After finishing her conversation with the system, the "Didi Dating" service officially launched.
By evening, the woman whose Mandala genes had been suppressed by Ren Yuanhao's earth-attribute qi returned to her workplace.
She was a bar singer, drifting between different bars with no fixed job or stable income. At home, her four-year-old daughter was cared for by her mother.
Yes, she was a divorced woman. Those who crawl out of the grave of marriage always become exceptionally sharp.
Her ex-husband was an alcoholic who would fly into drunken rages. Even during her pregnancy, she wasn’t spared from his beatings.
Fortunately, the child was strong. On the day she was born, the man was drunk again, causing chaos throughout the hospital.
But from that day on, she resolved to cut ties with him completely. The meager savings she had were soon drained by raising her child and supporting her mother.
As soon as the child was weaned, she began searching for work, exhausted and running herself ragged.
Now, sitting under the dim, hazy bar lights, the woman couldn’t help but feel emotional recalling these memories. But she had long grown accustomed to controlling her emotions—rarely did her singing waver because of them.
She had no fans, no striking presence. Though she could sing decently, the kind of fairytale where a talent scout discovers her only happened in cheesy TV dramas.
She wasn’t that lucky.
To make matters worse, she had no idea what happened last night (the Mandala genes had devoured that part of her memory). Her only decent outfit—the one she wore back when she was an office clerk—had been torn. Thankfully, the lighting here was dim enough that no one would notice.
But then again, she thought, *would anyone even notice her in the first place?*
It wasn’t that she hadn’t dreamed of being Cinderella. But she would never meet the fairy godmother who could give her glass slippers, nor would she attend a prince’s ball. All she had were the drunk men and women mindlessly dancing in the bar.
Even she could only lean against the cold wall for support—but it offered no comfort, only a bone-chilling reality.
Just then, her phone buzzed with a text message.
These days, the only ones who still used SMS were companies or promotional campaigns. Normal conversations all happened through apps.
Yet for some reason, when this message popped up, she felt a flicker of anticipation and opened it.
**"Hello, this is 'Didi Dating.' Have you suffered enough in life? Do you long for a strong shoulder to lean on—even if just for a moment, to say a few words? 'Didi Dating' can make this wish come true. If you'd like to customize a boyfriend, please click the link below. Also, cherish this opportunity—it may change your life. Reply 'TD' to unsubscribe."**
For some reason, this blatantly scam-like message caught her eye. Maybe it was just that one line: *a strong shoulder to lean on, even if just for a moment...*
She frantically clicked the link. What kind of boyfriend did she want right now?
Truthfully, she had no rigid requirements. She just wanted a man who was warm and sunny, someone who could give her a gentle look.
That would be enough.
But it was nothing more than a pipe dream.
The woman skimmed through the options, filling in almost nothing—like a soldier who had lost the will to fight, utterly defeated.
*Thwack!*
At that moment, the bar manager smacked her head with a rolled-up menu.
"Hey! You’re about to start your shift. Get your act together!"
As he spoke, the manager seemed to notice her clothes.
"What’s this? Showing up to work in rags? Whatever. It’s not like anyone’s looking at you anyway. Just sing."
The woman nodded meekly, but her phone slipped from her hand and landed at his feet.
She reached to pick it up, but the manager was faster, snatching it first.
"Oh? What kind of crap game is this? 'Customize a boyfriend'? Are you out of your mind?"
He tossed the phone back to her, but his finger accidentally hit *send*. The scam-like message was actually submitted!
The woman took her phone back, thinking, *Whatever. It’s fake anyway.*
It was almost 6 PM, and the bar was starting to fill up. This place had decent business—affordable for the average working-class crowd.
"Hey, start singing. Stick to upbeat songs. These people are already tired from work—they don’t wanna hear your depressing tunes. Got it?"
The manager queued up a few mindlessly cheerful songs, and she began singing.
But less than two lines in, she felt something strange in her throat—an unbearable itch. Still, out of professionalism, she forced herself to finish.
Of course, what awaited her wasn’t applause, but murderous glares!
*Thwack!*
This time, the manager hit her face with a decorative book. Only then did the customers’ anger subside.
"Damn it, what the hell was that? Got a feather stuck in your throat? If you’re not in the mood, don’t fucking come to work! Can you afford to ruin our business?"
The more the manager roared, the more the customers seemed to enjoy it. A wicked idea popped into his head.
He leaned in, pointing at her flinching nose. "Listen up. If you want your pay today, you’d better cooperate. Screw this up, and not only will you get nothing today—you’re fired!"
Hearing this, the woman nodded frantically without hesitation.
All she knew was that she couldn’t lose this job. She swallowed hard, forcing back her tears.
But the next second, another book came flying at her face.
The customers burst into laughter. They needed this kind of unexpected entertainment to decompress—like role reversal. All the frustration they endured from their bosses and superiors could finally be vented through this spectacle.
Watching a subordinate get bullied by her manager was truly *therapeutic*.
How wonderful.
Encouraged by the crowd, the manager grabbed a broom, ready to escalate the "performance." The cheers grew even louder!
The woman covered her face. To keep her job, taking a beating was nothing. At times like this, her mind filled only with images of her sweet child.
But this time, alongside her daughter, another figure appeared in her thoughts—a *man*.
Just as the manager’s broom was about to come down, at the critical moment—
A hand seized the broom mid-swing.
The man who had appeared in her mind now stood before her, his eyes locked onto the manager with a chilling smirk.
**"Try touching her again, I dare you."**
It was the gaze of a predator.
Though he was smiling, his eyes were those of a beast.