I Became the Female Lead’s Current Obsession - Chapter 10
At the hour when the city quieted down, Hou Xue walked out of the Jiang residence.
No one stopped her, no one asked where she was going. She moved like a shadow, barely there—free to come and go as she pleased.
She had always been like this—sneaking out at night, sometimes staying out until morning. She lived with absolute freedom, unrestrained and untethered.
That was, until Jiang Qing arrived. Ever since then, that freedom had been rapidly diminishing.
It was as if some invisible net had wrapped around her.
Hou Xue yawned and made her way to an old internet café on Old Street.
The place was called Seeking. At this late hour, the entire street was dark and gloomy, and only the bright signboard of Seeking lit up the road.
The owner, Luo Qi, was somewhat friendly with Hou Xue and always gave her discounted rates. Though the café itself was rundown and far from busy, the computers were frequently upgraded. Luo Qi had money and didn’t mind spending it on the place.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. I thought Li Hu scared you off,” Luo Qi remarked. She was wearing a burgundy silk nightgown, her voluptuous figure on full display. Leaning casually against the desk in front of Hou
Xue, she took a drag from her cigarette, not caring in the slightest about modesty.
As she exhaled, her eyes lifted slightly, lids fluttering, her gaze falling on Hou Xue.
Hou Xue booted up a machine and ignored her.
“You’re still so cold to me even in my own shop. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get back at you?” Luo Qi put out her cigarette, suddenly remembering the girl didn’t like the smell of smoke.
Hou Xue looked up and pulled a piece of candy from her pocket, placing it in front of Luo Qi. “Quit.”
Luo Qi raised an eyebrow, picked up the candy, and smiled. “Alright. I’ll leave you be.”
Hou Xue didn’t take her eyes off the screen. Her fingers moved swiftly, though her mind was elsewhere—debating which matter to tackle first.
________________________________________
After a shower, Jiang Qing roughly toweled her hair and slung the towel around her neck.
She had brushed her teeth, but still sensed a lingering sweetness in her mouth.
Sitting on her bed with phone in hand, she unlocked the screen, swiped to the third page, and tapped on the icon of a little snowman.
When in a bad mood, her go-to comfort was gaming.
While competitive games were ideal, the gaming options in this world were limited. Surprisingly, the best-quality titles were simulation-based.
The game opened with a green meadow. After a few seconds, fine snowflakes began to fall.
There were no instructions, so she tapped the screen a few times at random. The swirling snowflakes started to gather in the center, slowly forming the shape of a small snowman.
Music began to play—a soothing melody with a hint of British flair.
The snowman was tiny but detailed, with eyes and a carrot nose. Adorably crafted.
Jiang Qing tapped it. A notification popped up.
It explained that her snowman was currently Level 1—fragile and vulnerable to sunlight. She needed to collect snowflakes constantly to maintain its form.
Following the instructions, she spent about ten minutes leveling up to Level 2. Her snowman grew slightly bigger.
Rumor had it that by Level 3, interacting with the snowman would trigger some interesting responses.
Curious, Jiang Qing kept playing for another ten minutes and managed to reach Level 3.
She poked the snowman’s belly. Its cheeks flushed and it shrank back a little.
Its animations were genuinely cute.
Indulging in a bit of mischievous delight, Jiang Qing poked it a few more times to watch its shy expressions. Then she gently stroked its head, and it leaned into her finger with closed eyes, much to her satisfaction.
Her mood, unknowingly, began to improve.
She gathered another round of snowflakes and visited the store to buy a scarf for her snowman.
It was a bright red scarf that looked surprisingly good on him.
Just as she was about to call it a night, a new window popped up:
“Lucky Draw Event Online – Try Your Luck Now!”
Jiang Qing clicked in. She had three chances.
The prize wheel featured ordinary accessories and snowflakes, but one item stood out—the rare “Confession System.”
She usually had awful luck in games. Even when she appeared lucky, it often turned out to be a curse—like the time she won a copy of the original novel When the Snow Stops.
So, she didn’t hold out much hope. Honestly, she was more interested in the little deer antlers than the grand prize.
With low expectations, she spun once—won 666 snowflakes. Acceptable.
She spun again—won the deer antlers. That was a pleasant surprise.
Expecting to draw a blank the third time, she hit the button—and the pointer landed firmly on the grand prize.
Jiang Qing froze.
Her luck tonight felt almost… unnatural.
“Congratulations, user Licht has won 666 snowflakes!”
“Congratulations, user Licht has won the Christmas Deer Antlers!”
“Congratulations, user Licht has won the Confession System!”
She tapped confirm. A new prompt appeared: “Install the Confession System plugin?”
It was only 5MB. Jiang Qing assumed it was just a simple chatbot.
The download was quick. Within seconds, the plugin was installed. A small megaphone icon appeared in the upper right corner of the game screen.
She first dressed up her snowman with the antlers. Paired with the red scarf, it looked straight out of a Christmas card.
So cute.
Feeling a bit amused, she tapped the megaphone.
“You can chat with your snowman for one hour each day. During this time, unique surprises may appear.”
She typed into the chat box: “Hello.”
A moment later, it replied: “Hello.”
It reminded her of all the simulators she’d tried in her past life. This seemed similar—perhaps even lower tech.
Before she could type again, the system messaged her first:
“Licht, is there something you’d like to share with Snow?”
Jiang Qing found it unexpectedly charming.
The avatar on the other end was her snowman, now wearing the antlers and scarf she’d chosen.
It was just a bot—what harm in talking?
Without much hesitation, her fingers typed: “I think I had a misunderstanding with a friend today.”
She smiled wryly as she sent it, oddly curious about what kind of reply the bot would offer.
This time, the response took a bit longer—about half a minute.
“What kind of friend?”
Jiang Qing was surprised. Maybe this bot wasn’t as simple as she thought.
“A new friend.”
“What happened between you?”
That was the issue. Jiang Qing gave a bitter smile.
“I don’t know.”
That sweetness crept back into her mouth.
This time the bot took even longer to reply. But somehow, she felt it was genuinely trying to understand her.
Most bots could only handle single-line responses. This one clearly had context awareness.
Its long silence made sense—her vague answer required deeper processing.
“Then maybe… it’s your friend’s fault.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle.
“It’s not her fault.”
“There are just things I haven’t figured out yet… for certain reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past. Plus, there’s already misunderstanding between us.”
She still didn’t tell the full truth—not even to a bot.
It just wasn’t necessary. And besides, she didn’t want to crash the system with something too complex.
“Why not explain things to your friend? Being misunderstood must be painful.”
“I did try. She just didn’t believe me.”
She decided to shift the topic: “By the way, Snow—are you a girl or a boy?”
“Snow is a girl.”
“Wait, snowmen have genders?”
“Because Licht chose a red scarf instead of a blue one.”
The bot explained patiently.
She switched to the store view. Sure enough, the blue scarf was still available for 30 snowflakes.
“But I can still buy the blue one. What if someone likes blue, but wants Snow to be a girl?”
“Users can change Snow’s gender. The initial gender is based on scarf color.”
“Huh… you guys are pretty thorough.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Licht.”
Since arriving in this world, Jiang Qing hadn’t had much chance to talk to anyone. She spent most of her time pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and had no interest in building online friendships.
But if she could chat with a bot for an hour each day, maybe that wasn’t so bad. And this one seemed… surprisingly smart. Not stiff or boring like most.
They kept talking—about everything and nothing.
By 11:30, the bot sent her a “Good night,” and the system forcibly ended the session.
She collected one more round of snowflakes and exited Snowman.
Her hair had dried. She took off the now-dry towel, plugged in her phone to charge, and crawled into bed.
________________________________________
It took Hou Xue nearly an hour to finish a client’s order.
Ordinarily, she would’ve completed it in thirty minutes, but for some special reasons, it took twice as long.
She shut down the computer and walked to the counter.
“Machine 15.”
“Twenty yuan.”
After paying, she headed out—only to be intercepted again by Luo Qi, who had sauntered downstairs.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Luo Qi leaned bonelessly against the counter.
Hou Xue didn’t want to linger. She looked Luo Qi in the eye and said seriously, “I’m leaving now.”
“Come again soon,” Luo Qi called to her retreating figure.
Hou Xue disappeared into the night.
“…The lighting in this place is too dim at night. Turn it up a bit,” Luo Qi told the front desk, lighting another cigarette as she made her way back upstairs.