The Movie Queen's Virtual Little Girlfriend - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Weibo

Through Fang Qing’s eyes, Jiang Yitong could see her sincerity and enthusiasm. She seemed so earnest, clearly thinking genuinely about the script.

In the drama, the two were indeed childhood best friends, though their relationship had drifted apart as they grew up. Jiang Yitong didn’t think there was anything wrong with the current lines, but since Fang Qing had new ideas, she was naturally willing to listen.

As it turned out, Fang Qing still hadn’t fully grasped her character.

Among the four people present, besides Fang Qing herself, no one could agree with the lines she had modified.

A female actress sitting beside Jiang Yitong seemed to freeze instantly after hearing Fang Qing’s lines. She stiffened for two seconds before hugging her own arms, her trembling acting so realistic it felt genuine.

She complained without mercy: “Fang Qing, I’ve got goosebumps, not from the cold, but from how cringey your modified lines are, you know?”

Fang Qing looked at Jiang Yitong, waiting for her evaluation, only to receive the response: “It’s not very good, it’s a bit much.”

Before she could even defend herself, she watched as Jiang Yitong skipped over this awkward little episode in the next second, turning to discuss things with the other actress and completely ignoring her existence.

As she turned her face away, Fang Qing took a small, deep breath, lowered her head, and squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

She had only had a sudden burst of inspiration moments ago, hoping to get a word of praise from Jiang Yitong to draw her attention. She didn’t care if she gave anyone else goosebumps, she only wanted Jiang Yitong’s feedback. Unfortunately, the result did not go as she wished, it was completely the opposite of what she had expected.

Watching Jiang Yitong talk happily with others, dark undercurrents surged in her heart.

The morning shoot ended, and Jiang Yitong sat alone on the sofa in the lounge, closing her eyes for a brief nap. The room was heated, and her fair face was slightly flushed.

After resting for a moment, she took her phone from the pocket of the down jacket hanging on the sofa armrest, logged into Weibo, and scrolled through her feed.

No matter who she followed, she only glanced at their new posts briefly, her fingertips constantly sliding across the screen, skipping one update after another.

She had become accustomed to the frequency of her fingers sliding upward, her eyelids lowered as she scrolled listlessly, but in the next instant, she stopped abruptly. Her fingertip hung in mid-air, frozen over the screen.

She didn’t know what kind of post she had seen that was so unbelievable, but she unexpectedly revealed a rare expression of confusion. Her eyes widened slightly, and she brought the phone closer to her face to discern if she had misread it.

The disturbances of the internet rarely interested her anymore; a situation like this was extremely rare.

Her brow furrowed tighter and tighter, and a soft huff escaped her nose. It wasn’t mockery or disdain; it was an exclamation of surprise that she couldn’t help but express.

As if to confirm something, Jiang Yitong flipped the phone screen up twice before sliding it back to the page where she had just stopped.

Nothing had changed. The page was exactly as it was, stuck on one person’s latest Weibo post.

Jiang Yitong was certain she had never followed this person, but somehow, this person’s Weibo appeared in her feed. However, the most important thing wasn’t whether she followed them or not, but… this person shouldn’t exist on Weibo at all.

Everything in this world is constantly changing. Jiang Yitong was never certain of anything, but regarding this, she could be absolutely sure: it was impossible for this to exist in the world, unless it was manipulated by someone behind the scenes.

She tried clicking on that person’s avatar to enter their homepage, and to Jiang Yitong’s surprise, it navigated smoothly.

The person followed about twenty people. Jiang Yitong had no interest in clicking to see who they were, but she clicked on the only fan in their list. Not surprisingly, she saw herself.

This meant she was the other person’s only fan.

As for the number of posts, there were only ten or so in total; she could reach the bottom in one swipe.

Jiang Yitong suddenly wondered if it was because of her lack of sleep last night that she was having hallucinations, mistaking an illusion for reality.

That was most likely it.

A person who didn’t exist in this world having a Weibo account dedicated to her, having an inexplicable mutual follow with her, and posting a Weibo post related to her—if this were truly happening, she would be “planted” on the Weibo trending list by now.

Yet, the surroundings were quiet. Feng Man had not come to tell her if she had once again “graced” the trending list.

Jiang Yitong simply locked her phone, slowly set it down on the sofa cushion, rubbed her eyes, and relaxed her brow.

Two or three minutes later, she opened her phone again, refreshed the page, and scrolled down. She rarely acted against her own logic, but she was wasting time just to confirm it was a hallucination and not reality.

The motion of her fingers sliding quickly across the screen came to a halt again. A strange feeling climbed up Jiang Yitong’s back. In this room, which was so warm it was almost stuffy, she felt a chill down her spine. The situation was truly eerie.

Jiang Yitong didn’t intend to verify anything else. She relaxed her tense body, treating it as a dream; once she woke up, everything would cease to exist.

Only, she couldn’t yet find a reason to explain why, in the dream, she had followed Jiang Er’s Weibo and seen this post that Jiang Er had released at exactly midnight.

Perhaps it was because Jiang Er had whispered “Happy New Year” in her ear too many times, she found it annoying, so her brain remembered it and played it back without her control.

That was fine, too. It was just a dream. In reality, Jiang Er, as a game NPC, would never have a Weibo. If she did, it would be created and maintained by game staff. But there were at least tens of thousands of people playing this game, each with different NPCs, different names, and different personalities. How could the staff register Weibo accounts for each one of them? Of course, it was impossible for Jiang Er.

This was the third time—the third time Jiang Yitong had browsed the text of this Weibo post that Jiang Er had released at the very first second of the New Year. Unlike the previous two times of skimming, she looked at it more closely this time.

Jiang Er er: “Happy New Year, my Yitong. We are still together in this new year. I hope that this year we can both have our wishes fulfilled, and I hope you are happy. You aren’t allowed to put too much work pressure on yourself. Remember to try to relax; let’s walk this road one step at a time. Also, there are many things I want to accomplish with you this year, to make up for everything we missed last year.”

This was a blessing post written to her, for them. At the end were the goals that the person who wrote the blessing wanted to achieve.

Reality and illusion entangled once more. While reading this text, Jiang Yitong sometimes entered the role, feeling inexplicably real, as if they truly had a good relationship; at other times, she felt it was ridiculous, knowing that no matter how moving the wish, it was all fake—the person was fake, and the dream was even falser.

However, at least one sentence was useful to her: walk this road one step at a time. That was exactly what she was doing now, walking every step solidly and steadily.

There was a comment below Jiang Er’s post. If the number of comments were high, Jiang Yitong wouldn’t be interested, but the fact that there was only one attracted her to click it.

Successfully caught the zero-hour mark! It means good luck has been favoring me since the very first second of the New Year. I hope all my wishes come true: I want to meet Yitong, I want to go on a trip with Yitong, and I want to do many, many things together with Yitong.

The comment was posted by Jiang Er herself. Combined with the content of the Weibo post, it seemed like she was talking to herself, staging a one-person show in this narrow space.

Even though both the post and the comment mentioned her, Jiang Yitong still didn’t leave a reply.

She knew that leaving one would be useless, and there was no need for it. Not leaving one meant Jiang Er was performing her solo show; leaving one meant they were both playing their own parts. Either way, it was just acting.

With time to act in a virtual world, she might as well read the script for a while. The filming schedule in the afternoon was tight, and she had to film several scenes in a row. Therefore, every actor present had to fulfill their maximum responsibility, at the very least, they couldn’t be a drag on the crew.

She was one of the lead actors, she was in almost every scene, so her responsibility was naturally the heaviest, and she couldn’t afford to slack off.

As she exited Weibo and prepared to lock the screen, a message notification popped up at the top, as if it had perfectly predicted her behavior. It caught her eye at that exact moment.

She glanced over and saw that the notification was from the game A Grain of Red Bean, from Jiang Er.

Are you busy, Yitong? Or are you on your lunch break? I just finished a list of plans for this year, things I want to accomplish with you. Do you want to see it?