“Alright, read on,” Chi Zhan said.
“I also offer in-person sleep support. You’re less than ten meters away—should I come over?”
Chi Zhan shot back immediately.
“Do. Not. Need.”
Plan foiled.
Chu Xingxiao had no choice but to give up on breaching the defenses. With Chi Zhan dead set on keeping him out of the bedroom, he resigned himself to reading. He picked up the thick tome he hadn’t finished last time, determined to make it past page one. But before he even got halfway through, both he and Chi Zhan had dozed off.
The next day, at the office.
After a lovely weekend, the tense work atmosphere resumed in full force. Preparations for the annual company gala were underway. The long holiday would follow—but only for regular employees.
For players, the holiday period was prime plot time. In fact, it was often the most advantageous stretch for progressing romance routes. Recently, Chi Zhan had noticed a surge in new players entering the game.
“I’m sorry, you can’t go in.” The receptionist smiled politely. “You’ll need an appointment.”
“Huh? I need an appointment?” the man said in dismay. “How long will that take?”
“President Zhou’s earliest availability is Thursday afternoon.”
“Four days? Are you serious?” The young man clutched his forehead in despair, then caught sight of Chi Zhan’s badge—bearing the Executive Office seal—and latched on like a drowning man to a life raft. “Hello there, Mr. Chi—uh, I mean, Secretary Chi. Um…”
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well… could you maybe lend me a hand? I want to see Zhou Yanxing.” The young man had wide, innocent doe eyes and a sweet, naive air. “You’re a high-level NPC, right? Shouldn’t you be giving me some kind of hint?”
The player’s name was Lu Xiao, a total newbie who hadn’t yet shaken off the habits of playing flat 2D romance games.
But really, what was the difference? Asking the receptionist just got him the same robotic answer every time—“No appointment, no entry.” He’d tried it over fifty times, just to be sure there wasn’t some hidden “repeat inquiry unlocks secret plot” Easter egg.
Clearly, Chi Zhan was different from the other NPCs. His looks were off the charts, completely out of sync with the surrounding environment. He had to be important.
The game’s strategy guides had already revealed the four main love interests. If he hadn’t checked beforehand, Lu Xiao might have mistaken this man for a target himself.
The game had been live for over a month, and no one had managed to successfully romance even one of the main male leads. It had already earned a spot on the “Most Difficult Dating Sim” rankings, which had attracted a flood of curious new players. Lu Xiao had joined because of that—but he hadn’t expected it to be this realistic.
As a regular person, he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the CEO.
He was torn between laughing and crying, but he wasn’t about to give up. If this was a game, there had to be a way to break through. The only problem was, what was the key?
He could only flail about blindly for now.
Chi Zhan thought for a moment, then gestured toward a nearby meeting room.
“Please come with me.”
No way—did he actually stumble onto the right path by accident?! Lu Xiao was practically weeping with joy. He glanced at Chi Zhan again. Something about him seemed familiar… Had they met before?
Was this guy a fellow player? Didn’t seem like it.
“May I ask your name?”
“I’m Lu Xiao.”
“You wanted to see President Zhou—was there something specific you needed?”
Chi Zhan gestured for him to sit and poured him a cup of tea.
Lu Xiao froze with the teacup in hand. Why did he want to see Zhou Yanxing? To romance him, obviously! No—wait, was this part of the game’s testing system? If he gave the wrong answer, would he blow his chance?
He fumbled awkwardly, then suddenly remembered the identity card he’d drawn.
The game gave every player one free identity draw. High-ranking identities—SSR cards—were rare unless you were a big spender. He’d drawn a very average card, but it did seem to be tied to Zhou Yanxing.
Lu Xiao read it aloud.
“The 1,111th… blind date candidate chosen by President Zhou’s mother?”
Even Chi Zhan paused at that. Lu Xiao fell silent too.
That number—did it mean over a thousand players had tried to go on blind dates with Zhou Yanxing, and not a single one had succeeded?
“I see,” Chi Zhan said with a slight nod. “I’ll check with President Zhou. Please wait here.”
It had been a long time since Chi Zhan had seen a player. The sudden appearance of one actually felt a little novel.
His Favorability Panel was practically gathering dust.
Out of habit, he opened it up for a quick look. As expected, Zhou Yanxing’s favorability toward Lu Xiao was a flat zero. He was about to close the panel when he noticed something new next to Zhou Yanxing’s name—a black symbol resembling a devil’s head, half shaded in black and the other half white.
Chi Zhan had never seen that icon before.
Inside the CEO’s office, executives came and went, reporting on various projects. Chi Zhan, seeing a window of opportunity, made a cup of coffee and slipped in a sticky note before bringing it in.
Sure enough, Zhou Yanxing was swamped. Over thirty minutes passed before he finally summoned Chi Zhan.
Chi Zhan stepped in.
“President Zhou, Mr. Lu would like to see you.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? No,” Zhou Yanxing snapped.
Chi Zhan had anticipated this reaction.
“But he’s the 1,111th blind date your mother set up for you. Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”
“Secretary Chi,” Zhou Yanxing glanced up, appraising him, “if you’re so invested in my love life, why don’t you help me out instead?”
***
When it came to blind dates, Zhou Yanxing had always followed one rule: go if you had time, squeeze it in if you didn’t. Because if he didn’t show, Madam Lin would personally call to “check in,” asking what exactly was wrong with the latest match. She’d even include her own glowing reviews, praising the candidate to the heavens and back.
It was maddening.
Eventually, Zhou Yanxing learned to play it smart. He’d schedule the meetings during weekday lunch hours—people were already working, so grabbing a quick meal with a stranger could be passed off as coincidental. Once it was over, he’d mark it off with a perfunctory, Nice enough, but no spark.
