Shen Rui was halfway through his second espresso of the morning when his phone buzzed.
Then again.
Then again.
Then violently, as if the device itself had decided to surrender to the tsunami of notifications flooding in.
The tablet beside him started vibrating too—from synced email alerts. The landline rang. The smart fridge pinged with a "priority message" someone had somehow routed through a food delivery bot. Even the air purifier blinked in panic.
He rubbed his temple. "They've started hacking kitchen appliances now."
From the hallway, Lin Xie's voice floated out calmly. "Was that the blender or the fridge?"
"Fridge."
She stepped into the living room with a wrench in one hand and a tiny circuit board in the other. "Should I activate the security protocol?"
"Not yet. Though I may need an EMP blast if another studio tries to call through our espresso machine."
She blinked once. "Espresso is sacred."
"Exactly."
He tapped his phone, finally answering one of the many calls.
"This is Shen Rui."
"Oh thank god, you're alive," a familiar voice gushed—it was Director Yan, panting like he'd just sprinted across a film set. "Listen—please—just listen. I'm throwing out the old casting. I'm rewriting the entire second act. I want Lin Xie. Lead role. Anything she wants. I don't care if she only acts upside down while quoting Newton's third law—"
Shen Rui sighed. "She doesn't like gravity metaphors."
"Then I'll change it to thermal dynamics!"
"I'll consider it."
"You always say that, then disappear."
"I manage her schedule."
"You are her schedule."
"Correct."
He hung up and turned to find Lin Xie now crouched by the balcony with a soldering iron.
"I told you we should've encrypted the living room router," she murmured, not looking up.
"I did. They're just…motivated."
She paused. "How many?"
"Nine film offers. Four dramas. Six reality shows. Three web series. An educational short. One foreign film casting director just asked if you'd be interested in a European dystopia set in a sentient greenhouse."
"Hm. Photosynthesis is efficient."
"There's also a brand that wants you to frown at a rice cooker."
She finally looked up. "Again?"
"This time with steam graphics and dramatic lighting."
"...Tempting."
He walked over and handed her the sleek black tablet that tracked all offers under his account.
"Here's the one I think we should seriously consider," he said. "Reality show. Season 4. Immortal Arena: Stars vs. Strategy. Directed by Zhou Kai."
She skimmed the page with minimal interest—until she saw the layout diagram.
"Obstacle puzzles. Physical endurance. Mental warfare. Isolation rooms. No phones. No exits until elimination or end of game. Ten contestants. Limited food. Sabotage cards."
Her gaze sharpened.
He smirked. "Now you're interested."
"Sabotage cards," she repeated.
"Each contestant gets two."
"Can they be combined?"
"Only once per challenge."
Her lips twitched. "Statistically unfair."
"Exactly. You'll eat them alive."
She scrolled again. "Any script?"
"Nope. Just pure reactions and chaos. Zhou Kai said you'd be perfect."
"What were his exact words?"
Shen Rui cleared his throat. "He said, and I quote, 'She terrifies me in the best way. Please let her terrorize the nation for a full season.'"
Lin Xie blinked.
"That is… unusually respectful."
"He begged. I accepted."
"You accepted?"
"You told me I'm your manager."
"I told you I don't trust anyone else."
"Same thing."
She narrowed her eyes. "Shen Rui."
"Yes?"
"You made the decision without asking."
"You were dismantling a robot arm and had wires on your forehead."
"Still not an excuse."
"You would've said yes."
"I hadn't read the probability charts yet."
"You looked at the sabotage rule and smiled. That's your version of a yes."
She said nothing.
Then: "Fine. But if they try to make me cry in a fake dungeon—"
"They will."
"—I'll reprogram their microphones."
He laughed. "Just save the chaos for episode three."
She tilted her head. "Why episode three?"
"Statistically the highest-rated episode across all previous seasons. More sponsors by then."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Smart."
"I'm always smart."
"You're also irritating."
"Thank you."
He reached out and adjusted the strap of her top where a wire had left a mark.
"I'm not sending you into the arena without prep. You start training tomorrow. Sabotage mechanics, obstacle algorithms, group manipulation dynamics, lie detectors, and—" he paused, "basic reality TV etiquette."
"Like what?"
"No threatening the camera operators."
"I don't threaten."
"You looked at one extra once and he cried."
"He stepped on my tools."
"You flicked a bolt at him."
"With precision."
"…Exactly."
She stood and set the soldering iron aside. "Do they know what I'm capable of?"
"Not yet. Zhou Kai thinks you're a cold beauty with a quiet temper."
"I am a quiet processor."
"Same thing."
As she left to prepare her tactical tea blend for "cognitive stability," Shen Rui glanced back at the screen.
Next week, the country's most unpredictable survival game would begin filming. And for the first time in four seasons, no one—not the producers, not the fans, not the fellow celebrity contestants—had any idea what was about to hit them.
But Shen Rui knew.
He was the one who launched her.
And when Lin Xie entered the arena, quiet, unreadable, and infuriatingly composed—she wouldn't just win.
She'd rewrite the rules.