoulder pressed against hers, his warm, lean body causing her heart to flutter with just a touch. Bai raised a finger to his lips, reminding her to stay immersed and focus on achieving the best recording effect.

Suddenly, he flipped over, supporting himself with his arms, hovering above her just like the on-screen perspective. What he saw was a face he could embrace by stretching out his hand—an impeccable face with deep-set eyes and lips seemingly ready to tell a tender story…

Jiang Huan’s Favorability +100.

The male protagonist on screen slowly approached. Bai bent his arm, feeling his breath. A faint scent of grass wafted over, and the scene gradually darkened. Jiang Huan closed her eyes, tense like the female protagonist. Unfortunately, the heartbeat couldn’t be recorded directly from her chest. The pounding heart desperate to burst free was undoubtedly Bai’s deliberate move.

“CUT!”

But the other party showed no intention of stopping. Just as Jiang Huan tried to raise her hand, he merely buried his face in her shoulder—not close enough to touch, just inhaling softly into the blanket. She heard it. Bai lightly pushed himself up, sitting against the wall: “Shall we continue?”

Jiang Huan rolled over, burying herself completely in the blanket, raising her thumb. Because she was upside-down, the thumb pointed… downward.

Meaning Bai was a scoundrel.

Only the dice watched enthusiastically: “Li Bode, lucky your emotions don’t show on your face. You must’ve blushed just now, right?”

Bai lightly coughed, startling Jiang Huan, who shrank further into the blanket. The dice laughed uncontrollably in the recording studio: “So sweet! Indeed, the most interesting thing in the world is shipping CPs…”

Jiang Huan covered her forehead, avoiding eye contact with Bai. The nose-to-nose impact earlier had aged her ten years, like Cupid shooting an arrow in the Southern Hemisphere while she wore bulletproof armor and shields in the Northern Hemisphere. Despite the obstacles, the arrow pierced through everything, delivering a fatal blow to her heart—completely unexpected.

She thought scaring Bai wouldn’t affect him—he was always calm under pressure. But just being near him caused an iron tree to bloom unexpectedly. This couldn’t happen—it was the office, after all. Jiang Huan reached out to turn on the light. Their shadows on the white wall became less distinct, the room’s ambiguous atmosphere forcibly dispelled, now glaring like interrogating a prisoner.

Jiang Huan’s Favorability +500.

“I’ve told you about my secret base, so now you have to exchange a secret with me.”

Sneaking into the recording studio after hours as a secret base—Bai could only turn a blind eye. He nodded, waiting for Jiang Huan’s verdict—it definitely wasn’t going to be good.

“Who exactly are you?”

“Hmm?”

“I always feel like you’re here to make me dream. You often appear in my dreams, very intimately… At first, I thought it was a spring dream, but how could it be? I wrote about Li Junzhu—you two overlap too much.”

Notice: Please make an effort to conceal your identity.

Bai didn’t speak. Jiang Huan pointed to the lines on the screen: “If you can’t say, just blink.”

How could he possibly blink?

Jiang Huan didn’t give him a chance to dodge, blowing forcefully at his eyes. Bai stubbornly kept them open, staring wide-eyed like a copper bell. Jiang Huan laughed and scolded him: “Even simple tricks can fool people?”

“Look, guilty conscience reveals itself.”

“I’m just an ordinary person. Why should I humor your little tricks? How childish.”

Jiang Huan pouted, continuing to fiddle with the dubbing props on the floor. Bai still held a toy ball, squeezing it repeatedly—it was childish too—but he didn’t put it back, keeping it in his palm: “Do you think… I’m suitable to be your superior?”

“Of course! Guiding us in the right direction while balancing work and leisure, always generous—you’re our angel. But we can’t fully like you. No one likes their boss.”

“…True.”

“If Romantic Continent doesn’t officially debut and is destined to fail, will you regret it?”

“Yes, absolutely. Especially since the producer is you, I’d feel particularly不甘心 (unwilling/resentful). You’re Bai Jingchuan, after all.”

That was his name. Even if it randomly rolled out in slot machines, those three characters had become a trusted endorsement, even a spell for others’ emotions.

The bittersweet feeling in the Soul Room was actually heartache.

“But Bai Jingchuan, in Eagle Catches the Chickens, you can also stand behind me.”

“What?”

“If someone comes to catch you, I can protect you.”

“Understood. Help me record an audio clip?”

Bai stood in the recording studio, putting on headphones, looking through the glass at Jiang Huan outside giving the “OK” signal. After a few seconds, he began:

“Today marks my 125th day at this company, and you’ve opened a new door for me. Unconsciously, immense creativity and imagination allow belief to pass through the world we create, offering solace to more hearts. Perhaps this belief stems from your past experiences, falling for someone you could never meet. I think, if I were the male protagonist in your hearts, I’d feel at ease because with this person’s companionship, she becomes a fearless and carefree girl. I’d also feel jealous because such feelings are so tight-knit, even across dimensional barriers. Even if they’ll never meet, the girl’s conviction makes this emotion incredibly worthwhile. As an observer, I also need to tell you—you shine brighter than you imagine.”

He felt unworthy of talking about love. His persona was innate, and for a time, he didn’t want it. Drawn in so quickly, he didn’t know how much weight this affection carried. He could only describe it in the lightest terms—admiration, cherishment, encouragement.

Jiang Huan’s Favorability +2000.

Bai removed his headphones and exited the recording booth. Jiang Huan’s eyes watered slightly, and she wiped them: “How sentimental.”

To avoid awkwardness, Jiang Huan switched the footage but accidentally hit the light switch. Snow appeared again—it was the standby screen for Romantic Continent , with New Capital’s commercial street snowing.

The dice popped out, pushing his shoulder hard: “Li Bode, kiss her! Girls comforted at night will be deeply moved and remember it for a long time. Trust me, this will definitely increase favorability…”

He wouldn’t do such a thing. Impulses were fine, but after saying those words, kissing impulsively would feel manipulative.

But Jiang Huan climbed onto Bai’s shoulders, tiptoeing and jumping, coincidentally as Bai turned his head. She landed a forceful kiss on his brow, making a loud “smooch.” Unsatisfied, she kissed his temple, the sound somewhat ambiguous, and he found it ticklish, letting out a muffled hum. For the third attempt, aiming for his lips, Bai tilted his head up just as she landed back on the ground, kissing… his chin. All three spots felt great—this man’s flawless skin and handsome features made every kiss a win. But having initiated three times without hitting his lips was embarrassing.

Jiang Huan’s Favorability +1000.

Task 3-2 Completed. Lv 60 → Lv 62. Rewards: 50,000 Coins, 10 Treasure Chests.

Before she could land, her body was lifted and embraced. Jiang Huan was cradled in Bai’s arms, facing his face, his eyes swirling with complex emotions but showing no intention of kissing her. Projected on the wall was the background of Romantic Continent’s New Capital, bustling with festive lights, soft illumination, and falling snow. The room’s brightness mimicked instant photos, its hues reminiscent of Fuji film—all waiting to be captured. Bai placed a finger on Jiang Huan’s lips, signaling her to stop fooling around. His loving gaze conveyed more sincerity than a kiss ever could.

He shook his head, pointed to the recording button, and gently placed her back in the chair. Jiang Huan slid the chair away, dejectedly turning off the recording. Humiliated, utterly humiliated. This man was impervious to romance, refusing to respond at the most romantic moment yet somehow appearing more romantic, leaving her yearning.

Bai calmly said: “I’m a man too. Stop testing my resolve. The next part… you wouldn’t want it to be heard.”

“I can edit it!”

Bai shook his head helplessly, a faint smile lingering as he walked out and closed the door.

His heartache didn’t stop.

Silence reigned; the audio track reverted to a straight line. Confirming Bai had left, Jiang Huan, still red-faced, took out her phone, which had been recording in her pocket, pressed stop, and tucked it back in.

“Coward.”

PS: Starting the climb! Things might get a little angsty as the plot kicks off. Be gentle, everyone! Feel free to add to your bookshelf and vote. Looking forward to chatting with you all today!