The elegant young girl stopped in front of Chu Lian and extended her hand. A faintly shy smile bloomed on her beautiful face as she said, "Chu Lian, it's nice to meet you. My name is Yuki Hatsune."
Chu Lian blinked at her unexpected approach, then reached out her small hand to clasp the girl's delicate fingers before gently withdrawing it. Looking up at the girl, who stood a head taller than her, she replied softly, "Hello."
"Are you wondering why I came to find you?" Yuki Hatsune asked. Though she had initially spoken in Japanese, her words now flowed in fluent Mandarin, allowing everyone present to understand her clearly.
"I think I've heard your name somewhere before," Chu Lian said with a thoughtful nod. "But I can't seem to recall where."
"I remember now!" Cai Ya suddenly exclaimed after staring at Yuki Hatsune for a while. "She's Neon's rising music prodigy—the songstress everyone calls the 'Princess Diva'. Her fame in Neon is as widespread as yours was after your New Year Gala performance. Practically everyone knows her."
Her words startled the others—and Chu Lian herself froze for a moment before realization dawned. So that was why the name had sounded familiar. She must have come across it while browsing information online.
After all, her main platform was M Station, a site centered around ACG culture—where most members were enthusiasts of anime, comics, and games.
As that thought drifted through her mind, Chu Lian suddenly recalled a report she'd read shortly after arriving in this world—an analysis of Huaxia's current cultural landscape.
Huaxia had long entered an age of literary prosperity. Its emphasis on literature and creative writing had far surpassed any other nation in the world. It was as though the country had revived the glory of ancient dynasties, once again placing supreme value on the written word.
However, with the advent of the new century, the rapid development of the internet, and the shrinking distance between countries, the nation no longer enforced a "single school of thought" like the old days. There was no modern equivalent to "honoring Confucianism and suppressing all others."
Yet precisely because literature had grown so dominant, the people's passion for it overshadowed everything else—leaving other cultural industries neglected.
Most of the country's top talents had devoted themselves to writing, leaving few to pursue other forms of art. Consequently, while Huaxia achieved remarkable success in international literary competitions and exchanges, it lagged far behind in other creative fields.
Film, animation, comics, games, even music—all were in decline. More and more people were drawn to the brilliance of literature, losing interest in other artistic pursuits.
If things continued that way, literature would eventually become bloated, while the rest of Huaxia's cultural landscape withered—until perhaps, one day, literature would stand as the only remaining field of pride.
Recognizing this imbalance, Huaxia's leaders began implementing various cultural support and incentive policies. Celebrities across different provinces joined the cause, and many writers also lent their influence to revive other art forms. Thanks to these efforts, the growing cultural desert was brought under control before it could worsen.
Over the past decade, the Hanfu revival movement had sparked a renaissance of classical art and aesthetics; the film industry had seen success through adaptations of literary masterpieces, drawing public interest once again.
But the greatest transformation came in the world of music. This change began in 2008, when a woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere and sang a song titled Moonlit Ripples on the Jade Lake, captivating the entire world. That single performance revived the long-declining Huaxia music scene.
Even so, animation, comics, and games remained largely stagnant.
Take comics, for example—a field demanding enormous time and effort. As literature flourished and other art forms declined, the market for comics shrank drastically. Artists earned far less than writers. After all, why would someone spend a whole week drawing a comic, only to earn as much as a novelist who could make the same in a single day by writing ten thousand words? It was no surprise, then, that fewer and fewer people chose to create comics.
As fewer people drew manga, even fewer went on to study animation. Without manga as the cradle of visual storytelling, the number of those who persevered in creating original works dwindled—and successful ones became even rarer. One by one, another generation of dreamers gave up in despair.
Finally, there was gaming. For a game to truly captivate players, it must possess three essential elements: a compelling story, refined art design, and engaging gameplay that keeps players coming back. Only when all three are present can a game truly be called a good one.
Among these three, story was the easiest to achieve. In Huaxia—a nation where literary masterpieces were as numerous as the stars—it wasn't difficult to find talented writers to craft a script. Not to mention, countless literary works could be adapted directly; that part was never a concern.
Next came art design. The role of an artist was to design characters, environments, color palettes, models, clothing, accessories, weapons, and even monsters. Yet this required a solid foundation in illustration. When the number of artists declined, so too did the number of illustrators—and naturally, capable designers became scarce as well.
Finally, there was gameplay. Without bold imagination, without diverse experience with game mechanics, without understanding the psychology of the gaming community, and without thorough market research—how could one ever know what kind of game could lead trends or capture hearts?
In Huaxia, a nation that seemed almost intentionally guided toward a collective love for literature, other forms of entertainment were treated lightly. Reading novels was seen as noble; watching movies, listening to music, or playing games—mere distractions. If even film, music, and animation struggled to attract interest, what hope was there for games? Without roots, how could sprouts grow? And without sprouts, how could one ever speak of creation or innovation?
Thus emerged a phenomenon reminiscent of the old doctrine of "exalting Confucianism above all." It wasn't an official policy of the state this time, but rather a mindset shared by the people themselves—a national atmosphere shaped by collective values.
Even now, though the situation had improved somewhat, the underlying mindset remained, refusing to fade away.
This led to another effect: outside the small, oft-criticized otaku circles, few people paid attention to foreign celebrities. After all, there were so many domestic stars who were still barely known—who had the time or energy to follow foreign ones? "Why waste time on that," they would say, "when you could read a book instead?"
As a result, unless someone belonged to the same subculture, the average person wouldn't recognize a foreign celebrity even if they stood right in front of them.
"I suppose I'm not doing too badly, then…" Yuki Hatsune said lightly, noticing Chu Lian zoning out again. She seemed entirely used to it by now. Her words were spoken to Cai Ya, half in jest, half with self-deprecation—and yet tinged with a quiet joy that others couldn't quite read.
Only Cai Ya truly understood that feeling. Among ten young people today, at least six devoted themselves to literature; the remaining four were scattered across all other creative fields.
In such an environment—where literature was the mainstream—how much determination had it taken for her to convince her family to let her become a songstress? Thankfully, it wasn't like it had been years ago. After the rise of the Jade Wave Fairy, the music scene had finally begun to recover.
It was far from fertile ground, and though the Hanfu movement had overtaken it in popularity over the past two years, music still fared better than many other fields, steadily gaining more acceptance.
Had the environment not improved so much, Cai Ya's dream would have been crushed before it even began. Even after performing at the New Year Gala and achieving nationwide fame, she still couldn't compare to the newer rising stars in literature.
After all, the belief that "literature comes first" had long been engraved in people's hearts over the decades. No matter how talented someone in another field might be, they were still viewed as second-class by comparison.
Perhaps that was why the system had chosen "Debut of the Literary Girl" as Chu Lian's very first main quest. Only with a solid foundation could true growth follow—and without a doubt, it had succeeded.
Reflecting on her own struggles, Cai Ya understood the meaning behind Yuki Hatsune's words: "In a country like Huaxia, where people seem uninterested in anything outside literature, to be recognized at all as a new singer—it's truly something to be happy about."
It was self-mockery, yes—but it was also her honest sentiment.
Of course, it wasn't that no one could bridge the gap between music and literature. Chu Lian herself had already done exactly that.
Clearly, Chu Lian, lost once again in her thoughts, had missed another chance to glimpse into the heart of the girl before her. By the time she returned to herself, Yuki Hatsune and Cai Ya had already been chatting for quite some time. Blinking, Chu Lian scratched her head and gave an awkward smile. "Sorry, I was thinking about something and kind of… forgot about you two."
Yuki Hatsune lifted a slender finger and waved it playfully. "No problem at all. Everyone already knows about Chu Lian's little habit. A lot of people find it endearing, actually—because a daydreaming Chu Lian is really cute."
"Hmph. Fox spirit…"
The sharp remark came from Chu Chu, who had been quiet all this time. Her words made Yuki's body stiffen slightly before she composed herself again.
Chu Lian frowned. Chu Chu was usually obedient, but sometimes her jealousy showed in the worst possible ways. To make such a comment upon first meeting someone—wasn't that too rude?
She turned toward her sister, only to see Chu Chu looking stubbornly away, clearly avoiding her gaze. Seeing this, Chu Lian could only sigh and offer an apologetic smile. "My little sister is still young and doesn't always understand proper manners. Please don't take it to heart, Miss Hatsune."
Yuki shook her head gently and smiled. "I'm not upset. In fact, she's not wrong. I did appear rather suddenly—so it must have seemed a bit abrupt." Her fair cheeks flushed with a delicate pink, soft as blooming rose petals, making her beauty all the more captivating.
"I came here today just to introduce myself," she continued, her tone calm and sincere. "Since we're both musicians, I couldn't help but want to hear your thoughts about music. But it seems I've disturbed you. I'll take my leave for now—but next time we meet, let's have a proper talk, okay?"
Chu Lian reached out instinctively, unsure whether she meant to stop her or to wave goodbye. She simply stood there, watching as Yuki Hatsune turned and walked away.
"We'll definitely meet again," Yuki's gentle voice drifted back on the breeze. "When we do, let's really talk."
Chu Lian looked after her, the setting sun painting the slope in gold. A faint tear slipped down Yuki's cheek as she turned her head, catching the light like a crystal drop before falling to the ground. Against the evening glow, the moment was heartbreakingly beautiful.
In the end, she was only a passing encounter in Chu Lian's story—but perhaps, when fate brought them together again, their meeting would not be so fleeting.