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The presence drew closer and closer. Jiang Huan closed her eyes, her trembling eyelashes betraying everything. A voice came from above her head: “Is this the princess? The poisoned princess is so pitiful, but she sleeps so peacefully. Is there any way to wake her up?”
As the popular saying goes, her heart finally dropped. Who else could it be? If it wasn’t Bai Jingchuan, Jiang Huan would jump up and walk out of the venue on her head. Behind her, the little dwarves chirped: “Kiss her, and Snow White will wake up!”
Jiang Huan wanted to jump up, a hundred questions swirling in her mind, but who said anything about kissing Bai Jingchuan…
But as the presence approached, she clenched her eyes shut. The chattering children behind her seemed to quiet down, waiting for the prince to kneel beside the grass, bending over to give Snow White a reverent kiss. Jiang Huan gritted her teeth, forcing out the smallest whisper through her lips: “Bai Jingchuan, if you dare kiss my lips today, you’re dead.”
With her eyes closed, she could feel his breath lightly brush against her. Bai Jingchuan was laughing. Calmly, he reached for Jiang Huan’s hand, bent down, and lightly pecked her cheek. He didn’t say a word, but the intertwined fingers spoke volumes. Behind them, Wen Li continued with the script: “Princess, please wake up. I hope you can feel the prince’s wish to save you. We are willing to exchange anything. How I wish it was me lying here, to ease your pain.”
To be honest, it was all a conspiracy. Wen Li definitely knew the full context, delivering those lines with such emotion, making him the most absurd audience member in this farce. Children are part of fashion too; innocence is the ultimate luxury. Wen Li had merely changed the scene, inserting important characters into what was originally a calm and boring afternoon, suddenly spiking everyone’s heart rate to 130. The sunlight seemed to shine particularly brightly that afternoon, pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows and bathing her in light. A warm current surged within her, like something inside had restarted—perhaps her once-extinguished desires, her once-fiery will, or her longing to see the person she loved again.
The breath on her face was light. Bai Jingchuan didn’t speak, only leaned close, his lips gently brushing against her cheek. A child behind her urged impatiently: “Did you kiss her? I can’t see!”
Jiang Huan felt both anger and laughter bubbling inside her. Something wet streaked across her cheek—it was tears. Hadn’t three years already passed? Shouldn’t she have forgotten Bai Jingchuan by now?
“You have reactivated the Jiang Huan and Jiang Huan Bond System. Current level: Lv 79. You can increase affection by making Jiang Huan happy or using your own methods to pursue her.”
“Affection with Jiang Huan +1000. Lv 79 upgraded to Lv 80. Rewards: 200,000 coins, 6 loot boxes.”
Amidst the cheerful cries of the children, Jiang Huan opened her eyes. Bai Jingchuan was indeed right in front of her. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or living in a fairy tale. Bai Jingchuan was the same as before—his cheeks radiating wisdom and gentleness. She noticed faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, yet three years had left no visible marks on his face. When they first met, he had been stern and scrutinizing, but now his slightly trembling hand extended towards her, filled with nervousness at their reunion.
Pulled up by Bai Jingchuan with more force than expected, Jiang Huan was yanked into his embrace. His broad chest hadn’t changed, nor had the fresh, grassy scent of him. His warm arms encircled her—it wasn’t a dream; it was very real. Instinctively, she wanted to bite his nose or nibble his earlobe, her anger seeking an outlet. Jiang Huan puffed up like an inflated pufferfish. From a distance, Wen Li led the applause: “Everyone, clap! The prince has kissed the princess awake in front of the dwarves! They will live happily ever after…”
The children cheered, though their mouths were more honest than their bodies.
“Teacher, the princess doesn’t look happy. And the prince’s expression seems strange. This prince doesn’t look like a prince—he looks more like a demon king.”
A boy teased: “She’s so silly. After being kissed, she just lives happily ever after, standing there like an idiot without moving…”
The embrace between the two protagonists grew stiffer. Bai Jingchuan shook his head: “Don’t have stereotypes. Snow White has just woken up. When she’s strong, she can wake the prince with a kiss too. Who says a fairy tale can only have one ending?”
The incident of Bai Jingchuan scaring the boy spread quickly to the parents. But Bai Jingchuan paid it no mind, staying close to Jiang Huan: “You don’t seem to welcome me.”
“I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“Then let’s go together.”
“Huh?”
“My house is next door to yours. Did you forget?”
“You moved away. It’s a big apartment downtown with great lighting and high-end quality. Your cabinets are still filled with the figurines I sold. You’re still wearing the shoes I gave you, and you don’t even remember?”
“Mm, but I’ve changed places. I want to live next to you.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you just move into my house…”
“Would you allow it?”
“No way!” Jiang Huan took three steps back. “Stay away from me. I’m not going home, and don’t follow me!”
At 7 PM sharp, the streetlights on Renwu Road lit up simultaneously. At the same time—the door to the Soul Chamber burst open, and Jiang Huan shot inside like a rocket. The door that had previously led directly to the Magic Wasteland City had reverted to its original small room. Shan Dimon was dozing off: “So this is how you wake people up?”
“What happened to the original Magic Wasteland City? Didn’t this door lead there?”
“The vast majority of areas have been uploaded to the new planet. The extra ruins of the city have been deleted.” Shan Dimon yawned. “There’s more electronic waste than you think. This empty city has fulfilled its mission.”
“Did you fix Bai Jingchuan?”
“Mm, it took me three years.”
“I knew it.” Jiang Huan was furious enough to jump. “Last time you said you had nothing to disclose, and then you teasingly brought it up only to say you had no authority. Turns out, you had plenty of authority! You brought back a living person! What is this? Limited-time revival? Popular character comeback? Tell me, what’s your plan this time? Am I your emotional target again? I don’t even have emotions anymore, and you’re pulling these tricks. Does your system have a judicial department? Can I report you all to the police and get you arrested?”
“Don’t you want to see him?”
“…”
“I thought when you asked me last time if he was doing well, you were really missing him.”
“Why? Did you ask for my permission?”
“I tested you.” Shan Dimon rarely removed his sunglasses. “You’re a contributor to the planetary migration project. It’s our honor to do something for you. Of course, it took considerable effort to restore him, especially preserving all his memories and emotions intact. He’s not an ordinary human body. Reconnecting all his senses and restoring him to his current state required a lot of effort. If you’re ungrateful, fine, but now you want to report me?”
This was the first time Jiang Huan saw委屈 (grievance) on Shan Dimon’s face. Shan Dimon sat up, rubbing his face: “Wen Li hasn’t had a chance to see Duanmu Xuan yet. Think about it—wouldn’t it be heartbreaking for her if she helped you find an opportunity?”
Jiang Huan’s face flushed red as she pointed at Shan Dimon: “Stop pretending, you old foxes. Don’t think I’ll fall for this ‘long-lost reunion’ nonsense. You must’ve read too many romance novels!”
As expected, Bai Jingchuan was led into the Lorry Building by Boss and Elder Fu. The entire office buzzed with excitement. Lorry wasn’t short of talented and capable young people, but Bai Jingchuan’s appearance stood out, and he was mistakenly thought to be a celebrity visiting the building. The producers from various departments each had their own flair—young and energetic game bloggers, intellectually gifted overseas screenwriters, and even a dictator-like figure leading an entire department single-handedly. Each project was fiercely competitive. Bai Jingchuan hadn’t even been assigned a team yet, but he already had his own independent office in 2028. At the welcome party, he nodded politely with a smile, his fingers hovering near the mango mousse on the table. When no one was looking, he picked up a strawberry cake, getting cream on his nose, which made everyone laugh.
He seemed to have… lost some of his executive stiffness.
“Affection with Jiang Huan +200.” The boss continued introducing: “There’s less than a year until 2028. By then, it should be the best companion simulation game in the country. We’ve released so many previews, and the most common feedback is whether we can add a romanceable male protagonist in VR—clearly, people still want to fall in love.”
Elder Fu stroked his beard: “That’s beyond my ability. We do have a few good male characters in the map, but the romantic elements are toned down.”
Akira leaned next to Jiang Huan: “It’s not an otome game. There will definitely be more fans shipping male characters than dreaming girls.”
“Keep your voice down,” Jiang Huan said, glancing at Bai Jingchuan while trying to hush Akira. “We still have a grand main storyline. Why are you so sure female players won’t fall in love with our male protagonist?”
“No matter how beautiful Tifa and Aerith are, people still ship Sephiroth and Cloud. Instead of wasting time, why not think about whether Bai Jingchuan can have a romance storyline? All the groups are exploding with interest. Many people want to transfer to Bai Jingchuan’s team at first sight.”
“Who wants to date their boss?”
“Change your mindset. In our industry, we spend seven or eight months a year at the company. What’s wrong with office romance? It’s not illegal. They don’t even read labor laws—why would they care about us dating?”
Their laughter drew others’ attention. Jiang Huan and Akira fell silent. Bai Jingchuan observed the crowd for a long time, his gaze lingering on Jiang Huan for three seconds before he slowly asked the boss: “Don’t we have any female producers?”
“There are very few female-led projects. We can only wait for an opportunity.”
“If possible, I’d really like to see female producers.” Bai Jingchuan kept his eyes on Jiang Huan: “All the girls here have potential. Supporting you all would be my honor.”
“Affection with Jiang Huan +200.”
He raised a small cake as if toasting. On the company’s large screen, golden fireworks glittered. His humorous toast resembled Gatsby confidently smiling.
Bai Jingchuan… was wittier than before.
“Affection with Jiang Huan +500.”
After the meeting dispersed, colleagues from the same group approached, curiosity written all over their faces: “Teacher Jiang, did you know Bai Jingchuan before?”
Jiang Huan didn’t know how to explain: “Yes, and you all know him too.”
“What nonsense are you talking?” Akira crossed her arms. “Ever since you saw Bai Jingchuan, you’ve been sarcastic. I knew it—avoiding romance and focusing solely on work for too long would cause problems.”
“What kind of problems? Memory confusion?”
“Bai Jingchuan is so handsome, practically singing with perfection. He’s the pinnacle of intellectual attraction. Judging by your expression, you’re showing signs of having a crush, yet you’re completely unmoved!”
How could she not be moved? She just didn’t know what to do. The last time she saw him, he had shielded her from mortal danger so she could live happily, becoming a silent, unfeeling object. Seeing him again was already satisfying enough. She didn’t dare to touch or hug him, feeling blessed just to catch a glimpse from afar, always prepared for him to leave.
What troubled Jiang Huan the most wasn’t just that. Next door, the clinking sounds indicated that Bai Jingchuan had truly moved back and was arranging his room. However, he seemed to struggle adapting to his new life—bumping his head, hitting his arm, breaking glass items. With poor sound insulation, she could hear everything. Perhaps the old foxes were deliberately making noise for her to hear, but Jiang Huan refused to help. Instead, she anxiously wiped the cabinets, organized her drawings, and even washed a pot of clothes.
“Affection with Jiang Huan +300.”
What was that sound? Was he… listening to records? Was it a gift from Shan Dimon?
No, he was watching old dramas. He stayed up all night watching classic Japanese TV series and old movies. If she wasn’t mistaken, he even listened to First Love —the saxophone tune they had listened to together on the rooftop of the Sky Dragon Mall. He remembered.
“Affection with Jiang Huan +500.”
Bai Jingchuan wasn’t someone who cared much about life. Back then, if she hadn’t given him pillows and blankets, he would’ve slept directly on the bed frame. Eating was another thing—large bowls of rice topped with sides and small dishes. He only started eating because he got hungry watching her eat. Originally, Bai Jingchuan had no interest in food. His bloodthirsty reaction to sweets was part of his character design, but because he never learned to distinguish good sweets from bad ones, he ended up accepting any sweet treat indiscriminately.
Such a person, seemingly stepped out of a 2D world, still hadn’t learned to take care of himself after three years. They say love feels like owing something. She hadn’t given Bai Jingchuan a perfect setup to become fully human.
Now, without his innate abilities, he was no longer the telepathic, teleporting executive. Did that mean he could finally become a real person?
In the company, everyone except her adored Bai Jingchuan, eagerly appearing outside his office. Though he didn’t have an official title, he had an office in 2028, seemingly planning a new branch while keeping it secret from everyone. Jiang Huan, of course, knew what the secret was—it was either restarting a new project similar to Passionate Continent or integrating digital lives from the new planet into 2028 to assist the upcoming virtual society. Elder Fu, hidden as an insider in Lorry, might soon begin a new life on the new planet if technology advanced enough.
Akira patted Jiang Huan’s shoulder: “What are you thinking about? Such a handsome man has the whole department excited, yet you’re so calm.”
“Don’t you all know him?”
“Know him? How? Where? This is our first meeting. There aren’t even rumors online.”
“How is that possible? I can recite his resume by heart. He used to be my idol… wasn’t he…” Jiang Huan stopped, realizing she couldn’t recall Bai Jingchuan’s past resume. Her computer clearly displayed his recent achievements: three years of dedicated research in data and modeling, five patents applied for at a Beijing institute, three of which went into production, and two papers published in Nature Neuroscience … Wait, wasn’t he a producer before? He had a famous work—what was it called again?
Jiang Huan felt a chill run down her spine. Part of her memory had been erased too. She had thought her memories were intact—all the stories with Bai Jingchuan were clear in her mind. Even if everyone else forgot, she wouldn’t. Now, her memory was incomplete, and part of Bai Jingchuan’s memory had been taken away as well.
She messaged Shan Dimon: “What was that famous game Bai Jingchuan made?”
“Did he make a game?”
“He definitely did!”
“Sorry, I don’t remember either. You have to believe me when I say this world sees people leave every day, and new arrivals connected to the divine realm come to this new world. To maintain logical consistency, everyone’s memories are rewritten—including mine.”
“If the foundation of my memories has been rewritten, what meaning does my love for him hold?” Jiang Huan panicked. “I clearly remember admiring him because of his work. Isn’t this rewriting the reason I liked him in the first place?”
Someone seemed to be looking at her—it was Bai Jingchuan. All the girls in the company surrounded him, chatting. During the monthly tea break, almost everyone’s eyes were on Bai Jingchuan. Yet, he courteously avoided all the attention, retreating to the wall, his gaze silently meeting hers. It wasn’t the original office on the 14th floor, but the feeling of catching his gaze from afar through the crowd still made Jiang Huan’s heart ache.
“Wait.”
She turned around—it was Bai Jingchuan. The evening glow gently enveloped the startup park, known jokingly as the “prison of talented youth,” which now had a rare, colorful atmosphere. Jiang Huan hadn’t looked up at the sky in a long time, perhaps not paying attention to the surrounding scenery for ages.
“You don’t want to see me?”
So direct. Jiang Huan had hundreds of questions for Bai Jingchuan, but she stood there, holding her skateboard, looking at the unchanged man before her. During the three years he had been asleep, she had completed her work, and this torment had fully crystallized into a beautiful amber. How could she explain? Even without embracing or kissing, she could feel the difference in their states of mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Bai Jingchuan—it was that she had fully believed he wouldn’t return. The person standing before her now felt like an illusion.
Thinking back to the disastrous dream and the fatal blow, she didn’t dare to let her guard down easily.
“Why are you here?”
“When I woke up, Shan Dimon asked if I wanted to come back and continue the quest. So I came.”
“Your method of questing—is it about exchanging precious things as a price?”
Bai Jingchuan raised an eyebrow: “What do you mean?”
“Before, you traded your disappearance for my survival. What does coming back this time mean? Are there other tasks?”
“This has nothing to do with a quest. I just wanted to see you again.”
“No.” She took a step back. “The quest from three years ago doesn’t count anymore.”
Jiang Huan had changed her hair color and grown much thinner. Perhaps because of her completed work, she exuded a newfound confidence. Looking at him, she neither glanced away nor lied: “If you don’t log into a game for three years, your account gets deleted. Do you think the previous quests still count?”
“…”
“If pursuing me is no longer your main quest, then stop chasing me. I’ve adjusted well over the past three years. I’ve gotten used to life without you. Don’t trouble me anymore.”
Her eyes and nose were red, perhaps accentuated by her red hair. Her voice trembled slightly, but her message was clear and firm. She placed her skateboard on the ground, stepped on it, and pushed off lightly. Her hair fluttered slightly, and her departing figure carried the weightless energy of youth—a departure Bai Jingchuan had never seen before.
The image was clean, but it didn’t increase affection.
A die popped out near his ear: “Didn’t I tell you, Li Bode? Jiang Huan isn’t as easy to pursue as before.”
The red-haired figure disappeared around the corner. Bai Jingchuan sighed deeply: “Was she ever easy to pursue?”
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