Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 36

You’re so dirty now.

These words became Luan Hua’s nightmare, more terrifying than the car accident itself. Her insomnia worsened, reaching the point where she couldn’t sleep without Qi Lanshi by her side. After leaving the hospital, her dependence on Qi Lanshi grew even stronger, but… Qi Lanshi didn’t want to acknowledge her.

Qi Lanshi never explicitly said anything. Whenever Luan Hua showed her need, she still cooperated. They slept in the same bed, yet it was the epitome of sleeping together but dreaming different dreams. Qi Lanshi’s expression told Luan Hua: unilateral dependence and closeness had become a burden.

Luan Hua knew she was becoming increasingly clingy, even annoying. She not only demanded that Qi Lanshi stay at her mansion every day but also insisted she accompany her to the office during her free time, practically monopolizing all of Qi Lanshi’s spare time.

Whenever Qi Lanshi showed the slightest reluctance, Luan Hua would preemptively transfer money or give gifts.

She had once scorned Qi Lanshi for staying with her for money, but now she was grateful. Thank goodness I have money, and Qi Lanshi likes money.

Otherwise, she would have no way to keep Qi Lanshi by her side.

Another night, Luan Hua woke with a start. The first thing she did was reach for Qi Lanshi beside her. Only by touching her skin, feeling her warmth and breath, could she calm her racing heart.

Qi Lanshi had grown accustomed to being jolted awake by Luan Hua’s hand in the middle of the night. She didn’t even bother opening her eyes, simply brushing Luan Hua’s hand away and muttering, “It’s so late. Just go back to sleep, please? I’m really tired.”

Luan Hua sat up in the darkness, staring at Qi Lanshi for a long moment until her pounding heart finally quieted. She lay back down, pressed her cheek against Qi Lanshi’s arm, and whispered, “Okay.”

About half an hour later, Qi Lanshi slowly opened her eyes. She rolled over, gazing at the ceiling in the dark, and finally let out a soft sigh.

She hadn’t realized how deeply her words had wounded Luan Hua. The woman had been emotionally vulnerable ever since, showing no signs of returning to normal.

For days now, Luan Hua had not only needed Qi Lanshi by her side constantly, but her insomnia had worsened. She couldn’t fall asleep until the early hours, and even when she did, nightmares jolted her awake, forcing her to repeatedly confirm Qi Lanshi’s presence.

Seeing her like this, anyone would feel sorry for her.

Of course, Qi Lanshi’s pity was merely lip service, never reaching her heart. Once she confirmed Luan Hua was asleep, she prepared to log out of her account.

Just as she clicked open the menu page, the System suddenly spoke up, “Weren’t you worried earlier that Luan Hua would notice you logging off? Aren’t you afraid she’ll wake up again and realize something’s wrong?”

“I needed to worry before, but not anymore,” Qi Lanshi replied coolly. “She’s become incredibly insecure and fragile, prone to overthinking. Even if she suspects something, she’ll immediately doubt herself and never dare confront me.”

Qi Lanshi didn’t even need to say anything. A mere flicker of annoyance—a “here we go again” expression—was enough to silence Luan Hua.

Having entrusted all her emotions to Qi Lanshi, Luan Hua had become desperately insecure and overly cautious. Realizing this, Qi Lanshi naturally seized upon this vulnerability.

“The insomnia setting is truly brilliant,” Qi Lanshi mused, clicking the log-out button again. “Whether I’m Luan Hua’s cure or her poison depends entirely on what I choose to do.”

In the livestream chat, the Bullet Comments Pool erupted with activity.

If I were the System, I’d be breaking down right now. Not only did the arranged plot fail, but even the game’s mechanics are being exploited against it.

This is all the game developers’ fault. If they hadn’t created such a disgusting plot and forced its progression, Lanlan wouldn’t have resorted to these tactics.

Now that I think about it, the CEO is kind of pitiful. After all, she was drugged too, making her a victim. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t really be her fault.

The White Moonlight, the one who drugged her, gets off scot-free, while the drugged victim becomes the poor, pitiful one. Tragic, truly tragic.

“Tragic?” Qi Lanshi asked. “Perhaps, but what does that have to do with me?”

“Besides, you all seem to be getting a bit too invested. I admit this game is incredibly immersive, but… Luan Hua is just an NPC.”

Qi Lanshi chuckled softly. “When I play a game, I only need to consider my own enjoyment and you viewers in the Livestream. Why should I care about what an NPC thinks? That’s far too restrictive.”

“I’m not exactly a paragon of morality, or I wouldn’t be a streamer in the Snake Skin Zone. I thought you all understood that by now.”

Of course we do! I love how unconventional Lanlan is.

This game’s plot is utter garbage. If Lanlan hadn’t kept defying expectations, she’d be the one suffering now.

You only feel sorry for the CEO because this is a Lily game. If she were a man, you’d just find her repulsive.

Pah! Why are you talking about such unlucky things in this perfectly good livestream?

In an instant, the livestream’s sentiment unified again.

Qi Lanshi smiled. “Don’t you think this plot is brilliant?” she asked.

“In the relationship between the player and Luan Hua, the CEO has always held the upper hand. Even though I’m the one playing the game and guiding the romantic arc, from an outsider’s perspective, Luan Hua remains the domineering figure, while I’m the one being manipulated.”

“Even Luan Hua herself never realized this, always believing she was in complete control.”

“But now, our positions have been completely reversed. She depends on me, can’t live without me, and her emotional anchor has shifted from her White Moonlight to me.”

“I, the Golden Canary from a substitute romance, have become the true dominant force in this relationship, while the CEO can only cling to me. Don’t you find this development incredibly satisfying?”

The Bullet Comments Pool fell silent for two or three seconds before erupting.

爽! 太爽了!

Isn’t the whole point of watching Snake Skin Zone streamers the unexpected twists and turns and the sheer satisfaction?

Even though the plot is being forced forward, Lanlan still hasn’t forgotten her original intentions. I’m crying so hard.

Qi Lanshi glanced at the Bullet Comments, a faint hint of satisfaction flickering in her eyes.

She was adept at manipulating emotions, whether with Luan Hua or the viewers in her Livestream. She had long realized that only what she controlled completely was truly secure and most beneficial to her.

She ended the Livestream and went back to sleep. Although she hadn’t returned to the factory for work in recent days, she still maintained her regular routine, refusing to become addicted to the game world.

The next morning, her alarm woke her as usual. She checked her phone and saw a message from her Team Leader sent early that morning.

Qi Xiaodong’s interview article remained unfinished. Not only had the factory banned him from returning, but the newspaper had also penalized him. As expected, he likely wouldn’t cause any more trouble. With the factory being particularly busy these past two days, the Team Leader asked her to come back to work.

Qi Lanshi rubbed her eyes, yawned widely, and replied:  Team Leader, don’t worry. I’ll be back at work right away. 

Ah, she was truly a diligent and earnest woman. Only work could fill the boredom and emptiness in her life.

Before leaving for work, Qi Lanshi glanced at the Holographic Pod one last time, but ultimately ignored it and headed to work.

Meanwhile, in another world, Luan Hua sat on the bed, hugging her knees, her gaze fixed intently on “Qi Lanshi.”

On the other side of the bed, “Qi Lanshi” slept soundly, her breathing even, her face serene. It exuded an air of timeless tranquility.

But she had been sleeping in the same motionless position for far too long, so long that…

Luan Hua glanced at the time and realized that only half an hour had passed since she woke up.

The moment she awoke, even the flow of time seemed to have slowed. Everything around her felt still and viscous, as if she were a bug trapped within a thick barrier.

When would Qi Lanshi return? When would she finally be able to breathe freely and see the bright daylight again?

Luan Hua sometimes felt she was going mad. Qi Lanshi was right beside her, under her nose, within her grasp. Yet, for some reason, it never felt like enough.

It was never enough, no matter what she did.

“What would it take to make you completely and utterly mine?” Luan Hua murmured. “You’re always so disobedient.”

Her hand rested on her phone. In the darkness, she paused before dialing the number she had called countless times over the years.

When Qi Lanshi returned to the game, dawn was just breaking. She glanced at the game time and realized she could still get some sleep. Without hesitation, she collapsed into bed. She completely ignored Luan Hua, who was sitting nearby.

It’s been too long since I worked a real job, she thought. Going to the factory just once has exhausted me this much? I’m so weak.

By the time Qi Lanshi had fully rested, it was already the morning of the following day. She yawned widely before finally turning her attention to Luan Hua.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “Aren’t you going to work?”

“I have something to take care of today. I can postpone work,” Luan Hua replied. She had been staring blankly into space the entire time, her mental state clearly poor. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles had deepened beneath them, and even her eye sockets seemed more sunken.

Qi Lanshi propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Does it have anything to do with me?”

Luan Hua nodded. “I’ve called Bai Jiao. We’ll go together, and she’ll explain everything.”

This was so… naive that Qi Lanshi found it almost amusing.

Luan Hua, the person involved, couldn’t remember the details of that day due to the effects of the drugs. Qi Lanshi knew the truth even better than she did, making any explanation completely unnecessary.

The person who wronged you knows better than you do how innocent you are.

Qi Lanshi’s recent behavior wasn’t driven by guilt or lingering resentment. It was a deliberate strategy to suppress Luan Hua, both outwardly and inwardly, using this incident as leverage.

Her attitude had kept Luan Hua on edge, despite knowing nothing had happened between her and Bai Jiao. The younger woman remained anxious, torn between hope and fear, and had yet to address the drugging incident.

Now that Luan Hua had finally contacted Bai Jiao, it was clear she had reached her breaking point.

She couldn’t endure this strained relationship, Qi Lanshi’s cold demeanor, or the stain of guilt and filth clinging to her reputation. She wanted to prove she was also a victim, undeserving of blame.

If this were reality, Qi Lanshi would have told Luan Hua from the start: This isn’t your fault. You don’t need to prove your innocence.

Unfortunately, this was just a game. And Luan Hua was merely an NPC within that game, someone Qi Lanshi had no reason to care about.

“You don’t need to explain,” Qi Lanshi said. “Our relationship never required explanations in the first place.”

With those words, Luan Hua felt as if she had plunged into an icy abyss.

Qi Lanshi’s expression remained calm, but her words carried a chilling sincerity. She genuinely didn’t want to meet Bai Jiao with Luan Hua, because she saw no point in it.

“What difference would an explanation make?” Qi Lanshi even countered. “In the end, I’m always going to stay by your side. I have no friends, no personal life, no private space—everything revolves around you. Isn’t that enough?”

“What more do you want?”

What more do you want?

Only when she heard those words did Luan Hua truly understand what she desired and why she had hoped Qi Lanshi would accompany her.

She didn’t just want Qi Lanshi by her side; she wanted this woman to be there willingly, of her own accord.

When she had once clung to Bai Jiao as her emotional anchor, she hadn’t needed Bai Jiao’s reciprocation. But Qi Lanshi was different.

She wanted Qi Lanshi’s affection and love.

“I’m tired of this childish game of playing house with a substitute sugar daddy,” Luan Hua said, her face pale and her voice trembling, but she persisted. “Have a real relationship with me. When I’m bored, we’ll break up. From now on, you can hold your head high in public, without being labeled as someone’s kept woman.”

“A relationship?” Qi Lanshi frowned, disbelief creeping into her expression. “A relationship isn’t a game… It requires genuine feelings, you understand? Mutual affection, mutual admiration—that’s what binds such a connection.”

“I know that. Don’t we like each other?”

Luan Hua cupped Qi Lanshi’s face, gazing into her eyes where she saw her own reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, the depths of her gaze concealing a collapse threatening to spill over.

“I like your face and body,” she said. “You like my money. Isn’t that mutual affection?”

Luan Hua wanted Qi Lanshi’s affection and love.

But Qi Lanshi wouldn’t give it to her.

Under Qi Lanshi’s incredulous gaze, Luan Hua leaned in and kissed her, biting gently at the corner of her beloved’s lips.