Chapter 58: Of Course I’m Not Afraid of Criticism, After All, I Have Someone Backing Me

The old-fashioned alleyways of Yanqing Li have been transformed into a fashionable district. On either side of the small doorway’s walls were three large-sized fashion posters each, showcasing WL PRESS’s new clothing line designed by emerging designers for the season. But now, several of these posters have been vandalized—scratched and smeared with red paint, covered in vulgar insults. Even the glass doors and windows of the building haven’t been spared. During the day, Jiang Huan couldn’t even enter through the company’s main entrance because of the throngs of fans blocking the way; employees found it hard to get to work. Bai Jingchuan pulled her away: “We’ll come back later.”

“Isn’t it unsafe?”

“No.”

“You have used the item ‘Isolation Barrier,’ isolating a 100-meter radius around Yanqing Li.”

Late at night, Jiang Huan returned to Yanqing Li once again. The coffee shop had already closed, and the straw wrappers and paper cups from the convenience store’s entrance had been blown away by the wind, making the place feel even more desolate. Jiang Huan thought she had seen enough online vitriol, but she was still shocked by the wall filled with abusive graffiti—the cruder the insults, the more startling they appeared.

She went upstairs. Next to the potted plants were fashion posters and racks with sample clothes, and on the floor were sample shoes. Various notes were stuck on the whiteboard—no signs of destruction here. Everything in the office proceeded as usual. The black-clad employees just casually greeted Jiang Huan when they saw her. The incident began when a high-profile idol was exposed for sleeping with fans and allegedly having relations with minors. After the news broke, the celebrity’s studio denied the allegations, and the fans defended their idol, claiming no infidelity occurred. However, WL PRESS directly canceled the upcoming clothing sponsorship collaboration. This star had been close with WL just six months prior, so the fans felt betrayed, believing that WL owed its rise to their idol, yet WL “unfollowed and retaliated.” Wen Li’s new Weibo account had gained over half a million followers, most of them the star’s fans. Now, her private messages were flooded, offline events were boycotted, and Wen Li was “doxxed,” causing chaos.

Bai Jingchuan remained silent—Wen Li’s identity as the head of WL PRESS was well concealed, and there was no trace of her impoverished past online, thanks to Bai Jingchuan deleting her old accounts years ago. As for the current negative comments and trending topics surrounding Wen Li on social media, Bai Jingchuan could erase them, but he chose not to. He understood Wen Li’s darker personality and, out of a sense of detached observation, felt he shouldn’t intervene. He even struggled to understand why Jiang Huan kept reaching out to help Wen Li. Could it be because both came from less-than-warm families? He asked Jiang Huan, “Are you genuinely helping her?”

“My mindset has changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“When someone commits unforgivable acts, you can morally condemn them. But if they’re your friend, you’ll only think about how to help them solve their problems, even if it means aiding wrongdoing.”

Bai Jingchuan was deeply puzzled: “Do all humans make friends this way?”

“Friends are supposed to take a bullet for each other.” Jiang Huan waved her hand dismissively: “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

Meanwhile, the person who had been doxxed, Wen Li, was calmly making phone calls on the sofa, handling other cooperative activities for magazines, preparing for an upcoming eyewear store launch on Huaihai Road, and attending a luxury brand’s mansion banquet. Despite offending some people, she still needed to smooth things over. Employees were busy answering calls and working; it didn’t seem like anyone would be leaving by midnight. Bai Jingchuan sensed a familiar presence in the air—an aura of scrutiny and observation. Looking at WL PRESS’s late-night work atmosphere, Jiang Huan was moved. A white-haired boy smoking an e-cigarette said, “Our boss loves causing trouble for us. Fans coming during the day made it impossible to work. Luckily, everyone here is a drama queen—we excel at being crazier than anyone else. I just played along, rolling my eyes and spitting, then recording them if they approached again. If they hit me, I’d lie down, and they’d pay my medical bills!”

It was clear—to drive away unruly fans, one had to be bold. Jiang Huan sighed, noting that nothing had been smashed or stolen. She wondered whether to commend the fans for their restraint or assume they knew better than to cause damage.

“It’s not about restraint—it’s because they can’t afford to compensate! I quoted prices at the entrance and drove them out myself!”

When a man dresses in women’s clothing and combines it with noise and aggression, he becomes unstoppable. Jiang Huan took a step back but still asked, “So, did the male celebrity really do something wrong…?”

“What do you think? Our boss values concrete evidence above all, and yes, we caught him in the act. Specifically, we ran into him in the hotel elevator. The girl was so drunk her bones felt limp, and our boss stopped her right there in the elevator.”

“And then?”

“The young star obviously wanted to take her to his room, but they got stuck in the elevator. Eventually, the manager arrived, smoothing things over. Our boss took the girl back to her own room and sent her off for a drug test via taxi, keeping everything quiet to ensure the girl’s safety.”

“So why is this blowing up now…?”

“Our boss took the hit alone. Other girls came forward to expose him, but our boss unilaterally cut ties and refused to release any information about the girl from that night.”

Bai Jingchuan remained silent throughout, calmly assessing the situation. Jiang Huan gave a thumbs-up: “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Sorry, with Fashion Week approaching, there’s nothing you can do. Just comfort the boss. If she can recover and continue her schedule, we can stabilize things.”

Hard to bear. Jiang Huan sat next to Wen Li, enchanted by her perfume. Wen Li had become quite skilled at presenting herself. Half-praising, half-teasing, Jiang Huan remarked, “I never realized you were so righteous.”

“I’ve always been righteous.”

Jiang Huan rolled her eyes internally—how dare you say that! You reported Romance Continent plenty of times, thinking I didn’t know. Fishing for a reaction, she added, “It’s fine, Wen Li. It’s just us now. Is there anything you want to vent about?”

Wen Li slowly closed the magazine on her lap and placed it on the adjacent sofa. She sipped her iced latte through a straw, moving deliberately and methodically. For a moment, Jiang Huan thought Wen Li had always been this composed, calm, and carefree woman. Then, setting down her coffee cup, Wen Li blurted out, “Damn those idiotic fans! I once encountered one chasing him in first class. My seat was right next to his—I wasn’t trying to seduce him. So what if I dated an actor in the past? Isn’t that because I’m pretty and sometimes get carried away? Their cooperation couldn’t stop your master from losing control of his lower regions, right? Yes, I won’t collaborate with him anymore. Even if they go wild outside my building, I can’t go out and curse them—it wouldn’t fit my image as the youngest PR professional. But let me tell you, Jiang Huan, my act of protecting that girl—if Heaven held a vote, even the Bodhisattvas would wake up and find themselves ranked second!”

Jiang Huan felt a surge of satisfaction. Wen Li was incredibly articulate—why hadn’t she noticed how sharp-tongued Wen Li could be before? Her long facade of propriety no longer suited her. But recalling how Wen Li had once reported Romance Continent , Jiang Huan inwardly smirked and patted her back: “Alright, alright. Fortunately, you were in the right and maintained a respectable appearance. Otherwise, your reputation at WL PRESS would be ruined, affecting the entire studio. This is a hard-earned career.”

“What do I have to fear? Duanmu Xuan will support me.”

“...What did you say?”

Wen Li blushed slightly but didn’t deny it: “I said, as long as Duanmu Xuan is here, I’m not afraid of bad reviews.”

“We’re scared…” Jiang Huan pressed her forehead, thinking how unique Wen Li was. Before engaging with Romance Continent , she complained and reported others, but after playing, she went around causing trouble while invoking Duanmu Xuan’s name—truly one of the game developers’ worst nightmares, attracting criticism no matter what. In this circle, whatever players do often reflects poorly on the production team. She glanced at Bai Jingchuan standing nearby, jumped up, and ran to him: “No, I need to call Dandi Meng.”

“What for?”

“There’s something I need to confirm.” Jiang Huan picked up her phone to dial but was stopped by Bai Jingchuan grabbing her wrist: “Don’t you trust me? Why do you always call him when something happens?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand? Tell me.”

Jiang Huan was serious: “Bai Jingchuan, if you have secrets in this world that I can’t know, then I’m calling Dandi Meng now. Don’t stop me. Do you understand?”

The hand gripping her wrist loosened. The call lasted only a minute. Jiang Huan and Bai Jingchuan locked eyes for a few seconds, their shared secret diffused like light scattered across a dark wall. Wen Li continued working, repeatedly explaining herself amidst mixed praise and criticism. She wasn’t victorious, but Jiang Huan understood her anger. While one girl was saved, others were still exposed to public scrutiny, forced to prove their victimization through bruised photos and medical reports—whether voluntary or coerced, the camera of judgment always pointed at women.

Shanghai never sleeps, especially Yanqing Li. Dandi Meng arrived late, unaware of the situation, but smiled gently upon seeing Jiang Huan. She pulled him aside, their familiarity resembling conjoined twins, all observed by Bai Jingchuan. After hearing the details, Dandi Meng smoothed the yellowed ends of Jiang Huan’s hair: “You didn’t call me just for this.”

“Do you remember that neighborhood with the bike shed we visited?”

“Yes, why?”

“Wen Li used to live there, but now she’s so affluent. I don’t understand why.”

“Hmm, neither can I. What surprises me more is that you called me in the middle of the night because of her.”

“Didn’t we have a party recently? Back then, she seemed… somewhat dark. But now she’s becoming increasingly righteous. Do you think someone cast a spell, giving her the chance to transform into a brave and virtuous heroine?”

Dandi Meng remained calm: “Are you suggesting I gave her magic?”

“Of course not. I’m asking, if this young star isn’t exposed further, Wen Li will keep being attacked, which greatly affects us. Romance Continent and our collaboration with WL PRESS’s products are at stake! Boss Dandi must have a solution.”

“The best solution is to let the evidence surface on its own.” A flash of ruthlessness crossed Dandi Meng’s eyes, revealing his true nature. Then, feigning hurt, he added, “But you haven’t contacted me in so long, only meeting me now because of Wen Li. I’m a little sad.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me see that manga.” Jiang Huan’s tone turned both melancholic and earnest as she brought up the comic: “I used to draw comics too, but I lost those memories. I always feel that part of your memories lies within that manga.”

An employee waved at them from behind: “Excuse me, could you help us? The Fashion Week clothes have arrived, and dawn is approaching. We need to transport them in three batches…”

The dawn’s hue resembled undiffused cerulean, immersing everything in a faint oxygen-deprived feeling. Jiang Huan had never felt so stifled. Doors in the world were closing one by one, and she kept forgetting. Yet forgetting required emotions to chemically react—slowly or violently—with the past. Her memories were like dreams fading just before waking, disappearing quickly. Preparing to lift the last cardboard box onto the truck, Bai Jingchuan took it from her: “Let me.”

Jiang Huan didn’t argue, instinctively gripping his arm as she released the box. Bai Jingchuan turned back: “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

She felt as if her memories with Bai Jingchuan were also being packed and moved away.

Three days later, the male celebrity’s scandal reignited on social media. All chat records, hotel bookings, and corridor footage involving him were leaked. The videos blurred the girl’s face and clothing, ensuring no exposure. The most damning evidence was the celebrity’s chat logs, where his friends—other minor celebrities—objectified the girl’s body and appearance. Screenshots and videos spread everywhere, damaging his performances and endorsements. The newly announced endorsement posts on Weibo were quietly deleted. Wen Li was suddenly hailed as a hero on social media, praised for decisively cutting ties without arrogance. Photos of the defaced posters and windows in Yanqing Li were uploaded online, with netizens sympathetically rallying behind Wen Li, portraying her as a level-headed career woman.

Throughout, Wen Li never revealed the girl’s identity. She leisurely ordered a bowl of noodles at “Xiang.” Dandi Meng stayed busy in the soul chamber, joining her after eating. Wen Li lounged on the sofa, replaying clips from Romance Continent . She was watching… Duanmu Xuan. Sensing Jiang Huan’s odd gaze, she frowned: “What? Can’t I consider Duanmu Xuan my spiritual pillar?”

“Of course you can.”

“Why not? Doesn’t he exist as long as I believe in him?”

“Yes… no, how do I explain this…” Jiang Huan scratched her head, trying not to hurt Wen Li’s feelings or shatter her illusion: “While he gives you confidence, he might not actually appear. Don’t try to explain this to others…”

“Are you mocking me too?”

“Not at all!” Jiang Huan joked to cheer her up: “How could I not understand? I adore Li Junzhu beyond words! Besides, you’re my player, my future consumer, a genuine fan of Duanmu Xuan…”

Praise didn’t seem to lift Wen Li’s spirits. She wrapped herself in a blanket on the couch, head to toe hidden except for the glow of her phone screen and fragments of conversation—disdainful tones directed at Duanmu Xuan.

She sought comfort in Duanmu Xuan’s imagined tenderness.

Dandi Meng stood up, handing Wen Li a business card: “A female lawyer I know who specializes in women’s litigation.”

Her silver short hair and glasses exuded an aura of solving everything, capable of traversing the underworld at night. Jiang Huan clasped her hands together: “As expected of Brother Dandi.”

Bai Jingchuan quietly observed Dandi Meng, sensing a tranquil detachment—”everything outside life and death is trivial.” He seemed to have lived an extra lifetime, understanding the world profoundly. Yet, he couldn’t fully conceal his emotions. Whenever Jiang Huan and Bai Jingchuan joked around in the shop, he intentionally avoided them, not genuinely wishing them happiness. Nearby lay Dandi Meng’s sunglasses. Bai Jingchuan picked them up, glancing at Jiang Huan—and suddenly noticed her hair had turned into a pink ponytail, identical to the girl in the manga from Mowu City.

He calmly set the glasses down, careful not to be noticed by Dandi Meng. Inside the built-in figurine cabinet on the wall, the pink twin-tailed girl had changed into new clothes, dust-free.

The afternoon was wearying. Wen Li, feeling suffocated, took a taxi across the river back to her old bike shed in the residential complex. Most residents were absent—high school students at school, wealthy families in sports cars nearby, and two white-collar renters. The air conditioning unit above the parking area roared like a tractor. Initially, Wen Li had argued with neighbors over the noise, but now she found it lively. When the neighboring auntie was in a good mood, she’d cook stews while singing karaoke. Wen Li’s sewing machine was considered noisy, but on sunny weekend afternoons, when she opened her door and exchanged smiles with the singing auntie, the scent in the air and the swirling dust silently dissolved any resentment between them.

Memories surfaced as Wen Li picked up a bag of fruit and two small space heaters from the compound entrance. Walking back in, she felt a pang of guilt, knowing she could afford to replace the loud air conditioner for the auntie.

“Little Wen, you’re back?” A neighbor awkwardly moved a box blocking her doorway, noticing her attire and realizing she wasn’t returning to stay. He discreetly nudged it back with his foot: “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Wen Li noticed his subtle movements and simply asked, “How have you all been?”

“Good. People asked about you after you moved out. No one knows where you went, just that you suddenly became wealthy.”

She expected as much. Originally planning to replace the air conditioner in the bike shed, she instead handed the fruit and heaters to the neighbor: “Here, for you. I’m leaving.”

“Little Wen!”

She turned back. The neighbor pointed at the room: “Are you coming back to live here?”

“My sewing machine is still inside.”

Wen Li’s smile implied the room wasn’t up for grabs. Knowing the heaters were a generous gesture, she walked away faster. She no longer needed the sewing machine—it was bulky and outdated, discarded by her mother. Both of them despised it, fighting instead over the piano. She missed the feeling of using the sewing machine, her sole source of joy in lonely times. Lecherous men dared not knock on her door, knowing her room was filled with scraps and scissors, ready to fight at any moment.

Petty-mindedness was ingrained in her blood—money and status couldn’t change that. She knew it well.

Leaving the compound, she crossed the small bridge over the river, where someone played a flute. Following the sound, she quickened her pace. Under the bridge, a retired elder played the flute. Its melody drifted out of the bridge tunnel, perceived by urban youth merely as city noise on their commute. Wen Li, blonde and wearing high heels, looked out of place beside the old neighborhood and bridge tunnel. Imagining herself there made her seem like a strange woman who had wandered into the wrong district. She no longer belonged here.

But as Wen Li emerged from the bridge tunnel into the sunset, she realized returning downtown wasn’t much different. In other words, she had no real home. Her mother’s house no longer had a place for her, Yanqing Li awaited her with endless work and exploitation, and though the bike shed echoed many thanks, no one truly remembered her.

True affection was home, but unfortunately, this city offered no one she could wholly trust with her heart. By chance, she achieved a status she never dreamed of, believing that hard work and self-discovery would lead to invincibility and the stable core of successful women—but this was merely a marketing facade, a tool for bloggers and influencers to make money. Alone at night, realizing no one loved her, she understood she could only love herself. Every smile in the mirror felt distorted, as if every object reminded her, “No one loves you.”

She stopped deceiving herself—love was a luxury. The abundance she yearned for was unconditional love, a position no one was willing to fill. Thus, she remained an unsigned blank check, uncashed within its validity period, gradually losing value.

She considered buying a ticket to Changbai Mountain, to see thicker snow somewhere, but going there would only confirm that Duanmu Xuan didn’t exist in this world. The boy who appeared in her dreams, peeking into hearts from a snowy cave, didn’t exist here.

She raised her head. Beside her was a red thread, which hadn’t been there earlier when she sat.

Can you hear voices from another dimension? I feel too ashamed to speak, believing you might be fake. But for fleeting moments, I hear wind chimes, as if you’ve opened a dimensional door, letting me know you’ve been here, even though I can’t see you.

I want so much to see you.