After Spending Money on In-Game Purchases, I Discovered my Girlfriend was a Real Person - Chapter 1

Outside the window, the summer sun was a blinding, brilliant white. It spilled through the floor-to-ceiling glass and draped a thin, shimmering layer over Sui Zhenxing. As the light touched her, it seemed as though her body absorbed all its heat, leaving behind only a lukewarm, stagnant lethargy that felt uncomfortably like expired yogurt.

Sui Zhenxing had been slumped in her studio chair; one that supposedly featured a top-tier ergonomic design for nearly three hours. Her solitary achievement during this time was a repetitive tapping motion as she finally cleared every single red notification dot from the social media apps on her personal terminal. She even managed to dismiss the fitness app that kept reminding her she had logged in for three hundred and sixty-five consecutive days.

“Xingxing.”

A voice laced with amusement drifted over to her. It was Xu Mian, who leaned in with her head tilted, peering at Sui Zhenxing with mischievous eyes. Her fingers were still stained with wet, blue-black ink.

“Are you here to cosplay as a wilting ivy plant?”

Sui Zhenxing didn’t even bother to lift her eyelids. Her voice was lazy, carrying a perfectly calibrated sweetness. “Sister Mian, I am currently engaged in deep mental composition.”

“Oh? And what have you composed?”

“A void.”

Xu Mian let out a sudden burst of laughter.

From the direction of the breakroom, Jiang Yushi’s voice joined in as she walked over, carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

“Give it a rest. She’s just being a literal corpse. I’d bet five star-credits that she was definitely watching videos of cats fighting just now, rather than thinking about how the Empress in Ghost Bride is finally going to break the ice in the next scene.”

“Sister Yushi, that’s not fair.” Sui Zhenxing finally cracked her eyes open sluggishly, revealing a pair of clear, dark eyes filled with both innocence and a blatant refusal to work. “I was observing human dynamics to find inspiration for my characters. What’s wrong with cats fighting? That is a pure manifestation of life force.”

Song Yao poked her head out from behind her partition. “Life force? Then why don’t you try drawing some of that life force?”

Sui Zhenxing replied with total conviction. “I can’t. It’s too full in my heart right now; it simply won’t overflow onto the page.”

A ripple of low laughter echoed through the studio.

The atmosphere here was wonderful since the team consisted entirely of women. They all knew that this “little princess” of the boss’s family was incredibly talented and sweet-natured, yet she suffered from intermittent bouts of laziness and a chronic desire to stay horizontal. Unfortunately, she was also blessed with a silver tongue that made it impossible for anyone to truly stay angry at her.

Xu Mian gestured toward her with a playful finger. “You always have an answer for everything.”

Sui Zhenxing was naturally gifted with striking looks. She had inherited Shen Yan’s refined bone structure and Sui Yuebai’s soft features, and her long, straight black hair hung loosely around her, making her small face appear even paler. At the moment, she pouted slightly in her habitual gesture of acting spoiled.

“My heart and my liver are both weeping for our masterpiece, but the tears are only flowing inward~”

Song Yao wasn’t buying it. “Save it. You said the exact same thing last month, and the month before that. Xingxing, are your heart and liver so prone to crying that they’ve gone completely dehydrated?”

“Sister Yao understands me. I’m dehydrated, and I need the irrigation of some milk tea to recover.”

Sui Zhenxing began counting on her fingers. “I need full sugar, extra ice, and double pearls! Perhaps that will replenish the inspiration sugar I’ve lost.”

Xu Mian cut her fantasy short. “In your dreams. Sister Yuebai gave us strict orders before she left to keep an eye on you. She said we aren’t allowed to let you numb yourself with sugar anymore. She also mentioned that if you still haven’t drawn anything soon, she’s going to toss you into one of Auntie Shen Yan’s body-sculpting classes.”

Sui Zhenxing visualized the physical training sessions designed by her mother’s partner, the cold and icy Shen Yan. Those classes were essentially military drills, and the mere thought sent a shiver through her, causing her to slump even deeper into her chair.

“…In 그 case, I choose to remain an ivy plant.”

“Please do not bring me into this.”

Her look of utter despair amused the group once again.

Jiang Yushi placed the coffee on her desk, her tone softening slightly. “Alright, let’s stop pushing her. You can’t force inspiration, though Sister Yuebai and Sister Shen Yan only want what’s best for you because they’re worried you’ll get stuck in a rut. Take a break, and maybe one day everything will just click.”

Sui Zhenxing buried half her face in the crook of her arm, leaving only her eyes visible as she blinked. “Mhm, I know. Thanks, Sister Yushi.”

Jiang Yushi patted her on the head before returning to her station. Xu Mian also shook her head with a smile and went back to her work. The studio settled into a quiet hum once more, punctuated only by the scratching of digital pens on screens and the occasional rustle of paper.

Sui Zhenxing remained in her slumped position, but her fingers silently slid across her terminal screen. She opened a familiar app, its cover featuring the silhouetted gaze of the protagonists from The Ghost Bride and the Empress.

The number in the message notification bar was a staggering “999+”.

After bracing herself mentally, she tapped into it.

At the very top was the official hiatus notice posted by the studio. The wording was tactful, explaining that the creator needed time to settle and search for inspiration while thanking everyone for their continued support.

The comment section was a study in extremes.

The top comment read: “Understandable and supported! Take a good rest, Baby Xing! We’ll wait for you! [Heart][Heart][Heart]”

Thousands of similar comments followed beneath it.

“Xingxing’s health and mood are the most important things! Ghost Bride is already amazing, we aren’t afraid of waiting!”

“It’s normal to hit a bottleneck during creation. Take your time, we’re always here.”

“Time for a third re-read! I find something new every time! Xingxing is a treasure!”

These warm words felt like soft feathers brushing against her heart, bringing a faint sense of comfort and a slight tickling sensation.

Sui Zhenxing’s lips curved upward unconsciously, though she quickly pressed them back into a flat line as she continued scrolling down.

Beyond the support and consolation, discordant voices suddenly jabbed out at her.

“??? Another hiatus? Is your inspiration Schrödinger’s cat, Miss Heiress? It’s been over a year and how many chapters have you actually released?”

“I’m over it. Is she just being this self-indulgent because she has a bit of talent? Is the readers’ time not valuable? Just drop the series already; is there any point in stringing people along?”

“The start of Ghost Bride was so stunning, but look at it now. The plot is dragging and the characters are starting to fall apart. If you’re out of ideas, don’t force it. Ending it early would be better for everyone.”

“Are you serious, Princess? Another break? How many times is this now? Do you really think you’re a royal and the whole world has to revolve around you?”

“Unfollowed. This is too tedious. I’d rather go read XXX’s serialization; at least they update consistently.”

“I heard the author is just a shut-in parasite who lives off her mother. No wonder the stuff she draws is getting more and more narrow-minded and lacks any real vision.”

******

One after another, the comments were sharp, mocking, disappointed, or purely malicious.

Sui Zhenxing watched them with an expressionless face, as if she were browsing product reviews that had nothing to do with her. She found herself distracted by the comment calling her a parasite, thinking that it was actually quite close to the truth in some ways.

She really was just idling away her days in her mother’s studio…

Sui Zhenxing fell silent, almost tempted to give that particular comment a like. However, she never replied to these remarks, nor did she ever publicly express any dissatisfaction. The face she used to act obedient seemed to be welded onto the surface of her soul, making it difficult to take off even when she was alone facing a screen.

But did she truly not care? That was impossible.

The words were like tiny icicles piercing her skin. They didn’t draw blood, but they accumulated steadily, coating her heart that’s already weakened by her lack of inspiration, in a thin layer of frost.

She remembered every single comment that had made her heart skip a beat. She remembered the IDs and could even roughly recite the tone of their voices.

She exited the app and locked the screen.

The world was finally quiet.

The light outside the window moved slowly, sliding from her shoulders to her back and outlining her thin, silent silhouette. Sui Zhenxing stayed in her hunched position for a long time without moving.

Xu Mian occasionally looked up at her and whispered to Jiang Yushi nearby, “Did she actually fall asleep?”

Jiang Yushi shook her head and mouthed back, “Leave her be.”

They were all used to it. Sui Zhenxing’s hibernation state was like a natural phenomenon that couldn’t be interfered with; they could only wait for her to wake up on her own.

It wasn’t until the end of the workday that the colleagues began packing their things to leave.

Xu Mian walked over and patted her shoulder. “Xingxing, we’re heading out. Remember to check the power outlets before you lock up.”

Sui Zhenxing lifted her head from her arms, her face once again wearing that slightly dazed and well-behaved smile. “Mhm, goodbye, Sister Mian.”

“See you tomorrow. Eat a good meal,” Jiang Yushi reminded her.

“I know, Sister Yushi.”

Song Yao was the last to leave, and she thoughtfully turned the air conditioning up by two degrees before heading out.

When the studio was finally empty, the gloom permeating Sui Zhenxing’s surroundings seemed to grow even thicker. She finally sat up straight and indulged in an agonizingly slow stretch. Moving to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, she looked down at the neon lights flickering to life and the endless stream of headlights flowing through the streets below.

After standing there for a moment, she returned to her desk and switched on the digital screen.

The display flickered to life, revealing the unfinished line art for the latest page of The Ghost Bride and the Empress. The Ghost Bride’s pale fingers were just about to graze the Empress’s cold cheek in an atmosphere that felt both intimate and tense. It was a scene rich with narrative potential, and it was the very last thing she had drawn before going on hiatus.

Sui Zhenxing picked up her pressure-sensitive pen and held it poised over the screen.

The tip eventually descended, but not onto the canvas. Instead, she began absentmindedly sketching chaotic, disorganized lines in the empty margin. She drew circle after circle, tangling them together like the messy, inextricable thoughts currently cluttering her mind.

She simply couldn’t draw.

She knew exactly what the readers wanted: conflict, confessions, and a fierce, decisive passion that broke all taboos. There was a time when she possessed that same eruptive desire to express herself, spending page after page illustrating the Empress’s deeply hidden love.

Now, however, that spark was gone. The sea of fire that once burned with stories in her heart had been reduced to a pile of cold ash.

“Sui Zhenxing, you’re finished…” she whispered to herself.

She tossed the pen aside and leaned back against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling. Acting obedient was easy, as was handling the concern and teasing of her colleagues. Yet, when faced with this creative wasteland, she found she had nowhere to run.

Her phone vibrated with a message from Sui Yuebai: “My precious Xingxing, Mom made your favorite sweet and sour ribs, so come home early~ [Kiss] Mom Shen Yan also got off work on time today!”

This was followed by a characteristically brief message from Shen Yan: “Mhm.”

The warmth of home was within her reach, so Sui Zhenxing replied with a cute sticker of a nodding cat: “Got it, I’m on my way back now! Love you, Moms!”

As she put the terminal down, the smile on her face slowly faded. She lingered in the studio for another half hour, aimlessly surfing the web and watching funny GIFs. It wasn’t until the sky outside turned completely pitch black that she finally stood up to leave.

Before locking the door, she took one last look at the studio submerged in darkness. The drawing tablets, the monitors, and the stacks of sketches had all become blurred silhouettes. The place looked like a silent castle waiting for her to wake it up, while she felt like a lazy princess who had lost the key.

Stepping into the elevator, she saw her expressionless face reflected in the mirror. With her long black hair, fair skin, and delicate features, she looked perfectly well-behaved and quiet. Only she could see the persistent, deep-seated exhaustion lingering in the depths of her eyes.

Maybe she would have inspiration tomorrow.

She knew deep down that this was likely just another habitual lie she told herself to numb the pain.

When she stepped out of the building, the warm summer night breeze hit her, carrying the unique, bustling scent of the city. Sui Zhenxing pushed her gloom down, adjusted her expression to look more normal, and merged into the crowd of commuters.

She needed to go home and immerse herself in her mothers’ gentle care to gather enough energy to keep up her act.

Alternatively, she needed to find another world, an absolutely perfect world that would allow her to escape this barren land entirely.

She remembered hearing about a new game recently called Empty Moon. The advertisements were everywhere, promising a “fully immersive experience to build your second life.”

She had seen one of those ads in the elevator featuring the silhouette of a gentle woman accompanied by the text: “The person you’ve been waiting for is waiting for you.”

At the time, she had simply scoffed at it.

Now, as she walked home and watched the lights of ten thousand households, that advertisement suddenly resurfaced in her memory.

The person you’ve been waiting for.

Who was she waiting for? She didn’t know. She only hoped for inspiration and an end to this feeling of being trapped. She longed for a place where she didn’t have to act obedient, didn’t have to care about comments, and didn’t have to face this creative desert.

Anywhere would do.

Her phone vibrated again. It was Sui Yuebai: “Xingxing, where are you? The ribs are almost ready~”

Sui Zhenxing quickened her pace and temporarily suppressed her thoughts about the game.

She would go home and eat dinner first.

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