At precisely 6:00 a.m., the house exploded.
Not literally. But the effect was close.
Ceiling lights flared on at retina-melting intensity, and speakers blasted what sounded like the show's theme song remixed by a DJ who had unresolved childhood trauma. The melody was buried beneath clashing cowbells, goat screams, and the ominous whisper of someone yelling, "GOOD MORNING, LOSERS!"
Someone screamed in the next room.
Yuyan bolted upright in her pristine pink bunk. "What in the sponsored hell—"
Downstairs, two contestants crashed into the hallway door at the same time trying to escape. One tripped over a slipper. The other tripped over him.
Meanwhile, Lin Xie was already up.
Fully dressed. Hair neat. Sitting on the edge of her bed with arms folded, as if she had been waiting for a war to begin and was mildly disappointed it hadn't started sooner.
When the noise finally died down, a voice crackled through the house PA system.
"Contestants! Welcome to Day One of Immortal Arena: Stars vs. Strategy! All of this is live. Please remember your fans are watching, your enemies are judging, and your ancestors are probably crying."
Yuyan groaned and stumbled toward her mini vanity mirror. "I have glitter in my teeth."
Lin Xie, passing by with robotic calm, replied: "You shouldn't sleep with your mouth open."
Yuyan turned. "I wasn't—!"
But Lin Xie was already gone.
In the hallway, the contestants were handed challenge uniforms: vests made from cheap nylon with their team names printed in neon glitter. Unfortunately, whoever designed them had clearly been high on gummy bears and spite.
Yuyan's vest: Team Sad Glitter
Lin Xie's vest: Team Spicy Watermelon
Lin Xie stared at hers in silence.
The staff smiled nervously. "It was chosen randomly."
"No. It wasn't," she said, tone flat.
"…It tested well with focus groups."
"What kind of focus group names teams after fruit-based emotional trauma?"
Yuyan held up her own vest and muttered, "This is psychological warfare."
Lin Xie blinked. "Yes. Finally. Someone said it out loud."
Their challenge was revealed on the front lawn—if one could call a trap-riddled death maze of a mud pit a lawn.
The host stood at the front, megaphone in one hand, banana in the other.
"Welcome to your first challenge! Tower of Trust!"
A cheer played from hidden speakers. It sounded suspiciously AI-generated.
"Each team must build a six-foot crate tower in the mud. The crates are slippery, unstable, and may or may not be filled with glitter, eggs, or confetti. Bonus: you can only use one hand. The other hand must be linked with a teammate at all times."
"WHY," someone whispered.
"Oh!" the host added. "And if your tower collapses—your entire team gets sprayed with fish sauce."
Gasps.
Yuyan shrieked. "WHAT KIND OF GAME IS THIS?! I JUST HAD A FACIAL."
Lin Xie turned to her partner—a trembling young actor who looked like he regretted life.
"Do not let go of my hand," she said in her usual monotone. "If you fall, I will step over your body and continue alone."
"…Yes, ma'am."
The game began with immediate, spectacular failure.
Team Sad Glitter dropped their first crate within twenty seconds, triggering a minor collapse that splashed Yuyan's socks with three different kinds of mud and something suspiciously green.
"WHY IS THIS WET AND STICKY?!"
Lin Xie, meanwhile, moved with unnerving precision. Each crate lifted like she had mapped the angles in her mind. Her hand never wavered. Her gaze never twitched.
Her teammate? Sweating bullets.
"You don't even blink," he whispered.
"I optimized my tear ducts for efficiency."
"What does that mean?!"
Up top, a camera drone zoomed in dramatically.
Lin Xie whispered to the crates, "Your mass distribution is disappointing."
Shocked silence.
The crates stood anyway.
As Team Spicy Watermelon's tower neared completion, Team Sad Glitter's completely collapsed, sending four people face-first into mud and spraying a glitter-confetti bomb into the sky.
Yuyan stood still as fish sauce rained down, mouth open, eyes wide, hair shimmering with... seaweed?
"This is a hate crime," she said.
Lin Xie stepped back to observe the destruction. "Incorrect. This is poorly calibrated sadism disguised as entertainment."
Yuyan slowly turned to face her.
Then opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Then—
"Stop talking."
Lin Xie tilted her head. "But I haven't said anything unreasonable."
"I KNOW," Yuyan hissed. "THAT'S THE WORST PART."
Later that day, back at the house, the producers announced the first confessional session. One by one, contestants were brought into the neon-lit "Diary Room" for camera monologues.
The idol broke down in tears about losing her eyelash curler.
The influencer compared fish sauce to betrayal.
Yuyan stared dead-eyed into the camera for a full five seconds before saying: "If she stares at me one more time, I will fold like a lawn chair and cry into a mop."
Then came Lin Xie.
She sat. She stared directly at the lens.
Calm. Emotionless.
Then: "Yuyan is very pink. I admire her ability to produce sound constantly."
Pause.
"The game was tolerable. The mud was subpar. The crates were flawed. I fixed it."
Pause.
"I will adjust."
End scene.
Online, the chaos had already begun.
> [SpicyWatermelonCult]: LIN XIE IS AN EMOTIONLESS ICON I WOULD LET HER CRITICIZE MY ENTIRE PERSONALITY
[SadGlitterJustice]: HOW DARE THEY SPRAY YUYAN WITH FISH SAUCE SHE IS A NATIONAL TREASURE
[JustHere4Drama]: That tension between Lin Xie and Yuyan is better than 70% of modern dramas
[TowerCrateEngineer]: She told the crates they disappointed her. That's villainess level sass.
[YuyanStans]: Listen. She's chaos in glitter heels. Let her scream.
[LinXieHaters]: She's cold, rude, and boring. Bet she's a robot.
[LinXieSupportSquad]: Maybe we NEED robots to win reality shows. The rest of y'all cry over mud.
Back in the shared living space, Yuyan sat curled up in a hoodie, sipping ginger tea while staring at Lin Xie.
Lin Xie, meanwhile, was calmly reprogramming her wristwatch to track the camera blind spots.
"Are you always like this?" Yuyan asked suddenly.
"Yes."
"Don't you ever want to be normal?"
Lin Xie didn't even glance up. "Normal is rarely efficient."
Yuyan opened her mouth again.
And then gave up.
Day One: chaos.
And the audience was eating it up.