The Movie Queen's Virtual Little Girlfriend - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Interest

Jiang Yitong knew that what she was doing right now was essentially meaningless.

She had thought that by now, she wouldn’t engage in such pointless activities, yet to her surprise, she found herself doing it anyway. Just like that morning, when she had managed to stop herself in time and quit the game, she now found herself logging back in.

Jiang Yitong asked herself: what exactly did she want to get out of this game? Was it merely the feeling of being in love? But had she actually obtained that feeling? Clearly, not yet.

She began to understand. Perhaps it was precisely because she hadn’t yet achieved the experience she sought that her heart compelled her to keep playing. It was the same as her own working style: if she hadn’t reached the desired result, she would keep at it until she completely admitted defeat.

However, this game was different from reality. It was “wrong” from the very beginning; there was no room for turning back. The ending was already set, and no matter how much she played, nothing would change.

Jiang Yitong’s thoughts drifted. When her focus returned, she saw Jiang’er staring at her, unblinking. She didn’t know how long Jiang’er had been watching her. She met Jiang’er’s gaze, subconsciously trying to decode the emotions hidden in the other girl’s eyes.

Yet, all she could see was boundless concern. Those light-colored pupils shimmered, pure and devoid of any impurities. Her eyes were too clean, too bright—as if they were always shrouded in deep affection. Aside from love, there seemed to be no other emotion present.

Therefore, the NPCs in the game could only ever be NPCs.

Jiang Yitong didn’t believe that anyone in the real world could possess the kind of fiery, boundless love Jiang’er displayed. She had only seen such people in films and television—as illusory as bubbles ready to shatter at any moment.

A second later, she shifted her gaze away from Jiang’er and began to type a reply: “I’m doing alright.”

Only after waiting for Jiang Yitong’s response did Jiang’er seem to exhale in relief. Thinking of something, she sighed softly, “Yitong, it’s a pity that we are separated by distance. If we lived in the same city, I could be by your side, and we wouldn’t have to video call every time like this… does it feel very tiring?”

Jiang Yitong: Which city are you in right now?

Skipping over Jiang’er’s question, Jiang Yitong asked a serious one. Upon hearing it, Jiang’er couldn’t help but laugh softly. She grinned, her eyes curving into crescent moons, “Yitong, have you forgotten? I’m in Yue City.”

Yue City.

Although Jiang Yitong was a Northerner and was currently in the North, she was, of course, familiar with the famous Yue City. Yue City was a great place to view the sea, just as her own birthplace, Ye City, was a great place to appreciate the snow.

Unfortunately, she had left her hometown with her mother at a young age. Although she still lived in the North, she rarely saw snow anymore. Later, after graduating from film school, she spent most of her time filming in studios in the South, making it even harder to catch a glimpse of snow. This time, returning to the North with the film crew and nearing the end of the year, the temperatures were dropping day by day. She knew that this time, she would likely see snow.

But whether she saw the snow or not mattered little to her now.

A long time ago, she had lost interest in beautiful scenery. She didn’t care for high mountains, flowing water, the stars, or the sunset. Whenever she saw these sights, she remained as calm as always; she couldn’t feel the joy that such beauty was supposed to bring. Feng Man said she was numb—that outside of acting, she was often like a block of wood. Although she didn’t argue back, she had to admit in her heart that perhaps she really was a bit numb.

Jiang Yitong didn’t know whether the “Yue City” mentioned by Jiang’er was a name designated by the game company based on the real-life city, or if it was just a coincidence—a name they had picked at random.

Another long silence followed. This time, Jiang’er didn’t wait for Jiang Yitong to speak first. She had been smiling, her eyes reflecting that joy, but then her expression slowly收敛 (receded/calmed). Her gaze remained gentle and lingering, but mixed with a hint of sorrow.

“Yitong, I miss you so much.” She spoke suddenly, her tone deepening.

Jiang Yitong exited the game, set her phone on the coffee table, and got up to go to the bathroom.

She still had the habit of playing podcasts while drying her hair. The background noise played continuously. She couldn’t hear what the host was saying, but she let it play. She had never felt that listening to someone speak without actually absorbing the content was meaningless. How could it be meaningless? The host’s voice was powerful; even without listening to the content, just hearing the person speak provided her with a temporary sense of relaxation.

In her spare time, drying her hair was in itself a healing act for her. The roar of the hairdryer wasn’t too noisy, and coupled with a powerful voice nearby, she felt more soothed. She called this “late-night spiritual massage.”

Until she finished drying her hair, the podcast continued to play. Jiang Yitong checked the progress bar; there were five minutes left. She lowered the volume, set it to automatically turn off when finished, then put her phone on the nightstand, turned off the lights, and lay down, letting the world fade into darkness.

The host was still narrating something. Drowsiness hit Jiang Yitong fiercely. The host’s complete sentences became fragmented in her ears—she heard “life,” she heard “living,” she heard “cinema”—and then her consciousness sank completely, and she could hear nothing at all.

Time flowed quietly. When Jiang Yitong woke up again, the room was still dim.

The room remained as dark as if it were still the middle of the night. A long, slender arm reached out from the warm quilt, her delicate fingers accurately finding the switch and clicking on the bedside lamp. The warm light immediately illuminated the circle around Jiang Yitong’s upper body, hanging above her head.

The phone showed it was nearly 6:00 AM. Her filming was scheduled to start at 8:30 AM. Though there was plenty of time, she didn’t plan on going back to sleep. She picked up her phone and turned off flight mode, waiting a few seconds for it to reconnect to the hotel Wi-Fi. Notifications popped up one after another, flashing across her screen.

First was a push notification from a video site about a new movie release. Jiang Yitong checked it—it was a movie she had pre-ordered over two months ago, which had just gone live this morning. She had brought her laptop to the set, but she had used it very rarely since filming began, only occasionally taking it out to watch a movie. The rest of the time, it stayed in her suitcase like an unused object; she preferred a clean desk with as few items as possible.

She silently noted the viewing plan. If she had free time in the coming days, she could finally watch this movie she had been looking forward to for over a year.

The second notification was a news item; she gave it a glance and swiped left to delete it.

As for the third notification… unfortunately, it was related to “A Grain of Red Bean” (the game). It was the familiar software icon and the name Jiang Yitong was used to: “Jiang’er.” The notification showed that Jiang’er had wished her a good morning, just a few minutes prior.

Was this timing a coincidence by the game’s push settings, common to every player, or had the game randomly set Jiang’er’s wake-up time to just past 5:00 AM?

Jiang Yitong hadn’t expected to have doubts about such a trivial matter, but since the message was already there, she decided to click in and take a look at Jiang’er’s background and status.

So far, she had seen two scene settings: one where Jiang’er was in pajamas leaning against the bed ready to sleep, and another where Jiang’er was in light makeup sitting in an office. Entering the game at this hour might result in a scene setting different from the previous two. What would Jiang’er’s state be? Would she be lazy and cute with sleepy eyes, or would she have pulled herself together, looking clean and tidy?

Jiang Yitong was surprised to find that her interest had been piqued by this.

“Good morning, Yitong. Are you up? You woke up so early today.”

As soon as the game finished loading, Jiang’er’s face, as bright as peach blossoms in spring, immediately appeared on the screen. She was wearing pajamas, but her face clearly looked like she had just washed it not long ago. Her long hair was tied up, and she wore a pinkish-blue headband at her hairline, pulling back the stray strands—the headband even featured two small rabbit ears.

Jiang Yitong noticed that there were unintentional water droplets on the strands near Jiang’er’s temples; the image was vivid and detailed.

In the quiet room, only Jiang’er’s voice could be heard. Jiang Yitong brushed her fingertip across the volume key, turning it up so Jiang’er’s voice could come through more clearly. She didn’t rush to reply, knowing Jiang’er likely hadn’t finished speaking yet.

Whether she had guessed Jiang’er’s thoughts, or Jiang’er had seen through her and played along, the girl’s voice resumed after a two-second pause. “I just got up too. I just finished washing up and am getting ready to make myself some breakfast.”

“Ah… Yitong, wait a second for me.”

In the next moment, the screen flashed—as if the phone camera had suddenly wobbled and been moved by Jiang’er—and Jiang’er’s figure vanished from the screen. This gave Jiang Yitong the illusion that, in a video call, one party found it inconvenient to hold the phone, so they put it down to do something else.

She had the same feeling: this game’s graphics were top-tier, but the content was relatively ordinary—the art design was far superior to the gameplay.

A few seconds later, when Jiang’er appeared on the screen again, she had changed slightly. The headband was gone, her bangs had been neatly groomed and were no longer messy, and only her ponytail remained as it was. When she smiled at Jiang Yitong, her dimples appeared at the corners of her lips, making her smile look even sweeter.

“Alright, I’m going to the kitchen now. Let me show you my little kitchen. I’m always tinkering with gourmet food in here. Although what I make probably can’t be called ‘gourmet’ yet, it should be decent.”

“If there’s a chance in the future, Yitong, I want to make it for you to taste.”

Jiang’er spoke while walking. The background moved, and the screen wobbled slightly, but this level of movement didn’t obstruct anything; instead, it made the scene feel even more authentic. Her tone was playful, as if she were acting coquettishly toward Jiang Yitong. Fortunately, this coquettishness wasn’t excessive; it was fluid and natural, her voice slightly deep and unpretentious—not enough to make Jiang Yitong feel disgusted.

Disgusted? No. Liked? Not exactly. Jiang Yitong just watched her on the screen calmly, listening to her talk and watching her show off her kitchen. While playing Jiang’er’s voice recordings, she no longer needed to look at the subtitles, keeping her eyes fixed on Jiang’er’s eyes.

Jiang’er introduced her beautiful and exquisite kitchenware to Jiang Yitong one by one. When mentioning things she was interested in or loved, her excitement was clear—her expression, her movements, and her tone all conveyed her passion to Jiang Yitong very clearly.

Perhaps Jiang Yitong didn’t realize it herself, but at least for one moment, she was indeed momentarily dazed.

Through Jiang’er’s bright eyes, she saw a figure similar to her own—a figure who was young and would ramble endlessly when mentioning things she loved. She wouldn’t feel parched, only filled with joy, feeling that life was beautiful, the world was beautiful, and how wonderful it was to have something you loved.

Jiang’er spoke by herself for a while, and now that she was finished, she waited quietly for Jiang Yitong’s response, a hint of expectation on her face.

And this time, the length of Jiang Yitong’s reply was unprecedentedly long.

She replied: “Okay, if there’s a chance in the future, let me taste what you’ve made.”

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