Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 28

Qi Lanshi never received Luan Hua’s answer, because Luan Hua fainted.

Qi Lanshi’s reaction was… This shouldn’t be happening, right?

She first patted Luan Hua’s face lightly twice, then, realizing her actions were rather inhuman, softened her voice and touch, gently calling Luan Hua’s name.

“How could she faint? I haven’t even pushed her that far yet,” Qi Lanshi muttered, a hint of self-doubt creeping in, though not much.

She wanted to take Luan Hua’s temperature but couldn’t find a thermometer anywhere. Instead, she focused on the System: “You should be able to monitor Luan Hua’s vital signs, right? What’s wrong with her?”

The System offered only a vague response: No illness detected.

Qi Lanshi breathed a sigh of relief. “Good thing I don’t have to play the ‘midnight hospital run and tender bedside vigil’ scene. What’s the difference between this and working overtime?”

She pinched Luan Hua’s cheek and observed her for a moment before giving her a quick sponge bath. Midway through, Luan Hua showed signs of waking. Qi Lanshi took her hand and said, “Just keep sleeping. It’s okay.”

In her hazy state, Luan Hua felt everything around her blur. A warm, damp sensation spread across her arm. She turned her head and saw Qi Lanshi, head bowed, gently wiping her body.

Even Qi Lanshi’s voice sounded softer and more soothing than usual. Luan Hua’s eyelids grew heavier, and she drifted back to sleep.

“Thank goodness she didn’t wake up. That scared me,” Qi Lanshi sighed in relief. “I’ll log out of the game and end the stream while she’s asleep. I have work tomorrow.”

As a working woman, Qi Lanshi had to be meticulous about time management. What if the plot reached a critical moment just as her alarm went off?

Before exiting the game, Qi Lanshi lay down beside Luan Hua again. Even if Luan Hua wasn’t actually sick, she was clearly uncomfortable, and companionship was crucial at times like this.

White Moonlight was just a fleeting, illusory figure. But Qi Lanshi was real, vibrant, and determined to completely replace the image and aura Luan Hua had projected onto Bai Jiao.

When Qi Lanshi woke up in the Holographic Pod, there were still over three hours left before her in-game shift. She could rest a little longer.

First, she checked the backend for donations, then scrolled through the Bullet Comments and new followers, but found nothing suspicious.

There were no signs that Qi Xiaodong had discovered her activities, so she could continue her livestream as usual.

She greeted the viewers who had stayed up to watch, then yawned to show how tired she was before ending the stream. She slept soundly until her alarm went off.

Qi Lanshi felt she was becoming lazy. She used to find her office job dull but considered it the life she wanted. Now, even getting out of bed for work required mental preparation.

She turned off the alarm, sat up, and stared at her legs for a moment before slowly sliding them off the bed.

Despite her mental preparation, the sensation of her limp still triggered an uncontrollable sense of disappointment.

After spending several days in the game, which translated to only one night in reality, she had grown accustomed to her virtual, healthy body. Returning to her disabled physical form felt jarring.

But the virtual world remained just that—virtual, never real.

“After completing Luan Hua’s storyline and claiming part of the bonus, I should quit this game,” Qi Lanshi thought. “If I keep playing, I’ll eventually start valuing the game’s currency more than reality and become addicted to the virtual world.”

After a quick wash, Qi Lanshi glanced at her phone before leaving. Another friend request had arrived—this time from Qi Xiaodong’s alternate account.

“What a pest,” she muttered, her annoyance evident as she frowned and immediately blocked him.

She rode her electric scooter to the factory. As soon as she changed into her uniform, her team leader called her over.

“Xiao Qi, you’ve been working here for a year now, and you haven’t taken a single day off beyond your monthly leave. I’m approving a few days of vacation for you. Go home and rest.”

Qi Lanshi raised an eyebrow.

“Did I cause trouble for the factory, or am I the one in trouble?” she countered.

The team leader hadn’t intended to be so direct, but Qi Lanshi’s bluntness left him no choice but to tell the truth. “It’s that reporter who interviewed you last time. He claims there were issues with the original article and wants to write a new one.”

The team leader knew exactly what kind of man Qi Xiaodong was. He had tried to push other employees forward for the interview, but Qi Xiaodong insisted on Qi Lanshi by name, citing a litany of excuses: interview personnel couldn’t be easily changed, Qi Lanshi was more representative, personal grudges shouldn’t interfere with official matters, and so on.

The words sounded grand and righteous, but they were utterly devoid of sincerity.

The team leader, tired of dealing with Qi Xiaodong’s persistence, decided to send Qi Lanshi away directly.

“I see, I understand,” Qi Lanshi nodded. “I’ve caused trouble for the factory. I’m truly sorry. Since this started because of me, let me handle it.”

“Don’t bother. Just take a few days off and have some fun. I’ve dealt with plenty of young punks like him,” the team leader scoffed, his expression dripping with disdain for Qi Xiaodong. “He just sees you as a young, orphaned girl and thinks he can bully you. These types have no real skills; they’ll lose patience in a few days. Just ignore him.”

Qi Lanshi knew the team leader meant well, but she still felt uneasy. “If he keeps harassing me, please let me know. I’ll handle it myself.”

With the team leader’s nod, Qi Lanshi was forced to take a vacation.

As soon as she left the factory, she began wandering aimlessly. She had grown so accustomed to filling her days with work that this sudden idleness left her feeling disoriented and unreal.

Here, she had no friends, no family, not even someone to talk to. Her life was filled with emptiness, and the only thing left to pass the time… was gaming.

The very game she had just declared she would quit after finishing one ending.

Qi Lanshi sighed, finally succumbing to reality. She went home and logged in.

Before logging in, she hesitated, deciding against starting a livestream. It wasn’t her usual streaming time, and she didn’t want to reveal her real-life situation. She set an alarm for later that evening.

When players are offline, time in the game flows very slowly. Qi Lanshi had only been out for a short walk, so it was still dark in the game.

But Luan Hua was already awake.

In the darkness, she lay on her side, watching Qi Lanshi with eyes full of scrutiny and suspicion. Her expression was grim.

When their eyes met, Qi Lanshi’s first reaction was shock. Her panic momentarily distorted her expression, but fortunately, the darkness should have concealed it from Luan Hua.

She pretended to have just woken up, rubbing her eyes and muttering, “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

Luan Hua didn’t know what she was doing either.

Qi Lanshi was clearly lying beside her, but for a fleeting moment, Luan Hua felt… that the person beside her had changed.

Qi Lanshi seemed to have lost her soul, leaving only a shell. Luan Hua stared at her, feeling that everything was off—even Qi Lanshi’s breathing sounded wrong.

But as soon as Qi Lanshi spoke, that unsettling feeling vanished.

“It’s nothing,” Luan Hua said, lying back down. “I have insomnia. When I can’t sleep, my mind starts racing.”

What she had just experienced must have been… just her imagination running wild.

Qi Lanshi closed her eyes without a word, her breathing appearing even, though her heart was actually beating faster because of Luan Hua.

So perceptive.

A mere Target, essentially just a high-level NPC—could they really be this perceptive?

In reality, Qi Lanshi had only slept for three hours. Now, lying on the bed with Luan Hua’s arms wrapped around her from behind, the darkness gave her a sense of security. She stared into the darkness for a while, her eyelids growing heavier until she drifted off to sleep.

When she opened her eyes the next morning, the sky was already bright. She froze for a moment before suddenly realizing: Oh no, I’m going to be late! I have school in this game!

How could there be a streamer as miserable as her? Working as a factory cog in real life, and even having to attend classes and study in the game—it was exhausting.

Qi Lanshi’s loud movements woke Luan Hua, who was still grumpy from being disturbed. She looked distinctly displeased.

“What’s the rush? The driver can take you.”

“You have the nerve to say that? It’s all your fault!” Qi Lanshi grumbled as she dressed. “If I were staying in the dorms, I wouldn’t be late. Yesterday, you dragged me to that art exhibition and made me take a day off. I’m busy too, you know!”

Luan Hua thought she had given Qi Lanshi far too much freedom and tolerance. Even a mere substitute dared to raise her voice at her.

Yet, strangely, she couldn’t bring herself to get angry.

She even felt a twinge of guilt, so she patiently asked, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. What do you want?”

“I already told you—a cemetery. You never listen to me!” Qi Lanshi shot her a reproachful glance, huffed loudly, and hurried downstairs.

Luan Hua stared after her, speechless.

What kind of mistress asks for a cemetery? Why did I have to end up with such an absurd one?

Luan Hua took a deep breath and called the driver and the cook, instructing them to have Qi Lanshi take breakfast with her before leaving.

After giving these instructions, she texted her secretary to find a cemetery with a scenic view at her earliest convenience.

The secretary, ever professional, replied to the absurd message with a simple, “Understood, Boss.”

After giving these instructions, Luan Hua stepped outside. The first thing she saw was Qi Lanshi being stopped by the cook, who insisted she take breakfast. Then she saw… Bai Jiao, sitting with her mother.

Luan Hua’s mother’s character model was simpler than Luan Hua’s, but the resemblance between them was still evident.

Compared to Luan Hua, her mother exuded a far more domineering and aloof aura, utterly devoid of warmth.

Yet when facing Qi Lanshi, she offered a seemingly kind smile and said, “Luan Hua, is this the ‘little friend’ you’ve been bringing home lately?”

Though the term “little friend” sounded gentler than words like “toy,” “lover,” or “replacement,” the underlying implication remained the same:

Qi Lanshi’s existence was not worthy of public acknowledgment.

“You’re right, Auntie, it’s me,” Qi Lanshi replied, feigning ignorance of the hidden meaning. “It’s lovely to meet you, but I’m in a hurry for school. So, hello Auntie, goodbye Auntie!”

With that, she darted away.

No way am I playing the role of the mistreated daughter-in-law with the wicked mother-in-law, she thought. Everyone handles their own mother!