Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 20

Qi Lanshi felt a bit awkward.

She personally detested melodramatic youth dramas, but after slapping Luan Hua, the situation was teetering on the edge of spiraling out of control.

If she couldn’t provide a reasonable explanation, the game might end prematurely.

She sighed inwardly, resigning herself to playing along with the System’s predetermined plot for now.

“You’d better be absolutely certain that I’ll trigger the Weakling Script Murder in three minutes, leaving Luan Hua no chance to retaliate.”

System: Please trust the game. Trust the System.

Qi Lanshi: “…I’ve already placed far too much trust in you.”

Before her eyes, a System-generated interface displayed a countdown, clearly indicating she needed to hold out for roughly two and a half more minutes.

“Qi Lanshi,” Luan Hua called out her name, her voice low and heavy, a storm brewing in her eyes.

Even her own parents had never dared to strike her.

In Luan Hua’s life, let alone striking her personally, anyone who showed her the slightest disrespect would pay dearly.

And that included Qi Lanshi.

Qi Lanshi saw in Luan Hua’s eyes that she wanted her dead, or perhaps half-dead—anything but a comfortable existence.

She had always been just a substitute. Now, with her Affection Value still insufficient and the White Moonlight herself returned, her position was already precarious. Slapping Luan Hua had essentially sealed the end of her substitute career, and not in a particularly graceful way.

But…

Just one slap. It’s not the end of the world, Qi Lanshi thought.

She wiped the rain from her face and glanced at the countdown timer. Good. A minute has passed while we were glaring at each other. Now there’s only a minute and a half left.

“Can’t stand me anymore, can you?” Qi Lanshi tilted her head and smiled. “Too bad. You carefully chose me. Even if it’s just for this face, you’ll have to endure me. This is your own doing.”

“You can keep threatening me with Qi Feng’s life. See if I care whether he lives or dies.”

Standing in the rain, she calmly declared her breakdown: “I don’t care about anything anymore.”

Qi Lanshi’s current state could be summarized as: going completely mad on the spot.

If she could act even more agitated and extreme than Luan Hua, the one being beaten, the focus would shift to her, blurring the original point.

In other words, she had crafted a persona of unwavering strength and stubbornness. Otherwise, she could have staged a scene like Ke Yun frantically searching for her child right then and there.

The rain had come suddenly tonight, its intensity so heavy that it obscured Luan Hua’s vision. She couldn’t see the sky, the surrounding scenery, or the nearby furnishings, yet she could clearly discern every expression on Qi Lanshi’s face.

Qi Lanshi was in pain, she knew it.

From the moment she had set her sights on Qi Lanshi, the woman had no choice. Her life was destined for suffering.

Luan Hua had thought she didn’t care.

She took a deep breath, the rain carrying the scent of earth and fresh grass into her lungs, chilling her from the inside out.

“You’re trying to provoke me,” Luan Hua said calmly. “Do you think you can make me dump you? You’re being naive. It’s not that easy.”

Qi Lanshi was already dizzy from the rain soaking her head, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to laugh at Luan Hua’s words.

Listen to this shrewd businesswoman, she thought. Even now, she’s worried about not losing out.

Still, the excuse Luan Hua had given herself was quite convenient, saving Qi Lanshi from having to think up another one.

Qi Lanshi glanced at the time one last time. Perfect, twenty seconds left—just enough to reinforce her character persona.

Before the System’s plot trigger activated, she swayed unsteadily twice, closed her eyes, and collapsed to the ground.

Luan Hua startled and rushed over to catch her. The moment she touched Qi Lanshi, she felt her scorching fever, and her face paled instantly.

“Qi Lanshi! Qi Lanshi!” she called out anxiously.

Qi Lanshi forced her eyes open slightly, but her gaze remained unfocused, her eyes glazed over. She raised a hand to caress Luan Hua’s cheek.

The countdown reached zero, and Qi Lanshi immediately lost consciousness completely.

This was no mere plot device; she had assumed only her in-game body would fall unconscious while her own consciousness remained alert. But the System had gone to extremes. In an instant, she lost all control and… fell asleep.

Yes, truly asleep, the kind where you dream.

Qi Lanshi rarely dreamed. Her sleep was too shallow; she needed to remain vigilant to protect herself. Whenever she did dream, she quickly realized she was dreaming.

Take now, for example.

She saw a clear blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds—a perfect sunny day. Dressed in a T-shirt and shorts her aunt had discarded last year, she walked toward school.

Today was the first day of her second year of high school. The arts and sciences classes had just been divided, and she was rushing to register.

Qi Lanshi, who had missed out on years of education, still marveled at this dream: This is the most beautiful sunny day I’ve ever seen.

She strolled slowly along the concrete path, following her memory toward the school campus. Many people greeted her along the way—mostly classmates from her first year, with a few parents among them.

To improve her life, Qi Lanshi had made a point of getting along with everyone. She had even bribed the children of her relatives. Eventually, even the elders who had always seen her as an unwelcome burden began to treat her better, at least outwardly, for the sake of maintaining appearances with their neighbors.

Every greeting she received now was the result of her carefully cultivated efforts.

Back then, Qi Lanshi didn’t know what “White Moonlight” meant, yet people were already calling her that behind her back. By the time she realized it, she had become a constant topic of conversation in both the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.

For Qi Lanshi, her high school years were the best time of her life, second only to her childhood when her parents were still alive. By her sophomore year, her reputation had become deeply ingrained in the school’s culture. As soon as class assignments were posted, many students would wait outside her classroom, eager to catch a glimpse of her. But being shy, they would scatter the moment she walked in.

How adorable, Qi Lanshi thought to herself.

Throughout her three years of high school, Qi Lanshi always chose window seats whenever possible. She would set down her backpack, rest her chin in her hand, and gaze out the window, completely ignoring the surrounding sounds and stares. In her mind, she would silently count down.

She slowly counted from one to ten when she suddenly felt a faint breeze behind her.

“Hello,” a girl she’d never met before said, placing her backpack on the desk next to Qi Lanshi’s. “Is this seat taken? May I sit with you?”

Qi Lanshi slowly turned her head. The sunlight was so bright today that she couldn’t clearly see the girl’s face, only piecing together her features from memory.

“Yes,” Qi Lanshi nodded.

Player, player.

Qi Lanshi, wake up quickly! The Dating Card has been triggered.

If you don’t wake up soon, yesterday’s downpour will have been for nothing, and Luan Hua will be taking White Moonlight home.

Qi Lanshi’s eyes snapped open. She vaguely heard the System spouting nonsense.

Despite yesterday’s torrential rain, the weather today was surprisingly pleasant. Qi Lanshi turned her head to look out the window, the scene before her eyes overlapping with the bright sunny day from her dream, leaving her momentarily disoriented.

The cold made her feel utterly unwell—not exactly painful, but with a pervasive sense of wrongness throughout her body. She tried to move her fingers, but the moment she lifted her hand, someone covered the back of it.

“Don’t move,” Luan Hua’s voice was deep and hoarse. “You’re on an IV drip.”

Qi Lanshi stared at the dark circles under Luan Hua’s eyes, realizing the woman hadn’t slept all night. No matter, she thought. Luan Hua has the CEO’s chronic insomnia anyway; she rarely sleeps well.

The swelling on Luan Hua’s face had mostly subsided, though a faint redness lingered—Qi Lanshi’s battle scars. It was only her own delicate constitution that allowed Luan Hua to recover so quickly and appear presentable.

“I’m fine,” Qi Lanshi said, withdrawing her hand. “Didn’t you have something important today? Since I’m sick, I won’t be able to go back today anyway. CEO Luan, you should go take care of your business.”

The first thing Qi Lanshi did upon waking was tell Luan Hua to leave.

The words instantly infuriated Luan Hua, yet she had no legitimate reason to react.

Qi Lanshi remained calm, showing no signs of anger or resentment. Her attitude seemed genuinely concerned for Luan Hua’s well-being, just as it had been the night before.

Luan Hua knew full well that Qi Lanshi’s current state was entirely her fault. If she hadn’t said those last words yesterday, Qi Lanshi would never have paid her any attention, wouldn’t have lost control of her emotions and gone out in the rain, and wouldn’t have fallen ill.

From the very beginning, Qi Lanshi had only been by Luan Hua’s side because Luan Hua had forced her to stay.

“You should rest,” Luan Hua said.

Qi Lanshi didn’t argue. She turned her head and closed her eyes.

The high fever flushed her cheeks crimson, while the rest of her face remained pale. Her lips were dry and cracked. She licked them, the moistened corners appearing even redder than usual.

Luan Hua’s gaze lingered on her lips. She leaned down, drawing closer.

Sensing Luan Hua’s approach, Qi Lanshi instinctively tried to evade her. But Luan Hua gave her no chance, gripping her chin to hold her still and pressing a kiss to her lips.

Qi Lanshi’s body temperature was significantly higher than usual, and her lips were equally warm. Luan Hua could feel Qi Lanshi’s heat more intensely than ever before.

Luan Hua didn’t know what she wanted. This moment of intimate closeness with Qi Lanshi left her both satisfied and yearning for more. Her kiss was brief, a fleeting moment of intimacy before she moved to pull away.

But a hand clasped the back of her neck, pulling her into a deeper, hotter kiss—a true entanglement of lips and teeth, a shared exchange of breath.

Qi Lanshi, despite being the one who was ill, possessed far greater strength than Luan Hua. Luan Hua had no chance to resist the touch and heat that Qi Lanshi offered.

Everything around them became both subtle and vivid: the breeze drifting through the window, the antiseptic scent of Qi Lanshi’s skin, the warmth radiating through their clothes, and a faint, almost imperceptible metallic tang—the scent of bl00d.

Luan Hua’s cat-like eyes widened slightly, her long, thick lashes trembling. Qi Lanshi’s touch and kisses were seducing her, and she was sinking into the allure.

“CEO Luan, you could have just said so directly. I accepted this arrangement from the very beginning,” Qi Lanshi said, her composure unwavering. She released Luan Hua’s hand, glanced at the back of her own hand, and calmly pressed the bedside call button. A nurse quickly entered the room.

The nurse moved with practiced efficiency. Luan Hua, who had been standing at the head of the bed, stepped back two paces to give the nurse space to work.

The IV needle had slipped from Qi Lanshi’s vein. In the time it took for a kiss, the back of her hand was covered in bl00d. Yet she remained remarkably calm, as if she weren’t the one injured, nor the one who had just shared a passionate kiss with Luan Hua.

She smiled and nodded in thanks to the nurse’s instructions, then turned to Luan Hua and asked, “Is there anything else you require, CEO Luan?”

At that moment, Luan Hua couldn’t bear to stay any longer. A wave of nausea washed over her, so intense it made her dizzy.

Qi Lanshi’s attitude was exactly what Luan Hua had initially wanted: a mere substitute, someone who understood their place. A clear-headed replacement was preferable to a clingy one. She needed a pet and a Golden Canary who would obey without question. Moreover, now that Bai Jiao had returned, Qi Lanshi’s role as a substitute should have already ended…

Bai Jiao.

The moment the name flashed through her mind, a thunderbolt struck Luan Hua’s consciousness, instantly snapping her awake and pulling all her thoughts back into focus.

Bai Jiao was returning to the country today, her plane nearly landing. Luan Hua should already be on her way to pick her up, not wasting time in a hospital room with Qi Lanshi.

For Qi Lanshi’s sake, she had already delayed things for far too long.

Luan Hua wiped the corner of her mouth with her fingertip, turned, and left without a word to Qi Lanshi.

Watching her go, Qi Lanshi couldn’t help but sigh, “If I hadn’t been the one holding her down and kissing her just now, she’d look exactly like a heartless scumbag.”

Fortunately, she was the kind of person who always came out on top, no matter what.

As soon as Luan Hua left, Qi Lanshi, who had been hearing her alarm ringing for ages, finally let out a sigh of relief. Any further delay and she’d be late for work.

Did people realize how damaging even one tardiness could be for a working stiff? It could ruin her perfect attendance record!

“Let me figure this out,” Qi Lanshi muttered, tapping open the System menu. After scanning through the options, she finally found the “AFK” button hidden in a corner.

This Game was so dishonest—even the AFK function had to be hidden away.

The System tried to defend itself:  Holographic Games do not recommend idling. It can negatively impact the gaming experience and progress, and may even cause unnecessary bugs. Therefore, the System advises against idling.

Qi Lanshi completely ignored the System’s nonsense and retorted, “Then why don’t you just remove the idling option? Who’s playing this game—you or me? Shouldn’t I decide whether to idle, when to idle, and how to idle?”

The System fell silent, and Qi Lanshi ignored it. Since her character was currently sick in the game, she adjusted the time flow to make her account sleep in bed for a few hours. By the time she got off work, Luan Hua should have already picked up the White Moonlight.

“I’ve thought of everything so thoroughly,” Qi Lanshi mentally applauded herself. “How could there be such a considerate substitute like me in this world?” With that, she logged out and left her character idling.

Because of her prolonged argument with the System, Qi Lanshi woke up to her alarm ringing for the third time. She rushed through her morning routine, desperate to get to work on time and avoid losing her perfect attendance bonus at the start of the month.

The outdoor temperature was a scorching 38 degrees Celsius, and the factory was even more stifling and poorly ventilated. Before long, Qi Lanshi’s hair was damp, and her head felt heavy and uncomfortable. She couldn’t help but miss her time with Luan Hua.

“Wait, stop it! I can’t let my mind wander like this,” Qi Lanshi told herself. “I can’t let myself sink this low, especially not confuse reality with the game. This path leads nowhere good.”

Even if real life felt dull, it was still her true existence, the path she had chosen.

Luan Hua felt time had suddenly slowed to a crawl.

The sky changed with agonizing slowness, the plane landed with agonizing slowness, and even the drive to take Bai Jiao home felt agonizingly slow.

“What’s wrong? You seem lost in thought,” Bai Jiao said, waving her hand in front of Luan Hua’s face. “Did I make you come pick me up and interrupt something important?”

The slender, pale hand before her instantly snapped Luan Hua back to reality. She turned to gaze at Bai Jiao’s face, the face that had haunted her dreams for years.

Bai Jiao looked almost exactly as she remembered. The moment Bai Jiao walked toward her through the airport in her white dress, Luan Hua felt she had finally rediscovered her nearly forgotten goal: to earn the approval of Bai Jiao’s parents and win Bai Jiao’s love.

Her parents had chosen her as their heir because she was their only child. She bore this responsibility because she had benefited from their privileged upbringing and education.

But none of this had been Luan Hua’s choice.

At times, she felt as if her life had been pre-programmed, with everything unfolding in a predetermined sequence. She had always lived according to others’ plans, lacking any true autonomy.

Only Bai Jiao was her own choice—someone she genuinely liked, truly wanted, and was willing to work for.

Bai Jiao was different.

With this thought, Luan Hua’s heart finally settled. She smiled at Bai Jiao and said, “How could that be? Picking you up is the most important thing right now.”

Bai Jiao smiled, her lips pressed together. Her eyes were gentle, and her voice was soft and pleasant. “Actually, I was planning to contact you after I got back to China. I didn’t want to trouble you, but… I was a little worried about you, so I contacted you the moment I got my phone number back.”

Luan Hua frowned. “Worried about me?”

“The emails,” Bai Jiao explained. “I check the emails you send me regularly, but yesterday I noticed you hadn’t sent any for several days.”

As she spoke, she placed her hand on the back of Luan Hua’s hand. “I thought you might be sick.”

The moment Bai Jiao’s warm palm covered hers, Luan Hua’s mind unexpectedly flashed with Qi Lanshi’s face.

After their farewell kiss ended, bl00d trickled down the back of Qi Lanshi’s hand. Her fever had raised her body temperature to an alarming degree, making both the kiss and even a simple touch feel shockingly hot.

Luan Hua instinctively recoiled, pulling her hand away.

Realizing her reaction had been excessive, even impolite, she parted her lips to explain, but Bai Jiao spoke first:

“It’s my fault,” Bai Jiao said. “We haven’t seen each other in so long, it’s natural for things to feel a little awkward. How could I suddenly touch you without warning?”

Luan Hua wanted to protest, but she couldn’t come up with a better explanation, so she remained silent.

Her silence darkened Bai Jiao’s gaze, and the hand resting on her knee tightened slightly. “Once I’m settled, I’ll find a place as soon as possible. I don’t want to burden you.”

Bai Jiao’s parents lived abroad and had transferred all their assets overseas years ago. Returning alone, she had no place to stay and had to rely on Luan Hua for temporary accommodation.

“How could I ever consider you a burden?” Luan Hua quickly reassured her. “You saved my life. Taking care of you is the least I can do. I was just a little… unaccustomed to physical contact. Since taking over the Luan Family, I’ve rarely touched anyone. It’s my problem, my rudeness.”

“I see,” Bai Jiao nodded, smiling, her eyes curving into crescents. “But please don’t ever say I saved you, and that you owe me care. It was just a simple act of kindness. Anyone passing by would have offered you help.”

“But it was you who happened to be passing by,” Luan Hua said, her expression softening as she recalled that day. “Your appearance before me felt like destiny.”

Under the scorching heat, Qi Lanshi felt herself dehydrating. She dragged her exhausted body home, took a quick shower, and promptly started her livestream. After a brief interaction with her fans to warm up the atmosphere, she logged into the holographic pod to enter the game.

When she opened her eyes again, she was still in the hospital room. She checked the game recording and muttered, “He didn’t even bother to visit me once? What a jerk.”

When she had logged out of the game, it was still morning. Now it was evening, proving Luan Hua truly didn’t care about her well-being.

“If I ever trust anything your system gives me again, I’ll spell my name backward,” Qi Lanshi huffed. “I’m still in the newbie protection period, and this is all I get from my first ten-pull?”

System: We also have Five-Star gold items! Guaranteed to be worth every penny and absolutely useful.

“How do I get them?” Qi Lanshi asked.

System: Top up your account.

“Get lost,” Qi Lanshi snapped.

Topping up her account was out of the question—absolutely impossible. She played games to earn money, not to waste it.

“Miss Qi, you’re awake,” the secretary’s voice suddenly chimed in. “You’ve been asleep for a whole day. You must be hungry. Dinner is ready. Would you like to eat now?”

Qi Lanshi marveled at the secretary.

In such a fantastical game, finding someone so normal was truly remarkable.

“Thank you,” Qi Lanshi nodded in gratitude.

The secretary had prepared congee for her—light yet flavorful. For Qi Lanshi, who had rushed online after a quick plate of fried rice noodles, this dinner was perfect.

A soft click made Qi Lanshi look up. She caught the secretary putting away her phone, who smiled apologetically. “I need to update the Boss on Miss Qi’s condition. Please bear with me.”

As fellow workers, Qi Lanshi understood the secretary’s predicament perfectly. She nodded briskly. “Of course, go ahead.”

After the secretary sent the photos, Qi Lanshi asked, “Did Luan Hua bring her White Moonlight over?”

The secretary paused for a long moment before replying, “Yes.”

“Then how many more days do I need to stay in the hospital?” Qi Lanshi asked. “When I’m discharged, please arrange the timing carefully. I don’t mind much, but if the White Moonlight herself sees me and misunderstands, it could affect their relationship. That would be terrible.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” the secretary remarked.

“I try to be considerate,” Qi Lanshi replied. “I’m just naturally thoughtful.” She stopped mid-sentence, finally realizing something was off, and looked up toward the source of the voice.

Luan Hua was standing in the doorway of the hospital room.

Qi Lanshi paused, finished her last bite of porridge, and handed the bowl and utensils to the secretary, giving her a graceful exit.

“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I shouldn’t have been discussing you behind your back. But… what are you doing here?”

The Dating Card the System had given her was so trash, yet its effects were lasting surprisingly long. Luan Hua had already met up with her White Moonlight, yet she still had time to come find her?

Luan Hua’s face remained expressionless. “Do I need to notify you every time I come?”

Qi Lanshi’s lips moved slightly as she slowly shook her head, then leaned back against the headboard of her hospital bed and fell silent.

Luan Hua stared at her, feeling like she was going insane. Even she couldn’t understand why she had suddenly returned.

Silence filled the hospital room. Luan Hua sat by the bed, wanting to lift Qi Lanshi’s chin and force her to look at her, but her hand rose only to fall back down. In the end, only silence remained.

Qi Lanshi’s mental state seemed slightly better than it had been that morning, but that was all. Perhaps because she had just woken up, she was languid and drowsy, her eyes still unfocused and distant.

“Every time she sees me, she’s like this,” Luan Hua thought, her face darkening. “Yet she can laugh so happily with her secretary and the nurses.”

In reality, Qi Lanshi was simply lost in thought.

The game’s gacha system and card usage duration were based on in-game time. Dating Cards lasted 24 hours, and only two hours remained before hers expired.

Reflecting on her experiences during that time, she realized she had endured arguments, slaps, rainstorms, hospital visits, and even a full day of work back in the real world. She hadn’t experienced a single moment of enjoyment.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt cheated. She looked up at Luan Hua and asked, “Shall we?”

Luan Hua, who was growing increasingly angry, stared at her in disbelief. Her cat-like eyes widened, revealing their original adorable and dazed charm. This expression, so incongruous with Luan Hua’s usual demeanor, was something Qi Lanshi adored.

Instead of answering Luan Hua’s question, Qi Lanshi leaned in and kissed her directly.

This time, there were no obstacles, no IV lines, only Qi Lanshi’s lingering body heat, like a flame that ignited Luan Hua in turn.

Amidst the tangled chaos, Luan Hua’s rationality barely resurfaced, allowing her to press down on Qi Lanshi’s hand as it crept up her knee. “This is a hospital,” she gasped, “and the door isn’t locked.”

“You didn’t lock it, but your secretary did,” Qi Lanshi countered, twining her fingers through Luan Hua’s. “She’s far more thorough than you.”

With her last excuse gone, Luan Hua’s head swam, her breath coming in hot gasps. She was utterly powerless against Qi Lanshi’s touch and seduction.

The unfamiliar setting, the specific location, and their wildly different experiences sent the room’s temperature soaring. The only sound in the silent room was the rasp of their intertwined breaths.

Suddenly, a phone rang, the name “Bai Jiao” flashing across the screen. The melodious ringtone was Bai Jiao’s exclusive signature.

The screen’s glow illuminated Luan Hua’s flushed face. She reached for the phone, but Qi Lanshi moved faster.

Leaning one hand against the bed, Qi Lanshi held the phone in the other. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, her expression a teasing smile as she murmured, “A call. Should we answer it?”