Meta 04: Startling Words

Not so great? Really?

Compared to the scorched earth, the orange-red sky, the nauseating air, and the incessant buzzing insects she’d encountered when she first arrived, this place had no foul smells, no bugs, even the ground was paved with silvery-white high-tech materials—it looked like paradise from every angle.

Besides…

Lin Zhu glanced at the bandaged marks on her legs, and she’d managed to cling to someone who, though cold, was kind, handsome, strong, and tall… Just then, a man in a deep blue military uniform, seeing Rhine, snapped to attention with a crisp salute, waiting until she and Rhine had passed before moving on. Several others did the same… Clearly, this was a man of high rank. How could things not be going well for her?

The corners of Lin Zhu’s mouth curled up. Alarmist nonsense.

The number of viewers in her stream shot up to 100,000, the comments scrolling faster than the insects had chased her, so she could only catch the key words. The colorful ones were all about shipping, urging her to fake amnesia, collapse after three steps, hang off his neck and count his eyelashes, then follow up with a “So hot, big brother, help me take this off”…!!!

Lin Zhu’s eyes went dead straight with exasperation. If she kept streaming, who knew what kind of blush-inducing nonsense she’d see next. She was just about to shut it off when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the previously sparse comments about things being “not so great” had suddenly poured in like a summer downpour: “People like machines,” “No wind, no clouds, no living things,” “The buildings look like a cemetery.” Finally, they focused on Rhine.

They believed he was someone trained by the interstellar system to have no emotions, only the interests of the Federation in his eyes. The sharp-eyed viewers behind the comments clearly saw that Lin Zhu had already started to rely on Rhine as her lifeline, and, with a touch of malice, shattered the shippers’ dreams. Thus, the comments split into two camps and started bickering.

Ugh…

So noisy…

But Lin Zhu didn’t want to shut it off—the intense, living energy of the argument made her feel very safe. So she let her eyelids droop, tuned everything out, and, perhaps already acclimated to this place, mechanically followed Rhine.

The two of them crossed the vast landing pad and stopped before a low, unadorned building.

The building was entirely silver-gray, like a giant stone slab that had been leveled flat, with only a narrow door in the center. Two guards in black uniforms stood at the door, rigid and motionless like statues.

There were words engraved on the sign above the door, but Lin Zhu couldn’t read them. When the guards saw Rhine, they saluted and started to approach, as if to receive something, but Rhine raised his hand and they received the signal to stand down, returning to their posts.

Rhine walked straight in, and Lin Zhu followed. Past the entry hall were several corridors; he took the one straight ahead. The hallway was about a meter wide, no windows, no decorations, all white, making it impossible to tell front from back, left from right, or see any end.

The sound of Rhine’s shoes on the floor echoed in the empty space, each step gripping Lin Zhu’s heartbeat. She was dying of curiosity—who on earth had designed this thing, brain clearly kicked by a donkey.

Compared to this, every morgue she’d ever visited could be called an amusement park.

After about sixty more steps, Rhine finally stopped. On the wall in front of him, a faint blue light outlined the shape of a door, with crystal-like substances flowing along the edges, pulsing bright and dim.

Wow—Lin Zhu hadn’t even closed her mouth in surprise when Rhine pressed his hand to the doorframe. The light door slid open silently, revealing a room inside—not large, simply furnished, with a bed, a table, and two blinking red dots on the white wall.

Rhine stepped aside, gesturing inside. The meaning was clear: go in.

Lin Zhu couldn’t help asking, “This place is…?”

Rhine held his pose, the oppressive authority in his cold gaze unmistakable. Lin Zhu decided not to push her luck—he wouldn’t hurt her, after all. She tucked her hands in front of her and obediently went in.

Their teamwork sent the shippers into a frenzy, waving their victory banners: “See? The domineering CEO’s forced love!” “Domineering CEO and his little darling!” “Streamer, your ship just gets better and better!”

Once Lin Zhu was inside, Rhine watched the door close behind her, waited until the wall was seamless again, then turned and left.

There wasn’t much to see in the room. Lin Zhu went straight to the two red dots. “What are these for?” Her question put a temporary ceasefire to the comment war, each camp guessing in its own way.

The shippers:

【The CEO is hiding his darling in a golden house】

【Those red dots must be some high-tech communication thing. Streamer, call him ‘husband’ and see what happens】

【Forget ‘husband,’ give him a flirty look, seduce him—if he can’t sleep, he’ll have to come find you, hahaha】

The suspicious ones:

【Ugh, doesn’t this room look familiar to you?】

【Looks like a prison cell, like those cubicle prisons in American TV shows】

【Crap, the streamer’s been locked up】

The snarky ones piled on, and the shippers just rolled with it:

【Yeah, the prison play is starting, girls】

【Cold-faced killer x hot-tempered streamer, my ship is locked, I’ve swallowed the key】

The comments were ablaze, the shippers ready to celebrate, but when Lin Zhu started fiddling and found out what the red dots did, they fell silent: the red dots were switches, controlling a door just like the one she’d entered through. Behind it was a space barely a square meter, with only a toilet and a sink—a bathroom.

Instantly, the screen was overrun with laughter. The shippers, probably red-faced with embarrassment, were drowned out by the conspiracy theorists.

【Forget prison play, this is just a prison. Want a toilet play with that?】

【Remember the words on the sign when she came in? I bet it says something-something prison】

【There’s another red dot—maybe it’s for takeout, press it and they’ll send you a roast bug, hahaha】

Lin Zhu’s face flushed crimson with shame and frustration.

She braced herself against the wall, head lowered. She really hadn’t expected that the starship hunk she’d taken for a good, kind man would turn out to be two-faced—saving her in public, but behind the scenes… She walked to the bed, plopped down, her mind unable to process anything through the sudden surge of anger.

But the shippers started spamming the same line:

【But, he personally brought her to the prison!!!!】

Lin Zhu: “……???”

At that moment, she really did want to die.

But the storm inside her only grew, waves of anger crashing higher and higher. No phone, no watch, no way to see outside—she had no idea how much time had passed when, suddenly, the lights went out.

Classic prison routine—this must be nighttime. Lin Zhu gave up on screaming for Rhine, laying down on the bed, heart pounding.

No doubt about it—she was locked up. Behind those endless white walls in the corridor were probably more cells just like this. The two guards’ approach when they saw Rhine—that was to receive her, a prisoner personally delivered by a high-ranking officer!

Makes sense, really. A human suddenly appearing on an interstellar battlefield… She claimed to be from Earth, but had no evidence to prove it. Anyone would be wary of a “species” that appeared out of nowhere, especially during a sensitive period of human-insect war.

The viewers, though still split, now all focused on giving Lin Zhu advice:

【Streamer, knock on the wall, see if you can chat with the cellmate next door—if he’s a handsome guy, you won’t have lost out】

【My ship can’t die—streamer, just say you’re pregnant, and it’s Rhine’s child】

【Isn’t the streamer from a funeral home? Start chanting, play the rebirth mantra on loop, let them experience some spiritual pollution】

【If all else fails, pretend to be a shaman, tell them their foreheads are dark, they’ll have a bloody disaster in three days—scare one, profit one】

Scare one, profit one!

Hmm~

Lin Zhu curled her lip, her eyes rolling as she thought: even if the lights were out, the prison’s surveillance system could definitely see her. Since that was the case… she rolled off the bed, sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, and formed a mudra with her hands. “Spirits of heaven and earth, Supreme Lord Lao, show yourself.”

After two rounds, she felt it lacked energy, so she switched to Cantonese, “Lei hou ah, spirits and monsters, come quickly…” Still not satisfied, she went all in, waving her hands, shaking her head, and dancing like a shaman. “Ooo, spirits of heaven and earth, listen well, you guards over there—tonight a bloody disaster will befall you, you’ll trip and fall, choke on your water, and by morning you’ll be crying for your mama—”

As she danced, she kept adding to the act, finally falling back on the bed, rolling her eyes, sticking out her tongue, convulsing as if possessed. Then she sat up abruptly, changed direction, and said to the air, “Alright, alright, that one’s gone, I’m his great-grandmother, here to send you a dream…”

Just as she was getting into it, the guard monitoring her reported to Rhine via communicator.

The section of the prison where Lin Zhu was held was the highest-security area in the entire base, reserved for high-risk individuals—interstellar fugitives, suspected insectoid infectees, and those “who shouldn’t exist but do.”

Rhine was at that moment passing through a series of security checkpoints, heading toward the Federation’s high-level decision center, when his communicator buzzed.

He raised his hand, and a translucent screen popped up, showing the guard’s video and audio feed. “Sir, the one you brought in is… acting up.”

That phrasing made Rhine pause. His gaze flicked to the screen, which zoomed in to show Lin Zhu lying on the bed, rolling her eyes… With the zoom, her twitching round face filled the entire screen.

She scrunched her features together as tightly as she could, then released.

Scrunch—release.

Scrunch—release.

Scrunch—release.

Rhine watched her face shift back and forth between grotesque and normal, staring for five seconds, ten seconds, then said, “Leave her be. Just ensure her safety.”

The call ended.

Rhine dismissed the screen and continued forward, his footsteps steady as ever, though his cold face now seemed to hold something more than before—hard to say if it was confusion, or something else.

He stopped before a three-meter-tall metal door, raised his hand, palm pressed to the icy surface. Biological scan, genetic mapping, and mental imprint—three scans swept over him at once. Then came a cold, respectful mechanical female voice: “Identity verified. Welcome, Admiral Rhine. Please enter.”