“Zhi Xia, can you please shut up for one minute?”

Fu Ran’s voice was like a cold slap in a snowstorm.

Xia Zhi blinked innocently from behind her desk, holding her coffee cup with both hands like a squirrel clutching a nut. “Oh! Of course, of course, Senior Fu. One minute of silence, coming right up. Shutting up. Muting. Total verbal lockdown—”

Fu Ran looked up from her computer with a single arched brow. Deadly. Silent.

“…starting now!” Xia Zhi whispered, then sealed her lips dramatically and made a zipping motion. Her face scrunched in mock pain at the effort.

One beat passed. Two.

Then—

“Actually, I just wanted to say that the way you glared at the CEO this morning? Iconic. Cold. Powerful. Slightly terrifying. I aspire—”

Fu Ran threw her pen.

Xia Zhi ducked. “Eep! Reflexes of a reporter in training!”

This was her life. At twenty-one, Xia Zhi was interning at Headline Today, one of the nation’s top media companies. She’d dreamed of becoming a gold-medalist reporter ever since she was seven and her article on her neighbor’s missing cat got printed in the school newsletter (she also accused the principal’s dog).

And now, she was working under Fu Ran — legendary reporter, national idol, and well-known shrew.

“I’m not scary,” Fu Ran had once said during an office meeting, voice like ice-water over knives. “People are just sensitive.”

Xia Zhi had nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, very sensitive. Like tissue paper. So fragile. Unlike you. Like a bullet in lipstick.”

Her coworkers had looked at her like she had a death wish.

Honestly, maybe she did. But she also had ambition! Passion! And—

Oh no.

Headache.

Dizziness.

Heartburn?

No.

Memories.

Images flooded her mind like someone flipped a light switch. White rooms. A soft voice. A psychiatrist’s office.

Her psychiatrist’s office.

Wait.

She was the psychiatrist.

This was a novel.

A novel she’d read in her past life—

HALFWAY.

“GASP!” she actually gasped out loud.

Fu Ran looked up again. “Did you swallow your tongue?”

“N-no. Sorry. Just remembered I… uh… left my rice cooker on.”

(What rice cooker? She lived in a dorm.)

And the worst part?

Fu Ran… her devil-boss Fu Ran…was the female lead?!

And that impossibly cold, rich, unreadable CEO was her secret boyfriend?!

Then, then—right now…they were in the “silent dating but secretly in love” phase!!

SHE KNEW TOO MUCH.

Fu Ran will kill me if she knows I know. I must protect my gossip-loving soul.

Now every time she looked at Fu Ran or the CEO, she saw danger and juicy plotlines. Her eyes sparkled with gossip she would never be allowed to speak.

“You’re more attentive today,” Fu Ran said, eyes narrowing.

Xia Zhi straightened. “I’m just… really passionate about my job!”

“…Good. You’ll need that passion.”

Fu Ran handed her a folder.

“Your first big task. You’re coming with me to do a special report on Blackstone, the world’s most dangerous prison.”

“Pfft—” Xia Zhi spat her tea. “The one in the middle of the ocean?! With murderers and war criminals and and and—ghosts probably?!”

“Unconfirmed. But yes.”

Fu Ran stood, perfectly calm. “We leave in three days. Undercover.”

“But—but—Mr. CEO! Your girlfriend is going to die!”

Oops. Said too much. Panic.

Fu Ran’s stare sharpened like a knife.

“I-I mean, your reporter reputation! It’s going to die if you take a rookie like me, hahaha!”

She laughed nervously.

She didn’t know who she was in the novel.

She didn’t know what was waiting in Blackstone.

But she did know one thing—

it might not be a Good thing

Three days later, Xia Zhi was on a boat in the middle of the ocean, clutching her suitcase like it contained her last will and testament.

“Why is the water so angry-looking? Why is the sky so grey? Why is the seagull staring at me like it knows I won’t survive?!”

Next to her, Fu Ran stood unfazed, dressed in black and sipping instant coffee from a thermos that probably contained pure intimidation.

Xia Zhi whispered, “Senior Fu… are we going to die?”

Fu Ran didn’t answer.

That was the scariest part.

The boat creaked under them like even it was nervous. The captain hadn’t spoken a word since they boarded. The crew looked like the type of people who didn’t blink during fistfights. One had a tattoo of a skull — on his actual skull.

Xia Zhi shuffled closer to Fu Ran. “Why are we even on this rust bucket?”

Fu Ran calmly checked her watch. “Because this is the only route to Blackstone that isn’t monitored by satellite.”

“...I see. So we’re criminals now.”

Fu Ran nodded once, like that was normal.

Xia Zhi let out a long, trembling breath. “And we don’t have permission to go, right?”

“No one does.”

“Because the prison is… illegal?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Great. Love that. Very normal workplace activity.”

The waves hit harder.

She thought she might die before reaching the Mysterious island.

Xia Zhi squinted at the group of foreign men sitting near the back of the boat. One had a scar from his temple to his chin and was playing with a butterfly knife like it was a fidget toy. Another was bald, bearded, and had enough muscles to qualify as a small SUV. The third looked... oddly cute with bunny teeth, but still terrifying in a "might smile while committing tax fraud and murder" way.

They were looking at her. Not just looking—staring.

Xia Zhi pressed herself closer to Fu Ran, who didn’t even flinch. “Senior Fu… why do I feel like we’re about to be sold on the dark web?”

Fu Ran didn’t look up. “Because we might be.”

“…”

One of the men—scar-face—grinned and said something in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded like ‘Hey, is that lunch or a hostage?’

Xia Zhi gave him a trembling smile and attempted to respond with the only sentence she knew in a foreign language: “Uh… bonjour?”

The men blinked.

She tried again, louder this time. “BONJOUR. No sell me please. Thank you very much.”

The bearded man raised an eyebrow.

The bunny-toothed one tilted his head, clearly amused.

Scar-face said something else and laughed. His teeth were gold. Literal gold. Like a villain from a low-budget action movie.

Xia Zhi turned to Fu Ran and whispered, “Senior Fu, what are they saying? Are they planning to cook us or just sell us to an illegal circus?”

Fu Ran finally looked up from her coffee and answered in perfectly fluent foreign language—calm, direct, and probably very terrifying. Whatever she said made the men instantly straighten up, like schoolboys caught cheating.

Xia Zhi’s jaw dropped. “You can speak their language?! Then why didn’t you stop me from embarrassing myself?!”

Fu Ran took a sip of coffee. “I wanted to see how long it would take before you offered yourself for sale in three languages.”

“Miss Heroine, your IQ is currently offline!!” Xia Zhi wailed internally. “You might be a martial arts genius, but I am just a regular citizen with an intern salary and zero combat experience!!”

The boat creaked again.

Xia Zhi curled up tighter in the corner, hugging her suitcase like it was a life raft. The foreign men kept stealing glances at her and chuckling.

She buried her face in her knees. “They’re going to sell us. I know it. This is how I die. Traded for two packs of cigarettes and a carton of eggs.”

No one knew her thoughts would eventually come true.

They really were going to sell them.

But that was a problem for Future Xia Zhi.

Present Xia Zhi was too busy panicking.

By day eleven, Xia Zhi came to a serious conclusion:

“If I don’t learn some of this language, I’m going to get sold and not even understand the receipt.”

So she took matters into her own hands.

She marched up to Ivan—her bald, bearded, unbothered guardian angel—and asked, “Teach me… talk. Speak. Your words. Yes?”

Ivan stared at her.

She mimed talking. Then scribbled something on her palm. Then flailed her arms dramatically like she was auditioning for a mute opera.

Ivan finally grunted and pointed at himself. “Ivan.”

“Yes!” Xia Zhi pointed back. “Ivan! I know that one! Good. Very name. I mean—very… you!”

Ivan looked mildly concerned.

But he indulged her.

He pointed at the sky. “Nebo.”

“Okay! Sky. Nebo. Got it.” She pointed. “Nebo.”

He nodded.

Then he pointed at the sea. “More.”

“Morgue?”

“…More.”

“More? Like more-more?”

He grunted louder. “MOR-E.”

“Oh! Sea. Okay. More \= sea. Nebo \= sky. Ivan \= terrifying but kindhearted gentle brute. We’re making progress!”

Over the next few days, Xia Zhi learned approximately twelve words.

She wrote them in a little notebook labeled Operation: Don’t Get Sold.

Sometimes, the bunny-toothed guy tried to “help.” She didn’t trust him one bit.

Once, he taught her a word that she later found out meant “cockroach.” She’d used it to compliment Ivan’s beard.

Ivan didn’t speak to her for two hours after that.

Another time, she meant to say “I am your friend,” but ended up saying “I am your wife.”

Ivan spat out his tea. Fu Ran almost fell overboard laughing.

After that, Xia Zhi considered throwing herself into the sea and letting the waves carry her to an easier life, like crab farming.

She huddled next to Fu Ran that night, defeated. “I tried so hard, Senior Fu. I just want to be able to say ‘Don’t kill me’ convincingly.”

Fu Ran flipped a page in her book. “You accidentally proposed to a war criminal today.”

“…Honestly, not the worst thing I’ve done this trip.”

______

Absolutely! Here’s the scene where they finally arrive at Blackstone—Xia Zhi expecting doom and gloom, but being utterly betrayed by how absurdly beautiful it is:

Day Fifteen.

Xia Zhi had aged ten years. Her soul had left her body twice. She could now understand about 13 Russian words, none of which were helpful in a hostage situation. She had eaten too many potatoes. She had proposed marriage. Twice.

But finally—

Land.

She gripped the boat’s railing, eyes squinting against the sunlight.

And what she saw made her blink.

Then squint harder.

Then rub her eyes.

“…Senior Fu?” she said slowly. “Did we… take a wrong turn?”

Fu Ran stood beside her, arms crossed, not reacting.

Xia Zhi pointed dramatically. “That is not a prison. That is—a tourism poster come to life.”

Because ahead of them stretched an island of turquoise water, golden beaches, swaying palm trees, and sparkling cliffs. Birds flew gracefully through the air like they were hired for aesthetic. A waterfall trickled down a mountainside in slow motion, like it had nothing better to do.

The place looked like someone had copy-pasted the Maldives into a Bond villain’s dream.

“WHERE are the guard towers?” Xia Zhi cried. “The barbed wire? The creepy dogs?! WHERE’S THE DEPRESSING GRAY CONCRETE?!”

Fu Ran simply said, “Don’t be fooled.”

Xia Zhi clutched her chest. “I am VERY fooled. This place looks like it gives out free coconuts and emotional healing.”

She could see villas—actual villas—with glass windows and ocean views. A yacht was anchored by the shore. Someone was paddleboarding. Paddleboarding!

“I THOUGHT THIS WAS A PRISON!” she shrieked.

Fu Ran adjusted her sunglasses. “It is.”

Xia Zhi nearly short-circuited. “What kind of prison has a spa-looking resort entrance?!”

“The kind no one escapes from.”

“…Oh. Cool. Cool cool cool. Totally normal. Totally stable.” Xia Zhi nodded shakily. “I see. Paradise prison. Love that for us.”

She looked back at the boat crew. Even Ivan looked uncomfortable now.

The smiling guy gave her a thumbs-up. She did not return it.

As they docked, Xia Zhi whispered to her suitcase: “Captain Snuggle, if we die here, make sure my ghost haunts the coconut trees.”