Lin Xie's arrival at the live reality show set.
Introduction of the other celebrity contestants.
The first onscreen moments and the pressure of a live broadcast.
The chaotic first encounter with Wen Yuyan, one of the last remaining heiresses.
Lin Xie's deadpan logic clashing with reality show theatrics and socialite drama.
---
The air buzzed with electricity—literal and emotional.
A convoy of black vans pulled up outside a glass-walled compound in the mountains, somewhere classified but heavily surveilled. Drones hovered in formation overhead. Cameras lined every tree trunk, every corner, every entrance.
The compound was built like a war bunker disguised as a minimalist retreat—sharp angles, exposed concrete, and enough surveillance gear to make even a paranoid tech billionaire feel at home.
Lin Xie stepped out of the van in full silence, dressed in neutral cargo pants and a slim-fit black windbreaker. No makeup, no stylist, no entourage—just her, a compact duffel bag, and a single protein bar tucked behind her ear like a pen.
A staffer greeted her nervously, mic clipped to their vest, headset slightly askew. "Miss Lin! Welcome to Immortal Arena: Stars vs. Strategy, Season Four. Uh… this way. We're live in nine minutes."
"I calculated nine minutes and forty-three seconds," she replied flatly.
The staffer gave up halfway through nodding and just power-walked ahead.
Inside, it was controlled chaos. Crew members sprinted, directors yelled quietly into comms, a woman with a clipboard screamed internally while smiling on the outside. Lin Xie walked past it all like a calm algorithm through a hurricane.
As she entered the main staging area—a glass rotunda where contestants would be introduced—she finally saw them.
Her co-contestants.
Ten in total, including her. Most were already assembled, lounging in formation for the cameras, pretending not to size each other up while definitely doing exactly that.
She clocked them all in four seconds.
A washed-up idol trying too hard.
An up-and-coming actor pretending not to be terrified.
A chaotic vlogger who wore crocs and a feather boa.
A professional dancer stretching like it was the Olympics.
One slightly suspicious influencer who might be there just to date someone.
And then—
"Ah, look who finally showed up."
Wen Yuyan.
Age: 24.
Daughter of a media mogul. Socialite with 1.8 million followers on CharmNet, which was basically Instagram's louder, thirstier cousin. She wore a couture cream tracksuit, diamond hoop earrings, and sunglasses indoors—at night.
She was also one of the last five remaining heiresses in the country's elite dynasty circles.
The others were either married, exiled, in hiding, or fighting tax cases in Singapore.
Wen Yuyan tilted her head, unimpressed. "I thought you were taller."
Lin Xie blinked. "I thought you would be louder."
"Oh honey," Yuyan laughed. "I'm saving it for the cameras. You know, the live ones."
The lights flickered above. A producer gave the countdown through the studio-wide speakers.
5… 4…
Another camera drone lowered ominously from the ceiling.
3…
Someone tripped over a mic cable and faceplanted offscreen.
2…
Yuyan smiled with perfect glossed lips.
1.
"WELCOME BACK TO IMMORTAL ARENA!" boomed the host, who was standing on a rotating LED disc with fire shooting behind him.
The floor lit up. The arena doors locked with a loud mechanical clang. Confetti rained down for no reason.
Lin Xie didn't blink.
The host turned to the camera. "TEN CELEBRITIES. SIX DAYS. ZERO SCRIPTS. ONLY ONE SURVIVES THE GAME!"
Yuyan giggled beside her. "You do know how to pose, right?"
"I am standing."
"That's not posing, darling. That's… surgery prep."
"Then it's sterile."
Yuyan blinked at her. "What?"
The host's voice cut back in, hyped beyond reason. "AND FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, WE HAVE… THE GENIUS. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME… LIN XIE!"
The cameras panned dramatically to Lin Xie.
She stared directly into the lens.
Expression: unchanged.
Posture: perfectly neutral.
Emotion: none detected.
Back in the live chat feed, the comments exploded.
> [User309]: THAT'S HER THAT'S THE DRONE GIRL
[YuBabyFan]: omg yuyan looks so good next to a corpse lol
[LogicSimps]: she's the reason the rice cooker commercial was trending for three days
[ChaosKing]: she's not blinking. is she real
[MinaWife]: i want her to sabotage the host
[SoftBoiled]: the vibes. the violence. the villain arc.
Meanwhile, Yuyan stepped closer, flashing a practiced smile. "So, are you gonna be the brains or the background this season?"
Lin Xie replied evenly, "I statistically outperform in both."
"…Wow," Yuyan said. "You're like a spreadsheet in human form."
"And you are… sequins and dental veneers."
Several cameras awkwardly zoomed in at once.
"Oh it's on," the dancer whispered in the back.
The host carried on, introducing each contestant with increasing levels of forced energy. The cast had barely exchanged hellos before being ushered into the central briefing chamber—a windowless space with strange hexagonal tiles and a giant red buzzer in the middle.
The rules were explained.
Ten contestants.
Six days.
One challenge per day.
Lowest scoring contestant eliminated live.
Sabotage tokens allowed.
Loyalty pacts allowed.
Backstabbing expected.
Mic packs were mandatory even while sleeping.
And yes, there were hidden cameras in the toilets—but not that hidden.
Lin Xie raised her hand. "Will we receive nutritional supplements or must we forage?"
"You'll be given ration bars," the producer replied.
"Disappointing."
Yuyan raised her hand. "Can we vote off people with bad posture?"
Lin Xie didn't flinch. "You'll be next."
"Oh, scary," Yuyan said. "Does the genius girl bite?"
"No," Lin Xie said coolly. "I destroy reputations."
The room paused.
The vlogger whispered, "God, I hope they get bunkmates."
The final moment before the episode faded to the end credits was a wide shot of the contestants standing beneath flickering lights, the buzzer glowing red in the center, tension high, and Lin Xie already calculating the best place to hide the sabotage token she hadn't even received yet.
The host shouted, "SEE YOU TOMORROW NIGHT FOR THE FIRST CHALLENGE! WHO WILL FALL? WHO WILL FIGHT? WHO WILL FLIP THE ARENA?"
Lin Xie leaned slightly toward Yuyan.
"I do not lose."
"Oh sweetie," Yuyan said with a dazzling smile, "neither do I."
The war had begun. Live. And with glitter.
-----
The moment the live premiere ended, a staff member with a clipboard and the demeanor of someone dead inside ushered the contestants into a hallway.
"This way to your temporary residence. It's where you'll eat, sleep, shower, plot, cry, sabotage, and panic for the next six days."
The vlogger clapped. "Yay!"
The host walked by and added, "It's affectionately known as the Glass House. But don't be fooled—it's less 'modern architecture' and more 'psychological warfare disguised as a rental.' Have fun!"
They walked.
Lin Xie followed with the calculated steps of someone memorizing each angle of the hallway, every blind corner, every motion sensor. Yuyan followed her like a hawk in heels.
"I bet you're used to five-star hotel suites and secret bunkers, huh?" she said, smiling with too many teeth.
Lin Xie didn't look at her. "Comfort is irrelevant."
"Oh, you poor thing," Yuyan cooed. "You don't know how to suffer glamorously yet."
The hallway ended in a glass door, which hissed open to reveal their new temporary home.
The Glass House.
It was modern. Brutally modern.
Wide open layout. Exposed beams. Wall-to-wall glass—some one-way, some definitely not. Steel kitchen. Too-white furniture that practically dared someone to spill tomato sauce on it. Bunk beds in a central sleeping hall that looked like it had been designed by a sleep-deprived IKEA intern with a God complex.
There was a single bathroom. With two toilets. Side by side. No divider.
The contestants froze.
"…Is this a prank?" whispered the idol.
"No," muttered the dancer, "it's television."
Mounted in each corner of the ceiling were spherical camera domes with blinking green lights. A red one blinked above the fridge. Another slowly rotated over the bunk beds.
Someone gasped. "Are we sleeping with cameras?"
A producer's voice crackled over the ceiling speaker. "Yes. Always assume you're being watched. Also: there's no hot water after 10PM. And no phones allowed on set. All communication must be verbal. Good luck."
A vlogger wailed. "No phone?! No Wi-Fi?! Not even CharmNet?"
Yuyan gave a gasp of mock horror. "How will we survive without filters and validation?"
Lin Xie calmly removed her smartwatch and placed it on the designated tech-surrender tray. "Detoxing the mind improves decision-making under pressure."
The influencer boy whispered to the dancer, "She talks like she's from the Ministry of Intelligence."
"I know," the dancer whispered back. "I'm afraid to blink around her."
Beds were claimed quickly. The idol screamed when she realized she had to share a bunk tower with the croc-wearing vlogger, who snored like a dying goat. Lin Xie took the upper bunk nearest the emergency exit. Yuyan took the one nearest the mirror wall.
"Of course you'd pick the one with lighting angles," Lin Xie said.
Yuyan smiled sweetly. "Of course you'd pick the one closest to escape."
Dinner was... sad.
A lukewarm buffet of grey protein blocks, "hydration soup," and individually wrapped snack cubes that were supposedly meat-adjacent.
"This tastes like if regret and cardboard had a baby," the vlogger said while chewing.
Lin Xie calmly dipped hers into tea. "Rehydration improves texture."
Yuyan threw her entire protein block into the trash. "No thanks. My body is a palace, not a chemistry experiment."
One of the actors snorted. "Then this palace is about to get hangry."
A small fight broke out when someone stole the last actual banana. The host announced it live.
Across CharmNet, netizens went feral:
> [RealityFan99]: OMG the banana theft has begun
[QueenYuyStans]: Wen Yuyan is a goddess. Look at her skin. Look at her angles.
[LogicalXie]: Our girl dipped cardboard into tea. Queen of problem solving.
[BananaTruthers]: WHO STOLE THE BANANA. WE DESERVE ANSWERS.
[CrocBois]: the vlogger's snoring needs its own storyline. i'm begging.
By 11PM, the Glass House lights dimmed automatically and the entire room was bathed in soft blue. A lullaby version of the theme song played from the ceiling. No one spoke.
Except Yuyan.
She whispered loudly, "You're not even blinking. Are you awake?"
"I'm calibrating my thoughts."
"…Do you do that out loud?"
"No. You're the one talking."
"Touché."
Someone farted in the silence.
A drone beeped twice.
The croc vlogger muttered in his sleep: "No, grandma, not the duck…"
Yuyan laughed quietly. "What did we sign up for?"
Lin Xie lay on her side, watching the blinking red light above her bunk with steady, silent calculation.
She didn't sign up for comfort.
She signed up for war.
And it had already begun.