Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 7

After logging back into the game, Qi Lanshi realized that even though she had exited, the game time hadn’t frozen. It continued to advance, albeit at a slow pace.

When she left, it was late at night; now it was early morning.

Luan Hua, whom she hadn’t seen for a day, looked even more pitiful, like a tattered rag doll.

The moment this description flashed through Qi Lanshi’s mind, she felt uneasy, even a pang of guilt. She tried to carry Luan Hua to the bathroom, but… failed.

Stunned, she opened the System interface and demanded, “Why can’t I lift her? I’m supposed to be a—a dominant top!”

The System’s voice remained calm, though a hint of amusement crept in: To enhance player immersion, character stats are based on your real-world physical condition.

In other words, Qi Lanshi was a physically weak “skinny dog” in reality, and the same held true in the game.

Qi Lanshi: “……”

Since the System had corrected her limp, she had assumed other aspects of her character had been improved as well. Damn it!

Forced to compromise, Qi Lanshi resorted to using a clean towel to meticulously dry Luan Hua, sighing audibly as she worked.

“Why am I, a substitute who was essentially freeloaded into this role, doing this kind of work? This is capitalist oppression!”

She tossed the towel into the sink, set an alarm in the game, closed her eyes for a brief rest, and slipped back to her dorm just before the building’s doors opened.

The System’s hopes for a brief moment of intimacy between her and Luan Hua were dashed.

The System couldn’t help but retort:  Are you really, truly unwilling to spend even a little more time with Luan Hua?

“It’s not that,” Qi Lanshi retorted, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “I just refuse to work overtime. I’m not in a relationship here; I’m an oppressed wage slave. Why should I waste my precious time?”

“Besides… Luan Hua is just an NPC.”

“She’s not even human. If I can’t trigger any plot progression, why should I waste time on her?”

The System fell silent, resigned to letting her have her way.

The next morning, though Luan Hua felt considerably fresher, she remained deeply displeased—very, very displeased.

Qi Lanshi’s unwavering departure made it seem as though she were the one in control of their relationship, while Luan Hua herself was the one being played.

Qi Lanshi was the merchandise she had purchased, the golden canary she had chosen.

She should be obedient.

Qi Lanshi sneezed violently, rubbing her nose. She was certain Luan Hua was cursing her—after all, she hadn’t offended anyone else in this game.

Oh, wait, I mean any other NPCs.

She glanced at the time. It was already 8 a.m., time for the “early birds” to start their day. She quickly gathered her things and headed to class.

Now, she just hoped this holographic game wasn’t so realistic that it required essays and assignments. She’d be content to coast through the back row every day. Otherwise, the game would become unplayable.

Qi Lanshi hurried out of the dormitory, her gaze immediately drawn to the flashy sports car parked outside. She paused, realizing both the car and the person inside were likely there for her.

Pretending not to notice, she kept her head down and continued walking.

As expected, the woman in the car couldn’t wait any longer. She stepped out and blocked Qi Lanshi’s path.

“Don’t rush off so quickly. Don’t you recognize me? We just met last night,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s me—Gu Jingshu.”

Qi Lanshi looked up and saw that the woman’s information had indeed changed from “NPC” to “Gu Jingshu, one of Luan Hua’s longtime friends.”

“Hello,” Qi Lanshi nodded, trying to walk past her.

“I told you, don’t be in such a hurry,” Gu Jingshu said, gripping her wrist and kneading it lightly. “I came to find you first thing this morning. Can’t you spare me even a little courtesy? It’s so disappointing.”

Hearing this, Qi Lanshi looked at her intently and retorted, “What do you want from me? Flirting?”

Her bluntness caught Gu Jingshu off guard.

Instead of pulling away, Qi Lanshi followed Gu Jingshu’s movement, grasped her fingertips, and asked with a smile, “Why are you so quiet? Isn’t that what you wanted? Since I’m Luan Hua’s little plaything, you thought you could have a piece of the action too, so you came here?”

Last night’s encounter had piqued Gu Jingshu’s interest in Qi Lanshi. That glimpse of her waist under the dim light kept replaying in her mind, even in her midnight dreams, which drove her to seek her out first thing this morning.

But now, looking at her, Qi Lanshi was far more than just “interesting.” She was downright… captivating.

“If I had nothing else to do right now, I’d gladly flirt with you,” Qi Lanshi said with a smile, releasing Gu Jingshu’s hand. She delivered the classic line of a freeloader: “Next time, for sure.”

Gu Jingshu chuckled, amused.

“Then you’d better specify when ‘next time’ is.”

Qi Lanshi feigned deep thought. “Probably… after Luan Hua gets bored of me.”

“After all, she’s the one in power, and you’re just a rich second-generation heir. You’re not in the same league. You can only play around with what she’s tired of.”

Gu Jingshu’s expression shifted slightly.

Qi Lanshi savored her reaction, blowing her a kiss with a playful smile. “Of course, if you want to move things up, the highest bidder wins.”

No freeloaders allowed.

One Luan Hua was already enough trouble.

Qi Lanshi hurried away, leaving Gu Jingshu watching her retreating figure. Gu Jingshu let out a soft laugh.

What a wanton woman.

She was a clever girl.

In just a few words, her value in Gu Jingshu’s eyes had skyrocketed.

But for Qi Lanshi, it still wasn’t enough.

She ended up being late anyway, and to make matters worse, she arrived just as roll call was being taken, getting caught red-handed.

Of course, she wouldn’t curse at the game’s NPCs. Instead, she raged at the System: “Are your game designers even mentally stable? What’s the point of making a dating sim focus so heavily on academics? If I actually wanted to study, would I be stuck tightening screws in a factory? Wouldn’t I just download a proper educational app?!”

The System absorbed her torrent of complaints and explained:  This is what makes Holographic Games different. Players who aren’t interested in the romance routes can still learn new skills and experience different lives. There’s something for everyone.

The designers are perfectly sane! This was insisted upon by our lead planner.

We don’t know why she’s so adamant about it. It’s like she made a promise to someone once.

Qi Lanshi fell silent.

After a long pause, she tilted her head back and sighed deeply. “Why are there so many stubborn idiots in this world?”

Learning is good and important, but some people… just don’t deserve it.

Like her.

The last person who had pressed her to study diligently was a fool in a blue and white school uniform.

“You need to study. You need to work hard. Only learning can help you escape your current situation and move upward.”

“Your life is so long and full of possibilities. I’ll work hard with you.”

“Crazy,” eighteen-year-old Qi Lanshi muttered. “What does my life have to do with you?”

“Crazy,” twenty-five-year-old Qi Lanshi said, covering her eyes. “Crazy.”

Not a single kind word escaped Qi Lanshi’s lips, yet the System stubbornly detected a softening in her attitude.

Sure enough, from that day onward, Qi Lanshi’s approach to studying became much more disciplined, giving the impression of a proper student. Meanwhile, Luan Hua never contacted her again.

Initially, Qi Lanshi had asked the System, “What’s up with this game? The plot either rushes through explicit content at breakneck speed or stays completely stagnant?”

We prioritize realism, the System replied. After all, CEOs are very busy and can’t be doing lewd things every day.

Especially when they’re the ones being lewded.

After explaining, the System thoughtfully added,  If the player has related needs, they can first exit the game and adjust the time flow speed.

If this had been earlier, Qi Lanshi might have actually exited. But now…

“Fine, let’s go to class,” she sighed.

She was already struggling to keep up with the pace; skipping more classes would be disastrous.

The brain, like any tool, rusts with disuse. She was already forgetting everything she’d learned in high school, and now she had to keep up with university courses—it was more exhausting than working a real job.

Before entering the holographic game, she had set her alarm for 6:00 AM, meticulously tracking the time within the game to avoid being late.

But Luan Hua arrived even earlier than the alarm.

That day, just as Qi Lanshi finished her classes and was about to head to her part-time job at the convenience store, she spotted the familiar car.

The window rolled down, revealing the secretary’s face.

The secretary’s tone left no room for negotiation. “Miss Qi, please get in the car.”

Qi Lanshi stood her ground, her brow furrowed as she maintained her character. “I told you, I need to work. Please stop harassing me.”

The secretary smiled serenely. “I’ve brought a replacement worker, so you don’t need to worry about burdening the store.”

To be fair, the game’s portrayal of the CEO’s secretary was remarkably accurate. The secretary was impeccably thorough, leaving no room for criticism.

Yet Qi Lanshi remained unmoved.

“I need the money,” she said. “If I don’t work today, I won’t get paid. I’m just an ordinary person struggling to make ends meet. Please stop disrupting my life. Is that too much to ask?”

Qi Lanshi’s tone and expression carried a hint of theatrics, but her words rang true: she was genuinely a humble worker, both in reality and in the game.

This is too miserable.

Her real-life situation was self-inflicted, but in the game, she couldn’t endure another day like this.

She needed to start laying the groundwork now, securing herself a luxurious and decadent gaming experience.

The secretary’s gaze held a trace of pity, but duty compelled her to side with Luan Hua.

“If Miss Qi insists on going to the convenience store, I’ll have to accompany you until you agree to get in the car.”

After two more tugs, Qi Lanshi decided she’d made her point. She lowered her eyes, every micro-expression radiating resentment and stubbornness, before finally biting her lip and opening the car door.

“Sit in the back,” Luan Hua’s voice suddenly cut through the air.

To say Qi Lanshi jumped would be an understatement.

What’s with this woman? She’s been here the whole time, silent as a ghost, only to pop out at the crucial moment and scare me?

With a face etched with reluctance, she slid into the back seat, leaving a person’s width between herself and Luan Hua.

Luan Hua felt a vein throb at her temple. She wanted Qi Lanshi to lean closer, but she knew she wouldn’t listen.

Instead, she simply lay down with her head in Qi Lanshi’s lap.

The wolf tail brushed against Qi Lanshi’s skin, causing a slight itch and discomfort. She frowned, trying to push Luan Hua up.

“Don’t bother me,” Luan Hua said, gripping her hand firmly.

Qi Lanshi glanced at the faint dark circles under Luan Hua’s eyes, hesitated, and decided against it.

Based on the game’s insistence on forcing lessons upon players, Qi Lanshi figured Luan Hua was likely genuinely working, hence her exhaustion.

Leaning back in her seat, Qi Lanshi idly struck up a conversation with the secretary. “Where are we headed? To a hotel?”

Before the secretary could answer, Luan Hua snapped, “What are you saying? Is that all you can think about?”

Qi Lanshi chuckled, amused. “CEO Luan, someone who signed a master-slave contract, is asking me that?”

She lowered her voice, her moonlit eyes carrying a seductive glint. “Of course I’d think that way. My master only seems to have such desires for me. Isn’t that right, Master?”