Chapter 59: “If That’s the Case, Let’s Do Something Crazy, Shall We?”

Bai Jingchuan couldn’t shake off the image of the girl with pink hair from the sunglasses. His fingers trembled slightly as he asked Jiang Huan, “Have you ever worn Dandi Meng’s sunglasses?”

“Of course I have.”

“How was it?”

“Not great. For someone with farsightedness, wearing those glasses just makes you dizzy. No one understands why he wears sunglasses—he even gets them fogged up while cooking noodles. The shop isn’t that bright either, but he likes them.”

As the secrets of the realm of gods slowly unfolded, Bai Jingchuan could gradually piece together the full picture. Although his visions still triggered alerts to conceal his identity, he could sense that their requirements for hiding were gradually loosening when entering dreams with Jiang Huan.

But there wasn’t much time to waste. Taking advantage of a joint project collaboration, he needed to chat with other departments. He sent Jiang Huan a message: “I’m heading to Mohe with the 2028 master plan team next. If we see the aurora, I’ll take pictures for you.”

Jiang Huan was still in the soul chamber when she received this message. To be precise, she wanted to sneak into Dandi Meng’s bedroom again while he wasn’t paying attention. While Dandi Meng was busy cooking noodles at Xiang , she climbed onto a stool to check the top row of comics. Sure enough, the comic featuring the pink-haired girl was gone; Dandi Meng must have hidden it. She grabbed his sunglasses and put them on—just ordinary sunglasses, nothing special. Pushing open the small bedroom door, the curtains were drawn, and the room smelled moldy. Next to the tatami mattress was a stack of books, but no trace of the comic she sought. Memories lingered faintly in her mind, yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall who the pink-haired girl was. They had been friends for six years—how could she have no memory of her friend’s story? All she remembered was that this was something Dandi Meng liked—”two-dimensional” stuff.

Next to the bed was a computer running nonstop. Its screen displayed scrolling lines of code, overheating on the floor. The fan noise was loud—it hadn’t been shut down for a long time.

“What are you doing?”

Damn! Jiang Huan quickly slammed the book shut on the bed: “I was so tired and wanted to lie down. Can’t I sleep here in this temporary lodging?”

“It’s dangerous to come close to this place.”

“I don’t believe it!” Jiang Huan turned around, her gaze cold and menacing, each step bringing darkness along with her. She swallowed nervously: “Dandi Meng… about that pink-haired manga…”

Suddenly, she was tackled onto the tatami, a book digging into her back. Dandi Meng’s expression darkened: “Knowing too much puts you in danger.”

“What danger?”

They stared at each other in the dark for a long time, Dandi Meng’s aura of fear suffocating. Jiang Huan glared back fiercely, frustration rising within her. These secrets seemed unrelated to her, yet somehow they felt connected, as if the answers lay hidden within her. Finally, Dandi Meng smiled: “Fine, it doesn’t hurt to tell you. I’ve been thinking… what if I could create a new planet, move all the characters and stories I want to preserve there, and turn it into a new home?”

“What is this—a game?”

“Just living. Those who aren’t qualified to live in this world, virtual beings whose existence isn’t acknowledged—they can achieve immortality in a new way. You can think of it as an amusement park if you like.”

Jiang Huan didn’t fully understand but still gasped, “Why keep it a secret? It’s just a game. Are you afraid I’ll steal your idea? I’ve seen such futuristic cities in my dreams—if it weren’t a dream, I’d never get the chance to see them.”

“I need you to join me.”

“What do you mean?”

She got up to leave, but he pulled her into a tight embrace. Dandi Meng held her firmly from behind: “My good friend, if this planet invites you to live there, would you accept?”

“Create a character? Of course! My UID has to be in the top ten.”

“…No problem.”

“You said we’re friends, but your current position feels a bit ambiguous.”

“Sorry.”

“Didn’t you once say you didn’t want to be my lover? You said you preferred staying on Renwu Road as a friend, cooking noodles, gaming, and being my emotional support—and opened three shops in one go. Dandi Meng, you’re so contradictory.”

“Sorry.”

“If that’s the case, let me go.” Jiang Huan steeled herself: “I already depend on you too much. Learning to be your friend again isn’t easy. A huge part of my memory is missing, and I’m sure some of it involves you. Until I remember, being close to you only brings me pain.”

“So… Bai Jingchuan makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

Without answering, Jiang Huan quickly walked out, the wind chimes on the door softly jingling.

Due to geomagnetic storms, auroras were expected to appear in the coming days. Two project teams brought animation crews and recording equipment to capture the sounds of ice and snow during the day and hunt for natural wonders at night. Every tree was covered in thick icicles, and low houses were buried under deep snow—the entire village bathed in serene white. Chasing auroras was inherently unpredictable, and Mohe fell within the weaker zone for auroral activity, making sightings even rarer. Everyone hoped to catch a glimpse during this week-long business trip, staying up late into the night. Bai Jingchuan avoided the crowds, lightly touching the snow on the branches—only to have it fall all over him. The sky was pitch-black, with lights reflecting off the snow illuminating the path to the house. Bai Jingchuan gazed upward; auroras came in red, icy green, and purple hues, depending on the weather—but every night, he failed to see them.

He suspected bad luck was written into his character design. When Jiang Huan was with him, danger often followed, but his rare moments of good fortune always occurred alongside her. Most of the time, luck simply ignored him.

The weather was colder than expected, but Bai Jingchuan didn’t care. He just wrapped himself tighter in the rented thick leather coat and stood in the wind. From the map of Mowu City he saw on MENU, the borders of Mowu City were clearer now. His guess was correct: due to the geomagnetic storm, the realm of gods was accelerating its expansion, seizing every opportunity presented by these magnetic disturbances.

Life in Mowu City had been more isolated, but he began to miss Shanghai. A city filled with shared memories felt entirely different from unfamiliar places visited alone.

“Fourteen people from two departments, scattered everywhere waiting for the aurora—all very persistent, aren’t they?”

Turning around, he saw Professor Fu, the head of the 2028 project. A man around fifty with shoulder-length hair, radiating wisdom, rarely spoke and was often seen sitting in the front row listening to young people’s presentations. While Romance Continent was once an overlooked project, 2028 was the primary reason it continued to thrive. This tiny romance map became a crucial link in the virtual companionship series. Politely, Bai said, “I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“People always hope for miracles. Once you see one, you start believing it might happen to you too.”

Fu opened the AR camera on his phone—it showed a young girl posing against the night sky. Bai knew this was Fu’s deceased daughter. They discussed the project without mentioning how the girl in the photo died. Creators who stayed in virtual projects were often broken-hearted individuals, carrying wounds easily pierced by the wind. Though somewhat “outdated,” Fu remained open-minded, listening attentively despite the biting cold, even when confronted with unfamiliar terms.

“Bai Jingchuan, you have excellent credentials and immense talent. I know Chen Jing values talented individuals, but placing you in Romance Continent seems like a waste. With your foresight in AI technology, I believe you’ll shine brilliantly in our department. Virtual communities can create multilayered emotional value, which is far more valuable than focusing solely on trivial romances.”

“Chasing idols, audition shows, female-oriented games, virtual lovers… these may seem crazy to outsiders, but they’re innovative and highly infectious. They touch girls’ hearts deeply, offering companionship that mundane routines can’t match. I’ve witnessed girls’ ecstatic joy when buying merchandise or unboxing blind boxes, tents and folding chairs set up overnight for events, birthday celebrations for fictional characters through donations in virtual names, and screaming at concerts. To capture fleeting bliss, they edit videos, translate content, and form organizations to systematically handle tasks. These efforts connect to dreams, and through them, girls grow, spread kindness, and make friends along the way. This isn’t just shallow romance—it’s enormous energy. Without moments of excitement and exhilaration, life easily becomes stagnant.”

“Do you enjoy these things too?”

“No, being with the person I love is enough. Whatever she does surprises me—I’m not particularly interesting, but she always brings freshness to my life. I know that.”

“Little Bai, falling in love is a good thing. There’s a girl in your project who left a strong impression on me—we share something in common.”

“Who?”

“Jiang Huan.”

Bai Jingchuan’s heart skipped a beat: “What made her stand out to you?”

“She’s the girl who works tirelessly with her natural black-and-yellow hair, refusing to dye it, right?”

“Yes.”

“You noticed—I also have long hair reaching my back, making me look like an eccentric old man. I once spoke with her at a big explosion seminar. Her mother touched her dyed red hair, so she refused to cut it, preserving that connection. Similarly, my last haircut was done by my daughter before she passed away. After her death, I stopped cutting my hair altogether.”

On that freezing winter night waiting for the aurora, Bai Jingchuan listened quietly. Nearby, the crisp sound of cracking ice reminded him that time was silently passing. Fu gently touched the ends of his hair: “As people age, they enter secret gardens. Having children leads you into one garden, where everyone has families; losing loved ones opens the gates of grief; and those with nonexistent lovers find solace in shared experiences. Jiang Huan and I belong to the same secret garden—our pain resonates, making her unforgettable. How is she doing?”

“She’s an outstanding subordinate.”

“A united and hardworking team, meeting someone you admire—these miracles feel greater than seeing the aurora.”

The sky was pitch-black, contrasting sharply with the vast, quiet snowy expanse. It seemed unlikely that auroras would appear tonight. Moved by Fu’s words, Bai Jingchuan still didn’t forget to voice his concerns: “You’ve come to observe the aurora to determine if the final date of the geomagnetic storm is April 1st, correct?”

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“You likely know better than I do where Romance Continent will end up. But could I ask you to leave part of it in the 2028 project? Don’t let all these creators’ efforts go to waste.”

Fu adjusted his telescope to scan the skies, remaining silent.

“For your late daughter, you split the company shares to independently produce both 2028 and Romance Continent . 2028 stays in the real world, while Romance Continent migrates to a new planet in Mowu City, allowing your daughter to exist as virtual data by your side again. Am I wrong?”

Fu remained silent for a long time, exhaling a white breath with a smile: “I can’t give you a direct answer to that question. But your request—I’ll consider it.”

“I’ll back up part of Romance Continent . On the day of the geomagnetic storm, I hope you’ll merge that portion into 2028, leaving something tangible for my production team. These female creators worked tirelessly to build their dream paradise. I can’t let their three years vanish without a trace, erased from memory.”

General, otome, and women-oriented games were distinct until now. The 2028 plan might anger some players seeking romantic experiences, but Bai Jingchuan believed this approach aligned better with the original intent of virtual companionship—centered around people, abandoning pre-written storylines, granting each person a unique boyfriend. For now, his considerations were simple: preserving as much of Romance Continent as possible, preventing it from being entirely taken by the realm of gods. Creators and future players could reunite with these characters in 2028—what solution could be more complete?

Fu gave no definitive reply: “Our project has no plans for handsome male protagonists, so these characters might serve merely as companions in 2028’s urban landscape. Still, I’m intrigued. Let me think it over.”

“Thank you.”

“But you might need to handle something urgent right now.” Fu pointed into the distance: “Isn’t that your subordinate, Little Jiang?”

Following his direction, Bai Jingchuan spotted a figure trudging toward their house through the snowy night. Who else could it be with that familiar gait? He thought he must be mistaken. Jiang Huan, bundled in a thick down jacket, her hood pulled over her head and scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, struggled through knee-deep snow, wobbling awkwardly.

“You’ve used your eye’s camera function to record this moment.”

It took two days by plane and train to reach this remote location, with no major roads nearby and no direct access… He should’ve known that text was sent in anger, but he never imagined she’d stubbornly come looking for him.

“Jiang Huan’s affection for you +1000.”

Her first words upon arrival: “You didn’t even reply to my message…”

Bai Jingchuan pulled out his phone, which had frozen and shut down in the frigid Ninguta-like weather. He’d been so engrossed in conversation with Professor Fu that he forgot to check his messages. Did she really travel all this way just because of that? He tried to remain calm, though the air in the cold winter night suddenly felt fresher.

“Are you happy to see me?” Jiang Huan approached, her scarf frosted thick, steam rising like a sticky rice dumpling.

“Of course.”

“But I’m not happy. You left without a word, making me wonder if you were angry—or if I wasn’t good enough.”

“Fool. What’s not good about you?”

Jiang Huan suddenly decided to fish for compliments: “Tell me.”

“Hmm… Is it your natural undyed hair or your casual style?”

“Bai Jingchuan, you actually answered that deadly question?”

“Jiang Huan’s affection for you -200.”

“You might care because these are external traits people often mention. None of them are flaws—your vitality and ambition surpass anyone else’s. Just seeing you makes my heart race.”

“That’s not what I meant. I want to say things directly. When you return to Shanghai, I’ll worry about not seeing you again—or disappearing altogether. We don’t have much time to waste. I don’t want anything to make you avoid me.”

Bai Jingchuan froze.

“You probably come from the place in my dreams—you won’t stay by my side forever. I sense you avoiding me, plotting something I can’t guess. Feeling the urgency, I refuse to sit idle. I bought a one-way train ticket to find you—it runs only once a day and costs a fortune. The ‘clackety-clack’ ride here, then walking through heavy snow… Now I’m broke, struggling to return. If I don’t seize this opportunity, I’ll never say what I need to.”

“You…”

“I like you, no matter who you are. Give me an answer—do you dare to like me?”

“Jiang Huan’s affection for you +500.”

This confession flustered Bai Jingchuan. In the bitter cold, his breath formed thick white clouds. Jiang Huan, shorter than him, stubbornly tilted her face upward. The snow illuminated her, piercing straight into his heart. This wasn’t a “yes” or “no”—it demanded a definitive response.

“I’m sorry.”

Bai Jingchuan’s apology sounded sincere, but Jiang Huan panicked: “No, I won’t listen!”

“I’m sorry I never told you I liked you.”

Jiang Huan, her eyes tightly closed, relaxed slightly: “What?”

“Confessions and declarations of love are a gentleman’s duty. I assumed you already understood implicitly.”

“Understood what?”

“Let me give an example. If Li Junzhu, whom you adore, appeared specifically for you, wouldn’t you consider yourselves lovers?”

“…”

“Or do you need ceremony? A formal ‘stamp of approval’ in the real world?”

“Such a typical male mindset… For someone insecure, hearing ‘I like you’ or ‘Be my girlfriend’ creates exclusive memories. It means being remembered, being loved—an experience lasting a lifetime unless you never truly valued me.”

At that moment, the sky transformed. A patch of icy blue and purple appeared, initially small, then expanding into a vast backdrop behind them. Bai Jingchuan considered using his powers to conjure natural phenomena to delight Jiang Huan, but the aurora arrived perfectly on cue, sparing them a prolonged chase. It felt like fate’s impeccable timing.

“Turns out you didn’t value me after all. Now I’m freezing stiff.”

Her hand slipped out of her glove and into Bai Jingchuan’s neck. Jiang Huan stared into his earnest eyes, slightly nervous: “Why is it purple?”

“Because of continuous geomagnetic storms. The aurora appeared because of you. Do you want to take a picture to remember it?”

Jiang Huan shook her head, seemingly indifferent to the aurora, focusing solely on Bai Jingchuan: “I traveled so far. Here I am, standing before you, with a completely unique aurora behind us. Shouldn’t I use my eyes to witness this moment and etch it into my heart? This instant is enough. I’ve seen the aurora. Now, I just want to look at you.”

“I like you.”

Jiang Huan’s eyes widened dramatically.

“You’ve used your eye’s camera function to record this moment.”

The ambush was indeed adorable. As you said, we can’t waste time. Such a special moment deserves to be recorded—you walking toward me, and nature’s miracle presenting itself.

“Are you saying the aurora isn’t worth watching?”

Jiang Huan looked up: “It’s already gone. Nature’s grandeur is fleeting.”

“Then let’s do something crazy.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Jiang Huan’s affection for you +1000. Level increased to Lv 70, earning 500,000 gold coins and 50 loot boxes. Judgment function restored. Use it wisely to increase others’ affection for you.”

Jiang Huan’s lips were met with a soft, cool touch—a lingering kiss that calmed her heart. Under the magnificent, romantic sky, it felt as though nature and the divine blessed their union. When she opened her eyes again, the surroundings were unfamiliar, and the temperature noticeably warmer. Confused, she asked, “Where are we…?”

“Latitude 37°N, Longitude 120°E. My current abilities limit me to teleporting in two stages.”

“Are we going back to Shanghai like this?”

When she opened her eyes again, she saw her familiar bedroom. Still bundled up like a dumpling, Jiang Huan swallowed nervously: “Bai Jingchuan, with this extraordinary ability of yours, it’s impressive you never sneaked into my room back then—such ultimate politeness and restraint.”

P.S.: Thank you all for your support! Please add this to your shelf and vote for recommendations. I’m waiting to chat with you all today!