You were supposed to have a fake marriage with the diva, so how did you become her father?

Jiang Feng's message popped up on Lu Ran's phone in the early hours of one day.

The time displayed is 2:17 AM.

Lu Ran was already asleep when the vibration woke him up. He picked up his phone and glanced at it.

The message consisted of only two lines. The first line read, "Mr. Lu, is it convenient for you to take a call?" The second line read, "Something has happened in Japan. I suggest you stay awake and read this."

Lu Ran leaned against the headboard and made a voice call, which was answered after one ring.

Jiang Feng's voice came through the receiver, hoarse from staying up all night, but faster than usual: "Today, a large number of apology posts appeared simultaneously on several Japanese social media platforms. Most of the posters were anonymous accounts, but some were verified users, ranging in age from students to office workers, and a few were older. The content was basically similar—admitting that their previous understanding of that period of history was too one-sided, saying that after reading the game and related materials, they changed their views and expressed their apologies to the people of China."

Lu Ran remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Jiang Feng paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts: "I just calculated that from last night to early this morning, the total number of apology posts I've seen is approaching four figures. This number continues to rise, and the frequency of new posts is accelerating rather than slowing down. Moreover, these posts aren't just on game forums; they're spreading to larger platforms. Some posts have already exceeded the scope of normal game discussion posts in terms of reposts and comments, indicating that it's not just the player community that's concerned about this; a wider range of people are participating in the discussion."

"Are you sure those posts aren't troll posts?" Lu Ran asked.

"Most of them probably aren't. I had someone randomly select a few posts and check the account history of the posters. The accounts were all registered more than a year ago, and their previous posts were normal. The wording of those posts varied greatly; some were very long, while others were only a few sentences long, clearly indicating that they were posted independently by different people. Moreover, there was no unified script or keywords among the posters. It's unlikely that an organized campaign would be so dispersed."

Lu Ran switched the phone to his other ear, turned on the bedside lamp, and squinted when the light came on.

After he got used to it, he asked, "Are the forum administrators in Japan still deleting posts?"

"Delete. But the current deletion speed can't keep up with the posting speed. I just saw one post that was deleted in less than ten minutes, but three new posts appeared at the same time. Moreover, some posts had already been screenshotted and forwarded to other platforms before they were deleted, so deleting the original post doesn't stop the content from continuing to spread."

Lu Ran was silent for a moment, then said on the phone, "Keep an eye on it, and keep me updated on any new developments. If those posts start to attract the attention of mainstream media, let me know immediately."

Jiang Feng agreed and then hung up the phone.

Lu Ran put her phone on the bedside table and turned off the light.

He lay in the darkness for a while, listening to the wind outside the window and the occasional sound of a ship's horn in the distance, his mind filled with those posts.

Circumventing internet restrictions, downloading, playing games, researching information, posting apologies—this chain itself speaks volumes.

The change in the attitude of those Japanese people was not due to being persuaded, but rather a result of their own actions.

The next morning, after he arrived at the company and turned on his computer, Jiang Feng sent him another update, more complete than the one from earlier that morning: "Since last night, more than two thousand new apology posts have been added, covering three major Japanese social media platforms and two medium-sized forums. The topic has entered the trending lists of their respective platforms. Not particularly high up, but it has definitely appeared on the list."

Lu Ran did not reply immediately after reading the message.

He closed the page on his computer screen, went through his schedule for the day, and confirmed that there was nothing urgent to deal with. Then he sent a message to Zhou Mingzhe: "The morning meeting is postponed to 10:30. Can you do one thing for me first—keep an eye on whether the official media in China have started reporting on the situation in Japan?"

Zhou Mingzhe replied with a "good".

Around 10 a.m., Chen Mo sent a message first. He posted a link on WeChat with the message: "You probably already know."

Lu Ran clicked on the link, which led to an article on a mainstream media website in China.

The article, titled "A Wave of Historical Reflection Rises in Japan, with Many Netizens Publicly Apologizing to China," is relatively short. It largely cites data from several Japanese social media platforms, includes translated excerpts of several apology posts, and mentions the scholar's short essay. The final paragraph is relatively restrained, essentially stating that "this spontaneous historical reflection deserves attention and is a positive sign of people-to-people exchanges."

Lu Ran read the article from beginning to end.

The article used more cautious language than he had imagined, without excessive embellishment or sensationalism; it simply presented the facts and left the judgment to the readers.

The comments section was much more lively than the main text. Some people were discussing those games, some were discussing the textbook issue, and some even posted screenshots of old photos from the games, saying, "I hope more people will see these."

When the regular meeting started at 10:30 a.m., Lu Ran walked into the meeting room and found that several people had already arrived.

Zhou Mingzhe sat in his usual spot, with an open laptop in front of him, displaying the article on the screen.

Chen Mo sat opposite him, holding a cup of tea in his hand, but he didn't drink it, he just held it.

Zhao Yiming arrived early, a rare occurrence. He leaned back in his chair, his phone screen lit up, scrolling through something.

After sitting down, Lu Ran spoke first: "Those who need to see it have probably already seen it. The current situation is that there are a large number of spontaneous posts of reflection and apology in Japan. This topic has gone beyond the gaming community and is spreading to a wider audience. China's official media has started paying attention to this matter, using cautious wording, but it has already reached a broad audience."

"There's another change." Chen Mo put down his teacup. "I just received a message that two mainstream Japanese media outlets published short messages this morning, both citing trending topics on social media. They didn't draw any conclusions, just reported the phenomenon that 'some netizens are discussing issues related to historical understanding.' This level of reporting would never have happened before; it's quite an achievement that they've gone this far. This shows that the topic has become so significant that it can no longer be completely ignored."

"Has the Chinese diplomatic corps made any moves?" Lu Ran asked.

Zhou Mingzhe turned the computer screen a little closer so Lu Ran could see the page on it: "I've been checking the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' official website and social media accounts all morning. There hasn't been an official announcement yet, but the official social media account of the Chinese Embassy in Japan reposted an old article about Sino-Japanese cultural exchanges a few hours ago. It didn't directly mention this matter, but the timing of the repost suggests they already know about it."

Around 11 a.m., Lu Ran was processing emails in his office when his phone screen lit up.

He picked it up and saw it was a WeChat message from Director Zhao. The message was short: "President Lu, I saw what you've been working on. The direction is excellent. The higher-ups have taken note. If there's any need for further cooperation, please contact me anytime." A handshake emoji was added at the end of the message.

Lu Ran paused for a moment after looking at the message.

He had dealt with Director Zhao a few times before. The other party was always restrained in his speech. To say "the direction is very good" in an informal setting was the highest praise that someone of his level could give.

He didn't reply immediately. He finished replying to the email he was working on first, and then replied, "Thank you, Director Zhao. I will contact you if needed."

Around 2 PM, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of China simultaneously released a brief response on its official website and social media accounts.

The entire text is less than two hundred words long, and the wording is very restrained.

The content first noted and affirmed the historical reflections expressed by some Japanese citizens on social media recently.

The text added a sentence welcoming Japanese citizens to visit China at an appropriate time to exchange ideas and witness China's development and changes firsthand.

The ending is a concise expression of hope for Sino-Japanese friendship.

The entire response made no mention of the game or the apology post, and used phrases like "historical reflection" and "civilian exchange" throughout.

But everyone knows what it refers to.

This response was quickly reprinted by several major media outlets, and the discussion in the comments section continued to rise. Some people mentioned the name of the game, and some people specifically took screenshots of the message welcoming people to China.

After reading the full response in his office, Lu Ran closed the page, picked up his phone, and sent Jiang Feng a message: "The Chinese Foreign Ministry has issued an official response. If you need it, you can forward the link to this response to the Japanese players who posted it."

Jiang Feng quickly replied, "Someone has already posted it on the forum. Under that post, Japanese players replied with 'thank you,' and others said 'I'll definitely go if I have the chance.' Someone even said, 'I hope to play games with Chinese players someday.'"

Lu Ran looked at the message but did not reply.

He put his phone on the table and leaned back in his chair.

He remembered something—a few weeks ago, when he decided to make a game that wouldn't make money in this office, the furthest outcome he envisioned was that more people would look up information on it after playing it. He never imagined it would come to this.

Chinese players spontaneously replied to the Japanese players who apologized on the forum with "It's good that you know you were wrong," followed by a fist-and-palm emoji.

That reply received many likes, and several more replies in a similar style followed, all expressing welcome and encouragement, without any harsh or unforgiving remarks.

This atmosphere encouraged more Japanese players to reply, and some would include a simple Chinese sentence in their replies that Chinese players could understand. Although their pronunciation was not perfect, their sentiments were conveyed.

Lu Ran never expected that this game would eventually become a spiritual link between the two countries of Dragon and Japan.

...