Full of anticipation, Ji Yuenian followed behind—no, with—the young man all the way into the bedroom, where she finally saw the “mini-program model” Jiang Chi had mentioned earlier.
More precisely, it was a picture of a unique black-and-white mask, displayed in the upper left corner of a laptop.
Jiang Chi skillfully maneuvered the mouse, his fingers deft as he clicked the model open, then steadily aimed the webcam right at Ji Yuenian.
With a function much like a camera, the clear screen split into two—on one side was Ji Yuenian’s softly made-up, round and delicate face; on the other, a grid filled with selectable faces: some handsome and debonair, some pure and charming, some devilish and dark, some plain and unremarkable.
Jiang Chi clicked on a random face, and in an instant, the delicate features on the screen were replaced by a sharply defined, extremely masculine face.
When Ji Yuenian smiled, that face smiled.
When Ji Yuenian frowned, that face frowned.
When Ji Yuenian bared her teeth, that face did the same.
No matter what expression or action she made, the face on the screen could copy it perfectly, vivid and lifelike, just like a real person.
“AI face swap, beauty filter, fine-tuning the details—can guarantee that 99% of people won’t notice any flaws. If you’re not satisfied, you can even adjust things manually.”
As he introduced it unhurriedly, his mouse clicked again, entering a face customization program. A gender-neutral face appeared prominently, and beside it, a column of parameters—things like nose bridge height, lip thickness—could all be tweaked with the mouse.
“Uh… Jiang Chi, what I need is a girlfriend, or someone who can pretend to be one, to go home with me. What’s the point of this thing?” Ji Yuenian’s mind didn’t quite keep up.
“There’s no need to actually bring someone home. Since your girlfriend’s character is supposed to be afraid of strangers, shy, and has social anxiety, it’s perfectly normal she wouldn’t dare to meet in person.”
“As long as you stick to the story that she refuses to meet offline and will only agree to meet online, I’m sure Aunt Huang and Uncle Ji will understand.”
Jiang Chi said lightly.
Ji Yuenian’s eyes lit up at that.
But then her elegant brows furrowed, and she subconsciously touched her chin. “Then how am I supposed to convince them?”
“That’s up to you, Minister Ji,” Jiang Chi said, closing the laptop. He turned his gaze to Ji Yuenian, his voice calm. “However, there’s an even bigger problem right now.”
“What?” Ji Yuenian was puzzled.
“I’m hungry.” The man said the three words breezily.
Ji Yuenian froze for a moment, then swiftly hooked her arm around his shoulders, laughing heartily, “Hahaha! Come on, let’s go eat out!”
“No, better yet, let me cook. I’ll show you my skills in the kitchen!!”
—
As everyone knows, the hardest part about cooking isn’t the actual cooking—it’s all the tedious prep work before: buying groceries, washing, chopping, and after eating, the headache of washing dishes, wiping tables, and cleaning up leftovers.
Ji Yuenian’s cooking skills were thanks to her mother, Huang Qingchuan, who’d taught her well from a young age: cooking, flipping the wok, always reminding, “If you want to win a woman’s heart, you have to win her stomach first.”
And yet, after all this time, she still hadn’t won any woman’s heart—instead, she’d captured a certain dog-man’s appetite.
“Hand me the chilies. Separate the green and red peppers.”
“Told you, use farm eggs, not sterile ones.”
“When peeling tomatoes, remember to score an ‘X’ with a knife first, then scald them with boiling water—that’s the right way.”
In the kitchen, the “big sister” held the knife in her left hand and pressed the meat with her right, neatly slicing strips while barking instructions at the man helping beside her.
“Who taught you to cut scallions like that?” Suddenly, Ji Yuenian noticed Jiang Chi’s odd way of cutting scallions, her beautiful brows furrowing. Most people hold the base and slice from the tip.
But Jiang Chi insisted on starting in the middle—one cut, fold, another cut. Needlessly complicated, inconvenient, and almost obsessive-compulsive.
“Self-taught recently,” Jiang Chi didn’t even look up, eyes fixed on the scallion tips as he continued his folding and slicing method. “Originally, it was just one scallion. But when I cut it in half, now it’s two.”
“One goes into the scrambled eggs, the other into the fried rice. That way, I don’t have to choose between the two dishes.”
What kind of twisted logic was that?
Ji Yuenian’s mouth twitched.
Never mind. Jiang Chi had a mild mental disorder—best not to argue with him. Otherwise, if he got upset and stabbed himself with the knife, what then?
With that thought, Ji Yuenian edged away a little, but didn’t realize when Jiang Chi had lifted his head, his gaze quietly fixed on her. In his mind, that strange thought arose again.
If there was a way to cut Ji Yuenian in half—split her in two—would she become two separate people?
If there were two Ji Yuenians, could he have them both?
—
September 27: Cooked with Ji Yuenian today. She’s a great cook, the food was delicious—especially the spicy chicken and tomato egg stir-fry.
In a rented room, by the bedroom’s desk under stark white lamplight, the boy with those deep blue eyes set down his pen and ended his diary entry for the day.
He closed the diary, picked up a nearby medicine bottle, shook out a few pills, and swallowed them with water.
The special medicine slowly dissolved in his mouth, sweet with a hint of chocolate’s rich aroma.
After taking his medicine, Jiang Chi went back to fine-tuning and polishing the mini-program he’d edited. Once satisfied, he pulled out the book he’d just bought today from the desk.
A dual-female-lead novel.
Jiang Chi had rarely shown any interest in such fantasy works before. But now… his gaze swept over the lively lines of text—intimate interactions between the protagonists, their little daily struggles and warmth, all their hardships. Warm scenes flashed endlessly through his mind.
The soft lamplight illuminated the boy’s face, and fell upon the pages of the book as well. Though it was only rows of words rearranged, at this very moment they could soothe the long-standing gloom in his heart, bringing him a sincere sense of joy.
Perhaps he wanted something too badly, perhaps he didn’t want to choose, or perhaps there was some other reason—but the boy invested all his feelings into this book.
He wanted them both.
At the same time, in another bedroom, the “tough guy” Ji Yuenian was on the phone with her parents, deploying her masterful powers of persuasion.
“Yeah, that’s right, Mom. I’m staying at my girlfriend’s place tonight.”
“Right, tomorrow—I promise you’ll get to meet her!”
“By the way… Mom, Dad, can we discuss something? She’s kind of shy…”
“Yeah, just a remote video call.”
“Ai~ Dad, don’t make it hard for me. I’m working on it, too! I can’t exactly force her—otherwise, she’ll just disappear!”
“Mm mm mm, thanks, Mom and Dad! Long live understanding!!”
Not until she hung up did the boulder in Ji Yuenian’s heart finally come to rest, her back drenched in sweat.
“Wuhoo~”
She spun in her chair, letting out a cheer as she twirled in place several times, celebrating another successful deception.
The chair slowed to a stop. Ji Yuenian reached for an unmarked plastic pill bottle on her desk, shook out three tablets, and tossed them in her mouth, crunching them.
Sweet and sour—just like eating sour plum candy.
Jiang Chi had thrown her this bottle after her last checkup, claiming it was a supplement to help her grow.
Ji Yuenian didn’t doubt it—or perhaps, by now, she’d come to trust Jiang Chi just a little. Three times a day, three pills each time, always on schedule.
“It’s a bit itchy~” After swallowing, she frowned, scratching at her chest with her small hand, unsure if it was the change of season or something else.
Her chest kept itching for no reason lately, and her lower belly would sometimes grow inexplicably hot, as if a stream of scorching heat was flowing through her.