Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 8

Qi Lanshi herself was far more adept at playing games than this Holographic Game. She had realized this the moment she moved into her single dorm room.

But when she uttered the word “Master,” and saw Luan Hua’s ears flush crimson, she realized she might have overestimated something.

At that moment, Luan Hua, the very person who had concocted this absurd master-servant contract, suddenly looked like a pure-hearted maiden being teased—shy, bashful, and blushing. This made Qi Lanshi feel even more like a scoundrel.

In the front row, the secretary, who had been about to respond, immediately clamped her mouth shut after hearing those words, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

She had no desire to become part of the boss’s little lover’s role-playing game.

“Speak properly,” Luan Hua said coldly. “Don’t be so… shameless. Remember your place.”

“Isn’t my place all written in the contract?” Qi Lanshi retorted. “At your beck and call, ready to give you whatever you want. I’ve been working hard enough whenever you need me, CEO Luan.”

As she spoke, Qi Lanshi couldn’t resist lightly touching Luan Hua’s earlobe.

Luan Hua’s eyes snapped open. “Who gave you permission to touch me?”

Qi Lanshi: “……”

This was precisely why she loathed playing games with CEOs—those insufferable creatures.

CEOs, a species with somewhat unstable mental states, exhibit symptoms such as frequent outbursts of anger, irritability, arrogance, adolescent delusions of grandeur, and a sense of absolute self-importance. Some even suffer from various psychological and physiological disorders.

They are particularly fond of role-playing scenarios, such as master-servant contracts, White Moonlight substitutes, mistaken identity rescues, using marriage as a means of revenge despite being consumed by hatred, and the “marriage before love” trope.

Luan Hua was currently exhibiting several of these classic CEO traits.

But no matter—Qi Lanshi knew how to handle him.

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” she countered. “Or is it only under specific circumstances, in specific locations, that I’m granted the privilege of touching you?”

As she spoke, her hands grew increasingly bold. Instead of withdrawing, they slid from Luan Hua’s earlobe down his neck, finally settling on his collarbone, stopping there.

“You…” Luan Hua frowned.

Qi Lanshi merely raised an eyebrow, her eyes brimming with suggestive intent.

She hadn’t streamed today, precisely to avoid any potentially explicit content that might lead to a report—a risk not worth taking.

But if today’s game sessions were entirely educational, wholesome, and positive, then skipping a night’s stream would mean missing out on a significant chunk of revenue.

She glanced around the car’s interior, feeling quite satisfied. Not only was it spacious, but it also offered excellent privacy—after all, it was the CEO’s car, providing ample room for her to explore new content.

Just as she was observing her surroundings, the car came to a stop.

The secretary stepped out, opened the car door, and said gently, “Please exit the car, Miss Qi.”

Qi Lanshi: “……”

The car hadn’t stopped at the hotel entrance, nor had it found a quiet, secluded spot. This meant Qi Lanshi’s plan to explore new business opportunities had fallen through.

She sighed inwardly, but remained true to her rebellious persona. Instead of getting out, she frowned and asked, “Where are we? What are you bringing me here for?”

“You don’t need to ask, and you have no right to ask,” Luan Hua said, stepping out first and forcibly dragging Qi Lanshi out with her. “Within two hours, I want her completely transformed from head to toe,” she instructed the secretary.

Qi Lanshi understood.

This was the classic “ugly duckling makeover” trope from dramas: the stubborn, kind-hearted but penniless female lead, guided by the CEO, undergoes a complete transformation, stunning everyone.

Of course, she’d also have to stun the CEO, and the female lead would have an inner monologue: I can’t believe the person in the mirror is actually me.

Qi Lanshi was completely hooked on this cliché, yet melodramatic plot. As expected, Luan Hua would be taking her to a social event like a banquet today, where a new wave of NPCs would dutifully serve as cannon fodder, advancing the storyline between the CEO and the White Flower.

She narrowed her eyes slightly and mentally told the System, “The plot is finally heading in the direction I’m most interested in. I’m so happy.”

But facing Luan Hua, she maintained a deep frown, expressing her resistance. “I don’t need this. Unless you reveal your true intentions, I won’t cooperate with anything you do.”

Luan Hua clicked her tongue impatiently, her patience clearly exhausted. She had no desire to waste time on this predictable drama.

She gripped Qi Lanshi’s chin, her gaze and tone ice-cold. “It seems you still haven’t grasped your place.”

As she spoke, she raised her hand. The secretary, ever perceptive, stepped forward with a tablet and played a live stream for Qi Lanshi.

The stream’s resolution was poor, and Qi Lanshi stared intently for a long moment before belatedly realizing: the person on screen was her character’s father, Qi Feng.

It was hardly her fault she hadn’t recognized him immediately. Her biological parents had died young, leaving her with only faint and pitiful memories of them. She was already struggling to recall their faces.

And Qi Feng was merely a game-generated character, bearing no connection to her real-world father. It would have been stranger if she had recognized him.

Qi Lanshi’s silence, in Luan Hua’s eyes, could be summed up in four words: feigned stoicism.

She still cared about Qi Feng, her father, after all. He was her only living relative. Her apparent coldness stemmed from being frozen in place, unable to move, after that disastrous livestream.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for him because of his situation,” Luan Hua said, gripping Qi Lanshi’s chin and forcing her to look up. “Show me the resolve you had when you demanded his hands be severed. Don’t act like a foolish weakling and make yourself a laughingstock.”

Qi Lanshi met her gaze. “What’s he doing?”

“Working illegally, barely scraping by—can’t you see?” Luan Hua snapped.

Qi Lanshi had never considered what her father, who had lost both hands in the game’s lore, was doing or where he was.

This was her first time playing a holographic game, and it was unlike anything she’d experienced before. The level of realism exceeded her wildest expectations.

She was genuinely attending school, taking classes, and working part-time. Luan Hua had her own affairs to attend to as well. It stood to reason that Qi Feng would have his own timeline too, but she had never cared enough to inquire about it until now.

“So… does he get paid for this job?” Qi Lanshi hesitated.

Luan Hua: “……”

Qi Lanshi’s focus caught her off guard. Her brow furrowed deeper. “Of course not. He’s lucky to be alive. Why would he expect a normal wage?”

Luan Hua sighed deeply.

She had been hoping Qi Feng’s wages could be directly deposited into her account. She had even prepared a plausible excuse: Qi Feng’s checkered past made her fear he would gamble the money away, so she would manage it for him.

But Luan Hua, the capitalist, had crushed her plan, leaving ordinary people no way to survive.

How tragic, how utterly tragic.

Luan Hua frowned at Qi Lanshi’s dejected expression.

To Luan Hua, Qi Lanshi’s concern for Qi Feng was a sign of foolishness and weakness. But…

Qi Lanshi’s weakness wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Luan Hua needed Qi Lanshi to be more obedient.

She turned to her secretary. “You have one hour and fifty-five minutes remaining.”

The secretary, who had been trying her best to blend into the background, sighed inwardly. She addressed Qi Lanshi with polite but firm insistence: “Miss Qi, please.”

Qi Lanshi had been anticipating this part, but she still let out a leisurely sigh before following the secretary inside.

Although the task was ostensibly assigned to the secretary, her role was merely to oversee the aesthetics. As soon as Qi Lanshi entered the room, she was swarmed by stylists, so many that she nearly couldn’t breathe.

In just two hours, she was completely transformed from head to toe. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in masks, not even her toes were spared.

A group of makeup artists huddled together, designing the perfect look for her. Meanwhile, stylists nearby coordinated hairstyles, outfits, and jewelry to complement the makeup.

The secretary was the final arbiter, reviewing each ensemble and offering her feedback.

And Qi Lanshi, the very person at the center of this whirlwind of activity, was asleep.

She was genuinely exhausted. Work was tiring enough, and now she had to attend school in the game as well. Every extra moment she slept in the Holographic Game was another precious moment of slacking off.

By the time she was woken up, everything had been meticulously arranged. She simply needed to follow the staff to change into her outfit.

Qi Lanshi yawned, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, until the staff gently instructed her to inhale deeply, then again, and again, urging her to take even deeper breaths. As she gradually struggled to breathe, her eyes widened slightly.

“Is it possible… this dress just doesn’t fit me, or maybe the size is wrong?” Qi Lanshi asked.

“Absolutely not,” the staff member replied calmly. “You simply ate too much for lunch and lack regular exercise, leading to muscle laxity.”

Qi Lanshi: “……”

Taking a deep breath, she muttered to the System, “As soon as I get out of here, I’m reporting you. Giving me body image anxiety, are you?”

The System let out a sigh.

Despite her grumbling, she gritted her teeth and forced herself into the dress, declaring, “From now on, I’m done with these transformation scenes. I hate them.”

By the time she finally struggled into the dress, she had barely made the two-hour deadline.

The secretary never imagined that the near-miss that almost caused her to fail at her job would be Qi Lanshi taking half a day to put on a dress.

Luan Hua had finished her tasks half an hour earlier and was growing increasingly impatient waiting. The fact that she was waiting for Qi Lanshi only fueled her irritation.

From the moment they signed the agreement, Qi Lanshi had proven less docile and obedient than Luan Hua had anticipated. Moreover, Luan Hua had already wasted far too much time on her.

Take, for instance, this very moment.

Luan Hua glanced at her wristwatch again, her fingers drumming incessantly on her knee, betraying her displeasure. Her secretary was about to apologize for her oversight when the dressing room door suddenly swung open.

“How do I look?” Qi Lanshi asked, though she already knew the answer.

Since childhood, Qi Lanshi had been aware of her beauty. She never believed anyone could be beautiful without knowing it, unless they were completely isolated from the world, never seeing outsiders and thus unable to objectively assess their own appearance.

During her years living under the roof of others, she had learned to leverage her looks to make her life easier.

Now, in the Holographic Game, she continued to exploit her advantages, emphasizing her charm at every turn.

She also understood what Luan Hua wanted to see in her: not a dazzling beauty, but someone truly like moonlight—cool, gentle, yet not unattainable, a substitute within reach.

So Qi Lanshi bit her lip, her face etched with a pitiful mix of nervousness and discomfort. Frowning slightly, she said, “If it doesn’t look good, it’s fine. I’m not used to wearing this anyway. I’ll go change…”

“No need,” Luan Hua interrupted, offering a stingy compliment. “It’s… passable.”

Qi Lanshi was becoming increasingly like the White Moonlight of Luan Hua’s dreams. All traces of awkwardness had vanished from her demeanor. Though she might still feel slightly uneasy, her beauty was now perfectly complemented by a touch of shyness, like a delicate embellishment.

The white cocktail dress fell three inches above her knees, boldly showcasing her slender legs. Her long hair was swept up into an elegant updo, adorned with a small tiara that made her resemble a proud white swan.

The designer had paired the dress with earrings and a necklace, but anyone who saw Qi Lanshi would immediately be drawn to her face.

She shone brighter than any jewel.

The moment Luan Hua saw her, all her earlier irritation vanished.

Isn’t waiting a little longer for Qi Lanshi like this worth it?

“Let’s go,” Luan Hua said, rising and offering her arm.

Qi Lanshi stared at her for a moment before realizing what she should do, then placed her hand in the crook of Luan Hua’s arm.

“Where are we going?” Qi Lanshi asked.

“I need a female companion for a social engagement,” Luan Hua said, her patience wearing thin. “Just be a decorative piece. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

Qi Lanshi feigned ignorance. “In situations like this, shouldn’t it be a male-female pair? You’re missing a male companion.”

Luan Hua laughed as if she’d heard a joke. “A man? As if they’re worthy.”

Qi Lanshi: “……”

Now, she finally found Luan Hua’s character somewhat intriguing.

Though she didn’t know why the System notification had suddenly appeared, she sensed that attending the banquet was a plot point. Whether good or bad, something significant was bound to happen.

Sure enough, as the car came to a smooth stop and Qi Lanshi was about to step out, System options popped up.

The options were not only absurd but also borderline idiotic.

System:     Players may choose to refuse to attend the social engagement or find an opportunity to leave early.  

  Being a substitute is already humiliating enough. The memory of the bar incident is still fresh in Qi Lanshi’s mind. She doesn’t want to become the laughingstock of others.  

Having lost everything but her dignity, she only wanted to escape this suffocating place and the woman who had ruined her life.

She wanted freedom!

Qi Lanshi took a shallow breath.

Every time the System presented a brain-dead choice, it included annotations, as if afraid players wouldn’t understand the character. In a way, this could be considered well-intentioned.

But Qi Lanshi was naturally rebellious.

She disembarked from the car, her arm linked with Luan Hua’s, playing the role of a mere accessory, just as Luan Hua had instructed.

A gentle, faint smile graced her lips as she mentally addressed the System: “If you didn’t want to come, you could have said so earlier. In Luan Hua’s territory, I can cause all sorts of trouble. But now, after changing into the gown and arriving at the venue, to suddenly refuse at the last minute isn’t about stubbornly protecting your dignity—it’s just plain foolishness.”

Qi Lanshi had already made enough foolish mistakes in real life. In the game, she only wanted to… be dramatic.