Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 45

After completing Luan Hua’s storyline, the game became a thing of the past for Qi Lanshi. She showed no signs of logging in again, and the game developers noticed this. Three days later, they called her.

The voice on the other end was gentle and pleasant. “Miss Qi, may I ask why you’re refusing to log into the game? Your closed beta period isn’t over yet.”

“No reason. I just don’t want to play anymore,” Qi Lanshi retorted firmly. “You should reflect on why you can’t retain players even when you’re paying them. Oh, and one last piece of advice: fire your writers. Otherwise, this game won’t survive.”

“They’ve already been fired,” the staff member replied, maintaining a calm and professional demeanor. “The next storyline will be more stimulating within a more conventional framework. We’ve also incorporated your previous feedback, giving you greater freedom. All these changes are due to you, Miss Qi. You’ve practically crafted this game’s narrative yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to give it another try?”

Qi Lanshi fell silent.

She had anticipated the game developers would contact her, urging her to continue playing. She had even considered what tactics they might use to pressure her.

In her mind, their tactics would be simple: refuse to pay her, resort to threats and intimidation, or even turn the tables by accusing her of quitting midway and demanding compensation.

But the staff’s gentle approach caught Qi Lanshi completely off guard.

They weren’t pressuring her; they were simply trying to persuade her, patiently highlighting the aspects of the game that might appeal to her, hoping she would return.

This unexpected courtesy left Qi Lanshi somewhat bewildered. Could it be that her in-game performance had revealed her rebellious nature, making them realize that threats would only backfire?

Qi Lanshi had always been more receptive to gentle persuasion than coercion, and she was particularly soft-hearted toward women. After hearing the staff’s words, she found herself wavering, though she didn’t show it.

“But I really don’t want to play your game anymore,” she said. “Luan Hua’s storyline traumatized me. You didn’t fully block the pain from the suicide scene, and you didn’t even warn me about it. Just thinking about it makes me ache all over. I have a psychological aversion to the holographic pod now.”

Hearing her no longer vehemently refuse, the staff knew there was hope. But she remained composed, countering with, “I’ll relay all your feedback. May I ask what it would take to convince you to evaluate our game again?”

Qi Lanshi narrowed her eyes, a hint of amusement in her expression. “I have a severe emotional aversion,” she said. “If you want me to play a game that hurt me… you’ll have to pay me more.”

Half an hour later, Qi Lanshi announced on her social media that she would continue the closed beta testing of the game and would start the next target’s route that evening.

The comments section erupted with cheers, but many also asked why she had changed her mind.

Qi Lanshi’s reply was simple: “They just offered too much.”

She had realized the importance of money far too early, and everything she did was driven by financial gain.

That evening, when she started her livestream again, Qi Lanshi didn’t even pause her mouse over Luan Hua’s character portrait, immediately shifting her attention to the other two targets.

“Let’s see what these characters’ introductions are…” Qi Lanshi murmured, clicking through the plot summaries and character profiles one by one.

The remaining two characters were a refined and abstemious type and a scumbag with big, wavy hair.

The refined and abstemious character was designed as both a doctor and a teacher. The scumbag’s description was much simpler: a universally popular female college student.

“Let’s go with the psychiatrist first,” Qi Lanshi decided quickly. “The wavy-haired one clashes with my character. Trying to be universally popular in front of me? Impossible.”

The livestream chat agreed wholeheartedly.

Strictly speaking, the White Moonlight from the previous storyline was also designed as universally popular, even the nation’s first love. It’s just that her character eventually collapsed.

Hahaha, the last universally popular character went mad with love thanks to Lanlan’s influence.

Whether it’s love or not is debatable, but Bai Jiao isn’t some great villain. Seeing an innocent person die right in front of her must have left a psychological scar.

Mad or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all in the past. Lanlan never logs into a finished game twice.

Exactly! Let’s focus on her next moves.

While the livestream buzzed with discussion, Qi Lanshi had already entered the game.

The moment she saw the familiar scenery, she was startled and immediately summoned the System to ask what was happening.

“How did I get back to the dorm? Please don’t tell me there’s a chance I might run into Luan Hua again.”

Of course not. That’s all in the past now, the System said, pausing briefly. You can think of this as a parallel world. The three story lines in the game all share the same historical setting.

Relieved to know Luan Hua wouldn’t appear in her world, Qi Lanshi finally let out a sigh of relief. She had no desire to encounter her ex-girlfriend while just trying to play a game—that would be far too awkward.

Qi Lanshi glanced at the weather outside the window, then pulled out her phone to check the game time. She noticed the initial game time was the same as in the previous playthrough, which meant…

“I’m back to being a poor college student working part-time, and I still have that ticking time bomb of a scumbag father, right?”

 Yes,  the System confirmed.

Qi Lanshi sighed. “Losing both my parents early in life was already painful enough in reality. Now you’re saddling me with this monster for a father in the game? You really don’t care about the players’ well-being at all.”

The System’s voice carried a hint of guilt as it explained:  We didn’t consider the players’ feelings enough. But this is just a virtual world, and there’s nothing we can do about it.

“With such high freedom in the game, giving players a privileged background would lead some to simply enjoy life in the virtual world and abandon the main storyline entirely,” Qi Lanshi said softly.

The System fell silent.

“If I weren’t completely penniless, I’d definitely suspect you were deliberately targeting me.”

To be honest, Qi Lanshi had entertained this suspicion before, but after careful consideration, she dismissed the idea.

She was dirt poor, her only asset being her face. So far, the game developers had only contacted her twice in the real world: once to invite her to the Closed Beta and once to request her continued feedback.

There was no indication they were interested in her looks.

Qi Lanshi had used her appearance to make life a little easier, but even when she did nothing, she still attracted unwanted attention.

She had encountered too many people with ulterior motives, the most glaring examples being… Qi Xiaodong and his father.

The thought of those two made Qi Lanshi gag. They were truly disgusting.

“Are you feeling unwell?” the System asked, then immediately found its own question strange. “That shouldn’t be possible. This is Game Data; all your stats have been optimized to their peak.”

“It’s nothing, just a physiological issue,” Qi Lanshi said as she got out of bed to pour herself a glass of water. “What’s the plot this time? Send it to me.”

“There isn’t one.”

Qi Lanshi slowly typed a question mark. “Huh?”

“Exactly. The writer was fired, and all previous plot drafts were scrapped. Everything now depends on the player’s own exploration.”

This level of freedom was excessive, and Qi Lanshi struggled to adjust.

She couldn’t believe it, but seeing the System wasn’t joking, she forced herself to accept it for now. “Then there must be some kind of hook or trigger, right? Who’s the Target?”

“A doctor who also works as a teacher.”

Qi Lanshi paused before asking, “…That’s it?”

“Not a teacher at your school.”

Qi Lanshi: “……”

She covered her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm. Hadn’t she known this game’s quirks all along? Why was she surprised?

A game that paid her so much to test it couldn’t possibly be normal. It was bound to be riddled with bugs waiting to be fixed.

“I bet you guys don’t even have a scriptwriter anymore. Are you just waiting for me to figure out the plot so you can copy it directly?”

I wouldn’t know, the System retorted, sounding quite self-righteous. I’m just a System, after all. How would I know such confidential information?

Qi Lanshi: “……”

For the first time, she was left speechless by the System’s retort.

This was a first in her livestreaming career, and the chatroom erupted in laughter at her reaction.

With the System proving utterly unreliable, Qi Lanshi had no choice but to rely on herself. She pulled up the Target’s profile and studied it intently, circling key details.

“Jiang Qianyun, psychologist, 28 years old. Nine years older than me in the game—quite the cradle robber,” Qi Lanshi remarked calmly. “She originally studied art before switching to medicine… This game is so weird. Why is painting coming up again? Is Jiang Qianyun going to paint the Mona Lisa too?”

Qi Lanshi’s remarks remained as sharp as ever, and the System chose to pretend it hadn’t heard.

“Jiang Qianyun is not only talented in painting but also excels in medicine. She’s proficient in internal medicine, surgery, and psychiatry, and is also an outstanding psychologist. Her parents were initially disappointed by her mid-career change, but eventually recognized her efforts and approved of her path.”

As Qi Lanshi read this, the words “speechless” seemed to hang on her face. “Who could possibly switch careers halfway through life and master so many fields? You’re really stretching it.”

No wonder the screenwriter got fired—they deserved it.

She opened her inventory, trying to find something useful, but a quick glance confirmed her search had failed.

These cards and items had usage restrictions; they could only be activated after triggering the main storyline. Since she hadn’t even seen a strand of Jiang Qianyun’s hair yet, all the items remained grayed out.

After a moment of silence, Qi Lanshi collapsed onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Her muffled voice came out: “Any hardship can defeat me… I don’t want to play anymore.”

To answer the comments: The kitten is the offspring of a tabby and an orange cat. Most of its fur is tabby-colored, but its face is half tabby, half orange.

It’s incredibly timid. After sneaking out, it couldn’t find its way back and ended up perched on the windowsill, meowing pitifully. A neighbor saw it and, assuming I’d accidentally locked it out, took it in.

When I got home, I crawled around on the floor searching for it three times, then went outside to look twice more before finally bringing it back.

I originally wanted to give it a scolding, but the kitten was so traumatized that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. (Sigh)