Subverting The World [Cyber] - Chapter 16

Leng Yu had seen plenty of prisoners, but none quite like Shi Xu. She practically glided into the prison van, as if being detained was nothing out of the ordinary.

Most people resisted, protested, or at least hesitated. But not her—Shi Xu walked in as if she were stepping into her own living room.

Leng Yu pulled up Shi Xu’s file again. No prior infractions. No unusual behavior. Just one oddity: that eerie calmness. Maybe she was just… exceptionally adaptable.

The holding cells in the Censorship Department weren’t permanent, but they weren’t pleasant either. They housed those who had failed the initial ideological screening and were awaiting a second, more intensive evaluation. Failing that could mean a sentence of 7 to 15 years—or, in extreme cases, complete disappearance.

Inside her cell, Shi Xu wasn’t alone.

Her cellmate’s face was either painted or tattooed so extensively it was impossible to guess their gender. The only readable expression was a wide grin that never quite reached the eyes.

Shi Xu didn’t acknowledge the stranger immediately. She inspected the cell first—more a holding pen than a proper prison room. A bench. A toilet. A sink. Brick walls. No bars, just a thick iron door with a food slot and a small viewing window.

On the first day, nothing happened.

No questions. No interrogations. No explanations.

Only silence—and food: three bland, identical meals of mashed potatoes, a slice of white bread, and plain boiled water.

The second day? Same menu, minus the bread.

By the third, even the mashed potatoes were replaced by tough bread and lukewarm water.

She remained hungry, despite the food, and the silence turned heavier.

Still, Shi Xu kept up a daily habit—walking short laps around the cell after each meal. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her thoughts sharp and her muscles from atrophying. The rest of the time, she sat still, unmoving, letting her mind drift.

Her roommate would sometimes squat in front of her, silently staring, smiling as if watching a show.

Shi Xu ignored them.

She also didn’t ask why only one set of meals was delivered on the first day.

She wasn’t about to fall for something so obvious.

But the monotony was just one layer of the punishment.

She began to notice: the soundproofing was intentionally flawed.

From the surrounding cells, she could hear everything.

Begging. Screaming. Bargaining.

Pleading voices filled the air, voices that sounded just like hers—terrified, confused, alone. Some called for food. Others for forgiveness.

They were trapped in the same endless wait, slowly unraveling from the inside.

This, too, was part of the game.

Mental erosion.

That realization hit her with clarity—this part, this empty time with no verdict or closure, was as calculated as any formal sentence.

Some prisoners began imagining others as monsters. The soundscape outside fed their paranoia. In time, the silence became more brutal than violence.

Shi Xu took all this in. Quietly. Carefully. She was learning.

No one called her name. No attention from the outside.

That meant right now, no one was watching her.

But when the surveillance did return, it came in pairs.

She dropped her gaze and kept the insight to herself.

Elsewhere…

Leng Yu: “How’s the subject?”

Censorship staff: “She’s… strange.”

Leng Yu raised an eyebrow.

“She doesn’t act like someone detained. It’s more like she’s the one inspecting us.”

Leng Yu nodded. “Then interrogation it is.”

She tapped a mic button connected to the cell.

“Citizen Shi Xu, prepare yourself.”

The instruction was deliberately vague. The Censorship manual emphasized delay—wait just five minutes longer after giving the command. Let uncertainty do the real damage.

But Shi Xu moved without flinching.

“Did you see me? Are you looking at me?” her roommate whispered behind her. The voice was familiar, too familiar.

Something felt off.

Shi Xu noticed a vibration at the door—someone was jiggling the lock. Then, from behind her, the same voice said, “Door’s broken. Step back a bit.”

Shi Xu froze.

It was her cellmate’s voice, mimicked perfectly.

Something was imitating her.

Instead of retreating, Shi Xu bent to “stretch,” and caught a pair of bloodshot eyes peering through the food slot at the bottom.

Definitely not a guard.

Moments later, the real officers arrived and escorted her out.

The interrogation room was stark—mirrored glass on all sides. Everything recorded, everything reflected.

Leng Yu sat across from her, smiling with a disturbing warmth. Two meals sat on the table: a cheap bowl of rice, and an elaborate spread of seafood porridge with dim sum sides.

“Hungry?” she asked sweetly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Shi Xu examined the table, then the name above Leng Yu’s head:

[Mother: Projects maternal warmth. Those who feel emotionally connected or ‘mothered’ by her tend to confess secrets. Depth 50.]

A dangerous gift in the hands of an interrogator.

Shi Xu pointed to the meals. “Which one’s mine?”

“That depends on you,” Leng Yu said cheerfully, pushing the porridge toward her. “You’ve gotten thinner.”

Shi Xu accepted it without hesitation. Starved people accept kindness, even when it stinks of manipulation.

“I had it made the way your adoptive mother used to cook it,” Leng Yu added, voice full of fake sentiment. “She must be worried.”

Shi Xu smiled, not returning the sentiment. “Thanks.”

Once the meal was done, the questions resumed.

“Tell me again about that invitation code,” Leng Yu said gently.

“I never received one,” Shi Xu replied honestly. “And you’ve probably already swept my devices. I acted on impulse when I posted about it—but I don’t actually know anything.”

“But you didn’t even meet the baseline conditions to be exposed to this game,” Leng Yu said, voice still soft. “No history of searching for it. Barely a 1% chance of having it recommended to you.”

“I overheard Wang Chengyu talking about it,” Shi Xu said. “You can check school surveillance.”

“He was already dead by the time you made the post.”

Leng Yu said it flatly, without venom. “Was he in contact with you? Did he give you the code?”

“No.”

Leng Yu sighed. “I really thought better of you. If you tell the truth, you can walk out of here today. Fresh food. Clean bed.”

She played footage on the screen: cells flooded with sewage, people sleeping next to waste, guards throwing in biscuits as if feeding animals. Then a different clip—a prisoner snitching on the others, and immediately transferred to a cleaner, warmer space.

“All you have to do is cooperate,” she said softly.

But Shi Xu replied, “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Leng Yu didn’t press further. “Then we’ll escalate this to a second review. The examiner in that phase has the ability to read thoughts. Are you sure you want that?”

Shi Xu’s smile remained unchanged.

“I truly don’t know. I’ve never even seen the game.”

Leng Yu raised a brow and changed tactics. “Alright. Let’s test something.”

She showed Shi Xu several projected images—concept art, early mock-ups, character models.

Shi Xu stared.

Not in recognition—but in genuine surprise.

Because these images didn’t match anything she had seen.

Her version of the game was different. Her experience had been in a deep-sea city, with fluorescent lights and silence. What Leng Yu showed her looked like a simulation built by someone else.

So either Shi Xu had somehow accessed a completely different version—or this was all part of the trap.

She kept her face calm but couldn’t hide the momentary shock.

Leng Yu noted it, watching her biometric data.

After a long moment, she said, “It really does seem like you haven’t played this version.”

She leaned back, satisfied. “Fine then. We’ll proceed with the second review. If you pass, you go free.”

“Thanks.” Shi Xu smiled politely.

But inside, she had already made a decision.

She knew how to survive the next stage.

Define the hierarchy. Clarify the classes.

Use food. Comfort. Power.

Divide and conquer. Exploit the cracks.

She had been studying every frame of contrast—between comfort and deprivation, between power and weakness—and turning them into lessons.

After returning to her cell, the worst of her fears soothed, she opened her eyes and made a choice.

She logged in.

Shi Xu had always dreamed of waking up in the world she wanted.

Now, she opened her eyes and entered the world that waited for her.

[Login Complete]

She was still the Traveler.

Still caged.

But in a cage she chose