The Movie Queen's Virtual Little Girlfriend - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Reality

A figure appeared before Jiang Yitong’s eyes.

Her upper body was positioned right in the center of the phone screen, occupying more than two-thirds of the display. The background looked like… the head of her bed.

It should be a headboard; behind her was a propped-up white patterned pillow with a very realistic texture. She leaned against the pillow, her gaze seemingly meeting Jiang Yitong’s through the screen.

And her appearance, her face—was even more realistic.

This face didn’t look like something produced by a game at all. It was so real that it felt as if a living person was on the other side; it didn’t feel like playing a game, but rather like having a video call with a lover across the screen.

Even Jiang Yitong’s perennially unchanged, calm, and unflappable expression was shaken by this image. Her eyes widened slightly, followed by a light furrowing of her brow.

During this past half-month, although she hadn’t touched the game again, she hadn’t forgotten the scene from the first time she opened it.

When Jiang’er was still “Jiang Er,” her appearance was nowhere near this realistic. She had been a virtual 3D avatar, making Jiang Yitong instantly aware that she was in a game world and that everything she faced was artificial.

How was it that upon opening the game again, everything had completely changed? It had become so unfamiliar, enough to make one gasp in wonder.

Jiang Yitong’s first instinct was to attribute the cause to the game itself, assuming the development team had undergone a massive overhaul during this period. Such powerful technology was truly astounding.

Yet, precisely because the image and the person’s appearance were too real, she suddenly felt a very strange sensation.

It felt too much like being randomly connected to a stranger online—a netizen she had never met before. They didn’t know each other, didn’t understand each other, and knew absolutely nothing about the other’s past experiences.

To be precise, Jiang’er knew nothing about Jiang Yitong, other than perhaps her occupation as an “office clerk.”

As for Jiang Yitong, she could at least see Jiang’er’s face. If she wished, she could analyze this NPC through her expressions and movements.

Jiang’er had a cute baby face and fair skin. Her large, spirited eyes made her look even more youthful and delicate. The profile indicated her age was twenty-six and her birthday was March 6th, but judging solely by her face, Jiang Yitong would subjectively guess she was at most eighteen or nineteen.

As for other data such as personality, hobbies, and background—they were all blank, clearly waiting for Jiang Yitong to explore. She would eventually obtain this information about Jiang’er through the narrative text.

In the frame, Jiang’er maintained a faint smile throughout. However, this smile didn’t look fake; instead, it was quite sweet—the level of sweetness comparable to the taste of a ripe strawberry in one’s mouth.

This made Jiang Yitong feel that they weren’t like a couple already in love as the game setting suggested. In this ambiguous stage, they felt more like people meeting for the first time tonight—not yet in love, but in the process of getting to know each other.

They were still standing at the starting line.

Meeting and getting along with new colleagues at every film set was unavoidable, but in her private life, Jiang Yitong had never been comfortable with human contact—especially with someone like Jiang’er, a total stranger.

In this updated, hyper-realistic game world, the only thing she was grateful for was that the NPC inside could not see her through the screen.

If she could be seen, it really would turn into a video call with a stranger.

On the screen, Jiang’er spoke two sentences. Her thin lips parted and closed as subtitles floated by. After these two sentences, she stopped talking, waiting for Jiang Yitong’s response.

During the wait, her eyes would occasionally blink naturally. There was a faint halo of light cast on her face and body from a lamp, mirroring Jiang Yitong’s current situation.

It was as if Jiang’er was also a real person existing somewhere else in this city—perhaps in her own bedroom, or perhaps in a hotel room just like Jiang Yitong—holding her phone and pointing the front camera at herself.

Jiang Yitong glanced at Jiang’er, then at the bedside lamp beside her. It was casting light and shadow over her in the exact same way as shown on the screen.

Everything was too real, making her want to marvel at the visual fidelity once more. However, her expression remained unchanged, as flat as a glass of still water. She quickly reigned in her internal emotions, unwilling to waste what little time she had left.

When Jiang’er spoke for the first time, Jiang Yitong hadn’t turned on the volume, so just like her first time entering the game, she hadn’t heard the other’s voice.

This time, she didn’t leave it at that. She turned on the phone volume, adjusted it slightly higher, and went back to let Jiang’er repeat the two sentences from before.

“Yitong, you’re here.”

“It’s already so late, why aren’t you resting yet?”

It began with her name; the two characters “Yitong” were softly called out by Jiang’er.

This was the first time Jiang Yitong had heard Jiang’er’s voice. It didn’t quite match her youthful face and sweet smile; her tone wasn’t exactly “sweet,” but rather a gentle yet powerful sensation.

It was slightly deep, with a magnetic quality that was completely different from what Jiang Yitong had imagined.

It was the dead of winter, and Jiang Yitong had to rely on the heater for warmth in her room, but Jiang’er’s voice was like a spring breeze, carrying a mellow warmth into her heart.

Jiang Yitong was caught off guard and dazed for a moment. Her brow arched, and her eyes narrowed, pulling the corners of her eyes into long, thin lines.

Soon, however, she returned to her calm state. The subtle change in expression seemed as if it had never happened as she continued to gaze at the screen with an indifferent look.

On the screen, Jiang’er’s expression didn’t freeze after she finished speaking. she smiled lightly with vivid expressions. Her smile was sweet as she waited for Jiang Yitong to reply.

Different from the last time she played, the game no longer provided pre-set player responses. After the update, conversing with the NPC seemed to require typing one’s own words.

This was the conclusion Jiang Yitong reached after seeing two boxes pop up at the bottom of the screen.

The two boxes were buttons. The top button said “Text Input,” while the bottom button allowed the player to “Speak,” which required granting microphone permissions first.

Jiang Yitong didn’t think the second option held any meaning. So what if she spoke? Could an NPC built from data and code truly hear her voice? Or would the two of them really be having a conversation?

She couldn’t believe it, nor would she casually enable camera or microphone permissions. So, she began to type, her fingertips tapping quickly on the screen.

Mhm, I’ll rest in a bit. Just came to see you first.

After the message was sent, Jiang Yitong saw Jiang’er lower her gaze. She tucked her head down a bit, but she couldn’t hide the slight upward curve of her lips.

Jiang Yitong didn’t move, silently watching her on the screen, her eyes showing no fluctuation.

She didn’t have much patience, so naturally, she couldn’t give Jiang’er much time. Fortunately, Jiang’er soon lifted her head, the smile on her face not diminishing in the slightest.

When facing Jiang’er head-on, the smile Jiang Yitong captured was even more radiant and conspicuous than when her head had been lowered. This time, besides that touch of sweetness, her smile carried a hint of faint shyness.

At the thought of what caused this shyness, Jiang Yitong couldn’t help but knit her brows.

Just because of her emotionless, bland sentence, Jiang’er had become shy. This sense of unreality contradicted the physical realism of Jiang’er’s face. This sudden feeling of discordance instantly pulled Jiang Yitong out of the experience.

She tapped the screen lightly. Jiang’er’s response text continued to appear at the bottom of the screen, accompanied by her voice echoing in the empty, quiet room.

“Yitong, get some rest soon. It’s already too late today.”

“You have to work tomorrow, don’t you? How is this enough sleep?”

“So, put down your phone now and go to sleep, okay?”

Jiang Yitong didn’t have the volume high, but Jiang’er’s gentle voice drifted slowly into her ears.

It still began with that “Yitong.” It was similar to the previous time, yet one could clearly hear a different intonation, leaving Jiang Yitong unable to fathom how the game developers had achieved this.

She fluctuated between reality and fiction, like a taut string with two experiences on either end—sometimes leaning to the left, sometimes tilting to the right. This intense sense of fragmentation made it impossible for her to have a truly good experience with the game.

Jiang Yitong didn’t play games much and didn’t know what other games were like, but in this game, she hadn’t expected to be urged to put down her phone by an NPC.

As it happened, that was exactly what she intended. She had no lingering attachment to the game. After replying to Jiang’er with a single word, “Okay,” she calmly clicked exit.

She placed her phone on the bedside table, devoid of any further thoughts. She turned off the bedside lamp and lay down.

The friction between her clothes and the quilt made a slight, rustling sound, encircling her ears clearly in the quiet room. Once she settled and closed her eyes, everything sank into an infinite silence. A wave of exhaustion surged, pulling Jiang Yitong into a deep sleep.

She drifted off quickly, as if the entire world had fallen silent with her.

The next morning, Jiang Yitong went down to the restaurant alone for breakfast. When she returned to her room, she brought up a cup of coffee as usual.

She sat on the small sofa, her coffee placed on a side table, taking occasional sips. Her phone sat beside the coffee, currently broadcasting the recent news through two hosts. On this leisurely morning, Jiang Yitong leaned back into the sofa with her eyes closed, resting her mind.

She cast everything aside, settling into a state of quietude without distracting thoughts, making her exceptionally relaxed.

It wasn’t until she opened her eyes and turned to take another sip of coffee that she suddenly paused. Her gaze drifted to the phone screen next to the cup.

The screen was on; she hadn’t locked it, keeping it on the news interface. Glancing at the two hosts speaking, she minimized it to background play, and her eyes caught the “A Grain of Red Bean” app icon.

Her urge to enter the game wasn’t that strong, yet after a two-second hesitation, she lightly tapped the icon, letting the screen automatically jump into the game interface.

Simultaneously, the sound of the news stopped, replaced by the slow, gentle melody of the game’s background music.

The game finished loading in the span of a single breath, and Jiang’er’s face—always wearing that faint smile—appeared before Jiang Yitong’s eyes.

“Good morning, Yitong.”

Jiang’er’s voice was slightly deep, but it couldn’t hide the joy in her tone.

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